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bettyfrommars · 2 months

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Ring of Fire

a biker Steve au

Part 1 || I went down, and the flames went higher

18+ONLY || afab!Reader, eventual smut, alcohol consumption, allusions to dirty deeds, smoking, allusions to sex with someone other than reader (not cheating), allusions to violence/fighting, bloody knuckles, eventual breaking & entering, biker!Eddie, biker!Hopper, reader and Steve are in their early 30's. Please read warning for each part.

masterlist playlist

Summary || You haven't set eyes on Steve Harrington since the 8th grade, but you have no problem recognizing him almost 20 years later when he steps back into your life. A lot has changed in Hawkeye, the town you grew up in, but a lot has stayed the same.

word count: 5k

A/N || This is my version of Hawkins, a town called Hawkeye, and it is a desert town surrounded by tumbleweeds, agriculture, and junkyards. Even though Steve is a biker and a mechanic, I try to maintain his "essence". I plan for this to be a shorter series, like 3 or 4 parts, but those are always famous last words from this lyin', cheatin' mouth. This is a niche fic, and for the ten people who will appreciate it, I love you.

The bell on the door dinged to let you know you had a customer, but you didn’t look up right away, you were too busy trying to figure out why your till was a few bucks short for the day. Donna would not be happy. Heavy foot falls made it to the counter and then the person in question cleared his throat.

“Ten on pump 2 and a pack of reds, please,” the voice was deep and scratchy, like he was recovering from a sore throat.

You closed the cash register and glanced up for the first time.

The sight made you inhale a sharp breath and hold it. The man had on a thick motorcycle jacket zipped up halfway over a white tee, atop blue jeans that were a dark denim wash, faded over time, with a tattered hole in one knee. There were tattoos scattered over his flesh, peeking from his collar, and down his hands. Letters on his knuckles spelled something that you couldn't quite make out, and he had a luscious mop of maple syrup hair on his head that looked like it had once been gelled into place but lost the fight hours ago. He raked a big hand through it slowly, pausing halfway through the movement, and tucked his chin to pin you with an anticipatory stare.

The last person you every expected to see again was Steve Harrington.

He pushed his wayfarer sunglasses up to reveal hazel eyes that were just as sad as they were electric. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his top lip, he repeated himself. “Pump 2?”

You gave a flustered wave of your hand. “Yes, of course,” turning to pull a soft pack from the wall behind you. “Matches?”

He shook his head, and then, “just a sec,” before sauntering over to the aisle on the other side of the potato chips.

Tossing a back of Magnum condoms on the counter next to his smokes, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and said a polite, “those too, please.” The wallet was as worn as his jeans and connected by a chain to one of his belt loops.

The cash register made loud click-clack noises as you punched in the numbers and gave him the total. You weren’t expecting to see the wad of bills that fanned, but then he handed you what you needed.

“You new here?” He asked as you passed him his change, rolling a piece of bright green gum from the inside of his cheek to start chewing it again.

You stumbled over the question. “New to this store or Hawkeye?”

A smirk lifted up one side of his mouth. “Both, I guess?”

He was well aware that you were new to the corner gas n’ sip because he’d been a regular customer for years, and he definitely would have remembered you.

Definitely.

Yet, something about you felt very familiar.

“I grew up here,” your delivery was dry.

Steve tilted his head back to assess you down the bridge of his nose and frowned like he didn’t believe you. You noticed that his hands were rough and stained with evidence that he did some vocation of hard labor for a living.

You decided to humor him with a clue. “I left Hawkeye right before my freshman year. My hair was different back then, and my mom drove a big, white Buick LeSabre—-”

With an unblinking stare, he blurted your name, repeating it a few times in disbelief as the memory seized him.

There you were, the one who’d haunted his middle school dreams. The first notable crush he ever had, standing a few feet in front of him

“Shitttt,” he continued, scooping his purchases up in one hand, huffing out a breath. He searched your face, and you watched the light in his eyes intensify. “You were a year older than me, right? I remember you were always so bossy on the playground.”

You sealed your lips over a chuckle. “Well, someone had to keep you and Eddie from dismantling the playground equipment to sell to the salvage yard.”

Steve chomped down on his lip in a smile, his hip finding the edge of the counter, trying to get closer to you. “Copper,” he corrected with a one-eyed squint. “We wanted to dismantle the lampposts. Copper wiring could earn a pretty penny back then.”

“You’re still good with your hands I see,” gesturing to his calloused digits, the moons of his cuticles stained from motor oil, knuckles slashed with white scarring.

He flexed his right hand into a fist and then opened it again, deliberate and slow, watching you as he did so. “I do alright.”

He was leaning over the counter at that point, elbow resting next to the cash register, hip jutting out behind him, holding his mouth as if he were about to say something—-

“...and then, do you know what Ned said to me? Nothing, that’s what. Three days and I barely get two words out of him. Before you go, there are two crates that need to be put away in the back—-”

56 year old Donna, your boss, approached the front desk from the back room, buzzing with conversation. She stopped short when she saw Steve there, and tucked some silver, permed hair behind her ear.

“Oh, hey Steven,” she greeted.

“Donna,” he gave a twitch of a smile, standing to full height again, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. “I was just catching up with an old friend.”

Donna had on bright pink lipstick and heart-shaped, baby blue clip-on earrings. “You know Steve?”

“You could say that,” you stared at him as you said it. “I’ve tried to put it behind me.“

Steve ran his tongue over the ridge of his teeth at that, and you could see that the left incisor was gold.

Donna crowded in behind you, trying to get to the styrofoam container with her food inside that was on a stool just below the rack of caffeine pills. It was leftover burger and fries from the diner across the street and the smell had been making your mouth water.

“How’s Eddie?” Donna asked, and it was obvious she was talking to Steve. “Haven’t seen him drop by here in a while.”

Steve pulled his sunglasses out of his nest of hair and slid them back down to his nose before giving you one final look. You backed up against the cigarette display to watch him go.

“He’s been busy,” Steve gnawed his gum, addressing your boss. “Business at the garage has picked up since the only other mechanic in town split. I work there part time when I’m not—” he swallowed back whatever he was initially about to say. “---when I’m not doing other things.”

Donna shoved the corner of her sesame seed bun burger in her mouth, chewed it and kept talking. “I saw Robin yesterday. Her and Ratchet back together?”

In the past few days of your employment, you were learning that Donna was a pillar of gossip in the community, and she wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.

Steve scratched the stubble on his chin, possibly contemplating how much he should share. “I think they have an understanding,” he chimed diplomatically, stealing another glance in your direction.

“Say hi to Wayne for me,” Donna added as Steve pushed his way out the mostly glass door. He waved over his shoulder in response, nodding that he would.

You shimmied further along behind the counter, pretending to organize the pens, so that you could follow where Steve was going, see what he was driving.

To your surprise, he pumped gas into a hulking, coal black motorcycle with ape-hanger handlebars and blue ghost flames on the tank. You were staring with your mouth slightly agape when Donna’s voice broke your concentration.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, cheek of food again. “That boy is adorable, but he’s bad news.”

“Why?” The question was out of your mouth before you were cognitively aware of it.

She thumbed ketchup from the corner of her mouth. “You ever heard of the Coffin Kings?”

Your gaze flicked to the side, catching Steve as he kicked a leg over to straddle the bike. “I don’t think—it doesn’t ring a bell.”

You were lying; of course you’d heard of the Coffin Kings. How could you forget the horde of long-haired bikers who cruised through town when you were a kid, a few of them stopping by to pick Eddie and Steve up from school on occasion. Eddie’s uncle Wayne was one of the original members, and most of the teachers kept their manners around the boys for that reason alone. Sure, Steve got detention for carving his initials into one of the school desks, but little did you know that it was only because he knew you would be in there too.

Steve revved the bike to life until it was growling, idling in place with his back to you while he strapped his bare bones helmet on.

“How do you know him?” Donna asked, not afraid to be pushy.

“Well, I—” you thought about the specifics of that question. “I don’t know him at all anymore, really. We were just kids. It’s been a long time.”

“You want my advice?” Donna wiped her mouth with a tissue from a nearby Kleenex box.

You didn’t, but you knew you couldn’t stop her from giving it to you.

“If you’re looking for a bad boy type, his friend Eddie is a much better catch. Runs his own business, works hard, stays out of trouble. Steve? Well, let’s say Stevie is just—-”

You turned to her as Steve hit the main road and shot into the distance. “He’s what?”

You waited while she rolled her lips together, wetting them thoughtfully, turning her gaze to the ceiling.

“He’s a nice kid, but he’s trouble,” she sighed. “He’s not the type you’d want to get serious with, if you know what I mean.”

Coincidentally, you did know what that meant. You were a bit of a connoisseur when it came to trouble; not only could you sniff it out, but it flocked to you like seagulls on a parking lot french fry.

But what Donna didn’t know was that you were no angel.

You scoffed at her suggestion. “I’m not looking for a relationship any time soon. I plan to stay single for a while.”

Donna dumped the rest of her dinner in the trash under the cash register. “In that case, you and Steve have more in common than I thought.”

—-----

Steve had the rest of the evening off, he should’ve gone straight home to have a beer in his boxers in front of the TV and try to pass out early. He’d been slinging wrenches at Munson’s Garage that day, a double shift to help Eddie out, and his hand was throbbing so hard he had to take it off the throttle and shake it out.

But also, who was he kidding? He hadn’t slept more than a few hours that whole week. He needed a distraction, he needed people, he needed to forget his gut-wrenching loneliness for a while.

He revved the throttle, shooting himself faster along the empty highway, passing nothing but flat alfalfa fields and the odd farmhouse every mile or so. The low, desert hills rolled like sleeping giants on the horizon as dusk descended.

The Blue Light Tavern was housed in a brick building built in the 40’s, located between the truck stop and the Rosebud Motel, about a mile or so from the center of town. The only way anyone passing by would even know it was a tavern was due to the neon Pabst and Jameson signs in the two tiny front windows. There were already two motorcycles out front when Steve pulled up, and he found a spot at the end.

The bartender that night was Angie, and she greeted him by name when he strolled in. He asked for a beer, picked some songs on the jukebox, and started a game of pool with a fellow MC member, cigarettes bobbing from their lips as they played.

That's when you walked in.

He took a drink from his pint glass, pausing it there, watching you scan the room before making your way quietly to one of the stools at the far end of the bar, on the corner, closest to the door, as if you might have to make a run for it. You were in the same clothes you’d had on at the gas n’ sip, but now you wore a zip-up black hoodie, hugging it around your ribs as if you were cold.

The guy Steve was playing pool with was known as Big Jim around Hawkeye. Head of hair slicked back with generous sideburns down to his jaw, and a white scar making a thin indentation from the corner of his mouth to his ear. He wore a long sleeve red and black flannel under his Coffin Kings kutte with the name Hopper patched on one side.

