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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

Yours Truly (Pt. 2)

Requested By: Some of you!

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

AU: College

Word Count: Part 1 -> 9,786 // Part 2 -> 7,433

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Pining, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Here's the second and final part of the imagine, gang. I hope you enjoy the adventures I wrote for you! Let me know about your fav part(s)!

♡ Happy Reading ♡

Part 1 -- Click Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

5.) Epiphanies

A Week Later

"Yuqi, why the hell did you drag me here? I'd so much rather be writing…" you shove your hands further into the pockets of your hoodie and look at her with a scowl. Rows of people fill the bleachers around you, everyone excited for the football game that's scheduled to start soon. Happy couples sit together all around the stadium, and the sight only works to remind you of how weird things are with Jisoo right now.

"One: it's a Friday night and you need to let loose, and two: I wanted to come, so you have to tag along by default. The rules of friendship are very simple, Y/N," she trails off, tilting her head at you with a smile.

"Well I am gonna go get some food," you imitate her, "Do you want anything?" You stand from the bench and look down at her, noticing how her permed hair sticks up in a few different places. You smooth it out for her as she answers, "Nachos, please."

"Alright, dork. I'm sure the line's kinda long, but come look for me if I'm not back in 20." She pats your butt as you leave, and you just shake your head with a smile.

"--I know! Did you hear about Lee's new girlfriend? I heard she got in a fight with his ex last ni--"

"I'm fucking starving bro."

"Yeah, they totally hooked up at Jackson's party!"

Various conversations work their way to your ears as you walk towards the back of the line, but you attempt to not get too invested in the gossip. As welcoming as your school tends to be, even it has its fair share of scandals and drama. You've never been one to care about rumors though, and you don't plan to start now.

"I heard that Jisoo likes someone."

Funny how plans can change in an instant, don't you think?

You can't find it in yourself to ignore the childish desire to eavesdrop, so you listen in as the line slowly shifts forward with each new customer served, doing your best to be inconspicuous.

"Supposedly she's been into them for a while but they don't know about it. I guess Lisa is planning to get them together tonight or something, I don't know." You recognize the brunette speaking as Seulgi, a dance major that you share a couple classes with. She's talking to Yeri, whom you've seen a few times in passing.

That must be why she was defensive about the kiss; she has feelings for someone else.

"Ooh, that'll be interesting. I can't say that I'm not disappointed, though; now Jisoo's gonna be off the market." The shorter girl frowns, basically reading your mind with her statement. You've never fooled yourself into believing you have a chance with Jisoo, but knowing that she'll be whisked away by some lucky classmate of yours definitely isn't an easy pill to swallow.

You pass the remaining wait time by imagining who that person may be. Jisoo has a lot of friends, but you've never seen her around campus with any particular love interest; she always puts her studies first, deciding that her education is far more important than any potential relationship.

You remain lost in your thoughts until it's your turn to order.

"Hey Y/N, what can I get for you?" The cashier greets, resetting the register as she grins at you.

"Hi Yeji," you smile back, happy to see your old friend again after what feels like forever. Your busy schedules have kept you from hanging out much lately, but seeing her now is something you're grateful for. "I'll take two waters, a medium nacho, and 1 hot dog, please."

"You want everything on it?" She asks in reference to your last request, assuming you still stick with the order you used to go with in your childhood.

"You know it. And make sure to--"

"--spread the toppings out well. I remember, girl." She says with a wink, turning around to get started on your order. The familiar interaction warms your heart, aided by the idea that some things never change. After she packages your things up in a convenient little container, you thank her and pay, walking away with a promise to meet up at the school's café next week.

About halfway back to your seat, something unexpected happens.

"Rosie, we can't buy out the whole place. This is the 4th trip we've taken back here and the game hasn't even started yet!" You freeze as you round the corner, almost dropping your food as Jisoo's low voice sounds off nearby.

"Unnie, I didn't even get to eat much of the other stuff at all! Lisa and Jennie stole it and shared it with everyone else," the artist pouts, rolling her hands into fists at her sides like a toddler.

"Fine. But this is the last trip I'm taking." She warns, rolling her eyes when the Australian attacks her with a flurry of kisses. "Yah! Let's go before we miss something." She says, pushing her off of her with a smile on her face.

Even her voice makes your heart ache, and it reminds you of what her kiss felt like against your lips. It was short, no doubt, and barely there; but the sparks remain, waiting to be reignited anytime she's around. Maybe you're just destined to pine.

----

"There you are! I was literally about to go steal some food from Shuhua because you were taking so long."

"Yeah, yeah," you say, sitting down beside Yuqi with the cardboard box in your hands. "You're lucky I love you enough to pay for this. Now I'll have to survive on 3 grains of rice and ramen for the next few weeks."

"Oh, the struggles of being a broke college student." She says woefully, clutching her hands together in front of her chest to add to the effect.

"Precisely," you agree, scooting closer to offer her some nachos. When she tries to greedily take the whole tray of them, you're quick to stop her.

"Ah, ah, ah," you warn, pulling her wrist back down. "We're sharing, chica." She huffs, but eventually settles down and decides to shove her face full instead of protesting anymore.

Now, with your best friend happily eating, you relax and begin to prepare yourself for the match.

"LET'S GO!" You shout with Yuqi, chanting together as your school's anthem echoes throughout the stadium. The rival team has been behind the entire game, but they closed the gap in the last few minutes and now it's neck and neck. Your band plays loudly to encourage your team, and it seems to be working; they manage to repeatedly hold the others off and keep them from scoring.

It's the start of the fourth quarter now -- the home stretch. With their spirits still high, your team continues to keep victory out of their opponents hands. The black paint underneath their eyes is really streaked now, showing all the effort and sweat that they've put into the game so far. A beautiful sunset just previously gave way to a rapidly darkening evening sky, allowing some stars to peek out now.

"My high school team sucked; this is epic!" Yuqi says, making you laugh. You tear your eyes away from the heated game to say something to her, but all thoughts soon disappear from your mind and you stop mid-sentence.

She notices your sudden silence and looks at you, only realizing what's happening once she follows your line of sight. Jeong is standing against the metal fence that borders the track, mingling with everyone at the bottom of the bleachers. That doesn't bother you, but what you see next certainly does; you spot Jisoo beside him, giggling at something he said as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Oh shit," Yuqi breathes out, fully grasping the weight of the situation now. She doesn't even attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt, because he knows how in love you are with Jisoo and yet there he is, flirting away. He's the only other person besides Yuqi who knows of your feelings for the brunette, and you really trusted him with it. Clearly that was a mistake. You blink a few times and set your jaw, quickly looking away as he moves closer to whisper something in her ear over the noise of the crowd.

"I'm gonna head out to the car. Just let me know who wins," you mumble, brushing past her on your way toward the exit. You know there's no way you'd be able to focus on the game anymore after seeing that, so going is your best option. She catches your arm before you can slip away, and says, "Wait, I'm coming with you. And don't even try to tell me no; I can always watch highlights later. I'm not gonna let you be alone right now."

Knowing it's pointless to argue anymore, you nod once and wait for her to gather up her trash and coat. "Let's go," she says, taking your hand after tossing her garbage in the can conveniently placed at the end of your row. She squeezes it a few times for reassurance, and a bittersweet smile works onto your lips at the gesture.

You don't notice how Jisoo's eyes follow you, every fiber of her being yelling at her to go after you. She hates seeing you sad, and although she isn't 100% sure of the reason for it now, all she wants is to cheer you up.

"So, Jisoo. Do you have any plans after the game?" Jeong smirks, quirking a brow suggestively at his own question. Jisoo grimaces, saying, "Yeah, I do. I have to study." She tries to find you in the crowd again, but it seems that you've already slipped away.

"We're throwing a party tonight, you should come." He leans a little closer to her, but she takes a step back. The only reason she's even talking to him right now is because Lisa introduced them, and it would be impolite not to. She turns him down, yet again sneaking a glance around the stadium.

"No wonder Y/N's too chicken to ask you out; you're hard to get, but I don't mind a challenge." Her head whips around at his statement, heart regaining that familiar uptick at the mention of you. "What?" She blinks, not believing her ears. Surely she was just hearing things.

"I said I don't mind a challenge," his words come out slightly slurred, and the effects of the alcohol he's been drinking are beginning to show themselves in all the wrong ways. The more he talks, the less Jisoo can stand him. "Look, Jeong -- I'm not interested. I'm sure there are other girls here that would love to get to know you, but I'm not one of them. Now, if you'll excuse me," she says, turning her body to the side to maneuver around him and get to the stairs. He lets her go without another word, his pride too bruised to come up with a more fitting response than a muttered insult.

She makes quick work of getting to the parking lot, where she spots you approaching Yuqi's car, head hanging a bit. Seeing you upset saddens her, and she's determined to find out what's wrong.

"Y/N! Wait up!" The shout catches your attention, and you slowly spin around. Jisoo begins to jog out to you, and a scoff slips past your lips (though you don't put much effort into stopping it). You're hurt, and half of the reason for your pain is staring right back at you like nothing happened.

"What do you want, Jisoo?" You sigh, not looking forward to where this conversation will most certainly go.

"I want to talk, Y/N." She's in front of you now, scanning her eyes between yours to gauge your reaction.

"What is there to say? Just go back to talking to Jeong; you looked like you were enjoying yourself." She can hear the jealousy laced in your tone, and things finally -- finally -- begin to click for her.

"Is that what this is about?" She asks in reference to your sadness. The question isn't accusatory at all; she's genuinely trying to piece things together.

A disbelieving laugh leaves you at that. How is she still so oblivious? "Yes, Jisoo, it is. I just had to witness someone who I thought was my friend flirt with my crush. So yeah, that's what this is about." Sensing that she doesn't know what to say, you decide to conclude things for her. This is already pitiful enough, and you'd rather spare the both of you from having the "it's not you, it's me" talk.

"Look, I get it. You don't like me back, and you were only trying to be friendly by inviting me to the rehearsal that night. Just please, for the both of us, forget it even happened. Forget all of this. It was a mistake, and I won't do it again."

Jisoo hates that you're jumping to conclusions without even knowing her true feelings; you automatically think that she couldn't possibly feel the same, and you use her moment of silence as a form of evidence to prove that. The complete opposite is true, though you'd never give her enough time to straighten out her jumbled thoughts and tell you that.

She finds her voice when you turn away, and she reaches out to touch your hand. "Stop, you've got it all wrong." Your eyes glance down to your intertwined hands, but you wiggle out of her grip with a heavy sigh. Over your shoulder, you shakily say, "You don't have to pretend for me, Jisoo. I'll be alright. If he makes you happy, then so be it."

With that, you get in Yuqi's car and tell her to drive away, leaving Jisoo to deal with the sinking feeling in her chest that worsens as the car's tail lights grow dimmer and dimmer in the distance. You're gone, and she really has no idea how to come back from this.

6.) Broken Hearted

The next few weeks were hell. You avoided Jisoo as much as possible, too embarrassed to face her after what happened and too weak to be close to her again. You'd surely fall even harder if you allowed yourself to grow any closer, so you didn't take the risk. How could you? Falling alone isn't an enjoyable experience, and you've been teetering on the edge of no return ever since that afternoon at the daycare.

It was hard enough to escape her hold -- her face was everywhere, plastered on ads and bulletin boards all throughout campus, on reminders and sign ups for student council. You used your sick days in order to hide away in your dorm and block out the world, only being comforted by Ryujin when she wasn't busy with her own life or Yuqi when she could spare a few hours. They always made sure to care for you as much as they could, knowing first hand how tough heartbreak can be -- especially with the added stress of schoolwork.

One person you thought about often was Jeong. Every time he'd cross your mind, dirtying up your brainwaves with the mere notion of himself, you'd grimace. He didn't deserve the attention, and yet you couldn't help but question why he did that to you. He hadn't reached out since that night, likely due to Yuqi giving him a piece of her mind after the game. He made it clear that he wasn't sorry, and that if given the chance, he'd play his cards even better and hopefully score a date with Jisoo.

Maybe that was the worst part of it all. Hearing that it hadn't just been a stupid thing he did because he was drunk; he realized the weight of his actions, and he'd do it again, over and over, without caring about how you fit into the equation. That football game was simply a turning point, hidden in plain sight as an unassuming night for you to hang out with Yuqi. But you learned more then than you had ever intended to; Jeong's selfish, and he probably never even cared for you in the first place. The idea of that makes you feel dirty -- like you wasted so much of your time with such a horrible person, sticking up for him and defending his name when he wasn't around when he never even deserved that in the first place. You wish you would've known who he really was back then; you would've stayed away.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisoo was struggling much like you -- minus the whole "betrayed by a best friend" situation. Every time that she showed up in class, she hoped with every piece of herself that you'd walk through the door and grace the room with your presence. You seldom ever did, though -- but when you ran out of free days of absence and were forced to attend class in order to keep your grades up, you never even uttered a word to her. She'd make it a point to ask questions in class, hoping that hearing her voice would bring something out of you, as yours did to her. She longed to talk to you again, if only for a minute; but your resolve remained strong, and her determination grew weaker as the days went by.

Being the person she is, though, she knew giving up wasn't an option. After a few weeks of that cycle, greeting stands were placed at the front doors of each complex on campus, manned by different members of the council. She came up with a story for the administration on the fly, using her people skills to convince them that it would be good for student morale and getting more people to join clubs. It was a great effort, but she underestimated your avoidance skills; you thwarted her plans again, slipping right through her strategically linked fingers.

Eventually, she lost hope. She exhausted every option she knew to try, and the girls ran out of new ones as well. Seeing their unnie so upset saddened them, and they did all they could to cheer her up in any and every way they knew how.

7.) Premiere Night

"Y/N, get up. You're gonna shower and get dressed if I have to force you to do it myself." Yuqi commands, blasting into your room and flipping on the overhead light that shines far too bright for your liking.

"Mmm," you groan in protest, not even bothering to roll over.

"I mean it; don't test me, you know I'm true to my word."

"Why, Yuqi?"

"Because we're going to the performance tonight. The big show that everyone has been going on about is premiering, and you're coming with me to see it."

"I can't do that." You say, her words sobering you up from your sleepy stupor.

"I know who the lead is," she informs, already knowing about your reasons for being hesitant, "and that's precisely why we're going. You can't keep living like this, so either go get your girl, or agree to be friends with her and work past what you're dealing with."

"You sound like a mom at the end of an 80s movie."

"80s movie moms are valid, so I'll take that as a compliment. Now go!" She shouts, shoving you off the bed. You tumble to the floor in a heap of blankets and pillows, still managing to hit your funny bone as you let out a pained groan.

"Remind me to slap her later, Ryujin."

"Will do." She salutes, reaching a hand down to help you up. With one last glare at an annoyingly bubbly Yuqi, you head to the bathroom to shower.

----

"How do I look?" You ask, looking yourself up and down in the skinny mirror attached to the wall.

"Is it gay if I say I'd ask you out?" Yuqi asks with a smile, fanning herself animatedly when you strike a pose.

"Very much so, yes."

"Well, hand me the rainbow suspenders, then."

You push her over with a laugh -- the first real one you've shared in a while -- and wrap her in a hug.

"Thank you, for real. I don't know where I'd be if I didn't have you." You say against her shoulder, pulling back to look at your roommate and add, "Either of you." The three of you settle in for a group hug and tell a few more jokes before Yuqi finally drags you out of the dorm.

----

"How does it feel to be back in society?" Yuqi whispers, leaning in close to you to read the seat numbers printed on your tickets.

"As lame as ever." You add, amusingly unenthused.

"You're never gonna convince Jisoo to date your dumbass with that attitude." She retorts, feeling a little guilty when she sees your expression change upon hearing her name. You're afraid to see where the two of you will stand at the end of the night, so saying it's still a sore subject is the understatement of the year.

"I'm messing with you, dude. If she doesn't want to be with you, then it's her loss; but I highly doubt that's the case. I've heard she misses you a lot." For once, Yuqi's words are halfway encouraging to hear, and you let out a light smile.

"Well I'm prepared to worry about that whole situation later. For now, let's find our seats and enjoy the show." Your best friend quickly agrees, and the two of you squeeze through the crowds in the aisles to get to your row.

----

"Jisoo, I promise you'll do well. You've been practicing for months; you've got this," Soo-hyun says, rubbing his co-lead's back in reassuring circles. The certainty in his deep voice gives Jisoo some semblance of security, and she stands to look at him with one final, nervous sigh. Stage fright has never been this big of an issue for her, but the size of the crowd and the idea that you might be out there scare the hell out of her. She wants you to be there with all of her heart, but she doesn't know if she'll be able to handle watching you walk away again. The past few weeks have been torture, and she misses your presence and witty remarks more than she ever thought possible.

"Thank you, Soo-hyun. I'll meet you out there in a couple minutes, just let me collect myself."

He nods and says, "Take your time. I'll let Mrs. Choi know," before leaving and shutting the door behind himself. Now alone again, Jisoo digs through her personal bag that lays neatly on the small futon of the dressing room. When her fingers come in contact with that familiar material she's spent hours staring at, she bites the inside of her cheek and unfolds it for the millionth time. Multiple poems and blurbs litter the page, accompanied by cute doodles and cartoons here and there that give it a personal feel. She's spent the time away from you methodically working through the different writings, restraining herself from reading all of them in one setting so that she can have new content from time to time.

She's down to the last one, now, and a surprising sort of realization hits her when she reads it. It instills within her a sense of determination -- determination to get you back and set things right, one way or another. She makes a plan to find you after the performance.

-- After The Performance --

It was even more spectacular than you ever imagined it could be. The school spared no expense in getting the best props, employing the most skilled technicians on hand, and recruiting the best artists that the school had to paint the backdrops. Everyone behind the scenes worked tirelessly to produce the best show possible, and their efforts really paid off.

And, of course, you can't forget the actors.

The entire cast was incredible, their talent matching some of the world's most sought-after stars. Every part was played to perfection; even the smaller, supporting roles were acted with passion, really bringing the piece together as a whole. The production left you wanting more, too inspired and awestruck by the amazing performances to be content with just seeing it once. So, after numerous calls for an encore, the cast returned to run through a few of their key scenes.

---

As the cast takes their final bow, large cannons placed on either side of the stage shoot out bursts of colorful confetti, and you watch it flutter down around them. Some try to catch a piece or two to add to their scrapbooks, wanting to have a trinket from their college years, while others just hug each other and twirl around with content smiles on their faces. The crowd continues its loud cheering, and eventually you find the courage to sneak a glance at Jisoo.

To your surprise, she's looking right back.

Her eyes hold a mixed softness; she's proud of herself and glad that you came to support her on such a big night, but part of her wants to escape the busyness of it all and tell you everything she's been feeling. She'd be content with looking at you forever, she realizes, as she studies you. You're the true star in her eyes, always shining so bright and making everyone feel at home whenever they're around you. She hopes you know how special you are.

Mrs. Choi approaches the cast from stage right, gathering their attention to congratulate them and commend them for their performances. Jisoo reluctantly looks away from you, unsure if it's the last time she'll be seeing you tonight. The thought upsets her, but there isn't much she can do about it right now; so, she gives her attention to her professor and flashes that smile that makes everyone weak in the knees.

You knew it was just a matter of time before she'd be pulled away and immersed in some conversation about the show, but the selfish side of you never wanted her to look away. No matter how confusing things may be because of all of your unresolved issues, she still looks at you like she always had before -- her gaze is kind, albeit bittersweet, but it's full of care. Seeing her like that makes you feel like even more of an asshole than you already do -- maybe you should have just listened to her at the game. Running away was an immature choice, rooted entirely in your own sadness in that moment as you deprived yourself of any explanation she could've offered, though you can't judge yourself too harshly. The situation is complicated, and you still don't know whether to hate yourself for running or go easy on yourself in light of what happened.

When Yuqi sees you stand up and shuffle towards the end of your row, she sends you a warning look.

"Dude, I'm not gonna run away. I'm literally just gonna step outside for some fresh air, I promise." She visibly relaxes, no longer having to prepare herself to wrangle you back into the seat.

"Fine. But if you aren't back in 15 minutes I'm coming to track you down. You really need to talk to her."

You sigh, nodding in agreement. "I know, trust me. Just let me get my thoughts together first." She sends you off to do just that, but not until the two of you complete the special handshake you made up all those months ago.

---

Brisk air rushes over your skin in waves the moment you exit the side door of the building, automatically sending goosebumps to raise in its wake. It feels nice, though; it grounds you, and works to cool off your heated skin. The atmosphere inside was thick with the tension you've been feeling ever since what happened that night at the game, and its effects were only heightened by the raw performances of the evening. Passion and longing were the driving factors of the play, ironically, and many of the scenes drew eerie parallels to your current situation. So, it's no wonder that you're thankful to step away from it all for a bit.

You greet a few stray audience members that're puttering around outside as well, opting to walk down a little further away from them and lean against the building. The wall's brick material feels rough against your back, lightly scratching it whenever you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You don't mind it, though; it's oddly nostalgic, somehow.

When you hear the door open again, you think nothing of it. The metal hinges latch just the same as they had for you, so there's really no reason for you to even look up. However, that all changes when you feel someone's eyes on you.

Unprepared is leaps and bounds away from being a fitting statement to describe how you feel in that moment; Jisoo stands merely 10 feet away from you at most, right next to the stage door that she just came out of. Her hands fiddle with the drawstrings of her costume, seemingly always needing to be occupied when she's nervous or unsure of herself; it's a habit you've picked up on after seeing it so many times.

The longer you look at her, the more you want to look away; she's so beautiful it hurts, and the silence is eating away at you. You can't blame her, though; neither of you know what to say or do, and the only thing you seem capable of is staring at each other. When you break the intense eye contact you were sharing to turn away, only intending to take a minute to collect yourself, Jisoo is suddenly set in motion.

She's afraid you'll leave again, and she's prepared to fight even harder for you this time.

I love you as the stars love the night sky

A fateful, cyclic romance

A game of eager greetings and reluctant goodbyes

Those words -- ones that you remember penning one day in class while completely entranced by Jisoo -- roll from her lips effortlessly, as if she had spent time committing them to memory. She had, in fact; whenever days passed without her even catching a glimpse of you, she always found herself unfolding that note again, tracing a finger over the curve of your unique letters as she reread the poem. It always brought her comfort to think that you were in just as deep as her, and a similar sense of hope blossoms in her chest now when she spots an unbelieving smile tug at the corner of your lips as you slowly turn to face her again.