Hopper said something to Steve and he appeared to ignore him, but finally blinked a few times. “What did you say?”

Hopper held his pool cue across his lap as he sat on one of the tall swivel chairs against the wall, long legs braced wide. “It’s your move, Romeo,” he drawled, plucking his smoke from the ashtray to take a drag. .

Steve suddenly got very confused, frowning when he turned to his friend. How could Hop know he was interested in you?

Hop gestured to the green felt under the Budweiser chandelier with his chin, exhaling, framing his lips to make an “O” with the smoke. “Your turn, pipsqueak.”

“Right,” Steve huffed, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall.

—--------

You waited outside, staring up at the Pabst neon that was missing the “b”, trying to work up the nerve to go in. The Blue Light Tavern had been around so long, you remembered it from the rare occasions when your dad met up with his buddies, back when it was called The Hideaway. Before the accident, back when you were a kid and considered Hawkeye your home.

You were officially a resident once more, but you weren’t sure if you’d feel at home anywhere ever. You weren’t sure if you’d ever feel safe again. You weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

When you finally opened the door, smoke billowed out, and the low-lit, grimey ambiance felt like a familiar friend. You weren’t in the mood to drink, necessarily, you just didn’t want to sit at your apartment alone. There weren’t many public places open in Hawkeye after 9, so you’d just been walking around aimlessly for the past hour. Your tiny rental above the Gas n’ Sip was empty but for a mattress, two kitchen chairs, and five or six boxes you still needed to unpack. It all felt too dismal and overwhelming to tackle after your first full day at your new job.

“What’ll it be darlin’?” The brunette bartender asked, using a white rag to wipe down the bar in front of you. There was ice melting in a tumbler, a few used toothpicks, and a sticky ring on the woodgrain. She scooped it all out of the way and then stared at you with a hand on her ample hips.

You were flustered and said the first thing that came to mind. “Can you make a gin and tonic?”

“I think I can handle that,” she winked, moving out of the way to grab a glass. You could hear the billiard balls clacking together over the music of Bringin' on the Heartache by Def Leppard , but there was a jukebox and a length of partition in the way, so you couldn’t see who was at the table. Including you, there were only a handful of customers that night; one surly man with a long gray beard at the bar, a couple at a table looking up at the mounted Zenith TV on the wall playing a muted episode of the Twilight Zone, and another two were throwing darts at a well worn target.

Angie placed a white cocktail napkin before setting your drink down. “Someone bought you this,” she had tiny veins of red around the cracks of her bare lips, as if she’d been wearing lipstick earlier.

“Someone?” Disbelief came first, and then it made you paranoid. The last thing you wanted was to get hit on by—-

“It was him,” Angie gestured down the end of the bar to where Steve caught your eye and bucked his chin at you.

The universe really did have a sense of humor.

—-----

A few minutes later, once he finished his game and let Hopper win just to move things along, he sauntered over to put his booted foot up on the bottom rung of the stool next to you. His white tee had a V-neck, exposing a tuft of chest hair. “Are you following me?”

You swished your drink with a red stir stick, and then sucked it clean. “I won’t let this freebie go to my head, Harrington. I bet you buy drinks for all the new women in town.”

He gripped a fresh cigarette between pursed lips and lit the end, looking up at you from under his furrowed, James Dean brow. “Yeah, but you’re not new.”

“Shhh it’s a secret,” you snipped two fingers in the air like a pair of scissors and he grinned at that, offering his pack of reds for you to take one. One of his ears was pierced, and a small silver hoop curved there.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t,” you answered flatly, leaning over so that he could light the end for you with his plastic blue Bic, inhaling so that your cheeks hollowed.

“You want to read my palm again?”

“Again?” You exhaled smoke to the side.

Steve straddled the stool and got comfortable with his elbows on the bar. “You read my palm once when we were kids,” he straightened his arm, locking his elbow, so that his palm was open in front of you. “I think you said my love life would be troubled, but I’d live a long life. And then you made some crack about how I’d let the right one get away.”

You huffed a laugh and chomped onto your bottom lip to keep from smiling too big, staring at his strong fingers as they wiggled in front of you, veins popping strong in his forearm.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Tilting your head to the side, you took another sip of your drink, cringing a little at the strength of the alcohol; it was a glass of gin with a splash of tonic. But maybe Angie’s heavy hand was a blessing that night.

The gold in his tooth flashed like lightning in a storm. “I remember everything,” his voice was soft and deep, and you had to look away before he turned you into a brainless, lovesick zombie from his vampiric-strength powers of persuasion.

Clearing your throat, you squirmed a bit under the weight of his stare. “My palmistry days are behind me. I’m out of practice.”

He slid his hand back, but slowly, hoping you might want to touch it or grab it or—-

“But I am curious—”

Fingers flexed flat again as an invitation.

“---what does it say on your knuckles?”

“Oh these?” He made two fists and twisted them to read it himself as if he wasn’t sure, and then put both palms flat and slid them back in your direction, fingers splayed.

Murmuring aloud as you spelled it out, you realized that the right knuckles spelled LOVE and the left ones said PAIN in thick, capital lettering.

“My turn,” he pulled back his shoulders, taking another drag, squinting, before resting his cigarette butt back in the ashtray.

“Your turn for what?”

“Questions. What is that key around your neck for?”

You slapped a hand over the metal piece dangling from a chain, not realizing it had escaped the confines of your shirt collar, fingering it thoughtfully as you thought about what type of story you should make up.

You could tell him the truth, but you weren’t sure you were emotionally equipped to answer any further questions. You made a fist around the key and started massaging it with your thumb, when another hulking biker with a thick mustache cupped a meaty hand onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Bones just paged, we gotta meet them at the junkyard on ,” the big man shifted his kind, blue eyes to you, blinking with a nod of his head to acknowledge your presence, and offer his silent apologies all at once.

Steve stood without argument, clearly duty bound, but his attention remained on you. He motioned Hopper ahead, and then he idled there, internally stumbling over his words.

“Any chance you’ll be here again tomorrow night?” He flicked the spark on his lighter a few times as he spoke out of nervous habit.

You tucked the metal key into your shirt. “I work the late shift at the gas station tomorrow.”

His mood seemed to lift slightly at knowing where you would be.

“Taz,” Hopper hummed from the door where he braced it open with his broad back, offering a blast of fresh air to the nicotine saturated walls. Taz was Steve’s nickname in the club, but that was just one more thing you had yet to learn about him. He adjusted the collar of his leather jacket, gave your bicep a tender squeeze as he went by, and leaned down to whisper, “it’s good to see you,” at the shell of your ear, giving you goosebumps.

Once he was gone, the tavern suddenly felt emptier, the sound of George Thorogood singing about drinking alone pounding much louder as you stared down at the glass in your hand.

You finished your drink and then you made the trek back home, hugging yourself against the crisp night breeze, wondering how you would occupy your time for the next couple hours before you found sleep.

—------

The roar of their two engines cut through the dry June night like a knife, affording no illumination but their headlights and the moon. Steve had replaced his leather jacket with his own MC leather that said TAZ on the front from one of his saddlebags, bare flesh of his arms exposed to show the scattering of tattoos there as he gripped the handlebars. Both riders wore clear safety glasses to protect their eyes from the wind and the kamikazee bugs.

Snipes Junkyard loomed menacingly in the expanse of desert, shrouded in cobalt night. Heaps of twisted metal wreckage, smashed cars all piled on top of each other, and a high fence made of corrugated metal with curls of razor wire along the top ridge.

There was a group of bikes parked out front when they arrived and two of the Coffin Kings Prospects, Riot and Krebs, guarded the gate to the place.

Both new arrivals put their helmets on the end of their handlebars and tucked their safety glasses into their front pocket as they approached.

“What are we walking into?” Hopper asked, and Riot was already shaking his head in answer.

“The underground tunnels were breached,” he said, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind his ear. “Crater isn’t happy.”

Crater was a Hawkeye native who got his nickname because of the chicken pock scars that covered his cheeks and jaw. He was also President of one of the other MC’s in town called the Skull Crushers.

When tensions were high among the gangs, there was always a good chance someone would pull a gun or start punching, so Steve and Hopper shared a weary look, bracing themselves before entering.

—------

Just as you were about to step up onto your block, you caught sight of someone coming out of the mini mart that you lived above. A side door led up a flight of narrow stairs, and the top room was all yours; it was the size of a tin can, but it was shelter and you were grateful.

Through the soft glow of the front window, you saw Donna’s husband Ned behind the counter with his half-moon reading spectacles on and a novel open in front of him. Which reminded you to make sure you brought some material to entertain you on your shift the next night.

Somewhere not too far off in the distance, a group of coyotes yipped their excited whines.

The person who’d just come out paused on the sidewalk to light a smoke, and you sank around the corner of the building to watch the guy in the jeans, leather, and thick boots stroll over to put some gas in the tank of his Harley. Bulkier than the one Steve rode, this one was glossy obsidian with chrome pipes and a sissy bar in back, as if he usually had a rider with him. His hair was unruly, long and dark, and once you caught a glimpse of his profile from the dim beam above the pumps, you knew right away that it was Eddie Munson.

You thought about getting his attention to say hello, but then realized that your social battery was tapped for the day. The cigarette dangled from his mouth when he took off, and you waited until he was down the street before darting to the stairs of your apartment.

—-----

A few hours later, Steve’s left hand with the PAIN held a black payphone receiver to his ear while the other hand rolled the numbers on the rotary dial. His knuckles were freshly spit and bleeding, since one of the Skull Crushers had come at him during a misunderstanding at the meet earlier, and he was forced to lay the guy out. He felt wired, like rest had somehow become his enemy, something he ran from as it tracked him ruthlessly.

A woman who went by the name Lorelei picked up on the second ring.

“It’s me,” he coughed and tasted that familiar copper tang. “It’s Steve. Are you busy?”

It was almost 4 in the morning, but Steve had been a regular customer for a few months and, also, she didn’t mind his company. He wasn’t like her other customers; he didn’t want the typical things from her.

His hand haphazardly bandaged with a red handkerchief; he hugged it to his chest when he knocked at the door of room 8 at the Rosebud Motel. When it opened, Lorelei stood there with a silk, periwinkle kimono wrapped snug around her curves, and motioned him in. There were two lamps on in the room, both of their shades were draped with floral scarves, and a candle burned on the nightstand, smelling of essential oils, bergamot and lavender. She didn’t live at the Rosebud, but she did stay a few nights in a row there when she was working.