You're still into her, and she's falling even deeper at the realization. Maybe she didn't lose you after all.

She takes calculated steps towards you and breathes a sigh of relief when you stay put, not showing any signs of running. The wheels in your head are going into overdrive now, turning and churning as you process her little recital, and she prays with all of her heart that you won't be upset once you put two and two together.

"How did you…"

"You dropped it one day, and I picked it up. I meant to give it back to you, but I guess I just never got around to it." She feels a little guilty for keeping it as long as she has, but it's served as a way of keeping you close during your time apart. Those bits and pieces of you, scattered around on that page, encapsulated by the annotations and doodles you so kindly left behind, have stayed in her heart. Ever since she discovered it all that time ago, it's never been very far from her; she cherishes it more than you'll ever know.

"You didn't show it to anyone, right?" Your voice is laced with worry, lowered a bit to keep others from overhearing.

"No, no! Of course not. I just… kept it for myself. You're really talented; I couldn't stop reading your stuff."

"Thank, I guess?" You awkwardly chuckle, still a bit rusty on how to interact with her after everything. Plus, to be fair, having your crush read one of the love letters you wrote about her is a bit unheard of. Newfound territory, you think to yourself.

"How long?" You ask after a minute of silence, only realizing how loaded your question is after it slips past your lips, turning into a puff of steam in the chilly atmosphere. "How long have you… felt that way about me?" You quickly add, "Assuming that you feel what the poem says, of course."

An amused smile tweaks her lips at how cute you are. "I do, Y/N. I always have; ever since that afternoon at the daycare."

"Really?" The question is quiet, full of childlike disbelief.

"Really. It was always you." She says it freely now: unafraid.

The sentiment is sweet, but memories of the football game come flooding back and you're reminded that as much as you want to skip this next part, you still have things to discuss.

"What about Jeong?"

"What about him?"

"Did you ever like him?"

"No. The girls thought so, but it was just a misunderstanding. That's why Lisa introduced us at the game; she thought I had a crush on him, but I told her that you were always the one I was looking at. I told all of the girls that, after that night."

Her confession renders you speechless -- only capable of listening and nodding every now and then. She takes advantage of your silence to finally explain herself and tell you everything she's been dying to.

"I didn't know you felt the same until our talk in the parking lot. I mean, I was hopeful after some of the moments we had, but I didn't know for sure until then. I wanted to beg you to stay and hear me out, but you left before I had the chance."

You blink a few times as the reality of her words begin to sink in. "I had no idea…"

"Yeah, well…" she trails off, unsure of what to say next. She's forgiven you for walking away, knowing you were just hurt, but the whole situation still left a bad taste in her mouth. So much pain could've been avoided for the both of you if you had just listened.

"How did they take it?"

"They yelled at me for waiting so long to tell them, but then they tried to help me get you back. Remember those student council booths?" She leans in a little closer to ask that last line, her lips pulling to the side in that iconic smirk of hers.

You audibly gasp and point at her animatedly. "I knew that was you!"

"Mhm, pulled some fancy-sounding excuse out of my ass to convince the board, and boom; 20 brand new tables set up the next day. I still can't believe you managed to slip past them, though. I mean, c'mon, have you seen how talkative those kids can be?"

"Trust me, it wasn't easy," you laugh with her. "I had to sneak to the back entrances like a drug dealer."

"I can totally see that."

"I'm dedicated, what can I say?" The stupid hair flip you do makes her laugh even harder, clutching her stomach as those beautiful sounds slip past her lips.

As your shared laughter eventually turns into soft chuckles, she smiles at you, saying, "I really missed this. I missed you, so so much."

"I've been a wreck without you, Jisoo. It's honestly embarrassing."

She looks at you with something new shining in her eyes, and she carefully contemplates what she's about to admit. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

"I rarely cry, Y/N, but I did over you. So you have no reason to be embarrassed. It seems like both of us were pretty bad off." She looks down after saying that, scuffing her foot against the concrete of the sidewalk. Being vulnerable isn't usually easy for her, and she never really lets people see that side of her -- not even the girls. She feels like she has to stay strong for them to keep things running smoothly, but she fails to realize how important her own feelings are. You're different, though; she feels like her entire collection of secrets would be safe with you, and you make her feel secure enough to be open like that.

When she feels you step closer and hook two fingers underneath her chin, her eyes dart up to yours and her heart speeds up. Your other arm hesitantly wraps around her waist, giving her plenty of time to step away and deny you. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that she couldn't possibly want someone like you that you're genuinely surprised when she steps further into your embrace, pulling your arm tighter around herself.

Her right arm comes to rest loosely on your shoulder as her other hand caresses your forearm, rubbing various patterns against your smooth skin. "I tried so hard to get you to pick up on my flirting," she starts, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck as she holds you close. "Every touch," she runs a finger down your arm, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake. "Every look," she moves her hand from your neck to your cheek, cupping it sweetly as she gazes into your eyes. She strokes your skin with the pad of her thumb, smiling beautifully when she feels you nuzzle into her hold even more.

"And that kiss…" she says, sounding breathless at the mere thought of it. "I wanted it to last forever."

"Why didn't you tell me that, then?" You ask, not even a trace of anger in your tone. You're determined to let go of all the hurt and fear that your misunderstandings have caused, opting instead to finally get the answers you've wanted for so long. "After I came back from putting Aera to bed you were just… different. And then when you said it was just a part of the script--"

"I know. I was afraid that if I let myself have you like that -- if I let you in all the way -- there'd be no going back." When she sees the confusion building in your eyes, she continues on. "I don't usually let myself get distracted; I can't afford it. You know how seriously I take my studies." You nod, recalling the numerous times you've found her in the library until it closed, studying hard for the exams everyone knew she'd ace. "But you wiggled your way past every line of defense I ever put up. You became my favorite distraction." A dopey grin tugs at your lips at receiving that title, and you subconsciously hold your head a little higher.

"But I wasn't prepared for that. You make me feel things that I've never felt before, and I really didn't think I could afford to let myself have you. Not fully, anyway. I could deal with a crush; I told myself I could keep you close enough that I wouldn't miss you, but far enough that I could keep myself protected."

"What changed?" You ask, smoothing your hands over the small of her back, feeling the heat radiate from her skin. They've worked their way under the hem of her shirt during your conversation, subconsciously seeking to share her warmth, and Jisoo has been acutely aware of it the entire time.

"When I saw you walk away like that I didn't know what to do with myself. I've had people leave before, so it's not a new thing; but I never missed them like I've missed you."

A bittersweet, melancholic look settles on your face at that; she deserves every good thing that the world has to offer, so knowing that you played a part in her sadness -- whether it be direct or indirect -- disheartens you a bit.

"But you're here now, and that's all that matters." She says, leaning her forehead against yours.

"And I'm not going anywhere," you affirm, holding her even closer than before. She brushes her nose against yours with a quiet sigh, relieved to be in your arms, caught safely in your warm embrace. If falling feels like this, she's more than okay with it.

"Can I?" You ask, glancing down to the heart shaped pillows you've dreamt of having against yours again.

She nods, uttering a soft, "Please", as she tilts her head to the side in expectancy. You close the remaining distance, bending your knees slightly to tighten your hold on her waist and pull her flush up against yourself. Both of her arms wrap around your neck now, occasionally coming down to tilt your head and allow her better access, or run her fingers through your hair. It's sensual and meaningful, but an air of urgency hangs in the air, thickening it the longer her lips are on you. Both of you are making up for lost time, so it's no wonder you're so eager.

She takes your bottom lip between her teeth as she backs you up, pressing you against the brick wall that you had migrated a few steps away from during your conversation. If she were kissing anyone else, perhaps she'd care about the strangers staring, or what they might say; but as she stands here, feeling your hands explore her body in the ways that she's dreamed of and your lips kiss her senseless, that's the furthest thought from her mind. Her hands grab at the collar of your shirt, balling the material up in her palms as she pushes her lips against yours from a new angle.

When you eventually pull back for air, you can't help but say the phrase that's been sitting on your mind for weeks. "I love you."

Her heart speeds up to match yours, both of them racing as you look at each other with giant smiles on your faces. "I love you, too. If you hadn't already guessed that," she chuckles, leaning up to kiss you again. This one's more innocent, though -- full of giddiness as you replay each other's declaration in your minds.

"Y/N L/N IF YOU AREN'T OUT HERE--"

Yuqi bellows loudly, blasting through the side door and out into the chilly night air. The metal smacks against the wall from the force she exerted, and you physically cringe at the sound. Jisoo does the same, quickly pulling away to find out what's going on.

When Yuqi's line of sight settles on the two of you, her eyebrows raise and a smirk lands on her lips. "Well, well, well. Looks like my work here is done," she says, cocking her head to the side self-assuredly when she sees how swollen both of your lips are and how mussed your clothing is. You send her a look that she registers as "Get lost", and she retreats back into the performance hall with her hands raised in surrender.

"Idiot," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you watch the door close behind her, its poor hinges still recovering from her assault. Jisoo's giggle makes you turn back to her, finding a breathtaking smile forming on her lips. "You're so cute," she coos, poking your cheek, "especially when you blush like that."

You fight the bashfulness that attempts to take over, managing to cock a brow at her and say, "Hey, watch it -- I might not be so kind in my next poem if you don't stop teasing me."

"Aww, don't be like that, baby."

She tenses up after realizing she let that pet name slip out at the end, but your smile only widens.

"Say that again."

"Baby," she drawls in her signature sultry tone, stepping closer to you again.

"Mmm, I could get used to that." You hum against her lips, pressing yours to them at the end of your statement.

"Good, because there's more where that came from."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," she settles into your arms again, looking into your eyes with so much love you nearly swoon. "This is only the beginning for us."

195 notes · View notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help.

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio.

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

#keeping vigil #wr eddie #wr chatzy #wr eddie chatzy

11 notes · View notes

dat-town · 3 years

Text

(we are all someone’s) monster

Characters:

Jihoon, Y/N’s brother

Chanyeol, Jihoon’s best friend

Sehun, Yixing, Suho are Jihoon’s and Chanyeol’s friends

Baekhyun, Xiumin, Chen, Kai, D.O are members of the gang named CBX

Genre: action, crime

Setting: set in somewhat in the future, gang au with scifi and dystopian elements

Warnings: minor character death off scene, grief, mentions of gambling, drug usage, murder, violence and all that usual gang stuff i guess

Summary: Neo Seoul is a place without laws and one reckless mistake can cost you more than you ever imagined.

Words: 8.1k

Notes: partly inspired by the Reign quote: “I miss the girl you were.” “Many will. She was easier to kill.” but mostly by the Lotto and Monster MVs (watch them in this order for better imaginary)

Happy birthday to one of my favourite hype women, this ray of sunshine who never fails to make me smile and even when you think, you’re too much, you’re just enough. Love you, @lily-blue <3

Night had always seemed to fall early on Neo Seoul.

Maybe that was why parents didn't warn their children about nightfall anymore: nobody dared to step outside of their house anyways if they didn't know how to protect themselves. After the curfew, only gang members and the reckless roamed on the streets, playing their never-ending cat and mouse games with the agents in charge.

You thought it was ridiculous, how the government cut off this part of the country and called it rotten and dirty, a lost case. You still remembered when they quarantined the entire city, not caring about the innocent people stuck inside, they merely wished to isolate the most dangerous criminals of the nation. The no way out situation should have made it easier to catch them and in theory it worked great. They just didn't calculate how fast the gangs would take charge and special task forces were required more and more often to stop the chaos. It seemed like some people would have rather burnt the whole city down than to go down alone. One misstep and anyone could die. There were no laws or justice in a place like this. Not anymore. Only power and survival mattered. You had learned that the hard way.

"I told you to stay away," a deep voice sounded from behind you and you gulped a bit nervously, licking your dry lips before turning around. A tall figure stepped out of the shadows but you didn't back away. You knew you didn't need to be afraid of Chanyeol.

"You can't tell me what to do," you retorted and the boy scoffed at you, rolling his eyes, slightly annoyed. There was nothing left from the playfulness emitting from his eyes like when he showed you how to start a car without the key.

"I know but your brother would hate me if I didn't try to keep you out of trouble," he reminded you and the mention of your brother left a bitter taste in your mouth. You remembered his lifeless body on the pavement, blood pouring from his chest, painting the concrete crimson while your screams and cries were muffled into Chanyeol's shirt as he held you, so you wouldn't break apart and fall to pieces in your grief.

"Well, he's dead, so you don't have to worry about that," you bit back a bit more harshly than intended but the loss of your brother was still a fresh wound despite the months that passed since the shooting.

"Doesn't mean I'm not worried about you," Chanyeol said with fire in his dark eyes but it only made you feel momentarily guilty. You turned back to the door without sparing a second glance at the redhead behind you and with quick, skilled fingers you picked the lock, opening the padlock before kicking the back door of the store open. You and your brother used to hang out here a lot with his friends but it had been locked down ever since it became a death scene.

You walked to the basement door, a part of you expecting the lanky boy to follow your inside but he was nowhere to be found when you looked back on. Hah, why was he there and what did he want, you wondered but instead of dwelling over useless things like that, you hurried down to get extra cartridges and some cash from your brother's hidden safe. A girl needed to know how to protect herself in a world like yours after all.

Everything was different before the lock down. You were just a normal girl with normal dreams but then suddenly you were thrown into this game of survival against your will. At first, it all felt surreal and you thought it would be over before you could get used to this but no, that didn't happen. You couldn't even stay out of it no matter how much you wished you had nothing to do with it. Your only mistake was to work a regular cashier job at that exact shop where a dealer was killed and you accidentally saw it. Your brother decided to learn to shoot to be able to protect you and it turned out some of his friends had already had his own connections to the underworld of Neo Seoul. Soon, the chatty movie session turned into shooting practices, fist fights and it all spiralled down. There was no way back to normal.

Not after you saw your brother getting shot for a debt worth only a few bags of rice.

You locked yourself up for weeks, not speaking with anyone, not opening the door to anyone, willing to give it up until the spark of survival instinct pushed you forward. You needed to live in order to avenge your brother. You needed to figure out who gave the order and who pulled the trigger and wanted them dead. An eye for an eye. It was a brutal world after all.

You shoved the ammo and money into your bag, put it on and was ready to leave already. A quick 5 minute job. Chanyeol was worried about nothing.

Stepping out onto the streets that were eerily quiet at first, you looked at the neon lights coming from the main road and decided to take a detour. By passing the garbage on the streets you went from alcove to alcove and waited by fire stairs when you heard noises around you. You learned to be careful, careful enough to get the rundown place you called home safe and sound, knowing fully well that something was off.

Your hands hovered over the light switch and looked around in the dimly lit room, moonlight and neon colours filtered through the blinds. You closed the door three times, not two, you always did, so that meant that someone had either been there or was still inside.

You pulled your gun - used to be your brother's - out from your belt and pointed straight at the source of the noise when the old wooden floor creaked. You pressed on the switch, then suddenly light filled the room and your finger trembled over the trigger.

"What a way to greet an old friend," the boy dared to smirk at you, so sure of himself that you wouldn't shoot him.

Old friend, he said, but it was ironic because he was never a friend. He was the black sheep of the group. He was the silent force. He was only a friend of a friend.

He came with Chanyeol, like a package, and the elder being your brother's best friend, you knew him too. Cross that, you knew of him but you never knew him, not really. He was that kind of mysterious kid who nobody really knew. He was the whiskey on the top of your tongue after a wild night though. He was the mischief in staying out after curfew. He was the lighter and you were the match.

"Where were you?" you asked him firmly, not lowering the gun.

"Around. Heard you didn't want company and disappeared. Yeol couldn't shut up about you," the midnight black haired boy's voice was half amusement, half annoyance but you could at least tell that it was a lie. He didn't find it funny.

"Then why are you here now?" you kept on the interrogation. He disappeared too right after your brother died, he was the only one out of your friends' group who didn't even show up at the funeral or whatever you were allowed to have under the circumstances.

"Because I have info you might be interested in," he tilted his head, almost a challenge and that was what he had always been. Oh Sehun was still a mystery to you, after all these years.

You sighed and lowered the gun, closing the door behind you after toeing off your shoes. Not that you thought Sehun would actually hurt, you just… you were wary of everybody these days. It was better this way: better safe than sorry, your brother would have been proud.

“So… what is it? What’s so important you sneaked in so late instead of knocking on my door like any decent person would have?” you huffed, grabbing two beers from your small, almost empty fridge and throwing one can at the boy towering in your living room before sinking deep into your cozy, worn out couch.

“You wouldn’t have opened the door to any decent person,” Sehun scoffed at you, knowing too well and bobbed his head towards you in appreciation for the cold beverage. He took his time sitting down and playing on your nerves. He wasn’t wrong though.

You gritted your teeth, taking a sip of your cheap beer, trying to be nonchalant. As if you didn’t notice the scar on his cheek or that his jacket was a bit worn. It looked like he had a rough few weeks behind him.

“I asked around to figure out who wanted Jihoon dead,” the boy spoke up eventually and you flinched at your brother’s name. You sucked in a breath, eyes finding Sehun’s above your drink. “Have you ever heard of the organization named CBX?”

“They have that casino downtown, don’t they?” you furrowed your brows, trying to remember why the abbreviation sounded so familiar. Sehun hummed.

“They do have a casino but they have lots of other underground business. Chicken and dog fights, drug dealing, stolen goods, anything you can illegally trade with,” he said and you shouldn’t have been surprised to hear about it. A casino being the cover business for such things was almost too predictable but now these gangs didn’t even want to hide. “They gamble with lives too and they provide loans for desperate ones. So my guess is that Jihoon got on their bad side.”

You have been trying to figure out what was behind the shooting that came from an unidentified grey van but you couldn’t go anywhere. You didn’t even know that Jihoon was in debt and that he owed to gang members, it was Chanyeol who told you but he said he didn’t know whom exactly he had connections with. You didn’t know how Sehun figured this out, or how much he knew but you didn’t want him to get involved because of you. You had enough of people sacrificing themselves for you. Your brother was enough, no wonder you cut ties with everybody after his death. A lonely life wasn’t the best but it was better than the guilt.

“Okay, how good that guess is?” you gulped down your bitterness.

“Pretty good but you can't bring them down alone, don’t even think about it," Sehun told you and his worried tone was laughable. As if it wasn’t him with whom you were almost caught by the agents for staying out after curfew.

"Watch me," you rolled your eyes at him, standing up from your place on the couch and turning your back to him. “I guess you know where the exit is,” you said with a strong hint in your voice, indicating that you wanted him gone soon. But Sehun wasn’t one to take commands well.

“Yah, don’t be stupid,” he grabbed on your wrist stopping you but you didn’t have any of it.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snapped at him, yanking your arm out of his grip. A sudden flare of anger flashed through you as you whipped your head around him. “I’m not fucking twenty years old anymore who was stupid enough to fall in love with you just because you spared a glance at me.”

Only silence followed your remark and you could see the surprise in the boy’s dark eyes. He didn’t expect that kind of answer. Maybe he didn’t expect you to bring up your mistake by yourself. It was your fault, being young and foolish, falling for the mysterious bad boy-type of guy just because he was considerate with you. But confessing on a drinking night, lips still sweet from the melon vodka you just had was just as silly as your feelings themselves. Of course, Sehun started avoiding you then. You weren’t going to make another mistake like that: naive and reckless.

“Just… be careful,” the boy said in the end, voice resigned as he backed away, opening the door for himself. There was something haunting in his eyes, something like regret but you refused to think about it as you slid down by the wall, hiding your face into your hands.

With the information you had gotten, you started investigating, collecting articles, wanted posters, anything connected to the CBX and it seemed like they indeed had their hands in many nasty things but nobody wanted to talk about them, probably they were too afraid to. So you didn’t really have much of a choice, you had to see the place for yourself and ask around.

It was actually easier than expected. They didn’t even check you at the casino’s entrance, they didn’t ask for your ID or bank account when you exchanged cash for tokens, they just let you in. No wonder there were all kinds of people there and all kinds of games too the deeper you went inside, following tips of players. It was some kind of sin dungeon with all sorts of illegal stuff some you wished to forget you even saw.

“Are you lost, little girl?” A guy with Chesire smile walked into your vision, his eyes mischievous and not promising any good. He came closer than you would have preferred but you didn’t want to draw attention by pulling out your gun so soon.

“No. Actually I’m looking for someone,” you said, confident and willing yourself to not to grimace at the alcohol smell coming from the guy. “I heard there’s someone lending out loans here.”

This was your best bet. If they could lead you to the guy handling debts here, you could see if he reacted to your brother’s name but first, you had to find him. The Chesire cat smile guy seemed giddy at the mention though, so you were hopeful.

“Oooh... Xiumin? His office is at the end of the corridor,” he pointed at a black painted door and when you pulled away, your steps leading you to said door, the guy yelled after you, laughing. “Have fun!”

His voice creeped you out and you basically felt his following gaze on your back until you reached the unmarked door and knocked three times.

The guy who opened it wore a loose dress shirt, cigarette hanging from his lips and he blew the smoke into your face.

“So… you’re here for money? How much?” he asked straightforwardly as soon as you stepped into his office, taking a seat on the sofa he showed you. There were several safes in the room probably filled with gold and cash but in reality, you didn’t care. You just wanted to meet the man who provided Jihoon.

“Five million,” you blurted out the first number you could think of but Xiumin looked at you suspiciously.

“That’s a lot,” he noted in a calm but warning manner. It wasn’t a no though, so you pressed further.

“I heard you’re the only one to provide enough for that.”

Now that seemed to interest the guy, he took another big inhale from his cigarette while not taking his eyes off you and mumbled: “Who told you that?”

“P.O,” you told him your brother’s nickname but the guy didn’t show any signs of knowing who he was. He didn’t question you about who he was though, so he probably had an idea of his own. You were almost sure it wasn’t enough to convince him to give you that much money, so you weren’t surprised when he asked for insurance.

“What’s the collateral? How will you make sure I get my money back?” The loan shark leaned back in his chair casually, fingertips rubbing against each other while you had to come up with a believable excuse for you to need that much money.