Steve's relationship history thus far had been a blur of endless disconnect, a series of hit and runs that left his heart empty and his eyes vacant. It was easy for a guy in a motorcycle club to get laid; their parties were always crawling with eager pussy. But after a certain age, that wasn’t what he craved anymore. He often worried that the parental dynamic he’d witnessed growing up, or lack thereof, had fucked him up to the point that he would never be able to have a normal relationship with a girl he liked.

A while ago he’d given up on love, figured that he was broken. But he still had urges, and making them transactional helped him to disengage further.

“What are you in the mood for?” Lorelei hooked a finger into his belt loop and pulled him closer, searching his face. “Same as last time, hmm?”

Steve lowered his head, internal exhaustion making him dizzy. He held her arm, thumbing the delicate material of her robe. “Not tonight,” he swallowed thickly. “Just the stuff that…comes after.”

Nodding that she understood, she cupped his chin so he would look at her. “Will three hours be enough?” One look at him told her what he needed was 24 at the least, but three was all she had to give.

Over the years, Steve had come to realize that his insomnia was somehow cured when he could sleep next to someone. To roll over and have them there, to hold them. Alone, his mind raced, and nightmares plagued the inside of his eyelids. With Lorelei, they mostly slept side by side, and the weight and familiarity of her was somehow enough to calm his nervous system down to a reasonable level.

“Come,” she sat him on the edge of the bed and knelt to unlace his boots. He wrestled to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, ready to pluck some bills out, but she put her hand up to stop him.

“After, okay? I trust you,” she whispered, tugging off the first boot by the heel, rubbing the ball of his foot a little before moving to the next shoe.

Steve’s head bobbed on his neck, and then he rolled it back to center, eyes heavy.

He always refused to undress fully, and Lorelei suspected it had something to do with how vulnerable it made him feel, but she never asked questions. He scooted up to find the pillow with his head, and by the time she crawled in next to him and put her hand on his thigh, he was out.

-------

Thank you to my darling readers who love biker Steve!

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington series #Steve Harrington fic #Stranger Things fic #biker!steve #biker!steve harrington #Ring of Fire

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foliosriot · 6 months

Text

Love’s The Death Of Peace Of Mind — Pt. 3

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

warnings: angst and more angst

tags: @thisbicc @lma1986 @mrscevans @catj422 @thebadchic @blackveilomens @likeavilliansposts @veronicaphoenix @circle-with-me @lilhobgobbler @loeytuan98

masterlist. tdopom masterlist.

Today is the day.

Today is the day Noah comes over so you two can talk and work through what happened to your friendship, and your relationship overall.

You’ve been pacing around your apartment for the past few hours, music playing loudly from the TV in the living room. Purposefully taking a break from Bad Omens you have Sleep Token on repeat instead. But the change didn’t help much. You ended up skipping Give anyways.

Now you’re just anxiously fiddling with the bottom hem of your sweater as the entirety of Sleep Token’s discography comes to an end. The sudden lack of music makes you pause your pacing.

Then, because your brain has been torturing you all day — and this wouldn’t be anything short of it — you hurriedly turn on THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND. The opening track has you immediately calming down, and there’s a part of you that fucking despises that.

But you’re still pacing as you listen to the album, your lips moving as you wordlessly sing along. Your fingers are constantly playing with your sweater’s hem, and you may have just realized it’s one of Noah’s that he must have left here on accident. You have half a brain to make your way to your room to change before there’s knocking at the front door.

It scares you, nearly has you jumping out of your skin. And as much as you want to pretend like you aren’t home, or crawl to bed and roll yourself into a cocoon of blankets, you know you can’t avoid this any longer.

You don’t think to pause your music or turn it off entirely until you’re already opening the front door to reveal Noah standing before you. He gives you a soft smile, though you can tell he’s nervous and probably riddled with anxiety just like you are. But you quietly greet him and step aside to allow him entry.

It’s jarring to see him in person like this. Last time you saw him face to face was the last time you’d been … together. The two of you had been here, at your apartment, and you suddenly have difficulty shoving away that memory.

A hand at your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you pleasantly lightheaded. Your fingernails leaving thin red lines down freckled shoulders and a tattooed back. Hickeys and roaming, greedy hands turning into gentle kisses and softly uttered praises. Neither of you acknowledging the blatant shift in your movements, but you continue giving and taking equally anyways.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you nearly run into Noah, who had stopped once he entered the living room. You take a step or two backwards to see him staring at the TV screen still alive with Bad Omens. With his music. With the songs he wrote about you.

The sad smile that appears on Noah’s face is fleeting at best. But it’s gone in a flash when he eventually looks away. You take that as your chance to run to the remote and turn off the TV, relieving both of you of the obvious torment you had been experiencing.

In the quiet of your small living room you hesitantly sit down on one end of the couch, to which Noah copies your actions. He sits on the other end, and it sparks even more buried memories of yours. You’re almost certain Noah is remembering those as well.

“You like the album, then?”

Noah’s voice startles you. You jerk slightly but you quickly recover to meet his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and shit — if this doesn’t feel like déjà vu.

“Uh, y-yeah, I really like it,” you stammer. “But I already Motionless In White’s new album is gonna be even better.”

You aren’t sure why you say it. But the slight teasing in your voice is definitely there, no matter how weird it may have felt rolling off your tongue. And the way Noah is looking at you has you thinking he knows you’re messing with him, if the slight quirk of his lips is anything to go off of.

You both stay silent after that. Your chest is tightening the longer the quiet drags. And you can feel Noah’s gaze on you, his eyes taking in the sight of you for the first time in a long time. Or maybe it’s because you’re wearing his old sweater.

“What happened to us?”

Noah’s gentle voice jerks you out of your head. You slowly look to him expecting to see him watching you still. But he had averted his eyes, and he was now staring at the picture frames nailed to the wall above the small shelf that has all of your DVDs, CDs, vinyls, and tapes. It almost feels like a tidal wave when you realize there are photos of the two of you on display.

“Do you want the full truth or the half-truth?” you ask him as your fingers migrate back to that stupid bottom hem.

“Full truth.”

He’s still taking in the wall of memories, not looking away for even a moment. Your throat bobs as you prepare yourself to talk.

“Noah, I need you to know that you are my best friend in the entire world,” you begin quietly. “Even if we haven’t talked for awhile. You are one of my favorite people on this planet, and I don’t know what I would do without you. What happened between us is on me, and I really need you to understand that.”

“If this is just an elaborate way to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, save it,” Noah says, his tone cold. “I gathered that when you stopped talking to me.”

Okay. You’ll admit: that hurt.

But it’s true, and you need to let him know why.

“No, it’s not that.” Your eyes are beginning to burn with gathering tears. “Ever since we met I’ve struggled to understand what I feel for you. I thought we were just friends, but, over the years, there were things you would say or do that made me think otherwise. So I guess I kinda played in to it. Then that night at your place, and the times after that, I … It made me think there was actually something between us. But after the last night together I freaked out and distanced myself from you because I was scared you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t keep denying my feelings for you, so I distanced myself so neither of us would get hurt.”

You sniffle before continuing. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this since that first night. And then the album dropped and I lost control over what I have been feeling for years. I never wanted to push you away like that. I was being selfish and and I was so fucking scared, and I never bothered to think about if you would be hurt in the process.” You bite your bottom lip as a few tears crawl down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I never wanted this.”

Noah is quiet. He’s still facing away from you, and you’re beginning to think this was a bad idea. But he shifts slightly, his head moving slowly in your direction. Then he stops, and you think you see a tear or two staining his cheek.

Your skin is starting to itch profusely as you anxiously wait for Noah to say anything. You’re growing uncomfortable and you wish time would just freeze.

But then Noah speaks, his voice awfully quiet.

“I thought there was something too,” he starts. And it is blatantly clear that he had begun to cry as well. “Honestly, I would have been totally fine with the first night being a one-time thing. And then it happened again and again, and I thought that must have meant something. But when you ignored me after the last time I thought you had just used me and didn’t want to see me again. Like, you somehow knew how I feel and couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it.

“Now knowing how it tore you up as well almost makes the pain a little more bearable,” Noah continues with a halfhearted laugh. “I guess I just don’t understand why it happened the way it did. We could’ve talked and worked through it, like we always fucking have. So why was this the thing that drove us apart? I mean, we definitely have feelings for each other. We both thought there was something for years, and it’s been confirmed. So, I guess the question still stands…”

Noah’s words have your heart lodging itself into your throat. More tears have fallen from your eyes, each one streaking down your face and slipping from your chin as you keep your eyes on Noah.

“I don’t know why that was what drove us apart, Noah,” you admit in a broken voice. “But I want to fix it. I really want to fix this rift we’ve made. ‘Cause I— I-I miss you.”

You watch Noah finally turn his head so he’s looking straight you. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and there are a few apparent tear stains on his face. But he looks hopeful and content with your response.

“I miss you, too,” he murmurs. “And I wanna fix whatever happened, regardless of the outcome.”

Noah gives you a soft smile that you return without a second thought. You sit staring at each other for a minute before you have to force yourself to finally glance away. Taking a deep breath you pull the ends of your sleeves over your hands and fingers, then wipe at your eyes.

The worn fabric of your Noah’s sweater rubs against your skin and leaves red in its wake. You catch Noah looking at you for a moment before he obviously processes what you’re wearing.

“Is that my sweater?” he queries quietly.

“Oh, yeah. I think you had left it here on accident once,” you begin rambling. “God, I didn’t even realize I was wearing it until you got here. I can give it back to you—“

“No. Keep it. It looks much better on you.”

Noah’s words have your face heating up. You go silent as he gives you another one of his small yet softest smiles. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then you’re snapping your teeth together as your heart continues racing relentlessly.

His own face is reddening with blush, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach back for the TV remote and wordlessly turn on Howl’s Moving Castle. The movie has been a shared comfort for both you and Noah, and you know he would love to watch it with you after so long.

You struggle to hide your grin as you get comfortable against the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Noah has been stunned into silence at the movie selection. But you ignore him as much as you can as you listen to him kick off his shoes and settle into his own spot on the couch, the beginning of the beloved movie illuminating the screen.

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

a/n: ok i’m planning on AT LEAST one more part, so let me know if you wanna be tagged when it’s out!!

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #alex! ❪ 𖤐 ❫#alex’s writing! ❪ 𖤐 ❫

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navnae · 1 year

Text

He was going to do it.

He was finally going to do it after months of talking to Robin and hyping himself up in the mirror everyday but chickening out every time he saw the man come into the room. All of that changed today.