“I need this to get my store running again, if it happens, I will be able to pay even for the interest,” you claimed but it didn’t seem to be enough as the guy merely shook his head.

“Not many businesses survive in Neo Seoul these days. You need to give me a better reason.”

His arrogance annoyed you because you couldn’t figure out anything like this and you weren’t about to sell your soul for five million you didn’t need anyways.

“If you don’t want to give me a loan, just say so. Looks like I’m wasting my time here,” you hissed and stood up, ready to leave hastily.

“You are brave for coming here after what happened to your brother,” Xiumin’s retort was however enough to stop you mid-action. “Don’t you think it’s selfish of you to ask for more money when your dear friend paid back what your brother owed me just to protect you?”

“So you admit you killed him?”

“Me? That wouldn’t have been worth it for me. I needed him alive to get my money back,” the guy lifted his hands in a defensive manner, somewhat amused by your groundless accusation as if you were a child getting ahead of yourself. Your hands turned into fists from the anger bubbling up in you. Because if it wasn’t him then who was it? And why? And who was that friend that paid for the debt? You didn’t even think of it but the loan shark probably sent him men to collect the money after your brother died. Who stopped them before they could have gotten to you?

The last one was suddenly all too obvious: Chanyeol.

It wasn't hard to find him at all. He still lived in that camping car he had been driving around since he was 19 and you knew his favourite parking spots by heart. You repeatedly hit on its door, calling his name but all you had met with were echoes of the metal clashing. You gave up with a huff but when you turned around, there he was crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Are you looking for me?" he raised a brow and you immediately hit on his chest.

"How dare you go behind my back and pay back Jihoon's debt without telling me?"

Chanyeol let you use him as a punchbag until your anger subsided, knowing too well that it was about your trust and not the money. When your shoulders eventually fell, he put his hands over your fist, his warm skin soothing you.

"I'll tell you everything," he promised and pulled you inside his trailer, sitting you down on his bed. He made sure you paid attention before he started speaking, telling you how Jihoon had been acting weird before his death, a bit off. He didn’t want to speculate anything and upset you for nothing in case he was wrong, especially after his best friend died. So he took it upon himself to sell a few of his precious old records and pay off your brother’s loan that he had taken to keep your place even after rents had gone up. He hadn’t told you because he didn’t want to burden you, especially after you had shut everyone out.

“Okay, now tell me how you figured it out,” Chanyeol looked at you expectantly and in exchange for everything he had just told you, you knew he deserved at least that much, so you let him know about your visit in the casino. You saw him get tense at the mention of the gambling den and that you talked with the loan shark but he stayed silent even when you finished.

“I’m not a little girl needing protection anymore,” you reminded him because he kept treating you like you were a child just because you had been his best friend’s little sister. Chanyeol looked at you as if you hit him with those words.

“I know and I miss the girl you were,” he said firmly, voice raspy and stretchy as he looked over at you. Despite the word miss and what that could have implied, his tone missed fondness. You raised your chin slightly and scoffed at the ridiculous claim.

“Many will. She was easier to kill,” you agreed and got up from the worn material of the bed. What was there to miss? Your naivety? You quickly made your way out of Chanyeol’s car and only faltered when he called out your name, his tone resigned.

“They killed him because they think Jihoon had been reporting to government agents,” he called after you, voice dissolving in the windy air but it still punched every bit of oxygen out of your lungs. Breathing suddenly became harder and hiding behind brick fall, you put your trembling hands in front of your mouth.

So Jihoon did die because of you after all...

It all started about a year ago. You had been sneaking out regularly by then, sometimes to meet Sehun in dark alleys, riding on his bike behind him or just by yourself for the adrenaline or for fresh air, away from your brother’s protective eyes. Maybe if he was there with you, if you had called Sehun that day, this all wouldn’t have happened. But you were out of luck, cornered by four patrolling agents. Since it had been your first offence, they had been easy on you, offering you a deal: information for safety, so you were one of their eyes on the inside, letting them know about everything you heard or saw. It had been your little secret and now it killed a man.

You knew you had to act quickly because if the gang was willing to kill a man for your sins, your life was in an even bigger danger than you realized. You were only safe until they didn't know, so you had to be extra careful from now on. Or you had to make sure they couldn't touch you. So maybe your plan was made on the whim, maybe it was a leap of faith but you wanted these assholes to pay for what they had done… in one way or another. So you made a plan overnight. You admitted it wasn't your most secure and foolproof one but it was a plan nevertheless and if everything worked out, this CBX organisation would go down which was exactly what you wanted.

You activated your aurec - a specific type of audio recorder which also functioned as a tracker using GPS coordinates - and thread it onto your necklace, hiding it under your clothes, securing your gun under your leather jacket and stepped out to the streets of Neo Seoul, heading straight for the casino just before nightfall. You were about to act like you came back for that loan you had previously discussed with Xiumin as well but in reality you still had no intention of actually doing anything with their dirty money, you just needed proof or at least a good enough reason for the agents to cut this business off. It went almost too easily: asking around and having people tell you about the drugs they had brought here, the deals they made, the things they had seen. You were sure it added up to enough sin to put the leaders behind the bars for a long while.

But of course, it was suspicious - how easy it was. You knew you should have been more careful when asking around about your brother, whether anyone had heard of him. You should have left until you could when people started whispering behind your back but you were determined and high on adrenaline, so you only noticed the two guys watching you when it was already too late. You had nowhere to run then and then the whole world went dark.

It felt like waking from a very long and absurd dream. You had been running in a white dress and two wolves had been chasing you but neither the dress nor the animals were anywhere when you opened your eyes, so you were sure they drugged you with something. It was still hard to concentrate. You shook your head, looking around but when you tried to move you realised you were tied in place in a windowless, dark room, facing a man on a high chair.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he singsonged tilting his head as his gaze roamed over your body. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It's like you want to kill me which is funny because it's you who came spying to my place. I should be the angry one."

"This place is a cesspit," you spat at which the guy let out a laughter.

"Hah, you have some nerve calling my place like that. I'm a businessman, you know, I just give people what they want. Not my fault that they make morally wrong decisions," he shrugged and even though there was some logic in what he said, it didn't give him the right to act like an almighty. Not to mention you couldn’t care less about the gambling, the drugs or whatever. But killing people was wrong on so many levels, so you gritted your teeth.

"Do you call murder a business decision as well?" you raised a brow and you knew you were too reckless for your own good, but at this point you didn't care about your well-being. You had been caught and you were alone, your gun on the desk in front of the gang leader. Though if he wanted to kill you, he could have done so easily. Why go through the trouble of capturing you and entertaining you with small talk like this? He must have wanted something from you.

"Oh, is it about your brother? Do you still think it was my fault?" the guy laughed again, condescendingly. Then shrugged. "I don't care about nobodies like him. Sure, he owed Xiumin but a lot of other people do."

You furrowed your brows. Why did he talk like he didn't know about the informer? Was Chanyeol's info wrong?

The guy stood up hence your blood rate increased, fear injected in your veins the closer he got. From this close you could see the dangling piece of earring he wore, the scar under his eyes and the smirk on his face. He took a hold of your chin, turning your face towards him as if pondering over something while you formed fists out of your hands, ready to do something stupid when the door opened bringing the sound of chaos from outside.

"Baekhyun, we are attacked," said the tall, tanned guy whom you had seen getting high the last time. At that, the gang leader in front of you turned his head towards him slowly, disinterested and eventually he let go of you. You felt relief rush through you as you thought the tracker idea indeed worked.

"By whom?" he asked, lazily scrolling through the room and got hold of your gun. Your brother's gun. It would be ironic to die by that. Ironic but maybe fair if Jihoon really died because of you.

"We're not sure. Just some guys. They have smoke bombs and destroy everything they see," the guy explained and suddenly your earlier relief was gone. So weren't the agents coming to get you? Then was it another gang? Hell, did you really get stuck between two?

"Then stop them for god's sake. What are the others doing?" Baekhyun rolled his eyes but the other stood at the door a bit anxiously.

"Chen is too drunk out of his mind and Xiumin is off to do some deals. D.O refused to stop the chicken fight."

"Those imbeciles. I can't believe I have to do everything on my own," the leader scoffed and was ready to leave but at the doorstep he looked back at you with a smirk in the corner of his mouth. "And Kai, make sure she doesn't get out. She might cause trouble for us."

Kai averted his gaze to you with an amused expression on his model-like face and then, closed the door behind himself, leaving you alone in the empty and dark room.

Only a few moments later you smelled something sticky and felt dizzier, absentmindedly realising the effect of the gas that put you in a daze. Like this within the black surroundings, time passed slowly, or at least that was how it felt since you couldn't tell it based on anything. You were also a bit worried about not being found after the random guys managed to bring down the whole building, so you knew you had to get out no matter what. Unfortunately, the ties around your wrists were too tight and you were too weak in that state of yours. Jihoon wouldn’t have been too proud.

You grew anxious at the approaching sounds of footsteps and fight as well, you could only tell that the chaos reached this deep in the multilevel building and you flinched when the door opened once again, light filling the room.

For a moment it blinded you, then narrowing your eyes you had seen two figures but you couldn't tell they were allies or enemies.

"We found her," yelled someone and oh... you knew that voice. The realization made you relax.

It was the one whispering to you on a cold night. It kept you awake, giving you chills. It haunted you when you wanted nothing but forget. It was like a beautiful dawn you could never not miss.

"Sehun?" you whispered, mouth dry and cough as this substance in the air was scratching your throat.

"We'll get you out of here," the boy told you and for a moment you felt safe in his arms. You let yourself enjoy his closeness and care but then you remembered that you wanted, that you needed to warn him, to tell him something but you blacked out again.

Somehow, in the back of your mind, it registered that someone cut through your ties, asked whether you could walk on your own and held your hand. You saw a flash of red, dark eyes and heard people fighting through each other. Your legs led you unconsciously as you ran through a corridor right after Chanyeol while Sehun stayed behind punching the guys trying to stop you. When you turned your eyes at a bright spot from outside, you saw Suho set fire to a pile of money and heard Chanyeol yelling to tell Yixing, he could stop hacking the CCTV even though it seemed like a fever dream.

Why would your friend do something so dangerous for you? Going against a gang by themselves! It was crazy. Especially after how you treated them after Jihoon’s death. But then you heard the sounds of guns and it made you afraid more than anything.

"Shit, the agents," Chanyeol cursed and you wanted to tell him to run, to leave you behind but your tongue was too heavy and you still felt so tired. It made you feel pathetic.

Finally, after what felt like an infinity, you reached the parking lot, and the boy told you to stay still until he jumped onto the hood of this one car there that had somebody inside. You only recognized who when your friend yanked Kai outside of it and knocked him out before helping you sit in the passenger's seat and drive away.

"The others..." You protested weakly but Chanyeol hushed you.

"Don't worry. They will join us soon," he tried to reassure you but it wasn't all too convincing when another swear word fell from his lips and steered the wheel sharply to the right. Apparently you didn't get far this way either and he had to hit the brakes anyways. You forced your eyes open, seeing a row of SWAT cars in front of you, weaponized agents pointing their guns at the car.

You attempted to scream after Chanyeol, to stop him but he got out of the car all too soon, yelling at the government soldiers as if he could have scared them away. It was hopeless, you knew, and tears started prickling your eyes when you saw those men force the guy against the hood of the car, handcuffing him behind his back.

One of the agents helped you get out of the car, gently walking you away as if Chanyeol was a criminal while you were an innocent girl, the irony tasted bitter in your mouth but you were smarter than to try and convince the agents on spot to let him go. You needed to speak with their commander, the one you were reporting for. But you couldn't put your friends' lives into his hands, you needed a plan B.

You acted as if your legs were wobbly, stumbling a bit and the agent kindly helped you find your balance again but this way you got close enough to Chanyeol, to drop your aurec into his hands, hoping that he would get the memo and keep it safe and hidden.

You were taken into a hospital on the border of Neo Seoul where the agents were stationed and after the doctors advised you some rest, you were discharged the next morning. Your first visit led you to Commander Lim, demanding an explanation.

"Thank you for all your help. Without you, we couldn't take them down so easily," he bobbed his head in appreciation towards you, offering you a cigarette too since he was about to light one for himself.

"But there were innocents there too," you tried to reason without sounding desperate. You needed to know whether they got everybody there or at least what happened to your friends.

"Innocents? Do you think anyone who goes to such places can be innocent? Don't worry our jurisdiction system will make a difference between those who gave themselves up and not resented, those who had weapons with them or if they had previously committed crimes," the man said taking a long inhale from the smoke then nodded towards a box on his desk. "Your reward. For your help. Although next time try not to do something risky like this without heads up. I almost couldn't form a unit in time."

You pressed your lips together, looking at the money in disdain even though you knew you needed it if you needed to get your friends out.

"You got everyone?" you questioned, holding your breath back which was followed by a hum from the agent.

"Byun Baekhyun got away but we captured all the other known criminals," he told you and you swore under your breath which didn't go unnoticed by the man. He squinted at you. "Do not fret about him. We will find him soon, too."

You nodded, as if that was your biggest concern and when he asked about your aurec, you told him you lost it while you were inside the casino, before all hell had broken loose. Then you were excused and you knew that you needed to take matters into your own hands.

However, Byun Baekhyun's vengeance came earlier than expected and he found you faster that you could have searched for him at all. The moment you got back to your rundown apartment with shitty security apparently, he was already there, sitting by your living room table as if he was over for a casual chit-chat. Except that the smirk in the corner of his mouth didn't seem kind nor his actions were too promising. A lighter twitched in his pale fingers, its flame's reflection flickered in his dark orbs. Click- click. Burn or not to burn.

"So it was you," he spoke out, voice amused and he even had it in him to let out a bitter laugh. "Wouldn't have thought so no matter your fierceness," he scoffed but despite his easy-going attitude you were careful. Sometimes people like him were the most unpredictable, hence the most dangerous ones. After all, somehow he ended up being the most sly person in his gang, even getting away when the agents captured everybody else.

"What do you want?" you kept a close eye on him, waiting for him to snap and attack you but Baekhyun was like a lazy predator, slowly driving you crazy in the tingling familiar feeling of fear. You told yourself you weren't afraid of death, not if you avenged your brother, but if you died now, there would be nobody to free Chanyeol, Sehun and the others.

"Isn't it obvious? I want back what was mine. But most of all, my money and my men. A few at least," he grimaced before something dangerous flashed in his eyes as he looked over you. "Why us? There are so many other gangs in Neo Seoul, what do you have against us? It's not like you're perfect morally, so I bet we were targeted on purpose."

The fact that he had to ask you made your blood boil. Sure, he must have had too much blood on his hands to keep track of the lost souls but it only angered you more. You wished he was rather tortured and haunted by those he murdered.

"Are you kidding me? You killed my brother!" you snapped at him but you only received an eyeroll to that. How dared he?

"I have already told you that it wasn't us. Where did you get that shit info?" the gang leader spat and seeing your disbelief written clearly on your face, he sighed. "Stupid. There are so many people out there wanting to see me out of the picture, of course they would tell you that. Next time do you research better, little girl."

For the first time, you considered that he was telling the truth. Why would he have denied something like that? He seriously didn't seem to get why he was targeted and if he knew about your brother, he would have probably guessed if it was really him. Right? It wasn't like he was afraid of you, he had no reason for it. Out of the two of you, it was him with a lighter in his hands in the middle of your apartment. But he was alone, just like you. Maybe he needed you just as much as you needed someone who was familiar in the underworld.

"If I help you get out your men, will you help me find out who killed Jihoon?" you proposed with a raise of brow. Though, you hated even the idea of working together with a gangster like him but you realized that this was your best chance. You might have had money and wits but you didn't have connections and enough resources to do anything.

"Is it that important for you that you would trust me on it?" The man tilted his head, watching you closely, probably thinking there was some kind of trick up in your sleeves. But it was about your brother and your friends, so you nodded firmly.

"I would even make a deal with the devil."

"Well, I'm close enough," Baekhyun smirked and hummed. "But only if you actually turn out to be useful and not just be in the way. What can you offer at all?"

It was obvious he doubted you just as much as you doubted him. At least you were on equal grounds based on your trustworthiness. But first, you wanted him to say it, even if his word meant nothing in the end.

"Do you promise to help me?"

"What? Do you need a blood oath or something," the man scoffed, rolling his eyes at you but seeing your determination, he gave up the childish fight first. "Yes, I promise. Now satisfied?"

You nodded and pulled up a city map hologram over your coffee table, pointing at the agent base on the eastern side of the city.

"They keep them locked down for now. There's no way we can get in and out without getting caught but I can find out when they will be moved out of the city. I also know a way to find them but we need someone who can hack aurecs," you explained and Baekhyun seemed seemingly impressed by the technology you had in your shabby apartment. He probably wouldn't have guessed that either.

"That's no problem, I have friends who can deal with that."

"And we get out my friends as well. Then they can tell you who it was who gave the false info to end your gang on purpose. How does that sound?" You looked the man in the eye, hoping he intended to keep his side of the promise as well.

"Satisfying, I have to admit," the gang leader hummed, putting out the flame in the lighter. and got up, pulling his hoodie over his head. "Get the info then and use this burner phone to text me when you have it," he threw his phone at you after resetting it, saving only one number in its contacts.

Then he was gone without traces left behind, like smoke.

Luckily you didn't have to try too hard to get the info. Commander Lim himself told you that soon those who were responsible for your brother's death would end up in the nation's most secure jail. The relief on your face was probably interpreted as happiness over this fact while your hands were itching to text Baekhyun who called you over to some PC room. It turned out, his hacker friend who hastily introduced himself as Taemin while typing furiously on the keyboard was frequent there. You were in awe how easily he hacked the small device to switch on and start signalling its location, giving you an exact position of your friends. You had seen the eight suspects they planned to move together and there were all your friends alongside the criminals called Xiumin, Chen, Kai and D.O.

You anxiously waited for the point on the map to move but it seemed to be as still as a rock until Baekhyun was convinced they had already gotten rid of the aurec and encouraged Taemin to try to hack into the government's system. However, the moment the curfew time arrived, the flashing red dot changed its location and kept moving forward.

"Finally," the man grunted, standing up and he threw something into your lap. Only looking down you recognized your brother's gun. "Let's go," he nodded at you and you didn't hesitate to follow him to the parking lot. You were both already dressed up as government agents, their black uniform consisting of bulletproof vests and helmet since you planned to hijack the moving van before it could have reached the border.

The streets were mostly empty and dark, only the neon lights lighting up the way and your heart was beating so loud and so fast, you didn't quite believe you were doing this: you willingly helped a criminal save his comrades just so you could also save your friends. But you knew that the law was never kind to people in Neo Seoul.

It took you thirty minutes of drive to get ahead of the van approaching the northern gate and seeing the red dot coming closer in rapid speed, Baekhyun gave out the command: "Taemin, now."

"And 3... 2... 1... You are on their frequency, " the guy told them and the gang leader lifting the walkie talkie to his mouth. "Here's NS3351-GK speaking. There's a change of plan. Information has been leaked. Your car model and licence plate number are on the public network. It's an emergency. Do you understand, comrade?"

For a moment there was silence and you weren't sure they bought it even though even the code number you gave to Baekhyun was right. Then the system let out a creaky sound.

"Here's NS5672-LE speaking. We understood, sir. What's the change of plan?" the agent asked and you sighed in relief. Good, things were going according to the plan.

"There's a black van waiting for you at the 34th exit. Licence plate number: 3-7-5 수 5-2-2-0. Transfer the captives and continue your path," Baekhyun gave out the orders and there was a smirk in the corner in his mouth when you indeed saw the car take the right turn on the map. Both of you put on the helmets and saluted to the agents who arrived. Seeing your friends with scars across their faces you didn't even want to think of them getting beaten up for claiming they weren't gang members and instead focused on your role. You stayed in your seat, hand on your gun, watching the agents while Baekhyun got out to help one of the agents to get the handcuffed men into your men. Obviously they weren't too happy about being dragged back and forth but they had no choice.

Once everybody was in your car, you saluted the agents and separately, you headed towards the closest exit out of the city. Taemin also hacked the gate guards’ system, letting them know of the arriving van and their passengers, sending them the modified written order through hologram, hence you weren't surprised by the green light you got as you approached the gates. More salutes and then before you could even believe it, you had already left Neo Seoul behind.

It was too good to be true. You dreamed of leaving the city even since all this shit started but you wouldn't have thought it would be this easy. Sure, it wouldn't have happened without becoming a criminal yourself but at least you were free. Relatively.

Once you were far enough for the quarantined town, Baekhyun pulled the van aside and both of you got out, rounding the van, opening the back door. Eight pairs of eyes looked at you and watched with their breath held back as the two of you pulled your helmets off. It was Chanyeol who spoke up first, calling your name, calling you crazy and it was so familiar, his scolding that made you let out a chuckle.

"I told you I didn't need your help," you shrugged your shoulder, trying to play it cool while you stumbled to find the right keys for each handcuff. You knew that probably your friends felt just as conflicted now as you were when they had come for your rescue in the casino.

“How could you expect us not to help?” Yixing scoffed and you gave him a pointed look.

“Then how do you expect me to not help you?” you asked and reciprocated Suho’s hug once his hands were free.

It was a mess really, you didn’t even pay attention to Baekhyun and his gang already getting away by the time you got to Sehun at the end of the row. You didn’t look at him, instead you focused on his hands, the scars the handcuff left on his wrists and you tried to be gentle as you put the key in the lock but before you could have opened the metal cage around his hands, he shifted them to put his palms over your hands. It confused you, so you looked up on instinct, ready to ask him what he was doing but the look in the boy’s eyes made you go speechless.

His always dark eyes now had even more depth. It felt like looking into a tunnel with no end, up to the night sky with million stars, into his soul with all its secrets and shouldn’t haves. You suddenly remembered his porch, his kiss burning on your lips, calling it a mistake. You remember how much it hurt and yet you couldn’t forget him nor stop this yearning. Maybe it was exactly what went on inside Sehun’s head as well since you both almost lost each other in the matter of days and now even though everything was still so uncertain, at least he was there in flesh, real and tangible.

So when he leaned forward, you called your eyes on instinct and hummed into his bruising kiss not caring about the ones the handcuff stuck between the two of you left. You reached a hand to Sehun’s wounded cheek and caressed it while pulling him closer, needing him like you needed air and your friends’ snickering faded into the background as your heart finally found its pair in this crazy monster like world.

#exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo x reader #exo x y/n #sehun x reader #stories

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itsreallylaterightnow · 4 years

Text

Sometimes I Feel Like I’m Being Pulled In So Many Directions (Irondad Fic Exchange 2019)

Summary:

Peter knows he did poorly on his final, and he feels bad enough. Then May finds out. Peter doesn't know how to handle all the pressure of being a normal high-school teenager on top of trying to balance the responsibility that comes with being spider-man.

Thank fully he has Tony Stark and May Parker to keep him in check- and comfort the stressed teen along the way.

Notes:

Hey guys! Ok, so rant coming:

I poured my heart and soul into the two pics that I did for the Irondad Fic Exchange. I spent so long outlining and writing and re-writing the two works that I signed on for. I tried to craft them for the enjoyment of the two wonderful people that I was writing for. Then someone came onto my last fic and called me "Laughably stupid". I just.. I don't understand pointless hate. I'm all here for constructive criticism. But blatant hate on something that was a gift for someone else is just... not okay. So, if you have anything rude to say, keep it to yourself. All you are doing is discouraging me. It was quite hard for me to build up the courage to post this after that. So, please just be positive.

The prompt I chose from Whimsicalethnographies was "May grounds Peter for something non-Spider-man related and Peter sneaks out to the Tower, cue co-parenting." I hope they enjoy this fic! I loved writing it!

also the title and the line in this fic that follows the name of the title are from the BBC show Merlin, which everyone should watch!

Warnings: Mild Depictions of a Panic Attack (Nothing too serious, but take care of yourselves babes)

Tags:

@irondad-fic-exchange @whimsicalethnographies

Peter had felt sick for the past three hours. He had done really, like really bad on his Chemistry mid-term. He had been handed the results and he felt hot tears pricking in his eyes. Peter had ignored Ned and MJ the rest of the day, hiding behind exhaustion and his hoodie. Peter knew May was going to kill him. Ever since she found out about his extra-curricular activities, she had insisted he could continue as Spiderman as long as his grades and mental health didn’t suffer. He had been able to maintain a fairly solid mental health situation, I mean sure, most of the time it came from him just pushing back all of his real feelings. But, up until now his grades hadn’t suffered. Peter had been able to do keep up his schoolwork and web-slinging, but last week had been a huge arms bust, and Peter had gotten so carried away that he had completely failed to realize that he had his chemistry midterm coming up. He had thought he could have scraped by with a C, but Peter got the test back with 1 point above an F. He had passed, barely, but his entire grade was going to be trashed.

Peter rushed out of school the second the bell sounded, finding the nearest ally and slipping into his Spidey gear. “Good afternoon, Peter.” Karen’s familiar voice greeted him, and Peter sighed.

“Hey Karen.” Peter began swinging his way to the top of the building.

“Peter, you appear to be in distress. Would you like me to call Boss?”

“What? No- no, Karen I’m fine. Just, just mute.” He would deal with this disaster later when he needed to. Peter heard someone yelling in the distance and all thoughts of his stress went away.

Peter moaned deep in his throat as he slipped in through his window. He could smell May’s tragic cooking coming from the kitchen as he tapped the spider emblem on his chest. He tossed his backpack onto his bunk and slipped out of the uniform. His right shoulder was killing him, but he knew the strain would be healed in about an hour, so he ignored it as he pulled a Midtown sweater on.

Peter looked down at the test peeking out of his backpack. The infuriating D- making him want to scream. He rolled his eyes and left the room, finding May standing over the stove and stirring burned rice. Peter grimaced as he popped onto the counter, munching on a grape.

“So, I’m guessing you want me to order our usual?” May just huffed, turning to Peter and pushing her wide-frame glasses up on her nose. She began sniffing and made a sour face.

“What I would rather you do, is shower before you come into my kitchen after spidering around Queens!” She exclaimed, tossing her dish towel at him with a grin on her lips. Peter caught it as he slid from the counter, hands raised in defeat.

“Alright, alright. But I expect Martin’s Thai to be on their way with our order by the time I get out!” He quipped back before slipping back to his shower. The second the door closed behind him; Peter felt a tension release around his shoulder. It had become too normal for him to have painted a mask of being “okay”. May thought he was handling everything fine, but Peter knew he had just perfected the art of faking it.

The heat of the shower on Peter’s sore muscles had him sighing. It was little moments of peace like this where Peter could catch his breath. It took him longer than normal to finish his shower, and when Peter slipped into his pajamas his stomach growled. Okay, so the single grape he had eaten wasn’t enough to curve his hunger. He was really hoping the Martin’s was already here.

Peter ducked out of the bathroom, using his towel to dry out his curls. He passed by his room and tossed his towel without looking in there, on his way to the kitchen, when May cleared her throat. Why is May in my room? Peter turned back around, sliding into his room before his feet froze on sight. May was sat on his bed, Chemistry test in hand, and an unreadable expression on her face.

“Hey, May- Uh”- She held up a hand, mouth in a grim line.

“Save it. I’m not going to talk about it right now, because I know I would start yelling, and I don’t want to have to apologize for that.” She took a deep breath and stood up. “Do your homework, finish all of it. Study for whatever you need to study for, I’ll bring your food when it arrives.” She turned to walk from the room and Peter huffed.

“So, you’re just going to ignore me, then?” May laughed, in a way that made Peter know that she did not find the situation funny.

“Peter, you hid this from me. You know our deal, and you lied to me. I’m not ignoring you; I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do about this. I’m still learning how to do this whole parent thing, so a little grace would be very appreciated!” She stated, her hands flying in exasperation. Peter felt his nerves grating against one another, and he should have kept his mouth shut, but he had never been very good at that.

“You’re right. You’re not my parent. So, I made a bad grade, alright? So, let’s just forget about it, it won’t happen again.” May was fuming at this point, Peter knew the nonchalance that he had laced into his voice was really driving her crazy, but he couldn’t seem to care.

“Peter. Benjamin. Parker. I did not sign on for this. I was thrust into having you. And I would never change that, but I am still learning. I don’t have Ben anymore, and he was always so much better at this than I am. I give you more freedom than you know what to do with, and you’re still a kid. I can’t expect you to know how to handle yourself. No kid your age should have this much responsibility. For now, no internship, no spider-man.” Her voice was firm and Peter was fuming at this point.

“Well I’m just sorry that this all got thrown on you! But you can’t take away the internship and you can’t take away Spiderman! They’re all I have!” May recoiled.

“Don’t you dare think that I am mad that you’re mine, but you are mine and you will behave! I don’t know how long this will last, but you best believe yourself that there will be neither of those things until you get yourself together. And I am here to help and to talk, but you have to take responsibility for your actions.” With that, May strolled from the room, shutting the door behind her and Peter ran his hands through his hair, anxiety crawling up his throat. What- how- what was he going to do if he couldn’t be Spiderman?

Call it a lapse of judgement or teenage stupidity, but Peter pulled his mask on, activated his web shooters and peeled the window open. He climbed onto the fire escape and leapt to the building across from his.

“Karen, tell Mr. Stark I’m going to use the lab tonight.” The AI obliged as Peter began his web-slinging to the tower. The crisp breeze of the night air on his body helping to zone him in, and he imagined all of his stresses being left on the ground behind him.

The tower came into sight and Peter zeroed in on his window. He feet connect with the top panel, and the second the trapdoor closed behind him peter pulled his mask off, leaving him right next to a private elevator in his pajamas. He pressed the call button and waited on the “ding” that was so familiar to him.

Peter hopped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the lab before he put in his pin. Very few people had access to the lab. Tony, Peter, Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper. That was it. Peter leaned against the glass wall of the elevator, his heart still pounding. The anxiety he had been feeling all day was slowly clawing away at his heart and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Peter made it to the lab, and he sighed, before standing by his table and running a hand through his hair. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, the safe place around him having Peter wiping at the tears.

He pulled up the new web formula he had been working on and began to mess with the equations and holographs on it. He let himself get lost to time. Peter was so caught up on working on the tensile strength and the weight of the new formula that he didn’t realize Tony was in the room until he heard the man clear his throat.

Peter turned suddenly; eyes wide. “Mr. Stark! You have to let me know when you’re behind me!” The boy’s anxiety began to race again. Tony just scoffed, looking at the work on Peter’s table.

“What, your Peter Tingle stop working or something?” Peter grumbled out something about how Tony wasn’t seen as a threat and to stop calling it his tingle!

“Yeah, well- on another note, what are you doing still here at three in the morning?” Peter’s head whipped up, fear clutching his heart. Holy sh- May is going to kill me! “If you are currently thinking about the wrath of May Parker, then you’re on the right trail. I got the most interesting phone call from her.” Tony said as leaned on the table across from Peter, who suddenly found everything but look at his mentor interesting. “She calls me, freaking out, before explaining to me that you weren’t home, your suit was still on your bed, and that you had been in the middle of a big argument. She tells me she woke up to get water and found your room light still on at 2:30 am and went to check on you. And that’s how I get a call, waking me out of the little sleep time I do actually get. And May, May tells me the most interesting thing. You aren’t supposed to be here. And she wants to know why I allowed you over the tower when you’re royally grounded- which is news to me by the way. So, you have-” Tony looks at his watch. “Five minutes to explain yourself before Happy gets here to take you home.

Peter takes a deep breath, his heart pounding. He turns his face away from Tony, wiping at the tears forming in his eyes. Angry at his emotions for slipping.

“It’s nothing- I just got a bad grade. I shouldn’t have snuck out.” He began to pack his stuff up, before standing, but a hand pushed his chest, forcing him back down onto the seat.

“Nope. Explain better. Since when do you forget about a midterm?” Tony is concerned, Peter knows that, but he doesn’t want to open this can of worms. But Tony’s eyes don’t leave his, and Peter sighs. There is no way out of this.

“I- um- listen last week was just, it had a lot of Spiderman related problems, and I just forgot.” Peter shrugged, looking up. The look in Tony’s eyes making Peter realize that he wasn’t going to worm his way around this one.

“Then we need to cut back your-”

“No! Why does everyone think the solution to this is to take Spiderman away from me?” Peter finally erupted, standing up hastily. Tony put both of his hands in the air, eyebrows raised at the outburst.

“Listen, listen- I’m not talking about taking him away, I’m talking about reducing hours.” Peter just shook his head hastily, panic building.

“No, you can’t- you cant!” He gripped his hair between his hands, shaking his head and backing into the wall behind him. Tony’s face radiated concern, but the monstrous ball of anxiety that had been sitting in Peter’s chest was finally going to claw its way out, and it was going to do it viciously.

“Pete, just calm down and let’s talk this out.” Tony moved forward but Peter held out a hand.

“Stop, I can’t- you guys don’t get it!” The teen was screaming at this point, breaths short and he couldn’t control anything climbing its way out of his mouth.

“Then explain it to me, alright?” Tony sat on Peter’s work table, leaving the teen against the wall, giving him his required space.

“I just, I can’t lose Spiderman, he’s all I have! I do so much, and I work- I work so hard, and college is coming up, and school is hard, and no matter what I do, whenever I turn the corner there is always something else! May needs me, and MJ and Ned, and you, and sometimes, between bad guys, tests, paper, and saving people’s lives I feel like I’m getting pulled in so many different directions that I don’t know what way to turn!” Peter was sobbing now, his breaths choking out in harsh gasps as he slid to the ground, shaking hands wrapped around his knees.

“FRIDAY, tell May I’ve got Peter for the night.” Then, there were arms around Peter, warm strong arms and the teens just sobbed harder. “You hold too much Peter. The weight of the world isn’t for you to bear.” And Peter curled up on Tony’s side, burying his messy face into the man’s shoulder. “And, don’t get me wrong, you’re definitely still grounded, but neither May or I are ever going to take Spiderman away, but we want to avoid these meltdown things as much as possible, and if you constantly feel this pressure on your shoulders and you never take a moment for you, well it’s going to crush you, Pete. So, let us help.” Peter just cried and gripped onto the man holding him. Tony leaned his head down, placing a kiss on Peter’s head. “Let us help, kid.”

#irondadficexchange2019 #irondadficexchange #whimsicalethnographies

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rosyerim · 5 years

Text

pocket sized!nct dream

basically nct dream but,,,they can fit in your hand,,, also mark isn’t here but I couldn't find a dream gif w/o mark

haechan;

usually sitting ontop of your right shoulder, judging every task you do

“why does your handwriting resemble chicken scratch?”

“your hair is greasy, you should wash it”

“that ramen isn't cooked properly, the water is too hot!”

“haechan I will throw you in the pot”

he shuts up realll quick

but then he's back to whining & will only shut up if you give him half a cookie since he can't finish it whole

he loves a good ole KUWTK marathon but you have to remind him he is not actually Kim kardashian and you’re not his assistant

once he was looking for his your headphones & started snapping his fingers at you to get them lol you weren't happy

he doesn't even have to try but haechan can make you laugh at literally anything he’s just naturally funny

so whenever you’re in a bad mood, the boys send him out to you to sooth you & it usually works lmao

is like your own personal stylist, he makes sure to check out your outfit before you go out anywhere

when he doesn't like it he just gives you a certain look up and down

“you don’t like it? whats wrong w it?”

“that top with those heels? whats right with it?

renjun;

steals your pencils that are basically stubs so he can do some drawing of his own :’((

makes you stay up late with him to watch conspiracy theories about the universe but then falls asleep on your phone screen 20 mins in

loves when you buy little stones for yourself, for like protection & well being, etc and renjun will spends hours wiping them down & researching everything he can on the stones

uses your phone just so he can learn how to do ballet from the comfort of your house but is still too shy to show you a dance routine for now

hates hates scary stuff but insists on watching the documentary about serial killers & afterwards he usually ends up sleeping on the pillow your head is on because he swears he's being watched lol

prefers sleeping in your hoodie pockets but has had one too many near death experiences with you not realising & catching him as he falls out so now you carefully pick up any article of clothing you own

likes the piano tiles app because he can basically play it using his lil feets

he also beats your high score so you're lowkey salty but so long as he’s happy

comes to you first about all his problems & likes to have a lil venting session with you & him cuddled in the armchair, sharing a cup of hot chocolate because he doesn't like bitter things

sometimes when you’re feeling kinda down he sits down on your shoulder & sings to you softly in chinese because he doesn't want you to,,,feel alone,,,my heart,,,,take it(●´□`)♡

jeno;

the quietest boy out of the six and the sweetest little boy ever :’((

brings you flowers he picked out of your neighbours garden covered in dirt because he saw how stressed out you were abt studying & reminds you to drink your water <33

likes to sit on your lap watching morning cartoons, giggling away behind his tiny bowl of cereal

is best friends with the next door neighbours cat yet is deathly allergic to them??

he nearly scared you one morning when you were woken up by jeno’s teeny screams from around your house but turns out he was just riding on the cats back

you ended up having to take care of him for two days since he got super sick

you tried to scold him but he was still on the high from being up so high so he's just like

“okay I'm sorry I won't do it again (｡◝‿◜｡)”

goes on random junk food hunts around your kitchen, can be found eating half a dorito chip in your cupboard at 3am mood

has a newfound love for asmr’s & if you ever lose your phone, worry not because jeno has it & is watching; long nails tapping different objects for two hours, no talking, only sounds

also looooves dancing so he likes free styling with jisung by the radio & gets all shy & blushy when you compliment him

jaemin;

lives in your shirt pocket because its 1) close to your heart & 2) very warm in there & 3) doesn’t have to leave your side!!

loves you v much & expresses it by leaving little pecks on your fingertips :’)))

likes to sleep on your fluffy plushies because its super comfy to him

his favourite is obvi ryan

fave spot is standing on your counter doing the best he can to help you bake sweet treats

imagine him standing holding up a whisk attempting to mix the wet ingredients with the dry ones but ending up falling :((

bub gets sad because he's afraid he messed it up but gets happy again when you set him on decorating the cakes :)) he’s super concentrate & even goes as far as to write your name best he can with icing

if its long then he just writes ur nickname

likes to spend some of his free time reading books

the first time you were really confused on why your english book standing on its spine, had pages opening randomly

turns out it was just jaemin being an intellectual

you end up helping him flick the pages tho after he gets a paper cut :(

he really milks it tho like

“oh no y/n my hand is in pieces, I think im dying ε-(≖д≖﹆)”

but once you give him a hello kitty bandaid & hugs he's okay

chenle;

likes to sit in the palm of your hand & talk to you about how your day went & about how his day went & the birds he saw in the sky today & how he likes ice cream & basically it’s him babbling away to you

but you don't mind it, he's so endearing :’)

goofiest little man, tells you random jokes he heard on the radio & gets all smiley when you laugh at them, even if they're not funny

makes you play dominos with him but by the time he's gotten three standing up, you've got the whole thing set up

doesn't stop him from pushing the first one down and shrieking in delight when they all fall in sync aw cute baby

he also watches some KUWTK w/ haechan as he loves the drama & he picks up the lingo

“hey lele have you seen my phone?im so annoyed I can't find it”

“omg there are literally people dying y/n ੧| ‾́ー ‾́ |੭”

you end up banning them from watch it

even tho he’s small he eats a loooott

he will eat an entire bowl of ramen if you let him & you try to stop him but all he has to do it be like

“please let me eat it all y/n i wont get sick i love u uwuଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧”

“oh of course you can you cutie here you go (n˘v˘•)¬”

he ends up with a tummy ache, again so you’re looking after him, again

not that you mind, he's the babiest of babies (˵¯͒⌄¯͒˵)

jisung;

can be found sleeping on top of the fluffiest make up brush you own

sleeps everywhere, likes sleeping under your carpet??

when you try waking him up he just falls back asleep in your hand :,))

if he's not sleeping, he's free styling by your radio and you can't help but record it

swears he doesn't like your slime yet you've had to help him out of multiple sticky sticky situations because he got too excited playing with your strawberry scented slime

watched one episode of gordon ramsay & swears he's the masterchef

“aii that’s not how you fry the rice! you need to wait until it sizzles dude do you even know what you’re doing?!”

you set him down in the timeout corner

but he’s just chilling like

“if I get food poisoning its your fault (｡･･｡)”

picks up the local whiteboy lingo after he listens to his “lit asf playlist”

will randomly say aye & start nae naeing to you like, tapping your pen on the desk when you're studying

won't admit it but loves when you cup him in your hands & sway him from side to side & he trusts you enough not to drop him

also has a weird habit of surfboard in the sink with a barbie surfboard & tells you to blow on the water so he can “surf”

you do it tho because his little giggles fill your heart

bonus; imagine all of them in little onesies of their fave animals & little cute hoods ♡✧。 (⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

#nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct au #nct dream imagines #nct headcanons #nct dream au #nct dream headcanons #kpop #Kpop imagines #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #renjun imagines #haechan imagines #jisung imagines #chenle imagines

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nyappyforeverbr · 5 years

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100 Questions&Answers: takuya MEMORIAL ARTIST BOOK

In addition to several photos AN CAFE Memorial Artist Book also brought an interview and a special questionnaire of 100 questions with each of the 5 members. Here is the translation of the 100 questions with takuya’s 100 answers.