Steve had planned this entire day out and it involved asking Eddie out which was obviously a huge step already then he wanted to add to the already extreme gesture by bringing along two tickets to a concert of Eddie’s favorite band, even if everything went wrong at least both of them could see a cool performance together no matter if they were together or not. As much as Steve didn’t want that to be the possible reality he wasn’t totally against it either because that meant him and Eddie could still be friends. Steve was wasting time by just standing in his living room with the tickets in his hand contemplating if he was sure that he wanted to do this. He pushed all of those negative thoughts away then decided to go ahead and grab his car keys before heading out the front door. On the way to Eddie’s trailer Steve’s heart started to be rapidly inside his chest the more he thought about asking him out and what his response would be. For some reason he didn’t feel the same way he did a few months ago when he first talked to Robin about his feelings towards Eddie, that happy, cheerful, bubbly feeling that went through him awhile back when it came to officially asking the other man out wasn’t there anymore. Instead those feelings were replaced by, fear, disgust, and a really bad pain in Steve’s stomach that he couldn’t describe. The closer he got to Eddie’s trailer every thought in his head was telling him that he should go home and save himself from this terrible idea but he didn’t know why he started to feel this way. The worst thing that could happen would be Eddie saying ‘no’ and Steve was fine with that, he could easily recover from that.

So, why did it feel like his world was slowly falling apart before he’s even seen Eddie yet?

Eventually he arrived at Eddie’s trailer and with a few deep breaths he managed to calm himself down. He didn’t want to waste a single second of the day, Steve put the car in park before taking out the tickets that he had in his pocket and stepping out the car. Slowly he made his way towards the steps, every foot stepping lightly on each one as a quick thought flashed in his head. Within a few seconds he brought his hand up to the door balled into a fist and knocked on it. Steve let out another breath to push down those fucking nerves that mad it impossible to even think about what he was going to tell Eddie exactly. Everything sounded lame in his head no matter how he tried to word it and at some point he just wanted to disappear completely. Before Steve could even think any further about anything the front door opened, with a smile on his face he expected to see Eddie smiling right back at him. Steve’s smile faded once he realized that Eddie wasn’t the person who opened the door, not even Wayne. It was a guy that was slightly taller than Steve, he wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed his array of tattoos, and he had his dirty blonde hair falling messily along the sides of his face. What really caught Steve’s eye was that the guy was wearing Eddie’s guitar pick necklace around his neck. Steve just stood there with his mouth slightly open as the guy started to look at him with confusion. He felt like his entire body was being torn into shreds as the pieces started to connect for him, this wasn’t a friend of Eddie’s.

“Can I help you?” His voice was low and it brought Steve out of his thoughts once again. Steve shook his head as he tried to find something to say but he just kept standing there like an idiot. It felt like hours before Eddie finally popped up in the doorframe beside the guy with a somewhat guilty expression on his face then it went into a small smile.

“Harrington? What are you doing here?” Eddie asked placing an elbow in the frame. Steve could tell that he just woke because of his hair and his clothes, he also noticed the other guys hand sliding to Eddie’s waste to pull him close. Steve could feel that he was being sized up and he realized that he wanted nothing more than to leave. He didn’t mean to let out a bitter laugh as he looked down at the tickets in his hand but he did anyways before focusing on Eddie.

“Just checking up on you, see how you were holding up. Guess… uh, I don’t really need to do that anymore.” Steve said coldly as he looked in between the both of them. Eddie frowned slightly but he still managed to keep up that fake smile throughout this entire situation. Silence fell over them and if the word awkward were people, they would be the perfect example of it. Steve mentally thanked god that the guy told Eddie he was going back to sleep and he left, now it was only Steve and Eddie standing at the door. Both of them knew that something needed to be said and it would probably make things ten times better except Steve didn’t want to talk, in fact he didn’t even want to look at Eddie at the moment. Which was so stupid because why did he expect him to wait for him to make a decision to finally ask him out when Eddie could easily find someone who wasn’t afraid to make a move, Steve had missed the mark completely and he had to deal with the aftermath of it. After a few seconds Eddie was the one to spark up the conversation again.

“You know it’s kind of early, want to join us for breakfast?” Eddie asked happily. He did this cute little thing with his eyebrows where he wiggled them and usually that would make Steve laugh before coming inside to join him and Wayne for a nice breakfast. This time he just looked at Eddie blankly, the thought of eating with the guy who probably knows Eddie like the back of his hand and was welcomed into the family with ease really bothered him in ways that he couldn’t explain. Steve shook his head as he felt his mouth go dry, shoving the tickets in his pocket.

“I’m good. I was just passing by, take care.” Steve smiled softly before he fully turned away from Eddie feeling his face get hot and he could feel the lump in his throat getting worse when he finally got into his car. He teared up slightly while driving down the highway, Steve felt foolish for taking Eddie for granted and not making an effort to be honest with him sooner. There’s been plenty of moments where Steve has felt shitty but this one felt a little worse. He knew he’d have to get over it and he couldn’t avoid Eddie, not because it wasn’t possible but he didn’t want to. Steve couldn’t deny that he was an extremely good guy and he truly added to the group. All that played into why he liked Eddie so much. Guess Steve wasn’t the only one who realized how amazing he was, with that thought lingering in his head Steve continued to drive home still feeling weighed down by everything.

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lunehong · 7 months

Text

Tethered

college student! Jongho X college student! fem oc

Soulmate AU, just cuteness and fluff

warnings : mentions of anxiety, illness, pregnancy.

word count : 6.9k

synopsis : what happens when your soulmate bond is finally activated but it doesn't fall under any of the existing types? Jongho and Yunhee try to establish their connection with no clue and minimal examples to follow. Would they succeed in meeting each other and seal the bond or would they fall gradually ill?

a/n : okay so my first ever oneshot, and I'm glad I could write one for our baby bear jjong cuz there aren't many jongho fics on here PLUS I miss him so much :(( I hope he's recovering well and also his birthday is coming up next month! feedback is always appreciated!

----- A reblog would mean the world to me <33 ------

Yesterday was Yunhee’s 18th birthday, which meant that she was finally an adult according to society’s standards. It also meant that she could watch netflix shows that were adult rated without feeling guilty about her age and of course, call chronically online minors out on their behaviour as someone who’d automatically be deemed more mature and responsible.

However, this also entailed that her soulmate bond was activated.

Yunhee did feel a tingly sensation and the butterflies in her stomach like the others said she would, but after that everything went back to normal. No tattoos were etched onto her body, nor did she see a flash of her soulmate’s face in her mind and there was no response when she thought of a bunch of things to test if they had telepathy.

She really didn’t know what went wrong but it made her anxious. Also the fact that she had no way of knowing if something happened to her soulmate, as their soulmate bond was still unidentified.

“You should really calm down, Yunhee.” said Minha, her best friend of 7 years.

“What if I don’t find him soon enough? We have to meet each other as soon as possible after our soulmate bond has been activated or else we’d both gradually fall ill! Don’t you remember what happened to Nina and her boyfriend?” Yunhee muttered anxiously.

“It has only been a day! I don’t understand why you’re panicking so much. Give it a week and if there’s still nothing after that, then we can panic.” She concluded.

Taking her best friend’s advice, Yunhee decided to leave the matters into her soulmate’s hands, thinking if she was frantically trying out different confirmation methods, it was safe to assume that he was also doing the same.

“Dude, I’m telling you, your soulmate bond is telepathy! There isn’t any other type that matches!” Wooyoung exclaimed, while flailing his hands around to prove his point.

“But I haven’t heard anything from my soulmate so far! Nor do I know if the things I thought reached her!” Jongho yelled back.

“Okay… Well, try again later! Don’t give up on this, because I’m a hundred percent sure it’s telepathy of some sort even if it isn’t the common one.” Wooyoung got up to leave.

“How are you so sure? Are you a soulmate specialist or something?” Jongho scoffed at him.

Wooyoung smiled at that. “Remember how my soulmate bond was telepathy?” Jongho nodded, “I never told anyone this but, mine wasn’t your typical telepathy… It was one-sided.”

“What? No way!” Jongho stared at him in disbelief.

“Yes, our bond was such that I couldn’t hear anything from her but she could hear everything I thought about. I was ready to give up when I got this idea and decided to give it a last shot.” Wooyoung continued.

“What did you do?” Jongho asked.

“I sat down and started revealing my full name, my social media handles, my address and other details in my head, so if there really was anyone listening they’d know how to find me. She showed up on my doorstep with my favourite snacks not long after. The rest is history.” Wooyoung grinned while recalling the memory.

“How the hell did we not know this before? It’s literally a story worth telling!”

“Yes, I’m aware but the topic never came up and I can’t just randomly reveal that my soulmate bond was flawed you know?” Wooyoung tried to reason with Jongho.

“Okay, fine I got it. I’ll try thinking of different things and hope it’ll reach my soulmate somehow” Jongho sighed, giving in.

“That’s the spirit! Let me and the other guys know if you feel anything and I’ll see you later. Bye!”

Jongho headed to bed early that day, feeling exhausted. As he was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, an idea came to him. ‘What if I focus on one topic to think about instead of multiple things at once? It might be a more organised approach and less strenuous for my brain.’

So he sat up and started consciously thinking about one topic, but phrased them in various ways.

‘What is your name?’ He waited a bit but there wasn’t a response.

“At least I know this won't work,” he said out loud.

‘Can you tell me your name?’

No response.

“Okay, that’s crossed out too then. How else can I phrase it…”

If anyone saw him then, they’d think he had gone mad by the way he was talking to himself.

‘Could you speak your name?’

‘Could you spell your name?’

‘Could you trace your name on your hand?’

Jongho tried phrasing it as many ways as he could, even if some sounded ridiculous.

‘Telleth me thy name.’

He paused before laughing at himself.

“So, Shakespearean English is crossed out too it seems.”

When he ran out of all the ‘tell’, ‘spell’, ‘speak’ and ‘think’ questions he took a different route.

‘Can you write your name?’

No response.

Jongho yawned, feeling sleepy. Lying back down on the bed, he tried thinking of a few more sentences before deciding to continue again the next day.

‘Could you write your name on paper?’

No response.

“Okay, then” he said.

‘Write your name down on paper for me please?’

He paused, just about to fall asleep.

That was when the most unexpected thing happened to him.

Yunhee was tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep. She had just finished her college assignment, due the next day and all the stress she took for it made her extremely tired.

Assuming sleep would come easy to her, she finished her nighttime routine and headed to bed. But alas, sleep was nowhere to be found. It was one of those days where her body was tired but her mind was wide awake and she despised when that happened because it meant that she would not be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

She started counting sheep in her head as a last resort.

When she was on her 29th sheep, Yunhee heard something resonate in her head. The first noise sounded like an incoherent crackle and she almost dismissed it as her mind playing tricks, when she clearly heard a soothing male voice telling her to write her name on paper.

She sat up on her bed abruptly and tried to reach out to the guy, but to no avail. Her heart was beating very fast at the prospect of finally receiving a telepathic message. She was able to hear her soulmate’s voice and it was a feeling like no other.