Translate: Japanese>Portuguese by Hiyori Portuguese>English by Shiro 001 How many sushi can you eat? Around 10 pieces 002 Which sushi's ingredient do you like? Seriola (a type of fish) 003 If you have to eat something until you die, what it would be? Curry 004 Which kind of lamen do you think has the strongest flavor? Cup Noodle 005 What do you in like in a hot drink? Coffee 006 Which mixture do you think most matches rice? Shogayaki 007 What flavor of chewing gum do you like? Mint 008 What flavor of candies do you like? Honey 009 Soba or udon? Soba NOTE: Soba is a pasta made from buckwheat and udon is made from wheat only 010 Of your whole life, what was the most painful experience you've ever faced? (referring to physical damages) When the guitar amplifier fell on my foot 011 One part of body that demonstrates more confidence? The fingers. 012 What do you think about old times? Those properties of the kings that stand at the bottom of the forest 013 If you had won 100.000 yen what you would make? (Around 900 dolars) Would put in savings 014 And about 100.000.000 yen? (Around 900.000 dolars) Would invest 015 I know this is kind out of reality, but if you could have a wild animal, which would be? It would be a penguin (because they are cute) 016 To Cook, wash clothes, clean the house. Which one do you do better? Wash clothes 017 If you were going for a walk with your girlfriend, where would you go? I would go to the hot springs 018 Where would you spend your last days of life? (If you were an old man where would you want to live?) and why? In the same region where I live (it was love at first sight) 019 Is there anyone you consider to be the strongest person in the world? Cats 020 An anime character, manga, etc. that you consider to be the strongest? Goku 021 If you could turn into some anime character or something like this, who would you choose? Kankichi Ryotsu 022 First CD you bought? (Probably) Apollo from Porno Graffitti 023 Your preferred winter song? “Promise” by Kohmi Hirose 024 Your preferred xmas song? Last Christmas by Wham! 025 Forgetting that you were part of a band, if you were about to start one, what would it take? And why? A bass (because of the sound of the background strings is really cool) 026 And what would be the name you would choose for the band? Nondakure band 027 If you went to a desert island and could only take three things, what would it take? 1.Survival knife 2.Practical guide 3.Book of how to eat plants 028 Do you know how to swim? Yes 029 Something you would never want to happen? Having to eat natto 030 If you were a child, how would you like to be called? I wanted it to be something seasonal. 031 Do you speak when sleeping? If yes, talk about something already happened to you. I grumble 032 If it was your last day of life, what would you do? I'd like to drink in my house 033 What was the longest time you could stay awake? 24 hours 034 If you could become someone important in history, who would you be? Babe Ruth 035 Do you use a lot of emoticon on LINE? Have you been using LINE lately? Mentori 036 What's the biggest lie you've ever told? I got a cold and missed the rehearsals (but I actually got a hangover for 2 days) 037 Write the kanji that you think represents 2019 and why? 新 (for me this represents a new journey) NOTE: the kanji's meaning is: new, novel, latest, recent, modern, fresh 038 The most expensive thing you bought this year? A car 039 The most convenient thing you bought recently? A car 040 A number from 0 to 9 that you like more than others? 9 041 Your longest finger without the middle finger, is it your index finger? Ring finger? Or are they both the same size? My ring finger 042 The word you most speak? “Is this for real?” 043 At what time do you think "I'm being bourgeois"? When I go to a kaitenzushi and I grab more expensive sushis NOTE: Kaitenzushi are restaurants where sushis are served on a rotating conveyor 044 If you could have powers, which one would you choose? Teleportation 045 If there was a magic word that said things would happen, what would it be? It would be... Today I need... 046 If you have to choose a follow up for the curry what would it be? Cheese 047 Some kind of punishment game you'd like to avoid? Mimicry games 048 Do you like of a specific hour? Why? From 22:00 to 00:00 (this is the moment that “power” is concentrated) 049 How much would you pay for a T-shirt? Until 5,000 yen (Around 45 dollars) 050 Tell something you would say to you 10 years ago. Work hard 051 If it was 50 years ago, what would you be doing? Carefree 052 How could you imagine yourself 10,000 years ago? It could be in many ways and screwed 053 What is the first impression you have of each member of An Cafe? Miku: beautiful eyes; Kanon: like a older brother; Yuuki: a mysterious person; Teruki: a older brother with good character 054 If underwear could have another name, what would you call it? That 055 A live that you can not forget? The first time at Budokan 056 During those 15 years which member has changed the most? Yuuki 057 Do you prefer the traditional breakfast or bread? Bread 058 A teacher you always remember? Teacher Maki (Sennen DIVE!!!!, Atsuku Nare) 059 The most fun song in a live? Pusshin Purin 060 Where do you most like to do a live? Yokohama BAYSIS 061 A thing you most buy at a convenience store? Chicken 062 If you were not an artist, which career would you choose? Employee of a company 063 Which city goes through your head before a live? Hakodate 064 A stationery item that you like? Pencil 065 An electronic device that you like? The Dyson cleaning machine 066 A person you think is erotic? I like the clavicle of beautiful people 067 What do you think of the vocaloids? I think it’s amazing 068 A TV show that you like? Netapare 069 What's the first live you've been? Of B’z band 070 How many pairs of shoes do you have? 4 071 What is your average time in the bath? 10 minutes 072 A mobile app you liked right away? App about the latest baseball news 073 Do you use a computer for what purpose primarily? Internet 074 What have you found funny lately? TT Kyodai (comedy duo) 075 Who would you most like to meet? Matsuko Deluxe 076 When you were a kid, who was your superhero? Toshihisa Nishi 077 The flavor of Umaibo that you like? Of mentaiko. Note: Umaibō or "delicious stick" is a small corn cylindrical snack from Japan. 078 An entertaining artist that you like? Chocolate Planet 079 First time you did a makeup? When I entered to An Cafe, I had to take some photos to promote the new members 080 Talk a little bit about your first live. It was at the Cultural Festival. Thanks to this I became a little known 081 Do you prefer night or day? Lately I've preferred the night082 When you can't sleep what do you do? I play mahjong on my phone NOTE: mahjong is a tile-based game that was developed in China 083 Not counting your part in the band, which musical instrument do you like? Keyboard 084 The oldest memory you have? I really liked "Harapeko Aomushi" I always taken away with me. NOTE: Harapeko Aomushi or "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" is a children's book written by Eric Carle 085 What color do you like? Blue 086 What is your favorite mascot? Tsubakurou 087 Where do you usually buy your clothes? I don't usually choose 088 Are there any manga or magazines that you buy frequently? I didn't buy any recently 089 How long you already waited for a person who did not show up? 10 minutes 090 How many times can you do sit-ups? 50 times 091 At this exact moment how much you have in your wallet? 12,500 yen (Around 112 dollars 092 Which Cocoichi curry do you think is the most spicy and the topping? Level 1 and about the topping none. NOTE: Cocoichi is a Japanese restaurant franchise specialized in curry 093 Subject at school that you was better? Geography 094 Subject at school that you was worst? Physics 095 What do you do before each live? I heat the fingers 096 What is the essential item for a live? Glasses 097 Are there any objects that you can not throw away? My wallet 098 What do you usually buy at McDonald's? Bacon Lettuce Burger 099 What do you use at bedtime? Some set (sweatshirt) 100 Leave a message to Caffekos It was fun! Thank you!

#an cafe #antic cafe #an cafe takuya #takuya #guitar #guitarist #an cafe interview #an cafe english #an cafe translate #cafekko #nyappy #visual kei #oshare kei #jrock #jpop #cute #kawaii #fan service

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builder051 · 6 years

Note

Sorry, if I may, I had perhaps a thought/question/suggestion for daredevil? I haven’t seen the third season yet, but so far I perceive him to be someone deeply self-destructive but utterly unaware of that fact. If this rings true at all, I imagine that the realization would hit him hard, particularly since he’s Catholic. If this were ever something you’d be interested in writing, I’d be interested in reading it, but please don’t feel obligated. I hope that things are going well for you!

No need to apologize for talking to me. As long as you’re not spewing hate, the askbox is open, and you’re not directly contradicting something I recently stated as a preference, I’m not going to explode at you.

I’m in the process of watching season 3 now. I’m really loving it. The whole thing with messing with Matt’s public image to getto him, I relate so hard.

This is an awesome prompt; thank you so much for sending it. I know you probably wanted something set in the present, but the way this started coming to me really had to be set at Columbia. I imagine Matthaving a lifelong struggle with self-harm, and Daredevil-ing is like a copingmechanism. I wanted to explore it before he went that route.

That said, this story contains self harm, but it’s vague. It treats the essence of the issue, not the details.

_____

The chicken or the egg.

It’s not a bad metaphor. It does a decent job of summing up the thought circles that are impossible to understand, but insist on baffling Matt anyway. Normally he’s perceptive enough to suss out the nexus of his issues, and if they’re worthy enough, address them at the source.

Not today, though. His head’s cloudy and throbbing. He doesn’t think it hurt so much when he first lay down on his narrow dorm bed, but time has given up on being linear. Matt’s no longer sure if it was the depression or the malaise that hit first. The chicken or the egg.

Matt’s thoughts aren’t linear either. Foggy insists on vegetarian fried rice when they go out for Chinese. “Because it’s weird, Matt. You can’t have the grown-up and the baby in the same dish,” he’d explained. “Isn’t there something about that in the Bible?”

Goats, Matt had told him. It’s about goats. But Christ declared all foods clean, and that’s why his followers don’t keepkosher. But Foggy grew up in a deli, so of course he’d see it from the other side. Funny how the realization only hits him now, when the thought of food makes his mouth water in a way that’s distinctly unpleasant. And lack of sustenance probably has something to do with the nauseous ache crashing around the inside of his head.

Matt lets out a dejected sigh and shifts onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. He knows his glasses sit safely on his desk, but he still feels the shadowy indents of the nose pads. It’s like rubbing his face in powdered glass. He wishes twin extra-long sheets came in a higher thread count.

Matt’s eyes start to water. Tears of pain pool beneath his eyelids and run out of the corners. The pillowcase soaks up the droplets and spreads them, creating wet spots that press against his brows and cling to his cheeks.

The dampness is cold, but Matt’s wires are crossed, and it may as well be burning. He smells the salt, the stress in his sweat, the sulfates in the laundry soap. His brain throws in the memory of burned rubber and sunbaked asphalt, and before he can stop himself, he’s on his back, kicking off the covers and floundering.

He can’t take this pain. He can’t find his dad. He can’t see.

But it’s coming through all wrong. He went blind first. Then Jack died. Right? And the migraines came later, at the orphanage. Along with the nightmares.

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Scratchy bedding, a roommate who only pretends to like him. But Sister Maggie likes him. She comes when he calls out to her. And when he calls out to his dad. And even when his brain goes primal and fuzzy and he yells for the mother he’s never even known.

Matt‘s throat is working, his vocal cords pulsing like plucked guitar strings. But he can’t hear the notes. He’s too disconnected, his mouth and ears too far apart. Matt rolls onto his side, dragging his knees to his chest and clamping his arms around them, squeezing himself into aball. He wraps his palm around the opposite wrist for good measure,sliding the chain on a door that’s already bolted.

But someone’s rattling the knob. Matt hears metal on metal, the scrape of a key. There’s a creak, then a slam, then, “Whoops.”

A couple shuffling footsteps. “Oh, hey, Matt.”

Matt flinches at the sudden influx of sound. He couldn’t hear himself groaning a moment ago, but Foggy may as well be speaking through a bullhorn. The jump in logic makes Matt’s temples throb sickeningly. But if Foggy’s here, then Matt’s definitely now. Pinpointing the x,y, and z of location on coordinate plane grounds him in the fourth dimension too, even though his math classes haven’t taught him how to do that yet.

A bitter taste pools under his tongue. Matt swallows to slow his racing heartbeat. He takes a breath.

It’s 2009.

He gets a whiff of candy corn coming off Foggy. It’s October.

The streetlamp hums outside the window. Matt can smell beer, too. And Vaseline. A hint of latex. It’s the middle of the night. He’s definitely in college.

“You ok, buddy?” Foggy flips on the overhead light. The fluorescent bulbs sizzle to life, and Matt’s stomach flips, bubbling like a cauldron of vomitous witch’s brew.

“Fine,” Matt croaks. He lifts his head an inch from his still-wet pillow and loosens his tightly wound posture. His hackles are still up, but Foggy’s buzzed and blissful. He doesn’t need to worry.

“You sure? You were in bed when I left,” Foggy says. “And that was, like… early.”

“Hm.” Matt’s hand is wet, too. He wipes it on hissheets.

“Party’s still going on, if you wanna drop in. I’ll go with you. It’s…” Foggy laughs. “It’s a good party.”

“Nah.” Matt’s senses are going off again. He smells metal. But that could just be the nausea crystalizing in his sinuses.

“You really should. If you’re just sad, you should get up. Do something.” Foggy’s uneven footsteps approach Matt’s bed. “Come on.”

“Not sad.” Matt means to add some more detail, like the building migraine, the rising urge to throw up. He means to add the just, theway Foggy did. He doesn’t mean to lie.

“Yeah, right.” Foggy grabs Matt’s wrist.

“No, Fog—” Matt isn’t expecting to be pulled out of bed. And he isn’t expecting searing pain to lance up his arm.

“You’re not— Jesus, Matt!” The exclamation comes across suddenly as Foggy’s fingers find the half-moon scratches on Matt’s forearm. Surprise ups the spit and anxious vibration in his tone.

For a second, Matt’s lost again. But then the blocks stack up. The memories, the hurt, the cycles of illness he has trouble labeling as physical or mental. It’s happened before. It makes a sick sort of sense, made sicker by the fact that Matt knows he deserves it.

“You’re not Jesus.” It’s clear it’s not what Foggy meant to say, but his friend runs with it anyway.

Matt makes a cynical noise. His mouth is too dry and wooly for him to force out more than one syllable. If Foggy’s contradicting something, it didn’t come from Matt’s lips. Even if his head hurts enough to make that kind of gibberish a real possibility.

“You don’t have to suffer. And, god, I can’t believe you did this to yourself.” Foggy doesn’t want to touch the wounds anymore. He’s sticky with Matt’s blood. Matt can hear him bouncing the pad of his index finger against his thumb, repeatedly breaking the seal as the viscous fluid starts to dry.

Matt’s going to tell him he didn’t mean to, but Foggy makes to walk away. Matt decides it’s not worth opening his mouth. He turns inward again and tries to talk himself through relaxing the tension in hisneck.

He doesn’t expect Foggy to swoop back in and pull him out of bed by the shoulders. “No, no, Fog,” Matt protests, attempting to push him away while also being conscious of the facts that blood is running freely down his arm, and he’s perilously close to vomiting. “I—my head—”

“Cut it out, Matt. You’re depressed. You’re bleeding!”

It’s the middle of the night. Foggy can’t be dragging him to the campus health clinic. Matt’s clearly in no shape for a party. He gets a mental image of himself sitting on the bathroom counter, slumped against the mirror, explaining in broken sentences how this is not an intentional act of self-flagellation while Foggy applies Neosporin and Band-Aids.

But they’re not going to make it that far. They’re not going to make it out of the room. Matt gags and claps his hand over his mouth.

“Shit.” This time, Foggy interprets correctly. He shoves Matt into his desk chair and thrusts the trash can into his lap.

Matt coughs harshly. He heaves up a dribble of bile, then waits for the room to stop spinning. He’s definitely dehydrated. Some simple carbs would probably do him good too, but Matt’s not ready to brave anything that will require chewing. Or anything with a flavor.

“Sorry.” Matt scrapes his tongue with his teeth and wills them to stop chattering.

“You didn’t have a headache when I left,” Foggy says, a little defensively.

It’s probably true. Matt doesn’t remember the details well enough to refute it. “I do now,” he murmurs.

Foggy sighs. “Yeah. You do now.” The mini-fridge opens and closes. He cranks the top off a bottle of water and nudges it against Matt’s hand. “Here. Rinse. I’ll get you back to bed. And put something on those scratches, if you want.”

He thinks about it as he swishes the water and spits it into the trash. The wounds themselves don’t hurt. But the drying blood itches.

“Or I could go, if you’d rather…” Foggy waffles.

Matt’s taking too long. Foggy doesn’t want to leave him alone, but he’s going to come out and say it.

Matt hates that he does this to himself. He hates even more that he’s ruining his friend’s night. But, truth be told, he doesn’twant to be alone either.

“Sure,” Matt finally says. “You can stay.” It’s too demanding. He quickly revises. “I mean…you should. I want you to stay.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #netflix marvel #daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #avocados at columbia #avocados at law #sickfic #migraines #emeto #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #depression #angst #self harm tw

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sabraeal · 6 years

Text

Get Up Eight: Chapter 1

An expansion of this Edo Period AU snippet, River of Silk

The incense is cloying this close; the scent of agarwood threatens to choke her, to leave her gasping for air if she doesn’t open the thick curtains drawn around the kamidama. A punishment at the hands of the gods themselves.

Instead, Shirayuki kneels.

The lamp burns steadily above, its light spilling off the shelf to fall, muted, to where she sits. The scent is less here, almost pleasant as long as she’s on her knees. As long as she’s showing deference.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, hands reaching up, up, until her fingers flip the latch over the sacred mirror -- the latch her grandfather had set so many years ago, when her mother was just a child, when he had built this with his own hands, to show that they were townspeople now, that they weren’t poor farmers --

There’s no shinkyō inside. It’s only books, only the last of her precious treasures, only her last memories of the time before.

Even now her fingers tremble as she holds them. The last of her dreams, held in rice paper and foreign parchment. A match, a careless hand, and she would lose even these.

She’s already lost too much. She can’t bear any more.

There’s just enough light to read by, for her to squint as she turns the delicate pages. Lines sprawl across the page, like nothing more than trees with endless branches. Shinkei, one book says, zenuw, say another. Nerve, she mouths to herself; the English word she knows from asking ship surgeons. She’ll know all of them, one day.

“Shirayuki!”

But not this one.

“Shirayuki!” Eno shouts again, knocking his cane against wood, gravel scuttling beneath his feet as he tries to peek in a window. “Shirayuki!”

“What is he thinking?” she huffs, cheeks flushing. She hurries to squirrel away her books, her notes. They can’t be left them out here for anyone to find. “Does he want someone to hear him?”

She scrambles to her feet, flipping the latch on the kamidama to hold her treasures safe. A breath of relief, and then she is rushing to the window, throwing open the shutters.

“Eno-san!” She doesn’t dare lift her voice above a loud whisper. “There’s no need to shout!”

“Shirayuki!” His mouth widens into an insensible smile. “Are you open?”

She glances toward the sky, the sun disappeared behind the roofs but light still golden. “No.”

“Ah, come on, then,” he cajoles. “It’s hardly much before dusk. Might as well open a bit early, if there’s asking!”

Her mouth purses into a thin line. She already works late into the night, ushering the drunks home only hours before dawn. Must she be expected to do more, to be available at all hours for a man’s pleasure? She did not risk so much to live a yujo’s hours anyway.

But she can’t shout her thoughts into the streets, not when there might be dōshin around, watching the old drunk make trouble. “All right,” she relents, “just this once.”

“Bless you!” he calls out, drawing more eyes. “Bless you, girl!”

She hurries out to the front, cursing each blessing Eno lays upon her doorstep. He’s a kind man, an old friend of Oji-san’s, a man she’s known her whole life -- but he’s the sort who must always make a scene, who must make a production of himself. It had been funny when she was a small girl, when he was only a whirling, mad uncle who would turn every moment into mummery.

Now he is a liability. A danger.

The door slides open easily in her hands, allowing him to stumble through.

“You are a golden child!” he tells her, nearly bowling her over. He already reeks of sake; some of the foreigners must have plied him with it, thinking it a fun game. She sighs, peeking out past him to see what attention he’s garnered.

The street is not busy, not before nightfall, but there’s always someone. With the foreigners in the port, there’s always some samurai prowling, looking for an excuse to make the tension worse.There will be violence here, one day, a massacre -- already, barely months ago, a Russian sailor was murdered three streets away, cut down by Japanese steel. Sonnō jōi is a wave, a tsunami, and one day it will break on Yokohama.

No one is particularly interested in this scene however; a drunk man in Yokohama can be seen on every corner when the ships are in. Still, eyes latch to them before skittering on, pretending they never looked.

Except one.

Gold eyes fix on her, steady, set in a face that might as well be a mask for how much it gives away. His hair is shorn, covering his skull like a bristled cap. It was cut all at once, she knows, maybe evened in some still water’s reflection; the look of a man without a master. She’s seen it enough these days; she hardly needs to take in the blade slung at his waist to know just what he is.

“Ronin,” Eno spits, catching the line of her gaze. “There’s too many of them here. Samurai too. Too many hot-blooded young men in one place spells trouble.”

Shirayuki doesn’t mean to stare, but there’s something about him that draws her eyes like a flame. There’s a scar just above his eye, a pale slash on his dark skin. Dangerous, that says, as does the gouge on his chest, bared through the loose wrap of his kimono. It’s a wound that might have -- should have, by her guess -- killed him. And he displays it proudly, like a trophy.

She doubts the man who gave him it is alive

“Maybe the shogun was right to place the sword ban,” she breathes, tearing her eyes away, She can still feel his on her. “Less steel will make it safer in the ports.”

The ronin’s gaze slips over her, and he passes, no more than another man with a blade.

“No,” Eno says, his speech clear. “It only makes men desperate. Like that one. A whole city full of desperate men.”

Shirayuki stares out on the street, empty now. Another street over, she wouldn’t even have to imagine it. She hears you can smell blood on it still, when the sun beats down.

“Forget about that!” Eno says suddenly, back with his old drunken swagger. “Come on now, let’s give a drink to Jiji.”

“To Jiji!” the men roar, cups lifted. One of them -- the youngest, Roku-san’s middle son -- traipses to the bar. He’s quiet out of his cups, a wary thing, but now he saunters up to the golden Buddha that sits, contentiously, at its center. A sliver of serenity in the chaos that is the sake house.

The wave might take this from her too. The sake house sees mainly regulars, men who knew her grandfather, grandmother, and even mother, but those who aren’t cast dark eyes at the statue, gazes slipping off it as if it is unclean. Sonnō jōi is to expel all foreigners, even, it seems, saints.

And Shirayuki will do anything to keep her head above water.

Her patron is all smiles now, tipping some of his sake into the offering cup clutched in golden hands. Shirayuki grimaces. It’s tradition she knows, meant to honor Ojii-san, but –

But it’s another task she’ll have to do, cleaning the Buddha, making sure there’s no sticky sake left in his cup. Another reminder that if she doesn’t mind herself, this could all come tumbling down.

“Another!” Kino-san -- the Elder -- laughs, waving his hand. “The night’s not yet done!

Shirayuki nods, hurrying into the pantry to grab another bottle; behind her she hears laughter, hears one of the men say, “Might as well go grab it yourself, Kino, save the girl the trip! It’ll be yours anyway.”

She nearly drops the flask. That’s not -- she’d refused him, his offer of protection. She knew what a precarious situation she was in, how all it would take was a curious dōshin to bring it all down around her, but --

But she wouldn’t take a man’s kindness, just because their grandmothers had been close, just because their mothers had called each other sisters before one had married beyond herself.

If she must come into marriage with a man, it would not be on her knees.

“Ah, no!” She turns in time to see Kino -- the Younger -- flush, to see him wave away the teasing. “It’s not like that. Shirayuki -- Jiji has this well in hand.”

“Ah, right.” The atmosphere of the bar becomes somber; more than a few eyes linger on the Buddha, on the cup he clasps.

“Come on, girl!” Eno-san calls out, jovial, trying to raise the mood. “Hurry –“

The bar goes silent when the doors burst open, revealing red coats. Foreigners. British.

“Well, well!” says their leader in English, a young man with a lop-sided smile and dark hair. “Don’t let us stop you.”

Raj has come to the sake house every night since his ship has been in port, and it feels as if it will never sail again.

“You’re not like the other girls here, Shirayuki,” he drawls, the consonants of his English crisp, the vowels sharp. She doesn’t know much about accents – hardly more than it takes to find out if a man is English or American – but his men don’t have the same. She’s sure he’d call it educated, but by the way his men send him long looks, she guesses it is more moneyed.

Perhaps that’s the same, in the West.

“How would you know?” she says, letting her voice sound teasing but not flirtatious. He already sees too much into the way she talks with him. Foreigners always do. “None of them speak English.”

“S-some of them do!” he blusters, pale skin flushing red. “Isn’t that right, Sakaki?”

“Of course, sir,” his manservant deadpans, eyes hooded with what she assumes is exhaustion. He’s older than Raj, but lower rank. She suspects this has more to do with birth rather than competence.

“I mean, of course, that you speak so well,” he continues, as if the man had never spoken. “You’re clearly a league above the other girls here, when it comes to intelligence. Why, with that red hair, you could almost pass for British.”

She hopes her grimace looks much more like a smile than it feels.

“Our ship leaves at the end of the week, you know,” he says, finger tracing the rim of his cup.

She hadn’t known, and it’s only through practice that she manages to keep the relief off her face. Soon he will be gone, and some other foreigner will come. Hopefully someone who prefers pining rather than flirting. Maybe someone French; she’s been meaning to pick up that language too.

Her thoughts distract her, she doesn’t realize his hand has moved until it’s on her wrist, thumb rubbing over her pulse. The blood in her veins turns to ice.