After waiting a bit, she decided to do what the voice told her to: write her name on paper.

Yunhee got up, retrieving her notebook and a pen from the desk. Sitting back down on the bed once again, she opened the notebook to an empty page and scribbled her name on it. She also wrote “What is your name?” underneath.

She waited for a bit in case another message came through but there were no other responses.

Yunhee was completely unable to sleep that night.

Jongho couldn’t believe what he just saw. It was like a flash that only lasted for a few seconds, but he saw a vision through someone else’s eyes. He saw a hand pick up a light blue notebook with the words “hakuna matata” written in a corner with golden ink. The hand also picked up a pen and wrote down something in the notebook. What it wrote, Jongho couldn’t make out because the writing became hazy and blurry. He could only read out ‘Park’ and the writing underneath that said ‘what is your name?’.

He was sure the person wrote her name down but he could only read her surname.

Jongho felt something unexplainable in his gut. He was finally able to reach his soulmate, even though he couldn’t see her name. Thinking about the vision brought out a sense of longing inside him. He wanted to see more, feel more and know more about her, but he didn’t yet know how.

‘At least this is progress’ he thought. ‘I need to tell the others about this and figure out what I should do next.’

The doorbell rang but the sound went unheard by the group of guys inside the apartment. The person standing outside got impatient after a while, and had to bang on the door to gain everyone’s attention.

“Geez, Hongjoong-hyung why are you banging on the door like that? The bell exists for a reason.” Wooyoung tsked while opening the door for him.

“I rang the bell like 10 times already! None of you brats could hear it over the noise pollution! I swear y’all can be heard from down the hallway!” Hongjoong yelled at him.

“Cut us some slack though, Hongjoong. We met up after almost a month!” Seonghwa reasoned with him.

The seven guys excluding Jongho made themselves comfortable in Jongho’s living room, catching up with each other. Meanwhile, the resident of the apartment arranged some refreshments for the eight of them, bringing them over to the living area before plopping down between Yeosang and Mingi.

“So let’s come to the reason why I called you guys here–”

“You called us for a reason!?” San fake gasped.

“You wouldn’t have invited us if you didn’t have a use for us!?” Yunho butted in.

“Guys let the poor boy speak! I can kinda guess what it’s about.” Wooyoung tried to defend Jongho.

“Yes, thank you Wooyoung-hyung. The reason why I called you here is because I was able to contact my soulmate yesterday and I still don’t know what type of bond this is.”

At the revelation, everyone started yelling over each other and asking questions, of which Jongho was unable to decipher a single sentence.

The seven looked like a bunch of chattering baby birds that wanted food from its mother. He sighed and shook his head, thinking how the people in front of him were supposed to be older in age.

“Guys, one at a time!” he yelled.

“Okay, so it’s telepathy right?” Wooyoung asked.

“Yes and no.” Jongho paused to sort out what he wanted to say, “It’s telepathy, yes, because I consciously thought of something and it went through. But, only one kind of conscious thought out of all the other ones I tried to send, elicited a response.”

“That’s…weird?” Hongjoong muttered.

“And not just that, hyung. The response I received was in the form of a glimpse, showing me a vision through my soulmate’s eyes!”

“What?” exclaimed Mingi.

“So, it’s not just telepathy, it’s specific and supposedly one sided, while you receive sporadic glimpses through your soulmate’s eyes. That’s a very odd combination.” Wooyoung said, in deep thought.

“This is more complicated than yours was, hyung.” Jongho muttered.

“What do you mean?” Yeosang questioned, being able to hear what he said.

Jongho proceeded to tell them all the details regarding what he thought and what he saw in the glimpse, meanwhile not forgetting to expose Wooyoung and how he hid such crucial information about his own experience. The rest reprimanded Wooyoung for it, making him sulk, but they also collectively tried to figure out exactly how the bond worked.

“What happened!” Minha burst into Yunhee’s place, panting like she just ran a marathon.

“Why hello there best friend, why do you look as if you got chased by a dog?” Hayoon, their other best friend, asked sarcastically.

“Dude? I came here as fast as I could! I got Yunhee’s text a while ago that said ‘EMERGENCY’ in all caps! I thought some code blue shit happened to her!” Minha exclaimed.

“Wow, and I thought the text I received was bad… she sent, ‘come over, I have something to say’ that made me rush here because I thought she was pregnant or something, which would’ve been really bad considering her soulmate bond just activated.” Hayoon laughed.

At that very moment, Yunhee walked in with tubs of ice cream, suddenly feeling like she entered a lion’s den. The two girls yelled at her for being so dramatic over nothing but calmed down once she handed them their favourite ice cream.

“So, the reason I sent those ‘dramatic’ texts as you two so eloquently put it, is because I got contacted by my soulmate and I freaked out.” Yunhee revealed while rolling her eyes.

“What?” Minha yelled.

“When? How?” Hayoon followed.

“At night yesterday! I was trying to sleep after finishing the assignment and that’s when I heard his voice in my head telling me to write my name on paper. I don’t know why that was so specific but yeah I did as he said.”

“Did you hear anything in return?” Hayoon inquired.

“No, unfortunately. That was the only thing that came through.” Yunhee sulked.

“But hey! You got contacted by your soulmate! So we are sure that nothing happened to him and he’s probably trying to figure out how the bond works as well right?” Minha tried to cheer her up like the mom she was, unable to see her kid sad.

“Yeah, that’s true. I hope he figures it out though because I’m at a dead end here.”

“I’m sure he’ll figure it out! We currently have nothing to do but trust him and cheer him on. So don’t stress too much, Yuns. Stay alert and just wait for him to make the connection again.” Hayoon exclaimed, in a cheery voice.

“Exactly! Let’s trust him on this one and we can think more about it when he manages to contact you again. Meanwhile, tell us how he sounded! What did you feel?” Minha shook Yunhee in excitement.

So, the three girls spent the rest of their time discussing the interaction and other’s soulmate experiences while they enjoyed their ice cream.

Jongho recalled the conversation that he had with the guys earlier, who managed to come up with a few hypothetical situations for him to experiment.

He sat down on his desk with a notebook before him, taking notes like he would for a science class. The guys did have a few different ideas but Hongjoong’s idea made the most sense to Jongho.

Hongjoong proposed that the message that went through was a command rather than a suggestion or a question. And what Jongho received as a glimpse was the completion of said task that got sent as a command.

So what Jongho had to do was make his soulmate do tasks for him and if it worked out every time, then eventually find a way for them to meet face to face.

He relaxed himself and thought of a task for her to do.

“Okay, so I know that I’d probably not be able to know her name or see what she looks like through the bond so I can’t ask anything related to that.” He spoke out loud.

After thinking for a while, Jongho got an idea. He decided to send his soulmate to her favourite cafe and order her favourite drink. In this way he’ll be able to figure out which cafe she frequented and what drink she liked as well.

‘Go to your favourite cafe and order your favourite drink first thing in the morning.’ He thought, hoping that his soulmate heard it.

“Did it sound too rude? But I can’t send anything other than a command and commands don’t particularly sound nice though.” He spoke to himself again while scratching his head.

Before he could overthink more, Jongho wrote down what he said and headed to bed as he had classes to attend the next day.

Taking a last minute impulsive decision, Minha and Hayoon chose to stay the night at Yunhee’s house. The three slept over at each other’s places quite often, making it a regular occurrence in their lives. Yunhee let her mother know about it and she told her to grab the extra mattress that they had for such occasions.

While she was dragging the mattress to her room, she heard a crackle resonate in her mind like the last time. Yunhee dropped the mattress, focusing intently to see if her soulmate’s voice came through.

Minha was walking back with a glass of water when she spotted her by the living room standing as if she saw a ghost while the mattress was abandoned on the floor.

“Yuns, what happened–”

“Shush! I think I’m getting another message.” Yunhee quickly cut her off.

Indeed, the soothing voice she heard the first time spoke to her again, making the darn butterflies in her stomach return to torment her. She unconsciously smiled, the emotions that hearing her soulmate’s voice evoked in her being all very new.

Minha stared at her from the side, relating with the lovesick look on her friend’s face all too well.

“Go to your favourite cafe… and order your favourite drink first thing in the morning?” Yunhee repeated what her soulmate said to her out loud. She looked at Minha, tilting her head in obvious confusion.

“That’s what he said?” Minha looked equally perplexed.

“What is taking you two so long– why are y’all standing there with the mattress on the floor?” Hayoon came out of her room to check on the two.

Minha told her what happened while they dragged the mattress to Yunhee’s room. They sat down to think why her soulmate would send in yet another oddly specific message asking her to do something.

“You know what I think?” Hayoon said in a serious tone, unlike her usual carefree demeanour, “The only form of message he can send are the ones that tell Yunhee to do something. ‘Cause think about it! He probably already tried saying the common stuff like ‘what is your name’ or ‘where do you live’ like we telepathy types did, but in our case all the things we tried to send went through.”

Yunhee and Minha looked at each other for a few seconds before directing their attention back to Hayoon, who was raising her eyebrows at them.

“Wow dude, what’s up with you? You’re actually making sense today!” Yunhee exclaimed with fake enthusiasm while patting Hayoon on the shoulder, who rolled her eyes and pointed her middle finger towards Yunhee in return.

“Yeah! But Yoon’s right. Can’t relate though, ‘cause I was the tattoo type but she has a point. And I also think that he can somehow sense if you have done the given task or not or else he wouldn’t have any way of knowing if his messages are going through.” Minha added while laughing at Hayoon.

“I mean, the task is simple enough. I do visit cafe Aurora before heading to class anyway, so it won’t be anything out of the ordinary, I guess.” Yunhee muttered.

The three girls started their movie marathon, when Minha’s phone rang. It was a facetime call from her soulmate Changbin, who was also their childhood friend since middle school.

When Minha turned 18, which was three months back, she invited all her friends to attend the party, including Changbin. He was out of town that week so he couldn’t attend her birthday party.

The tattoo that appeared on Minha’s wrist was supposed to be the first thing her soulmate told her after it was activated, which said, “Happy birthday! Sorry I couldn’t make it, Min.”

Minha looked absolutely bewildered while Yunhee and Hayoon laughed at it like maniacs. She got teased by the other two the entire day, while she tried to appear nonchalant about it.

When they were younger, Minha never liked the concept of soulmates and always complained about the idea of getting paired up with a complete stranger for the rest of their lives as it seemed unnerving to her. But when she realised that her soulmate might be good old Changbin, she didn’t hate the idea anymore. It was true that Minha never saw him as anything more than a friend but he was an amazing guy and she did think he’d make a good partner.

At night she received a call from him and indeed, the first thing he said was “Happy birthday! Sorry I couldn’t make it, Min.”