“It would be a shame to leave such a treasure as you here,” he says thoughtfully, tugging her closer to the bar. “We aren’t supposed to bring home souvenirs, but no one will say me nay…”

There is a part of her that is tempted. Here, there is no chance of her getting to study, but across the sea, she had heard there are women doctors. Not without pain, not without strife, but Shirayuki is used to both.

All it would cost her is herself.

“I cannot,” she breathes, “my grandfather needs me here.”

“I’ll pay him,” Raj promises easily, as if he’s never wondered where money comes from. “More than handsomely. A bride price any proper girl would be proud of.”

“Bride…price?” The term is strange, though she can guess what it is, from context. He couldn’t possibly –

“I couldn’t marry you, of course,” he laughs. “But you’d be the best kept mistress in England, aside from the King’s himself.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “No, thank you.”

She tugs at his arm, but he yanks her closer. “I’m offering you a life beyond dreaming, Shirayuki. A way out of this backwater country. Come with me, and I’ll show you how civilized people live.”

“I said no,” she gasps, pulling away, but he just holds tighter, his grip nearly painful.

“If you know what is good for you,” he growls, words clipped, “you’ll come with me.”

She grabs for something – anything – to make him release her, and –

And Grandfather Buddha slaps him across the temple, sending him tumbling to the floor, sake offerings staining his coat, his face.

The bar is quiet.

“I said,” she says, raising her voice, “no.”

The laughter crashes down with a roar, native and foreigner alike. On either side of the ocean, a spurned man is ridiculous

Raj scrambles to his feet, shaking himself. Sake sprays off his jacket, his trousers, and it only makes them laugh harder, grown men nearly in tears, leaning on each other to stay upright. Even Sakaki’s lips twitch at the corner, though he remains his master’s stoic shadow.

“You!” Raj growls, back hunched, teeth bared, more an animal than man. “You’ll regret this, you little whore.”

As the curtain swings shut behind him, only Sakaki following him into the night, Shirayuki certain he is right.

It’s the shouting that rouses her, that makes her lift her head, but –

But it’s the glass breaking that gets her out of bed.

It’s all gibberish for a few minutes as she rights herself, and but then she realizes it’s English, it’s Raj’s men outside shouting whore and worse. A rock crashes through her window, breaking the wood slats and --

And, oh, she can’t stay here. They’ll kill her.

Her hands shake as she throws clothes on; there’s not time to worry about propriety, not when any moment they could break through the door, the high windows – even the walls themselves, if they’re angry enough. She manages, just barely; her kimono lies askew over her juban, and her obi is just barely tied, but it’s enough, enough, and she moves to flee --

But then she smells the smoke. They’re carrying torches. They could set the sake house alight.

The latch of the kamidama is hot against her palms, and she flings it open, collecting the precious treasure within. The last of her hopes, her dreams. They’re the only thing worth anything in this whole place, save for –

The Buddha.

There’s no thought to leaving it, not now that she remembers. Not when it will be the first thing looters take, thinking the gold real, thinking there’s more than just wood beneath.

They would not like being right.

Shirayuki sprints into the bar, ducking under the windows so as to not be seen. Wood litters the floor under her feet, glass and stone as well. They’ll destroy this place to get at her, to make her pay, to force her onto that ship if she still lives. They’re practically pulling boards off the walls, but they haven’t broken through yet.

She cradles Buddha in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “I’ve ruined everything.”

There’s only one place to go.

Kino-san opens the door himself, eyes bleary. She thanks all the kami it’s him, not his parents.

“Shirayuki,” he says, eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

He would have made a good husband, had she been the sort of girl interested in being a wife.

“Kino-san,” she breathes, aware of the Buddha tucked against her chest. “I have a proposition.”

Her pockets are heavy as she steps out into the streets. The kimono she wears isn’t hers – that one is smoke-stained, ruined, but Kino-san’s mother was eager to dress her nicely, to put her in the sort of silks a wife of their house could enjoy. It’s beautiful, makes her look like she’s a woman to be reckoned with, instead of one without a home to go back to, with only what her life is worth in her pockets.

She can’t stay in Yokohama. Even if Raj’s ship leaves today, he’ll be back – a year, two? Enough time to build, only for him to raze it again.

She won’t live in fear. She won’t marry to be safe, to protect herself from a man who won’t let her say no.

Where will you go? Kino-san had asked her after she refused him again. It’s not accusatory, not angry, just -- concerned.

If only she knew how to make herself love someone. It would be so much easier.

None of these samurai will take her. They ask to see her father, to know where her gold comes from. That, or they eye the wisps of hair from under her wrap, or their gazes linger too long on the folds of her kimono.

There are men who are too expensive, and those who are too…expensive. She can pay in coin, and she knows some of them will not be happy for it.

By mid-day her feet hurt, her legs tight from mincing about in this fashionable kimono, and she is no closer to leaving than that morning. She’s desperate, and –

Desperate.

There’s at least one other man in this city as desperate as her.

“Samurai-dono.”

Gold eyes sweep down to meet hers. Up close, he’s smaller than she remembers, but still tall. At least average.

His kimono still gapes, still shows off his scar. He scratches it.

She does not wince. Hopefully.

“I have a proposition for you, samurai-dono.”

The key to negotiation is to pretend you hold the power. Oji-san always told her that.

“Six ryo if you bring me to Kyoto safely,” she says, her hands not even trembling around the cup. This past year has been an exercise in acting; this is just one more small performance. “Well, samurai-dono? Do you accept the terms?”

He’s a slovenly man, and when he slips his hand down from his face to hide in his kimono, she cannot hide her distaste. He’s not shaved recently; stubble prickling his face, though she must admit it lends him and air of…ruggedness she does not precisely mislike.

His mouth lifts at one corner, wry. He thinks he has humor, this ronin. She’s yet to see evidence of it. “Sorry to say, ojou-san,” he says in his smooth voice, “but I’ll pass on this one.”

Her gaze flicks up to his. This isn’t right. He’s desperate, more rib than meat. He can’t possibly pass up six ryo. It’s a fortune. “Is it the money?”

“No.” He grimaces as he takes in his sake. She’s surprised they’re selling it this early, but this ronin is not a man she’d care to cross in her own house. The man probably just wanted to keep him happy, less likely to make trouble. “It’s that you’re lying to me.”

Her heart pounds, her cheeks flush. “T-that’s not true. I’ll pay you half the ryo now, and half when we arrive in Kyoto.”

“Where did a girl like you even get so much money?” His eyes trail over her, no spark of interest in them. It’s a relief, as well as an insult. “Can’t be in the brothels. Are you running away from a marriage?”

Her mouth works, trying to find some reason to give him, but –

But she hears Raj, kicking up a fuss about the whore inside. “Samurai-dono,” she whimpers. “Please. Take me to Kyoto.”

His eyes narrow. “What’s in Kyoto, ojou-san?”

Nothing. He can’t know that. “My – my cousin.”

It’s a likely enough story, no reason for him to doubt it, but he remains incredulous. “I don’t think --”

“Let me in!” Raj demands, throwing – something. She flinches. He’ll find her, just sitting here like this. With another man. He won’t think it’s just business, not a man like him.

“Ojou-san --?”

“Please.” She wants to be big, be strong, but she’s so, so scared. He’ll kill her. He’ll strangle her right here while everyone watches. “Please take me from here.”

There’s a moment, an eternity, before the ronin speaks.

“Come here.” He grabs her wrist and yanks.

She’s not prepared; she stumbles into the table, and that in turn sends her sprawling into his lap, bottom pressed improperly to his front.

“I –“

“Play along!” he hisses, and then – then –

Then he puts his hand down her kimono.

Never has she been so – so manhandled, and he worsens it, jostles her to that her legs fall open, so that she tips against his shoulder, then – then –

He put his mouth to her neck.

“Sound like you’re having a good time,” he purrs against her, and she – she feels strange, feels hot –

“Oh-ho-ho!” she shrills, like the geisha she’s seen flirting with custom in the streets. She hopes.

It’s not. “Not that kind,” he snaps, and then –

Oh. Oh, oh – that is – that is his mouth, and it’s – his tongue is there too, and there’s sucking, and she cannot – it’s not –

“You, ronin!”

Oh, that’s – that’s right. She’s – she’s hiding from Raj. She’d forgot—

His hand shifts; no longer is his palm pressed awkwardly against her breast but cupping it, long fingers holding her with far more delicacy than she’d expect from a man like him. The way he positions her over his crotch, though – that she expects.

Raj stamps his foot, incensed. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you!”

The ronin looks up, gold eyes cold as coin, and stares blankly. Perhaps he doesn’t speak English; very few speak it as well as her.

“Have you seen…?” Raj lets out a huff, a growl, impatient as always. “HAVE YOU SEEN. RED HAIR. WOMAN.”

His only answer is to bring his mouth back to her neck, worrying at a spot that makes pins and needles break out over her arms, her legs.

“Why do I bother? Sakaki!”

Shirayuki dips her head as his companion appears, hoping her face has not flushed more than is seemly for some – some yujo, or whatever this ronin is trying to imply about her with his antics. Between the two of them, it would be Sakaki who would see through a ruse. She may only be red hair and green eyes to Raj, but not to Sakaki.

Raj thrusts out an impatient hand. “Ask this man about Shirayuki.”

“Excuse me, samurai-dono?” he intones softly, his Japanese as impeccable as always. “But have you seen a young woman with red hair?”

She is more disappointed than she ought to be when the ronin pulls away. “I haven’t seen any foreign women.”

“Not foreign. From Yokohama. Green eyes as well.”

The ronin’s face grows thoughtful – he may not have seen her hair, but her eyes, those he could not miss. She came to him because he was desperate, because she though a bag full of ryo would speak louder to him than pride, but –

But Raj could offer so much more, and for far less effort.

Shirayuki can’t – she won’t allow that.

How she makes the moan she’ll never know; it hurts her throat to be used in such a strange way, but both Englishmen stumble back, propriety offended, and the ronin –

It’s can’t be heat that she sees in his eyes. Not for that.

“No,” he says, so even, even as his thumb flicks out, rubbing right over her – her –

It makes her flush even to think about, squirming on his lap as a strange heat pools between her legs.

“Tell him to look in a brothel,” the ronin snaps. “I’m busy.”

Raj makes a scene, of course, and it’s nothing to sneak out the back, though she hesitates not to leave coin on the table.

“If it make you feel better, that man would have sold you out if he knew what was under your scarf,” the ronin tells her, cold, before moving past her.

It’s a fair point, even if it leaves a limp knot in her belly. She follows him.

It’s not a long walk to the back, to the alley behind the sake house, but her cheeks are still red with shame, her face flushed with heat, and --

And he had no right to use her like that. As if she were -- were -- some kind of yujo.

“We should go over my terms --”

Her hand snaps out before she can help herself. They both stand for a moment after she’s done, stunned.

He looks up, and her hand pulls back, ready to try again, and –

And he grabs it, giving her a long-suffering look.

“Don’t – don’t do that again!” she stammers out, cheeks flushed. “I’m not – I’m no yujo --”

“I know, ojou-san,” he says, both soothing and stern at the same time. “I was saving your life. Or maybe just your virtue.”

She doesn’t want to think about what would have happened had Raj found her, had this ronin decided to give her up. “I…know. Thank you. But…think of another way, next time. Samurai-dono.”

His laugh is harsh. “I’m no samurai, ojou-san.”

She’s not stupid. “I know. What else should I call you?”

He hesitates. “Obi.”

She nods. “Obi-dono.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Just Obi.”

“All right,” she says. “just Obi. We should...finish our conversation. Not here.”

“Not here,” he agrees. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“I...” It’s a terrible idea, but unless she wants to pay for an inn tonight, it’s what she has. “I do.”

#obiyukibingo2018 #free space #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Get Up Eight #samurai au #edo AU #my fic #ans #the amount of tabs I had open for this were UNREAL #my knowledge of japanese history is very basic #but HERE WE ARE #for the people who wanted more of this #there will probably be a second chapter for bingo as well #to get that actual samurai AU space

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jocy-diaries · 2 years

Text

01.25.2022

Feeling a bit weird today. I think it might be because of the medicine but I might also just be really freaking thirsty. I think I’ll drink water instead of taking coffee today. And I got a response from the DM to make my character a cleric~ He said yes but he seemed a bit wary, and I don’t blame him. I almost want to give a caveat of ‘Feel free to kick me off the team whenever you need to’ just in case. I feel like that’s just good manners you know? I think I need to sleep more. I haven’t been prioritizing sleep and it’s making my whole day go weird. Need to be better. Will be taking a nap today. Took a nap and that helped. A bit. Maybe I feel bad because of all the buttered toast and popped rice I’ve eaten. That also checks out.

The little mutt came and knocked on my door, snuggled up with me, then led me to take her outside (๑′ᴗ‵๑) she’s so precious~~

Could you imagine if I ate something and felt better immediately?? That would be so funny. But nothing sounds good right now. It’s so funny, because when I take notes I take notes of everything right? Even if it might not be important. And I added in my work notes the gossip my coworker gave me about our manager not liking one person but working with them. And since my manager came back we had to share her into the files and my coworker went “You gotta delete that!! Stop being such a good librarian!!” And it was very funny~ Although I feel like I need to go through all of my previous notes and make sure I didn’t write down any gossip by accident (*´・ｖ・)

Wow, it’s as if your body needs the basic things such as water, rest, and food on a regular basis. Who would have thought. Okay,so I left work an hour early to sleep and now I owe it two hours. Sigh. But worth it, I felt so dead. I really need to wash like, everything. I feel like such a mess.

And I spoke with he DM and got my cleric approved and all of my questions answered so yay!! Now I can work on the backstory piece and make it entertaining since I’ve got two weeks~ Also got to work on my other character’s two day downtime. I think she’s gonna try to throw a party maybe… We’ll see. I think I’m figuring out how to play her better and how to do each spell.

Apart from that, honestly haven’t done much today. I did okay at work minus the whole leaving early to sleep thing, did my written role play, and got my character sorted out. I’m making sure to get ready for bed at 11:30 so I can sleep by midnight because we are Not feeling like death again, I won’t allow it. And we’ll have to do some homework stuff tomorrow. And I NEED to clean tomorrow too. It all feels pretty plateau right now, so hopefully the rest of the week goes well and chill~

#january 2022 #dear diary #01.25.2022

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valkyriearchieves-blog · 6 years

Text

Prototype 24

Here’s a little short I wrote regarding a quick oc I made for the movie Logan. Prototype 24 is basically a precursor and failed experiment prior to the wolverine clone. They failed in making her without a soul like him so they have her just as a tracker for the lab. Here’s her and Donald Pierce and how she got her name. I probably won’t do more work with her, just throwing some of the stuff I’ve written out there. Constructive criticism and comments are awesome.

—

“Can I get out, too?” Prototype 24 asked with a small smile, exposing her shortened canines. Hope glistened in her amber, cat resembling eyes. They had stopped at a gas station which also happened to be the only place they’ve stopped since early this morning and she was sore. The mutant sabertooth in her had to move, she was active. Being cooped up too long was bound to make her ornery eventually. Restlessness was already settling into her bones.

For a moment, Pierce just looked at her and she stuttered under his heavy glare. “U-uh, please? Sorry…” She was quick to apologize, as she wasn’t joking and was actually serious. The only time she ever apologized was moments of legitimate seriousness, which were rare occasions for her.

Donald just casted her the same look through his tinted glasses, lip lifting up almost in a confused sneer and exposed his golden tooth. “Why you askin’ me?” He half mumbled, southern accent heavy in his voice. He shook his head with a sigh and hopped out of his truck, metal hand slamming the door shut. He wasn’t the doctor, maybe if she was rowdier and broke things more often like she did with the doc he would need her to ask but so far she seemed well behaved.

Clara sat and just stared at the door for a moment, clearly perplexed. “Is that a yes or…? No?”

“Get out, Sabercat.” He barked at her as he pulled the gas nozzle away from the gas pump and put it into his truck.

Her heart suddenly raced with excitement as she hurriedly hopped out, jumping down and stretching her arms above her head with a yawn, tongue curling and a growl leaving her throat. She rounded the vehicle, running to get the blood in her legs going again. She caught the scent of gasoline in her nose and wrinkled it as she stood next to him.

Pierce just looked at her a moment as he stood there. Her expression was almost comical. “Don’t like that gas, huh?” He sniffed. Sure the smell was ok to him but he couldn’t imagine how it was to her and her mutated, heightened senses.

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s gross. Can I go look inside?”

“Look inside at what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know… Just to look I guess.”

Pierce just stared her down for a moment, mulling the question over and sighing. “Yeah, I guess. So long as you don’t touch anything or mess it up.”

Again, that hopeful smile appeared on her thin lips. “Okay!” And she quickly ran off, leaving Pierce sighing and shaking his head again. She was like a curious ass kid in some ways and sometimes he couldn’t deny that she was cute as all hell, even for a damned mutey. He’d never admit that though. Not even to himself.

Prototype 24 practically burst thought the gas stations doors and was immediately met with a multitude of scents first. Faint gasoline, people and some sort of salty… Buttery kinda smell. It was enticing, but she ignored it. She wanted to look around anyways.

“Hi, how are you?” She heard someone behind the counter say. It was a man, bald and with glasses and he smiled at her as if she knew him or something.

She gave him a sideways glance, brows furrowing. He still smiled… Did she know him from somewhere? “Uh… Hi?” She mumbled with a bewildered tone and stared him down as she began to make her way down an aisle. “I-I’m okay.” Her feet kinda stammered in accuracy to her mental confusion. The man wasn’t at all familiar, why was he being so friendly?

The young mutant just shook her head and finally looked away and began making her way down the shelves and away from the man. She started looking at some of the sunglasses on the display case, she found a pair that looked like Dons and was tempted to take them but she had to behave. Taking things was called ‘stealing’ apparently. Donnie said not to do it…

She made her way to the furthest aisle and started looking at colored boxes with pictures of steaming rice on them, then pictures of breaded chicken on some. She wondered how they fit whole chicken drums in those tiny boxes… Her index fingers nail grew out, sharpening to a point as she was tempted to rip it open and look, but stopped as she heard the bell on the door jingle. She looked back and saw Pierce and remembered she wasn’t going to mess anything up or touch anything. She almost forgot…

Quickly her claw retracted and she placed the box back.

She watched as he exchanged a couple of words with the clerk, “Hey hold on, I’ll pay.” She wondered if he knew the man or not. He definitely was friendly to him, too.

He stood there and pulled out his wallet and Sabercat just looked away, distracting herself with more colorful boxes and delicious pictures. Soon, a metallic hand was on her shoulder as she was looking at the frozen section. She didn’t peel her eyes away, the pictures were enticing.

Little bars of candy like chocolates and caramels, some stuff like peanuts and cookies all on the front of these little lidded tubs in the freezer.

“Whatcha lookin at Kitty cat?” The man drawled in her ear and sniffed a little as he rubbed his eyebrow. “Ice cream?”

She made an exaggerated 'o’ shape with her lips. “Ooooh is that what this is?” She looked, wide eyed still. “I’ve never had it.”

“Yeah that’s ice cream.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “ ’s not too bad.”

She nodded a little wishing she could try it but there was always another time. He followed her as she wandered down the aisles, heading back to the counter where he herded her. She was still fixated on the pictures and soon just had to ask as she spotted a bright red canister. “What’s that say?” She pointed to it.

Donald just looked at it and sighed, forgetting that she couldn’t exactly read. The programmed her to not have a soul, which it failed, but obviously they weren’t going to put in the ability to read with a soulless mutant clone. “Uh… Pringles. They’re like chips.” He sighed.

She then nodded and pointed to a green canister seconds later. “What’s that say?”

“Still Pringles.”

“Wha… Why are they different colors?”

He could have laughed at that. Something about this was still just a little funny to him. “Cause they’re different flavors. Red ones regular and the greens sour cream and onion.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh… Onion. That sounds like a gross combo. People eat it?”

He scoffed. “Yup. I gotta go pay, hold on.”

Prototype 24 nodded and just looked at the shelves some more. Soon she got to the action figures section. She recognized some of the action figures from other few stores shed been to before. There was one that always stood out to her. It was a woman, clad in leather. She had sharp claws like her, and she looked fierce and beautiful. Deep red hair flowing down her shoulders like a wave. She just studied it for a moment and soon Pierce was by her side again. “What’s that say, Donnie?”

Donald leaned down a bit to look at the cheap little off brand action figures, it was fragile. It could break if you dropped it just once. The picture was tacky too, not well drawn but you got the point that it was some kinda cat like woman. “What’s what say? The name?”

She nodded.

“Clara, ’s the name of the action figure I guess. Why?”

“I like it… Call me Clara.” And with that she smirked up at him and he jutted out his bottom jaw and nodded.

“Clara, huh?” He started to walk to the counter. “Yeah, I guess that works…” And from then on Prototype 24 was referred to as 'Clara’ sometimes 'Clare.’ He was the only person that called her that and she was ok with it. So long as someone knew her by something other than the lab stamp she was given.

#logan #donald pierce #fanfic #short #Clara #cute #mutant #sabertooth #fluff

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gwensparlour · 7 years

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My entry for @yurioniceficexchange for @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin. Sorry I lost my ispiration so the fic is very short, but for once I wanted to fulfill my assignment. I hope you can appreciate it the same.

The hero’s adventures

It’s a quiet evening, with Yuri sat between Otabek’s spread legs and head leaned back on his shoulder. He’s still holding the TV remote, finger lingering over the “STOP” button, while on screen Ice Princess is still unrolling. They have arrived to a scene where the protagonist is transforming spin and jumps into complicate equations.

“You know, reminds me of when JJ borrowed a pair of skates from the girls’ division,” Otabek says, absentmindedly. He’s scrolling through his smartphone, not truly paying attention to the movie.

Yuri stops the video, turning his head just enough to watch his friend in the eyes. In his there’s a sparkle of curiosity, blended with concern and, Otabek be damned, even a little bit of jealousy. Most of all, however, Yuri seems enthusiast to hear something about the fallouts of his lifetime rival.

“I didn’t know you trained with JJ,” he starts, brow frowning in a way that Otabek never falls to find adorable. Yuri has indeed these perfectly arched and long eyebrows that punctuate every of his facial expressions; then he wrinkles his nose when he’s angry or concerned. Just like a cat would do.

“It’s been only for a few months.”

When he’s about to turn fifteen, Otabek spends some months side by side with JJ, an obnoxious Canadian guy a year older than him with maybe too much confidence for his body. Jean-Jacques at sixteen already knows what he wants in life and is determined for everybody else to follow his path.

“It's all a question of physics” is saying one afternoon, mater of factly. Not even done with his sit-spin. When he finally comes to a halt, mouth stretched in a knowing grin, he reiterates the concept.

“See?” he points out before a truly dubious Otabek, “You have to reach the right speed and then it's easy!”

“You're always too slow,” he continues, taking a step forward and posing a hand on Otabek shoulder as an experienced counsellor about to reveal the secret of the world to his pupil.

Otabek raises an eyebrow. Well, he can't raise an eyebrow, but if he could he would do it right now.

JJ’s ideas are, if good, suicidal. Not that he isn't good, but it seems that the only thing he's determined to pursue is his style. He would rather break a leg after a wrong jump than admitting to be wrong.

“Now, listen to me, you' take speed and I'll tell you when start spinning,” JJ proclaims, completely ignoring the coach that on the other side of the rink is shouting something about not doing any craziness.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” once again Otabek attempts to dissuade the Canadian from his purposes, but JJ waves away his concerns and without further warning grabs his wrist and starts skating full speed, forcing Otabek to keep the pace.

Now, the rink is quite big and quite empty, but still the sensation is that the Canadian boy wants to crash right against the barrier, this fast he’s skating right in its direction. A little girl step aside just in time not to be crashed into.

“Now!” shouts JJ finally letting Otabek’s hand go. But he’s made his calculation wrong, too carried away to play teacher to actually consider his own speed. In the end, while Otabek has indeed reflexes quick enough to actually force his body in a spin that in the end, he has to admit, turn out quite nice, JJ doesn’t. So he falls onto the rice, crashing against the barrier with the spin momentum.

After a moment of concern, with the coach running to their side to check if the Canadian is still in one piece, it seems obvious it was more the scene than the actual damage. JJ is sat crossed legged on the ice, absolutely quiet as if nothing has happened.

“See, told you it worked!”

Otabek can’t help but grin.

Watching Otabek when he’s deejaying is a wholesome experience for Yuri, from the moment he saw him the first time in such environment in a local in Barcelona. As much as he’s captivating when on the ice, it’s clear that Otabek is never fully free or himself when skating. Here, however, he’s deep in his element. From the slight tilt of the head in tune with the music coming from both the headphones and the music boxes to the shimming of the shoulders. His hands are splayed on the the deejay console when he doesn’t rise an arm above his head to involve the shouting crowd.

“When did you start?” Yuri asks later, gulping down his bottle of water because the disco club was indeed hot and crowded. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. Otabek makes a wondering sound, hand firm on the gear, as he drives on the still sleepy roads of Almaty. It’s still dark outside the car windows and Yuri shifts a bit in his sit, sleepiness starting to build it into his body after a day of training and a night of dancing.

“You can blame or thank Leo,” comes in the end Otabek’s reply.

Leo de la Iglesia is a year older than Otabek and trains with him for little more then two years. He’s a nice guy and the fact that he isn’t blessed with any particular talent makes Otabek like him just a bit more. Mediocrity understands mediocrity, one could say. This is partially why the day Leo invites him to go out with a little group of skaters to have fun in a club, Otabek actually accepts.

And he has fun too. So much fun that he ends backing up the DJ at his console to the point of taking charge of some pieces himself.

Then, not even a whole day after Leo is knocking at Otabek bedroom door, waving a CD and begging for some music remix. The original one hasn't enough passion, apparently, and he absolutely needs it for his upcoming SP at The US nationals. Otabek sighs, scanning Leo from head to toe. He truly hasn’t time for editing music He had never truly actually remixed music, more comfortable with the DJ console than with a music edit program opened on his laptop. “Please!” pleas Leo, anticipating whatever answer Otabek is about to give. “I don't have the time,” Otabek says once again, and it is true. Both his free and short programs are still too sloppy to be presented at international level, the music doesn’t convince him completely, and overall his skating lacks identity. Staying up at night remixing music wasn't in his programs at all. How he ends up having assured for the piece to be ready by next Monday, Otabek doesn’t know. Maybe Leo's puppy eyes are more dangerous than it seemed. It is funny, actually. Or, it is terrible but a terrible you actually have fun remembering.

“And was it good?” Yuri asks, opening the glove compartment for checking for some candies to chew on. Otabek laughs over the music from the radio.

“No, it was so bad it would made your ears bleed, but it was a nice experience. And it was from then I started to study how to edit music.”

“Guess I have to thanks Leo de la Iglesia, or I wouldn’t have that great piece I used for my exhibition!”

Yuri is nervous. A whole day of delay wasn’t planned and they should already been in an hotel in Chicago instead still in mid-air somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. Then nobody was expecting a sudden snowstorm over Almaty to disrupt the normal flight traffic. And Yuri is muttering under his breath about how visiting Otabek at his rink for the weekend has been a very stupid idea and it will surely cost him the podium.

Above his head a screen announces there are still four hours to reach destination, while the night sky shows itself out of the window.

“At least the competition is tomorrow. It’s not like you’re going to skate in an hour?” Otabek throws, in an attempt to ease Yuri’s nervousness. The other lifts his gaze from the nail he’s been torturing up to now, tilting his head a bit to the side so that Otabek can whisper his anecdote without disturbing the other passenger.

Traffic jam can be a pain in the ass.

“You know, watching the clock wouldn’t help at all!” Leo snaps when Guang Hong communicated that the competition will start in half an hour and with this traffic there is no way they can make it in time. Apparently there has been some kind of unexpected accident somewhere around five kilometres ahead, causing a chain reaction back to where the car is advancing slower than a turtle.

“I guess we should say goodbye to it.” “I’ve told you it was better to take the metro!”

And so on!

As the other two keep bickering at each other, huffing “I’m right” under their breath with arms crossed over chest as a shield, Otabek is paying more attention to the coach asking the taxi driver if there is an alternative road. They weren’t even late, but who in the world could imagine it would take an hour to cover few kilometres.

“There was one, but as you see I’m stuck,” the taxi driver explains, pointing out how the first available turn is only three cars ahead. “But you see that palace?” – the coach nods – “if you turn right there and then turn left at the immediately following corner you can be at the Sports palace in no time.”

There is a moment of silence, interrupted only by the cracked voiced coming from the auto radio with the disheartening news about the traffic situation, before the coach announces: “That’s it. We’ll go by foot!”

A moment after they’re running, bags bouncing against their hips and suitcases with the costumes rattling on the pavement.

“Did you make it in time?”

“Almost,” Otabek answers, fingers intertwined with Yuri’s in the space between the plane seats. “But luckily they had changed the schedule, so our show was postponed,” he explains, remembering the look of disbelief on Leo face when at their arrival to the rink they had discovered the show had already begun. The emotion had turned into relief when a quite small and quite angry woman explained them how they were moved in the second half.

“And I would suggest you to take a shower!” she concluded, shaking her head at their dishevelled aspect.

“The hero of Kazhakistan secures his fame with a silver at the Four Continents,” Yuri reads the headline from an online newspaper on his mobile phone, laptop opened on his knees as he Skypes with Otabek.

“Looking forward to see you at the World,” the boy replies, playing with the medal in his hands. “Anyway, have I ever told you who was the first to give me the nickname?” he continues, chin posed on his open hand.

“No, tell me.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow, looking down at Guang Hong who was jumping like the floor was made of boiling lava. After having offered the same show to Leo and another boy whose name Otabek cannot remember, Guang Hong is posing him the question he has asked the others.

“Are they tight enough?” Guang Hong questions, lifting a skate and wiggling it under Otabek’s nose. The laces are loose, one about to untied.

The movement forces him to bend his back, all his weight on the other food. Guang Hong spreads his arms to keep his equilibrium, but there are little drops of sweat on his brow and a slight tremor in his limbs.

It takes just that hint of excessive weight on the wrong side for the boy to lose his hardly found balance and slip. His butt would surely have had an unwanted encounter with the hard floor, if Otabek hadn’t shoot his hand forward to grasp Guang Hong’s wrist. He yanked forward, the movement sending him to crash against the unforgiving ice.

Otabek groans.

“No, they aren’t,” he chocks out, Guang Hong gentle weight on his belly. The Chinese boy scrambles to his feet, lavishing him in apologies.

“You save my life! You are a hero!” Guang Hong exclaims, more concerned with expressing his gratitude in a deep bow than in tying his laces. He falls twice again in a row before he actually ties them.

“So you’re a hero?” Yuri teases Otabek.

“People says so,”

“Oh, I know it well,” Yuri laughs, before leaning forward to blow a kiss to the screen. “You’re my hero.”

#yuri on ice #otayuri #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky

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theficdoctor-blog · 7 years

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Creative Writing Do’s and Don’t’s

Warning: This is the Editor in me that’s speaking. It’s going to be harsh, but when you’re writing, harsh is what you need.

My first creative writing instructor gave us an exercise on the first day of my Intro to Creative Writing class. I swear on my life this exercise will improve your writing instantly. If you just want the list, click the “keep reading”. Open a word document. Write down a few genres. Write down some clichés that makes those genres what they are and include a highly-genre’d example with it. Write as many as you can. Here’s a small example to build on:

Romance (Twilight)

The love triangle

“Their tongues battled for dominance”

The inevitable misunderstanding as a final attempt to inject drama before the resolution

Fantasy (Jupiter Ascending)

A highly detailed world/history

The chosen one

A super special important treasure/artifact/prophecy

Mystery (Scooby Doo (the live action movies))

The ”dun dun DUUUUUN” moment

The film noir style

The assistant who contributes just enough to the mystery so the detective can have all the glory and figure everything out in its entirety

Done with your list? Good. Kiss those vapid love triangles goodbye, send your needlessly convoluted history away, and dump the “dun dun DUUUUN” moment. They’re all USELESS until you learn how to properly twist them into something you can stomach. Relying on clichés kills creativity and promotes laziness. This list is highly condensed and should be used as a bare-bones reference.

When you write your stories...

DON’T:

Use clichés.

Unless you can mutate a cliché well enough to make it original (/make it your own), avoid them at all costs. They are writing suicide.

Fall in love with your work.

It’s important to feel pride in your work, but every word, every sentence, every phrase has to earn its keep. If something isn’t helping the story, cut it out; it’s useless and wastes the reader’s (and your) time.

Drench your work in purple prose.

Purple prose and excessive imagery are for prose poetry, not fiction writing. Purple prose doesn’t do anything but stroke your ego. Take, for instance, this sentence: “Luna felt her gasp caress her dainty trachea similarly to how her father cradled her in his strong, loving arms on her blessed and most anticipated day of birth, making her also remember the way, Reggie, her first boyfriend would lovingly embrace her under the moonlit glow and the cherry trees deep in the sticky, heavy summer nights of her teen years.” Chill. If you can’t say a sentence in one breath, it’s not worth keeping. This is an exposition dump. The reader has to drag their feet through it. It slows the narrative down to an agonizing pace. Just say “she gasped.” There’s no shame in using simplistic language if you know how to use it. For instance, gasping is a fast movement. You want the reader to feel the fast movement—that’s why it’s best to just say “she gasped.” She shouldn’t be stuck in a gasp for ten minutes.

Put your first draft on a pedestal.

I don’t care if you’re Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, Shakespeare, Karen Russell, or Anne Rice; your first draft is always awful. Edit it, polish it, love it, commit to it. If that sounds like “too much,” then you’re gonna be stuck with writing crap, and I don’t ever wanna hear “I wish I was a better writer,” because I’m telling you right this second that you’ll never improve if you always accept your first draft as gospel.

Dump exposition on the reader.

There’s always going to be at least one writer that forces their character into a soliloquy about how “their entire village was burned down by thieves and murderers, and only they were left standing because their sainted mother tucked them away in a magical tree trunk which was blessed by whatever deity is in charge of this world.” OR, alternatively, “James climbs into Reggie’s window one day while Reggie is working at the coffee shop, finds Reggie’s diary, and reads about how Reggie was tragically in love with his twin sister before his abusive father killed both his twin sister and his mother before his eyes, and that is why Reggie is always so determined to find happiness in everything around him because he can’t bear to think back on the horrors of his past without going into seizures or spasms.” Let things unfold organically and at their own pace. Let characterization tell the story, not your general plan.

Rely on misunderstandings.

I swear that misunderstandings can be a whole sub-genre in itself for how often they’re abused. Usually, misunderstandings are used so James and Reggie will get angry at each other, Luna has to point out that they were both wrong, and James has to run through the airport after Reggie’s train (security be damned) with tears pouring down his cheeks in a desperate attempt to get Reggie back (who also dramatically brushes tears from his eyes) before he flies back to Idontknowwhereizstan for forever.

Focus on death (for the pure enjoyment of making your readers shriek “NOOOO”).

It’s lazy. It skews the stakes of your story, making all the other stakes boring. EVERYONE kills off their characters. No one’s “evil” or funny for doing it. It’s become cliche. Either start a story with death or eradicate it altogether because what’s important is the aftermath—the character development. Never ever focus on death. I don’t care what a saint little Suzie is; she’s not allowed to die from her terminal cancerheartattacklupusitis until you’ve made her human. And even then you’re not allowed to end the story with her dying either—Reggie has to be there at her bedside with the chocolate cake she’s been dreaming about having for six years. And you have to show that aftermath.

Use the same voice for every character and the narrative.

I know it’s very tempting to use the long-winded, intricate tone of The Whimsical Author, but I assure you that giving all your characters and narrative that voice will indeed hammer the final nail into the coffin on your writing career. I don’t care how smart The Author of Whimsy sounds, the Monty Python Babbling is way more interesting and varied. Your characters are ideas. You breathe life into them. They take on life of their own. If you use the same voice for everything, you’re telling your readers you can’t write worth a damn but you know what sounds kinda pretty.

Shove your characters in a corner.

This is one of the most common causes of writer’s block. If you’ve shoved your characters in a corner, you’ve stripped them of their organic movement. Characters will move and function on their own. You have to let them breathe and meander; that’s what will ensure that you’ll get a great story out of them. I don’t care how much you want James to sob and throw himself into Reggie’s arms so Reggie will save him from the school bully and also kiss James. James isn’t that kind of person. James is too prideful.

Use “(s)he felt…”

The best way to kick your reader away from their screen and scream “YOU’RE READING A STORY WRITTEN BY ME, SOMEONE. I EXIST. THESE ARE JUST CHARACTERS. YOU’RE READING SOMETHING FAKE” is to use “(s)he felt,” or “(s)he heard,” or “(s)he smelled.” It’s best to just outright state the feeling, sound, or smell rather than insist the reader see everything through the characters’ eyes. You want to draw the reader in. How can you do that if you constantly remind them they’re scrolling through AO3, trying to find more fics specifically about James and Reggie ignoring the canon and falling into each other’s arms five sentences in? “Heat radiated from his hand,” “The oven timer shrieked,” and “The scent of charcoaled biscuits filled the room” yank the reader into the scene to stand beside the characters and watch them up close.

Rely on adverbs.

The adverb is the lazy writer’s way to generate description. Take, for instance, this sentence: “Reggie scarily placed his hand by James’s head and glared at him.” Yeah, you shoved Reggie’s anger in our faces, and we have no idea what James is doing. Instead: “Reggie smacked his hand against the wall, snatching James’s attention away from Luna.” We don’t even need Reggie’s glare to know he’s mad in this context. This way, we can explore a greater range of emotions by carefully selecting our words based on connotations and speed. Jealousy, panic, varying attentions, varying reading speeds, and so on.

Use the “dun, dun, DUUUUN” moment.

I’m serious about this one. Nothing makes your story quite so flimsy, clichéd, and cartoony as the “dun, dun, DUUUN” moment. I’ve seen this moment plenty of times in workshops, and every time I have to struggle to be nice and say “maybe that makes your story seem a little clichéd. It’d give it more depth if it were open-ended or more realistic.” Don’t get me wrong. These were not incompetent writers by any stretch of the imagination. They just didn’t know what to stay away from sometimes. Writing this infamous moment into your story is the equivalent of euthanizing it and ensuring it looks like Floops’s Fooglies from Spy Kids as it goes down.

Use whatever tense or POV you want whenever you feel like it.

You can absolutely use 2nd person present tense for your story, but realize that, that sort of craft element is best kept to flash fiction-length stories. A reader (unless they’ve read Homestuck) will have a hard time reading 2nd person present tense for 12 chapters. 3rd person is nice and easy. 1st person allows you to cheat your way towards better inner-reflections for characters. Present tense indicates a sense of panic (it disallows moments for reflection). Past tense allows you to take your time. Whatever you decide to tackle, make sure you choose the right tense and point of view and stick to it. You cannot jump to whatever tense you feel like every other paragraph; there has to be a reason.

DO:

Let the characters lead the story

Time and time again I’ve seen writers get frustrated because their characters won’t conform to what they’ve planned. We forget that our characters are not dolls to play with. It’s good—GREAT, even—when your characters create a clear path for themselves! Your character knows their story. Let them guide you through it.

Remember that a writer records their characters, not forces them.

It’s hard to get a story to feel natural, yes, but if you just sit and watch your characters, they’ll tell you what to write. You don’t have to put a ton of brain power into it; it’s instinct. Keep your hands off that steering wheel. Just scribble down exactly how James’s nail taps against the wheel in frustration as Reggie leans his entire upper body out the window to demand the name of that corgi sitting on the sidewalk.

ALWAYS write literary realism.

You’re banned from genres. You have to write literary realism now. Literary realism is a record of characterization and of life progressing naturally. No clichés allowed unless you can spin them. If you can realistically see your character fitting in a Saturday morning cartoon, you’re doing it wrong.

Give your characters idiosyncrasies.

“Idiosyncrasies” boils down to odd habits and gives a lot of character with little effort on your part. This is an example of letting the character lead the story. If you don’t know enough idiosyncrasies off the top of your head, go people-watching. Why do they act the way they act? Why would Reggie cry when presented with chocolate cake? Why would Luna click her car lock button precisely four times every time she leaves it? How does James drink his soda? Why would a chin lift from Reggie make his dog instantly protective?

Be patient.

The tools you have at your disposal are versatile and vast. You have so much more to work with than you know; it’s overwhelming. Take some time and get familiar with your style. Be patient, you’ll get it.

Set deadlines.

It’s hard for me to write every day so I write one chapter every week. You must do this to keep your tools sharp and strong. It also helps to look up writing exercises (specifically from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley; obey that word count.)

EDIT. ALWAYS EDIT. ALWAYS. EDIT. ALWAYS.

I can’t stress this enough. I don’t care if that sentence is the best one you’ve ever written. Take it out if it doesn’t help your story. I don’t care how nice the word ‘paraphernalia’ is, your 5-year-old character won’t know how to use it appropriately; it’ll throw off the reader. It’s not gonna make the kid seem smart; it’s gonna stick out like a sore thumb and announce that you have no idea how characterization works. If you’re not gutting and re-gutting your drafts, you’re not doing it right. Sometimes you have to break it down to dust and rebuild in order to make it perfect—in order to make it something you can be proud of.

Remember that every first draft is garbage (don’t worry about it).

If you can’t start your story or chapter, just write garbage (this works for school papers, too). Just write the worst first draft you can. It’s always easier to edit a physical document than it is to write something perfect from the ground up. It’s also a huge time-saver.

Write when you feel inspiration hit (because there’s no guarantee it’ll stay or come back).

Write your story from the final scene all the way back to the beginning if you must. The order doesn’t matter (of course this is why you always edit). You’ll never be in a constant state of inspiration for a scene. Write it while you can. You can adjust it to fit in your story when you get there.

Use active voice (don’t fear the simple sentence).

Passive voice makes the reader drag their feet. Using “Reggie was placed on the bed,” “James was stopped by the door,” and “I’ve been told by Luna that my writing has been lacking punch because taking my time is what I insist on doing so I have the ability to show everyone how annoying it is to read slowly” will absolutely burden your reader. It’s okay to use passive voice when you do want things to slow down (maybe during sensual scenes or silence/drama-heavy moments), but using active voice makes it easier on the reader and picks up the pace. “James placed Reggie on the bed.” “Luna smacked the door in James’s face.” “Luna said my writing lost its punch, but I just wanted to show the active voice’s benefits.”

Start your story at the beginning.

Whenever I open up a story, I scroll past the first few paragraphs because the author spends that long telling me what happened with James’s beloved pet cat he had when he was two and how it coughed up hairballs in his tiny shoes, and it is never mentioned again. Or, the author will spend the entire first chapter dumping all the history of their universe on me, so I’ll have to skip to the next one in order to get started. I don’t need your history in the form of a textbook—I don’t want it like that. I want to see it expressed through the characters. I want James to say, “Reggie, you can’t park your bike there. It’s illegal on west-facing streets” rather than see a full chapter with this kind of detail: “Back in the crisp Fall of 1952, there was a gang of 15-year-old bikers who kept the town soaked in fear. Eddie Haskell, the Two-Faced Town Tattler, was the ring leader, picking off people he saw unfit for the image he had for his town. Always, they’d park their bikes along west streets, facing their handlebars towards the sunset to indicate the day when they’d finally burn the place to the ground. This is why it is illegal to park your bike on west-facing streets.” Sure, it’s interesting, but it’s got nothing to do with Reggie and James, you’re never going to bring it up again, and you’ve wasted a paragraph (These things take up like 5 paragraphs usually). If you wanna talk about Eddie Haskell, then tell the story about Eddie Haskell, but if your story is all about Reggie and James getting over their pride and fessing up to each other, then start it there.

Incorporate the three imperative questions:

What are the stakes? Death? No. Get death out of your mind. Think deeper. What happens if the characters don’t get what they want?

What do these characters want? Ice cream, the world, Reggie. Anything. If you develop proper motive, it won’t matter what they want.

What’s the character’s motive? James wants ice cream because it’s hot out.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve exited out of a fic because I just didn’t care. “James killed Eddie.” Okay. So what? I’m supposed to care because James did something shocking? That’s it? How about: “In a fit of fear, Reggie smacked the offered chocolate ice cream cone from James’s hands. The two stared down at the wasted dessert as Reggie’s mind edged back to reality. James looked to Reggie with eyes filled with worry.”