Minha laughed and said, “Thanks, idiot.” when it dawned upon Changbin as well that his soulmate was none other than Minha.

They met up when Changbin returned (he basically scrambled to return as fast as he could) and made it official.

Among Yunhee’s friends, Minha and Changbin were probably the fastest soulmates to seal the bond which made a lot of them jealous because of how easy it was for them to find each other.

Back to the present, Changbin facetimed Minha who received the call.

“Hey Min, are you staying over at Yunhee’s today?”

“Yep. Sudden decision.”

“Oh okay, have fun! And pass the phone to Yunhee please.” Changbin spoke.

Yunhee peeked from the back and waved at him.

“You! What were you thinking when you sent a text like that, dumbass? Who sends ‘EMERGENCY’ and dips without explaining what happened?” He exclaimed.

“Ugh, okay fine sorry. I won’t send texts like that again. I got nagged enough by these two, I don’t need you to add anything to it, Binnie.” Yunhee whined.

“At least you’re fine and dandy so I’ll spare your ass today. How's the soulmate situation going?”

They told him everything that happened and gossiped with him for a few more minutes before hanging up.

Yunhee left to talk to her parents about something, only to come back to the room with her brows furrowed at the screen of her phone.

“Uh, Yoonie? Why is Eric texting me saying if I decided to keep the baby or not, and if I did he’ll help me convince my soulmate to keep it too?”

At this, Hayoon and Minha looked at each other, before they burst out laughing. Yunhee was still looking at them in bewilderment but the two were not being able to stop.

After two minutes of them laughing without break and Yunhee standing like the clown that she was, they finally stopped.

“Remember the text that you sent me? I showed it to Eric and he was the one who said ‘why does she sound like she’s going to announce her pregnancy or something’ and we realised that it could be a possibility, because dude, everyone knows that you write paragraphs when you text. So, such a thing was not to be taken lightly.” Hayoon shrugged.

At this Yunhee threw a pillow at her, yelling how her love life was as barren as the Sahara desert (because she couldn’t fall for anyone else when the thought of having a soulmate later in life hit her) and how she and her soulmate shared the same braincell.

“Come on! At least he’s supportive!” Hayoon defended Eric.

“Yeah yeah, I can see that. Let me call him and explain the whole thing, or else he’ll start preparing to be an uncle.”

Eric was Hayoon’s soulmate that she met 3 weeks after her 18th birthday. They were the telepathy type, being able to contact each other almost immediately after the soulmate bond was activated.

The two had a few bumps on the road, as Eric wasn’t cooperative in the beginning. The reason being that he liked this other girl and he couldn’t accept the fact that his soulmate was someone else. But the said girl found her soulmate a week after, which finally pushed Eric to move on and seek his own soulmate.

Minha and Yunhee didn’t like him, as he made their best friend suffer and put her at risk of getting ill due to the unsealed bond, but he redeemed himself eventually. Now they were a pretty wholesome couple.

After clearing the misunderstanding, they resumed the movie marathon, falling asleep in the midst of it.

Jongho didn’t feel like getting up. It was a cold winter morning, which made sleeping under the warmth of the duvet all the more enticing. But he had to wake up as he had an important class to attend that day.

He reached college early, so he was waiting inside the classroom when he saw it.

a glimpse of an awfully familiar cafe. He was able to hear her voice this time, when she spoke to order a regular hot mocha. A shiver ran down his body when he heard it, realising how sweet her voice sounded to him. Keeping his emotions at bay, he noticed two very familiar faces through the glimpse before it ended.

“Cafe Aurora, huh.” He smiled to himself. His soulmate was nearer to him than he thought.

As he entered through the door in a hurry to get away from the cold, Jongho noticed that the cafe was busier than usual. He figured that it was due to the freezing weather outside, while the cafe provided the warmth everyone including himself was seeking.

Upon reaching the front he spotted Soobin behind the cashier counter, taking orders like he usually does with a smile on his face. Beomgyu was in the middle calling out names and distributing drinks while San was at the back making them for the customers.

He eventually spotted Jongho and called another worker to take his place, so that he could go greet his friend.

“Jongho? Fancy seeing you here.” San spoke up in a playful tone.

“Why? Can’t I visit my dear hyung during his shift?” Jongho retaliated.

“No, of course you can but you usually don’t frequent this place. Remember when you told me it was far from your house and you already found another place to get your iced americano from?” San raised his eyebrows making Jongho avert his gaze.

“Okay, fine! You got me there. I came here to ask you something.” he pouted.

“Ei, don’t feel bad! I was teasing you! But do visit me more often from now okay? What did you want to ask?” San laughed while patting his back.

“So, I saw another glimpse this morning. I’ll tell you the details later but I think Hongjoong hyung’s theory worked. Can you tell me if you remember any girl, possibly a regular here, ordering hot mocha around 8 am?”

“I make the drinks dude, I wouldn’t know. Hey, Gyu? Can you come over for a sec?” San yelled.

Beomgyu, who finally got to breathe after distributing the drinks, clicked his tongue and walked over to where the two were standing.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Do you remember any regular female customer that came today around 8 am to order a hot mocha?” San asked him.

“Okay first of all, I have been distributing over hundreds of drinks, at least 30 of which were hot mochas. And if we are talking about 8 am then a lot of people came in to get their morning fix before college so I don’t think I can help you.” He paused.

“You could check the server but I doubt that would be of any help either, because a lot of female regular customers order hot mochas in the morning so…” Beomgyu shrugged.

“Okay thanks, Gyu. We’ll figure something out.” San sighed.

“Why? Did anyone take a drink without paying again?” Beomgyu inquired in a concerned voice.

“No, no. We’re trying to find Jongho’s soulmate.” San and Jongho laughed at Beomgyu’s expression.

“Oh, thank god. Good luck searching for her, bro.” Beomgyu gave Jongho a thumbs up before resuming his work.

San looked at Jongho, who was deep in thought.

“How’d you know she came to Aurora?”

“Oh, come on hyung, I’d recognise the interior anywhere! Plus, she gave her order to Soobin and you were at the back making drinks. I saw you two in the glimpse.” Jongho poked San in the shoulders, making him swat his hand away.

“Moreover, I think I found out how the bond works. So, I’ll increase contact and try to get her to meet me somehow.”

“That’s the spirit! I know you’ll succeed Jongho-yah.” San said with a proud look on his face.

He asked Jongho if he still wanted to order an iced americano in a weather like that, to which he said yes. San shook his head at the boy but proceeded to make him what he wanted, yelling how he wouldn’t take any responsibility if Jongho caught a cold later.

He just smiled and gestured at him to continue making the drink.

Two days have passed since Yunhee received the last message from her soulmate. She was trying not to think about it, distracting herself with other things but every now and then her mind would fleet to the honey-like voice which evoked an unexplainable sense of longing in her. She wanted to hear his voice again.

During breaks, the trio made a point to gather whenever their schedules coincided, to catch up and complain about college, even though it was just their freshman year.

Yunhee was walking towards their hangout spot with Hayoon when she felt like another message was coming through. She stopped walking and tapped Hayoon on the shoulder to do the same.

The now familiar voice reverberated in her head saying “Write the name of your favourite flower on your notebook.”

She stood there with a faraway look in her eyes, while the girl beside her extended and retracted her hand awkwardly, not knowing if she should shake her best friend or not.

Hayoon didn’t have to suffer in indecisiveness for long, as Minha approached them and did the job for her by back hugging Yunhee, bringing her out of her trance.

“Why are you two standing here? Let’s go.”

“Wait, Yunhee received another telepathic message. What is it bro?” Hayoon asked Yunhee.

“He asked me to write the name of my favourite flower. What is he up to?”

“It’s just flowers Yunhee, he probably wanted to know basic stuff like that so that he can be prepared when he finally meets you.” Minha reasoned.

“Okay let’s go sit, so that I can write it down.”

The three headed to their hangout place. As soon as Yunhee sat down, she reached for her bag to bring the notebook out. She opened it and wrote, ‘sunflowers, but pink roses are great too’ after much thought.

The other two teased her saying they already knew she was going to write sunflowers so she really didn’t have to ponder so much, but Yunhee disagreed by saying how she found all flowers pretty so it was hard for her to pick one.

The following day, Yunhee received another message that asked her to write yes in the notebook if she was available on the weekend and no if she wasn’t.

She ended up writing a ‘YES’ in capital letters on her notebook that probably covered the whole page, out of sheer excitement.

Jongho on the other hand received a glimpse of it, laughing at how adorable she was. It was as though he felt the excitement of his soulmate and that made him more eager and impatient to meet her.

Yunhee immediately informed Hayoon and Minha about it, who were equally thrilled for their best friend and promised to help her get ready for the occasion.

Weekend arrived faster than the two soulmates anticipated. Jongho made sure to send her a message saying “Go to cafe Aurora at 4pm” before he started preparing to meet her.

He got ready at three and sent a message to his group chat asking which flower he should pick between sunflowers and pink roses. Most of them suggested him to buy both and get them arranged in a nice bouquet.

What Jongho didn’t know, however, was that the seven were already camping at cafe Aurora (excluding San because it was his shift anyway) to watch the scene unfold.

Yunhee finally finished getting ready with the help of her two best friends. She opted for a classy but casual look: flared jeans, puffy sleeved black top, minimal pearl accessories and light makeup.

She kept stressing and overthinking about the entire situation like the worrywart she was. At first Minha and Hayoon were trying to reassure her and alleviate her concerns but after a while it became frustrating for them so they nagged her and threw her out of the house before it was too late.

Yunhee, although still anxious about the whole meeting up with her soulmate situation, took deep breaths and reminded herself how much she had been wanting to meet her soulmate for the past few days. After calming down a bit, she headed towards the cafe.

Jongho arrived at the cafe, the bouquet of flowers in hand. It seemed as though he attracted quite a bit of attention, because of how big the assortment of flowers looked due to the big and vibrant sunflowers. He didn’t think much of it however, opting to find a suitable seat while he waited for his soulmate to arrive.

San on the other hand, went inside the storage room upon Jongho’s arrival to alert the other six who were hiding in there. The guys were trying to find a suitable position to peek in through the door; bickering in low voices to prevent being seen. Yunho had to hold his hand over Wooyoung’s mouth in case he yelled unintentionally and gave out their position.

Meanwhile, San explained the whole situation to Beomgyu and Soobin, who finally understood what was going on.

“Here goes nothing.” Yunhee muttered to herself while she pushed the door to the cafe open. Upon entering she noticed that the cafe was moderately busy– an unusual sight for her as she always visited early in the morning during the rush hour, when all the seats were occupied and a huge queue present.

She didn’t know what to look for as her soulmate hadn’t really mentioned anything that would help her identify him in the crowd, but she hoped that her ‘soulmate senses’ would assist her with it (if such a thing existed).