We’ve got stakes (Reggie’s suffering), wants (James wants to give Reggie something nice and keep him comfortable; Reggie doesn’t want chocolate anywhere near him), and the motive (James and Reggie are friends; they care about each other). Every character needs a want, a drive, and stakes in order to be a decent character—a character worth caring about.

Write flash fiction.

Writing flash fiction (stories varying from 100-800 words in length) has helped me tremendously with cutting out any word, phrase, or concept that doesn’t earn its keep. A flash fiction is not a chapter of something. It is a complete story. A flash fiction is a smack of a story or a blast of fireworks. The reader will only have enough time to feel the burn on their cheek or stare in awe as the fireworks disappear into the night sky. Do not use the “once upon a time” 794 words “the end” structure. Flash fiction doesn’t work like that. You can only write enough to get the idea out and developed. Write lots of flash fiction.

Read flash fiction.

Reading flash fiction (since it’s designed to be short) is easy and fast. Flash fiction is filled to the brim with symbolism and interesting concepts (which is what this specific writing form is for). I recommend snatching up Flash Fiction: 72 Very Short Stories edited by James Thomas, Denise Thomas, and Tom Hazuka. The longest flash fiction in there is probably just three pages long. The shortest, I believe, is just over half a page.

#This is just a basic overview #dos and donts of creative writing #advice #writing #creative writing #fan fiction #how to #how to write #how to write creatively #how to write fan fiction

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tobias4now · 7 years

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ADIRONDACKS

“Fuck, this doesn’t fit a human body!” I yelped as my body molded to the harsh contour of the chair

“Oh, shush,” my mother jabbered taking a long, slow sip from her mint julep, “I, think they’re lovely.”

She was talking about the Adirondack chairs that dotted the premises of this small, yet admired lakeside resort. They came in many different colors; sunshine yellow and a rich sky blue, pine green and a popular cherry-pop red. They were iconic here; all of the branding and logos for the resort somehow used the chair, it being a symbol of New England rusticity and charm. Set up in the dozens, they looked upon the various view. Atop a grassy hill , you could see the distant, soaring mountains of New York state, or the beach where the cool waters of the lake skittered in the breeze.

“And besides,” she continued, “Why do you have to ruin everything. Aren’t some things just . . . Nice?”

“Well these things are diagnosing me with early arthritis.”

She turned her head towards me. I could see the burning in her eyes even behind her sunglasses and cool, polite exterior. I could see the fuel and the steam and the sweat she was producing, the clenching of her tight, New England façade as she said, “We. Are. Here. To relax. Joseph.”

I could tell how mad she was because she used my full name - Joseph. Usually only referring to me as Joe, she would reserve my full name for times when I was being particularly unpleasant, like on this trip. Joseph. I always thought it was funny that she named me something so Old Testament. As anyone could attest, though not in religiosity but in spirit, she was clearly of the newer variety. From my perspective, this name, would reveal her for what she truly was, and that was something that she dedicated much of her life to hiding. She, my mother, was a Jew. And from the Christmas sweaters to our white plank wood house, it was clear to me that she tried all she could to hide this. I never knew why she was so ashamed. But all I knew is that she was, and her efforts were clear and direct.

“It is just beautiful. Isn't it?”

“Yes. It is.” The wind ran though us, an apparition, and then, the still and silent glory of the lake.

“Where’s your father?”

“Golfing, I think.”

“He sure loves golfing.”

“Yup,” I closed my eyes for a moment. The disjointed back of the Adirondack chair was beginning to saw away at my spine.

“I’m gonna go,” I stood up with a gasp and walked away.

“Make sure to meet us at the lodge for dinner!” She yelled doing her best Mrs. Brady impression.

I went to dinner around twilight. I wore a cowboy shirt that I got at a thrift shop in Brooklyn. Roses and ropes and other Americana emblems were sown into its shoulders, and wearing it, I had the satisfying feeling of parodying this whole patriotic establishment. My family thought it was strange.

We sat in a big circle, my father’s orange skin contrasting the harsh white of his seersucker suit. My mother sat elegantly on his side, and my sister, blonde, straight hair glowing in the dining room luminescence, sat at her side My aunt and uncle, and their triplet sons all sat together, all looking similarly nautical.

“Joe? What did you do today?” My uncle questioned.

“I, uh, I kind of lied by the beach for a little bit.”

“Relaxing?”

“Very relaxing.” I mumbled.

“So, Joe!” My uncle, fat and pink and plump as a potato chimed in, “You starting college this year?”

I could feel my mother’s body clench at that word – college. We’ve said it so much this past year, and now she had to face the reality.

“Well, no, not exactly. I’m actually gonna take a gap year.”

“A what?”

“A gap year. It's a year to work and figure some stuff out, and then, I might go to college.”

“He will go,” My mother interjected.

“You guys ready?” said a sharp, sweet voice from above. It was our waitress. She was beautiful. Her eyes deep and dark like a bubbling lagoon, her skin soft and supple, her hair in a thick braid down her spine.

“I think we are!” My father said rubbing his belly, “I’ll get the filet, medium rare.”

When it was my turn, I stuttered and looked down. I was scared to look her directly in the eyes. She was stunning, but I was embarrassed. I could only imagine her assumptions about me as she saw me sitting with this toddler sailing team.

Our food came soon after. And as soon my father saw the grey, overdone beef, I could already see him preparing how he would perfectly express his discontent.

“Hello?” he waved down our waitress, “Hi, yeah this is completely overdone . . . I said medium rare, right?” He was condescending and pompous. I felt an anger that she had probably numbed long ago.

“Oh yes, sorry sir. I’ll go check in with the kitchen.”

He waited a moment and then said, “You know some of these people that come from these island countries, I don't think they can always understand our English. It’s very different you know.” He said this as she was walking away, but I know she heard. His smugness disgusted me, how he could dehumanize her like that. She was so beautiful, fragile yet strong, and I knew that this was not the first remark she had heard like that. Come to think of it, she was the first person I saw that was not some pink or orange form of Caucasian in the whole resort. I wanted to throw my Shirley temple right in his face, redden his crisp new seersucker. When his steak came back, perfectly pink and red, I made a silent prayer that she had spit in his food.

My father golfed all day. So with daddy golfing with his brother, the rest of our family was largely left to fend for ourselves. Over the week we all found our routines; my sister would go to the kids camp to paint pots and paddle boat, my cousins would simulate killing games and my mother would close her eyes and bake under the lakeshore sun. I, on the other hand could find nothing to ease my overbearing boredom. I couldn't read, definitely could not write, and my few attempts at socializing with the other kids my age ended in these terrible awkward head nods, like I just walked in on something. So I kept my mother company most of the time, us jabbing at each other with our infinite insults and resentments. I loved fetching favors for her, just so one day she would owe me.

“Joseph, go get me a Julep please,” hummed my mother.

I sauntered over to the lakeside bar, where, to my horror, our waitress from the previous night was serving cocktails. I didn’t want to face her, yet I also wanted to more than anything in the world. I wanted to apologize and somehow elevate myself above my family that was less racially enlightened than I.

“Hey,” I beamed, “Can I get one julep, and one uh . . . White Russian?” I wanted alcohol and that was the only cocktail I knew.

“You have I.D?”

“Oh, shit, I uh . . . left it in my room.”

“Sure,” she smiled at me, scooping ice into a plastic cup. “White Russian. Hah! Don't get that order much these days!”

“I need something strong.”

“Oh why? Too hard to lie on the beach all day?”

“Yeah. Very relaxing. The Third Reich screaming into my ear all morning.” My cousins were playing a disturbing game of Germans vrs. Americans around the beach, their howls scraping our ear drums with their Germanic geibberish.

“I’ll give you that. That’s pretty annoying.” We smiled at eachother as she served up my special drink. I sat down at the bar. She looked me up and down and then laughed; “You clean up well.” She was remarking on my swim suit, the same one I’ve had since middle school. It was neon yellow like a traffic sign. On top of that it was pretty much a speedo at this point, my junk almost completely visible through its thin neoprene.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. You like my cowboy shirt last night?”

“Loved it! First piece of clothing without little whales all over it I’ve seen this summer.”

“What, you don't like our cool American style?”

“Cool?”

“Okay, maybe not so much.” I paused. “Where are you from?”

“Jamaica!”

“Oh Jamaica! I’ve been to Jamaica, it’s beautiful. Stayed in Montego.”

“Yeah it is. But not in the way you’re thinking.” She was cool and angry and beautiful. Her teeth shot at me with blazingly white light. I could tell she was somehow always rebelling against something.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s home and I love it, but it’s not the white sand hotels you know. We’re not just drinking dacharies all day.” Of course. I felt so stupid.! I must’ve sounded like the kind of American, imperialist, tourist asshole that I hate. “But no worries. I don't think you’re gonna be hanging out in the middle of Kingston either.”

“Who knows? I do love jerk chicken.”

“Bet you’ve never had real jerk chicken!”

“No, no, no, that, right there is where you’re wrong. Once a moth, my friend and I, we take the train all the way into the Bronx and we get the best jerk in the world. Better than Kingston I’m telling you. Rice, beans, oxtail.” She handed me my drink.

“Oxtail?”

“I don't play around . . .” I tried to look at her nametag.

“Joy,” she said.

“Joy.” We looked at eachother for a moment, the sun dancing behind her and her hands gracing the borders of mine. Her smile was sweet, her gums revealing themselves and her tongue in a perpetual dance behind them. I sipped my white Russian, all confident and smooth and immediately choked up a little.

“White boy can’t drink the white Russian, no?”

I laughed for a moment and then, the piercing bird call of my mother. “Jooooooooooe!”

“Oh shit, the julip.”

“Right.”

She threw it together in a second. Her movements were like magic. She handed the bubbling concoction to me as if she was dancing.

“I’ll see you later Joy.”

“Later . . . Jooooooooooe”

After our usual dinner, I ran away from my family and hid in my room. I couldn’t take it anymore -The pompousness and privilege of it all! The mashed potatoes and the steamed veggies. My father shooting the shit with his brother and my cousins and sisters prancing like cherubs as they clawed at their mothers knees like ravenous wolves. Their lives were incomplete and useless. They were so normal and comformative it disgusted me. I though of what my friends would say about this - Us, in our plaids and flannels and stained T-shirts - Us, listening to Joy Division like Russian scholars - Us, the artists and producers and actors and writers. Us, the haters of the mundane, the golfers and businessmen. They would hate me for being here. I hated myself.

As I tried to read in the lamp light of my room, I began to hear a rumbling and unusual stirring from my parent’s room. It was the zipping of a bag, and the befuddled and pathetic pleading of my mother.

He left in a hurry. And as their arguing continued I could hear my mother try harder and harder to hang onto to him– a plank of wood in a rushing river. And I could hear, simply in her tone, the crumbling of everything she thought important.

When my father came into my room, I turned off the lamp and pretended to be asleep. I could hear him sniffle as he wallowed in the image of my sleeping body.

“I have to.”

Later that night, I sneaked out of our hotel room to follow the dark and silent path to the lake. There, I sat, and watched over the bubbling black water as a great haze was cast upon the world by the pale-lit moon. I tried to write. Thinking that my bombardment with the kind of absurdist Americana that was the foundation for all great art would lead to my own prophetic discovery. In vain, trying to describe the orange of their spray tans, the crisp whiteness of their freshly laundered polos, ticky-tacky lawns and Marciano cherries. But, nothing came. It all sounded so trite and clichéd and my vision of having some miraculous epiphany in the night, deteriorated. All I was left was myself, the moon and the lake that waved in the wind like the American dream itself.

A single orange light illuminated through the dark nighttime. I turned towards it and noticed it as it grew bigger, connected to a hushing, slow moving figure. I smelt smoke. The smell of the case under my bed and the furious scrubbing with soap to extract the tar odor. The smell of my habits and my angers. But then, the smell of a woman. It was the smell of Joy, and I could see her white teeth as she neared toward me.

“Late night for the poet?” she said pointing to my worn out notebook.

“Not much of a poet tonight.”

“It’s late. Don’t you have to go home to mommy?”

“No, Mommy’s dreaming. No need.”

She sat next to me in the adjacent Adirondack chair. Sifting her hands through her pocket, then pointing one to me as she offered: “Want one?”

I had quit for a few months, but I was weak in the knees. “Yes.”

“What are you doing out here so late?”

“Just got off dinner service.”

“And?”

“And it was terrible. Nothing new. It’s a job.”

“Any racist comments this time?” I took a slow drag and then closed my eyes.

“Just two . . . Not bad.”

“How can you deal with it? I mean, you’re not only in America, already a racist shithole, but you’re in the last remaining ‘whites only’ country club?”

“Ehhh. I went to a catholic school back home. The girls I grew up with hated me for it. Thought I was too good for everyone. And I always liked reading more than dancing . . . I guess I’m used to being strange.”

“An outsider.”

“You too probably. Always an outcast.”

“Hah!” I laughed pompously and then took another swaggering hit. “You saw my mother!”

“A mother is a mother no matter what. Even if she’s just a woman.”

“”Easy to say.”

“No . . . Everybody hurts. Even the rich bitches I serve dacharies to, and sit on these fucking chairs. They hurt. Everybody hurts.”

“I guess.”

“Joe -”

“Jospeh.”

“Joseph”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let yourself suffer too much. Okay? I know suffering. And I’m not trying to sound all cliché third world romantic with you, but you can martyr yourself or learn to live. Don't crucify yourself. I have the scars to prove that it’s never worth it.”

“How do you know so much?”

“I’m a woman . . . ” She took another, solemn drag, “A woman knows everything.”

I turned towards her and kissed her. I could taste the tobacco dancing in our mouths, and I thought she was so beautiful yet so wise, and I never thought that that could exist. But it did. And it was her.

And we layed out on the grass, and our clothes got all soggy and wet in the our tumble towards earth. The night mist, and the sea breeze. The moon watching us, mourning. And as we fell and fell, over and over again, I saw the pale silhouette of the Adirondack chair. And though the light was dim, I could see the cracks. How the paint chipped in the wind. And how its form crumbled from time. And how even the nails dug into its foundation were rusted in dejection. And that’s when I knew how they must weep under the weight of those women and men, with the whole world on their shoulders. The summer like a pressure cooker, and the distant scream of time and life almost audible through the fence around our lives. And we fell and we fell, until we screamed. Until we died newly awoken.

The light in mother’s room was on, and the warm heat of her worry greeted me with a slow and dancing embrace. My father had left already, pursuing his victories in an airport terminal, and through the dim light of our room, I could see her cracks and the sky blues, sunshine yellows and cherry-pop reds of her medicine drawer strewn about the floor like marbles. And I could see her tears. And I could see that she was beautiful once, and maybe even is now.

“Where were you?” she begged.

And all I could mutter was, “The Adirondacks,””

And all I could think about was how we were in a world filled with fragile people that say and do fragile things. And Joy. A single totem in the waving sea.

A poem!

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templeofterrible · 7 years

Text

I didn’t ask for any of this. I mean I didn’t ask to be alive. We say that a lot, but if we hold inside our flesh some sort of immortal soul then it has been screaming not to exist since before I was born. Everything I can think of that would prevent this particular lineage, this time, that location happened. Despite that, I came to be.

I know I’m supposed to feel lucky. Instead, I feel like I agree with the forces that tried to keep me from happening. I feel like a single drop of water in a glass already bloated with water. I’ve felt like that since I could understand the concept, and I’ve been tormenting myself about what had to fall out to make place for me.

I look at it like there is a set amount of space, and each person who occupies more space is directly or indirectly taking space from someone else. In a perfect world, we all get the same size box with the same dimensions, but this is not ideal. We have people with acres of space spread across our limited world and some who occupy spaces barely large enough for their bodies to breath.

So I want the smallest space, if one at all. My suicidal ideation stems from that. It doesn’t help that I’m human as well. Just as human as the next person, and I want more space like anyone else does.

I began feeling guilty when I could look back and feel proud that I survived. I learned how to boil water and make noodles when I was 4 in order to eat, and I learned how to steal when I was 5. I learned how to stay hidden and how to hear violent tones of voice when I was 6. I learned people had too much, that they could survive without where I could not when I was 7. I learned that people were capable of killing when I was 8. I learned to stay quiet when I was 9. I learned nobody really cared when I was 10. I learned that none of this was normal when I was 11.

I learned and I acted. I kept myself alive. I just had the drive to stay alive, and I didn’t make friends. I learned that people flocked to you when you were funny. I learned how to be a bully, and the control that gave me in a group. I learned that even adults didn’t pay too closely if you did well enough in school, but not well enough to stand out.

I learned that appearances matter, but I never learned why. I saw people lie to protect the life I lived and I knew to be ashamed of it. It was my secret, and nobody was going to save me. I didn’t even want to be saved. In a weird way, I was happy.

I would go home and I would ask my neighbor for some rice and they would give me a whole bag because they don’t even like rice but their wife bought a whole bag. They didn’t ask, they assumed it was for my mom. She wasn’t home. She hadn’t been home in days. I didn’t bother wondering where she was. She showed up two days and three meals after all this. She didn’t say a word and went to her room. I don’t remember when I saw her after that. I was in our tiny kitchen that sat right next to the door. I sat on a tall bar stool that wobbled a lot and I watched a pot of water grow little bubbles in a circle on the stove. It always took forever to boil water on that stove. She didn’t look at me when she came in. I didn’t expect her to. I watched her from front door to bedroom.

Soon, the water was alive and noisy and I poured in rice that I had to put into drinking cups because the bag was too heavy. The whole bag sat in the living room, where I would sleep sometimes if I didn’t sleep outside.

I liked it outside. At this particular apartment was access to the roof. In hindsight I think I wasn’t supposed to be up there, but it had big metal boxes all over the place, and if I tucked in a really large blanket very carefully, I could even protect myself from the rain up there. The gravel wasn’t too comfortable, but I think I wanted to stay far enough away from my mom when she was home. The city was noisy at all times of the day, but there were tiny moments of silence and stars and just the sound of my breathing.

I was 5. I didn’t feel guilty then. For all I cared, I didn’t exist. A week after this particular moment, I stole a bag of chips from a local convenient store. It was the first time I can remember having chips, and I ate the whole bag. The next time I tried I got caught, and the cashier would always chase me out. I tried other places successfully, but from then I only stole essentials.

I really hate plain white rice. I hate watching water boil. I have grown to just hate cooking in general.

I’m really glib when I tell these stories in person. Haha, its over. I was just a kid. No worries. If I don’t, I know the listener is just suffering through. They don’t want to know, they don’t want to empathize. Why empathize with things that hurt? That is what they feel. They feel hurt... but what do I feel? In hindsight, it hurts. It hurts as a figure of my past that shaped a distaste in my mouth and a space in my head I can’t figure out.

At the time, I was a kid. I had friends and I would stay at their house. Families knew me, but I would wander in a neighborhood just past the block where I lived. I kept that secret, and maybe some of them knew because how smart could I have been? I was tiny and dumb. Clever, maybe, but just so dumb. I would learn that kids whose family had just a little more money than mine were pretty satisfied with thinking I was simply poor and asking no further questions. They would take me along on field trips sometimes, but mostly it was things covered by a church or something they didn’t have to field the expense. Which I understand. Nobody should have stepped out of their way.

Because, and here is where I was just the dumbest, I can’t remember a single time I allowed myself to display I needed help. It was my secret, my shame, and I was fine. I didn’t like pity. I cried when a normal kid cried. I laughed and I played. Nothing was happening at all, and I could dodge questions with the best of them. I was skinny, but I was also white so every family just kinda figured I should look that goofy. If I was alone and looked too young to be alone, I would say my parents were just out of sight but the knew where I was. Adults would remark I was well spoken for a child (I was mimicking their tone and language) and how independent and trustworthy I was (I was lying) and they would move on.

I’m glad I didn’t ask for help. I’m glad I didn’t show I needed anything. When my peers and I got old enough to personally attach themselves to others, I began to see how much space I was still occupying. At first, I felt this sort of arrogance. “Hah, I didn’t need any help. I didn’t need my mom or any friends. I didn’t need parents. Stop crying about your divorced parents”

I guess my imagination took off around that time. I imagined what the loving relationships people have normalized must feel like. I remembered how my friend’s family was around them. I needed more, so I spent more time with friend’s families. I tried to see how much “love” I could get from these people, and I never stopped that attitude of experience since. How much can I get for what I do not know.

I could suddenly empathize with the child of divorced parents. I watched and watched and watched until I understood why anyone else felt pain. I tried to use it to understand what I felt. What I felt was that I wanted to die and I didn’t know why. I was occupying too much space. I grew bigger and needed more things. I was asking for help and I just couldn’t do it anymore I just needed some help WILL SOMEBODY JUST HEAR ME FOR ONCE? I DIDNT ASK FOR HELP FOR YEARS AND I JUST NEED SOME HELP FOR A FEW YEARS OR SOMETHING

and I got the same hesitant hand holding I did when I stayed quiet. I got far more attention than previously though. That took some getting used to.

But you can blame that attention on why I am currently so verbose now.

I said before that I didn’t ask to be alive. I could go on and on like this but I won’t. I am, in fact lucky. I did get help. It wasn’t tons, but I luck out here and there.

People ask why I’m not at least faking ambition. I’m fine where I am. Because I did fine. I shouldn’t be alive anyways. I don’t need much. I’ll give you some of my space, sure. I’m always aggravated because wouldn’t you be in this tiny box? It makes me cranky but really I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m so cranky. Yeah you can have some more space. Haha yeah I do have some weird habits, but yeah its hard to move around in here. No I don’t think you can fit in mine, but you can have some space for yourself if you’d like. Nah, I’m okay. I don’t need anything. If you’ve got something to spare, sure. I mean, don’t throw it out. Yeah I’ll take it. Thanks a lot, man. Hey, this is pretty cool, you have any more? No? Oh okay, over there? Yeah, I’ll see you later. You too. Yeah I’ll see you later as well. Bye.

I want very hard to create. It is the only way I can think of that isn’t just taking from someone else. Unfortunately, I’m just a bit clever. Not too creative.

So... bye. I’ll see you some other time, ya dig? Haha yeah I know, isn’t all this just a bummer? Don’t worry about it, really. I’m fine.

#personal #very long #garbage monologue

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