Soobin noticed her standing awkwardly by the door and called her.

“Hello! Yunhee, right?” he said.

“Oh, hi! Yeah, I usually drop by before going to college. I’m glad you remember my name!” Yunhee was grateful to him for striking up a conversation.

“You seemed like you were searching for someone. Do you perhaps need some help?” He inquired.

“I was, actually! To be honest, I don’t know what he looks like.” she paused. “It’s… my soulmate and today is supposed to be our first meeting.” Yunhee said truthfully.

Upon hearing what she said, Soobin immediately yelled at San to come to the counter, who was standing at the back.

Yunhee saw Soobin whisper something to his ear and he looked at her with his eyebrows raised in shock. He then moved back to allow the guy to stand in his place.

“Hi! I’m San and I usually handle making beverages at the back. Soobin here just told me that you are looking for your soulmate, is that right?” He asked politely.

“Nice to meet you! And yeah, I am.” She replied.

“Looks like we’ll meet each other more often from now on, Ms.Yunhee.” San said while smiling. “And you might want to look there, on the right side, where a guy is sitting with a huge bouquet of flowers. Good luck!” He instructed while pointing towards the table.

Yunhee approached said table and immediately noticed the assortment of sunflowers and pink roses along with a few other flowers. She tapped on the table to get the guy’s attention, who was on his phone with his back to her.

Jongho looked up, only to find, arguably, the most beautiful girl he has ever laid eyes upon. He seemed to be in a trance, everything but the girl in front of him becoming a blur.

Yunhee wasn’t faring any better, feeling like her heart was beating out of her chest as she stared at the guy that was supposed to be her soulmate.

Both of them felt like something clicked in place, like the final piece in a puzzle that they didn’t even know was missing all this time.

Jongho recovered first, standing up to move the bouquet so that Yunhee could sit in the seat in front of him. Once she settled down, he swiftly handed the flowers to her, to which she thanked him in a bashful way.

“I did think your choice of flower was unique, but now that I saw you face to face, it suits you.” Jongho said, after clearing his voice.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks.” Yunhee replied.

“I’m Jongho. Choi Jongho. Sophomore in college.”

“Park Yunhee. Freshman.”

“Yunhee… a pretty name for an even prettier person it seems.” Jongho replied playfully, making her blush.

They carried their conversation, feeling quite relaxed and comfortable after a while. Yunhee asked him a bunch of different questions, as she couldn’t do that with their bond earlier and Jongho patiently answered every query that she had with a smile on his face, not missing to ask her some in return.

The more they communicated, the more they realised how similar their values and preferences were, which dispelled all the concerns they had about liking each other.

Jongho got up to collect their order when he noticed the six heads peeking through a door in the distance. He made his way towards the door and swung it open, to see the six guys trying to hide behind carton boxes.

Jongho folded his arms and glared at them while they stuttered trying to explain the situation. Meanwhile, San pretended he did not see anything and continued his work.

Being discovered already, the guys came out from the storage room and greeted Yunhee, who was taken aback at first but reciprocated their enthusiasm almost immediately.

She could see how embarrassed Jongho looked because of them so she tried to console him by saying that her friends were like this too and they’d all get along really well once they met.

The guys started leaving one by one, seeing how Jongho’s death glare was still quite evident and they didn’t want to be at the receiving end of their youngest’s wrath.

Jongho sighed and apologised to Yunhee again for his friends’ sudden intrusion to which she was fine with and said that it was quite nice to meet the people he was close to.

They finished their beverages and chose to take a walk outside before heading home.

As they were walking along the pavement, Jongho felt a sudden urge to hold her hand. He tried to appear nonchalant and brushed his hand with hers, to which Yunhee responded by grabbing his hand while looking the other way.

As someone who hated skinship with all his being, Jongho didn’t quite fathom why he felt the need to initiate physical contact with the girl walking beside him. Something as simple as holding hands was making his emotions go haywire.

'So this is what having a soulmate feels like.' Jongho thought.

“Right? I always felt like it was a foreign concept to me, which I couldn’t relate to at all when the people around me shared their stories. But now that I’m experiencing it for myself, I get what they were saying.” Yunhee replied, while swinging their joint hands back and forth.

Jongho looked at her, perplexed about how she knew what he was thinking when their soulmate bond was supposed to dissipate once they met; not to mention it wasn’t regular telepathy to begin with.

Yunhee glanced back at him, to see his head tilted endearingly towards her in confusion.

“You said that out loud, Jongho.” She pointed out while giggling at his expression.

“Oh, I didn’t realise that.” Jongho turned his head away to hide his embarrassment but Yunhee noticed how red his ears were, making her chuckle again. He figured that he really loved how her laugh sounded.

After their impromptu stroll, Jongho took Yunhee home.

They were at the gate, when the girl turned around and held both of Jongho’s hands.

“I had a lovely time today, so thank you so much for that. Thank you for not giving up on me even after knowing how complicated it was trying to find how our bond worked, as I completely started depending on you after not having a single clue about it. I know that our life was kind of on the line too but still I’d like to express my gratitude. And also… thanks for not turning out a jerk I guess?” Yunhee ended with a mischievous smile, making Jongho laugh.

“Then I’d also like to express my gratitude for the fact that you chose to trust me on this and I’m so glad that you’re my soulmate.” Jongho smiled warmly while squeezing her hands tighter. “Also, thanks for not being a snobbish Karen.” He ended with a wink.

Both Yunhee and Jongho felt all warm inside just by looking at each other. Every emotion that they felt just by doing the bare minimum seemed heightened and it was a complete new experience for both of them.

The day ended as Yunhee hugged Jongho despite him telling her he hated skinship, and surprisingly Jongho didn’t mind it and hugged her back.

Yunhee promised to introduce her parents and friends to him some other day, to which Jongho wholeheartedly agreed, saying he’d do the same.

At last they parted ways, Yunhee entering her house and Jongho on his way home even though they didn’t want the day to end.

Unspoken promises of a life together at each other's side lingered on. A life, where they were bound to be together, chosen as each other’s counterparts by fate itself. No matter how many lives they lived, the red string of fate would always bring the destined souls to one another; such was the way of the universe.

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bellaxgiornata · 11 months

Text

Safe Haven [Chapter Four]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.6k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: Chapter four is here since you all did not want me to wait to post! This one also features a Mikey POV at the end! I'll be working on chapter five soon and that one will feature a Mikey in need of comfort because of 'the Jamie thing' that is coming. The entire list of chapters for this series is here and I always love hearing y'all's feedback so feel free to chat!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @winterschildren17 @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella2 @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom

Throwing the sheets off of yourself, you sat upright in bed and ran a hand across your eyes in an attempt to rub the sleep out of them. Thankfully this morning was already starting off better than yesterday–no nightmares at least. Though you assumed it was because you’d been a little wine drunk when you’d crashed last night. That often resulted in dreamless sleep for you.

You’d needed that entire bottle of wine after the day you’d had yesterday, though. Between the nightmare that had woken you up terrified, to the strange way your neighbor could so easily draw your past right to the surface, to that sketchy, anonymous email that had you calling your editor Angela in the evening. You hadn’t even been sure if the email had been him or related to him, but it had sent you into a panic nevertheless. Because that had been your work email, something very few people had access to. And all it said was your name–your actual name, not one of the many fake ones you’d been giving out on the run.

Of course you’d changed to a new email for work immediately after finding that last night, Angela becoming quite frustrated with the whole situation when you’d called. But you needed to be careful and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that you’d inconvenienced her with having to update a handful of people on the yet again new way to reach her clearly paranoid author. She always handled it because your series was bringing in good revenue and the publishing company you’d signed with didn’t want to risk you to a competitor just because you were eccentric .

Gradually you managed to get out of bed, tapping the screen of your phone and checking the time. It was just past seven this morning. You frowned, realizing you hadn’t really managed much more sleep even without the nightmares.

Trudging your way over to your window, you were desperate to let whatever bit of morning light there was blanket your room and hopefully lift your mood. You decided that today you’d just search for a nearby coffee shop on your phone and head there instead of aimlessly wandering in search of one. Angela had told you last night that you’d fallen behind on your social media presence and that she had approved some things for you to update your Instagram with. She’d also urged you to engage with your readers a bit more. All things that made you wary about accidentally revealing too much about your location.

Reaching out a hand when you stopped in front of your window, you tugged the curtain back–and then froze. Your eyes went wide and your mouth fell open in surprise before you could recover and hide your stunned reaction. Apparently Michael had just woken up and decided to open his curtain at the exact same moment as you–though he’d apparently not thought to throw on anything over the pair of navy blue boxers that were riding up his very thick thighs. Swallowing hard, your eyes roved up from his muscular thighs, pausing a moment to appreciate what outlines you could make out through his rumpled boxers, before taking in the dark hair covering his lightly defined stomach and chest. His tattoos were all visible along his arm, your eyes briefly raking over those curiously–you’d always had a weak spot for tattoos.

When your eyes finally landed on his face, heat rose to your cheeks as your fist tightened around the curtain. He’d certainly noticed you openly checking him out if that small grin on his mouth was anything to go by. Slowly he raised his right hand, sending you a small wave. You released the curtain from your death grip, waving in return. His grin grew into a brief smile before his hand dropped back to his side. He ducked his head and turned, making his way away from the window. Your eyes instinctively lowered before you inhaled a sharp breath. He had a nice ass, too.

Michael came to a stop in front of his closet a few steps later before looking back at you over his shoulder. Your eyes flew back up to his face, growing wide at having been caught checking out his ass. Spinning around until your back was to the window, you winced. Embarrassment flooded you instantly.

“Why is it always awkward encounters?” you muttered to yourself.

Forcing yourself to leave the bedroom–and thus ending Michael’s view of your embarrassment–you made your way downstairs and towards the kitchen. Though you couldn’t help but notice the way it felt like your body temperature had increased from that encounter. It was not fair that he was that fucking attractive and just openly flaunting it in front of your window–accidental or not. The image of him like that was certainly not going to leave your mind any time soon. And like hell if you weren’t itching for another peek already.

"No," you told yourself firmly. "Not thinking about that. Don't care how badly I want to run my fingers through that chest hair."

Shaking your head, you tried your best to push the image of your almost naked neighbor from your mind as you pulled a pan out of one of the cabinets. But unfortunately with how attractive he was, and how long it had been since you’d last had sex, you’d nearly burned your eggs this morning when your mind inevitably wandered back to what was hidden under those boxers.

Chin resting in your hand, you scrolled on your laptop through the massive amounts of notifications on your Instagram–the platform Angela had been most adamant about you focusing on for your social media presence. You’d already added two new images that had been pre-approved and posted a photo of yourself with your coffee for your stories. And you had quadruple checked twice that there was absolutely nothing but you, your coffee, and the plain white wall behind you in that image before you’d shared it with a little blurb about how your writing was coming along.

Everything had been posted for barely fifteen minutes, but you were already getting bombarded with a rush of notifications, especially with your inactivity for the past week. How did you manage to just pick a few and answer only those? Especially when everytime you responded to one, you’d get a handful of new notifications?

Your eyes closed, trying to push down that overwhelming feeling beginning to wash over you. Focusing on your breathing for a minute, you inhaled deeply and held your breath before gently releasing it. You repeated that a few more times until you felt like the walls of the coffee shop were no longer about to come closing in on you.

“Just need to answer a few,” you mumbled. “Not all of them. They understand you’re busy.”

With a sigh, you opened your eyes and began scrolling through the first comments on your most recent posts, figuring you’d start there. Soon after, you found yourself in a rhythm, even enjoying answering the messages. Though you’d been extra cautious with each of your responses, making sure you weren’t inadvertently giving away anything that could be used to find where you currently were located.

You’d eventually lost track of the time, only drawn away from what you’d been doing when your phone began vibrating on the table beside your almost empty coffee cup. Eyes darting away from your laptop, you reached out and answered the call after seeing Angela’s name written across the screen.

“Hey, Ang,” you greeted.

She greeted you brightly in return with your name. Clearly she was in a good mood this afternoon.

“I see you’re taking what I said last night seriously,” she continued. “Engaging your readers. Updating your socials. That’s all absolutely wonderful.”

“Glad you approve,” you answered, picking your coffee up and draining the rest of the contents.

“So I spoke with David and we moved your deadline for those chapters back just a bit, as you requested,” Angela continued. “Though you’re going to need to deliver on that this time. No more random wanderlust and uprooting to another country. You ate up too much of your last deadline dealing with all of that.”

Better than being dead, you thought.

“I hear you, Ang,” you replied, two fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. You could feel the beginning of a headache coming on. “I’m working on it. It’s top priority. I promise.”

“Good, that’s good,” she said.

There was a brief pause on the line and your eyes closed instantly. You knew what was coming.

“I’m not doing a book tour,” you deadpanned.

“David is–”

“No tours and no signings,” you stated. “Blame it on my writing process or my muse. I don’t give a shit, Ang. I’m not doing it. Socials are one thing, but I’m not traveling around. Not like that. Not right now.”

“I know you’re a private person–”

“No,” you repeated firmly. “You want an author to finish this series? No.”

Angela drew in a deep, audible inhale before you heard her blow out a long, sharp breath. There was another moment of silence on the line; you could hear her anxiously tapping her nails on her desk. There was no way you’d be convinced to do either of those, though. You couldn’t risk publicly announcing where you were going to be and when.

“Alright,” she said with a huff. “Then you better up your interactions on socials. I want a bigger presence to show David. Something to appease him with. And I want those chapters. If you can manage them before that third deadline extension it’ll make David very happy.”

“Mmm,” you hummed out, your eyes drawn back to your laptop as you mindlessly scrolled through the messages piling up in your inbox. “I’m sure it would.”

“I’ve also addressed the issue from last night,” she continued. “As far as I’m aware we’ve had no breach of security on our end and no one has inquired about your email address. Though I did contact everyone with your new email address first thing this morning.”

“Thanks, Ang,” you said, scrolling through what had refreshed in your inbox as you felt the ache in your temple begin to increase. “I appreciate it.”

“You ever going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, dropping her professional tone.

“Better if I don’t,” you answered, your eyes skimming over the many messages–but a profile picture abruptly caught your attention. Eyes narrowing, you immediately scrolled backwards until you spotted the image again.

Your lips pressed firmly together as you sat there in the coffee shop booth, your eyes glued to the image, everything else around you falling away. It was a symbol–one you’d know anywhere. An upside down crucifix with a diamondback rattlesnake wrapped around it. It felt like your heart had stopped in your chest at the sight of it. You couldn’t breathe as your eyes remained fixed on the image.

“Hey, you still there?”

Blinking rapidly you realized you were still holding the phone to your ear. You swallowed hard, feeling like a lump was stuck in your throat.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you muttered.

“I was saying–”

“I actually need to go, Ang,” you said in a rush. “Can we talk later?”

She sighed loudly on the phone, clearly irritated. “Yeah, sure. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

“Great,” you said.

You didn’t wait for her to respond before you hung up, your eyes still focused on the profile picture. Feeling conflicted, you weren’t sure if you should open the message or not. You didn’t want to read anything from him. You knew it would only send you into a further panicked spiral. But you also knew if there was any clue that he’d found you in that message, you would rather know now so maybe you’d have time to run.

Chewing the inside of your cheek anxiously, you slid the cursor over to the message and then opened it. You held your breath as your eyes skimmed the simple text: ‘can't hide from me, honey.' Your eyes flew frantically around the coffee shop, taking in the face of every stranger around you and carefully examining each one. None of the coffee shop patrons were him though.

Fear unfurled in your stomach, icy cold and terrifyingly sharp. The hair on the back of your neck rose as panic gradually grew inside of you. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched and you hated not knowing if you were. Because maybe he’d finally figured out who your sister was and where she lived. Maybe he knew you were here with her. Maybe he’d already found you.

In a panic you closed out of your tabs and slammed your laptop shut. You stuffed it hurriedly back into your bag before throwing the strap over your shoulder and darting off back to Megan’s, glancing over your shoulder constantly as you went.

Michael was tired by the time he’d made it back to his place; it had been a very long walk back from the car dealership. He’d also had an exhausting day stuck washing cars and he knew he’d be back at it again tomorrow. He knew Frank had been the one to tell Amanda to give him that position, too. He’d wanted to give him a shit job intentionally, hoping he’d quickly get tired of it and get back to what he used to do. But Michael wouldn’t be doing that, not this time.

And it had hurt earlier when he’d gone to lunch with Amanda, those forty-five minutes only adding to his exhaustion. Not just because of how difficult it was to see her now, especially with their past lingering in his mind, but also when the topic of his daughter Anna had eventually been brought up. He’d told her exactly what he’d told Frank and Jimmy–that he was laying low and staying out of trouble so that the courts would let him see her again. But what Amanda had said in return felt like a knife to his heart. Her words had wounded him deeply, words that he’d kept replaying in his mind for the rest of the day as he toiled over washing cars.

“Maybe the kindest thing is just to leave her be.”

He disagreed though–the right thing for him to do was to make things up to her. To be her father again, in whatever way he could be.

He’d said nothing to Amanda in the moment, of course. Remained polite despite the tension hanging over every interaction between the pair of them since he’d returned from prison the other night. He tried to tell himself it’s because Amanda had both of her boys, she didn’t know what it was like to have one of them ripped away. She didn’t know how it felt to desperately want to have your own child back in your life again after eight long years without them. She had no idea how he’d spent every single goddamn day of those eight years thinking about Anna. Not a day had gone by that he didn’t. And he’d vowed to himself that when he got out, he would do whatever he could to be in her life. To do right by her.

The closer Michael got to his house, the more he began to pick up on the sound of hushed voices outside. His steps slowed, his eyes narrowing as his train of thought was broken. As he rounded the corner of the stone fence around his drive, he realized it was you and your sister whispering roughly in front of her place. Despite knowing he shouldn’t, Mikey paused and leant up against the tall stone fence separating your half-sister’s drive from his, ducking his head so he wouldn’t be seen.

“...you’re sure no one’s asked at work?” your unmistakable voice whispered.

“No, Grace, you’re being paranoid.”

“Can you fucking blame me?” you snapped.

“I’ve told no one, okay?” your sister replied quickly. “No one knows you’re here. It’s not from me. Honestly, he’s probably just messing with you. Freaking you out on purpose to make you slip up. Because clearly it’s working–I mean look at you. You look terrified.”

Michael’s head canted to the side, a frown tugging at his lips as his mind quickly filled with questions. Was someone after you? Was that what the two of you were talking about? The same one who’d hurt you and clearly had you falling apart on the walk you’d taken with him yesterday? Were you hiding out at your sister’s and that’s why you’d come to Dublin?

“Yeah, well, he’s fucking terrifying,” you whispered. “Let’s just go inside and relax, alright? We can talk about it while I take these shoes off.”

You must have agreed because the conversation came to an end. A few moments later he heard the telltale sound of the front door closing.

That was strange, Michael thought as he continued on towards his own front door. He pulled his key out of his pocket, unlocking his door and making his way into his home. Birdy appeared to be right, you were certainly hiding something. But who would be after you? An abusive ex? But if you were just hiding from an abusive ex, why come all the way from the States to Dublin? That seemed like quite a big move. Was there more you could possibly be tied up in?

Michael’s mind ran wild with even more questions as he headed upstairs and to his bedroom. He undressed from his work clothes, throwing on a loose and wrinkled tee-shirt and some comfortable sweatpants in his bedroom. He hadn’t bothered to close the curtains before changing, having already looked for you in your bedroom first out of his window. It had been empty.

Though briefly he recalled this morning when the two of you had had a moment of some sort. He’d certainly caught your eyes taking in the sight of him in just his boxers, slowly scanning over every inch of him. It hadn’t been intentional that he’d done that; he’d woken and gone to the window almost like a natural thing. But he certainly had enjoyed the look on your face–surprise at first, but then interest and approval. And when he’d turned to throw on clothes for the day, he’d caught you still standing there watching him, your eyes darting up as if you’d been checking out his ass. You’d looked adorable when you’d realized he’d caught you, your eyes widening in horror before you’d spun around and left your bedroom.

It was hard to believe you were the same woman just moments ago out front sounding panicked. And Michael found himself incredibly curious. Did you need help?

Dressed in comfortable clothes, Michael made his way back down the stairs. He thought he’d try to relax, maybe read a little more of his book to hopefully quiet his mind before he ate some of the food Birdy had brought him last night. He’d been looking forward to a quiet night in before sleeping in his own bed yet again, but as he made his way through the sitting room, about to reach down and pick up his book from his coffee table, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His gaze darted out of his back door and eventually landed on you.

You were standing at the back garden fence, your arms leaning along the top of it and your face buried atop of them. For some reason his heart ached at the sight of you like that. You looked so defeated all drawn in on yourself curled over the fence. Small, even. Fragile.

He found himself drawn to you, his feet already shuffling their way towards his back door. He slid it open, not bothering to be quiet so he would hopefully alert you to his approaching presence, but even when he’d closed the door behind himself you hadn’t so much as moved. He made his way across his back garden towards you, deciding to finally call out.

“Ya alrigh’ over there, Grace?” he asked carefully.

You jumped, your head flying up out of your arms and swinging towards him swiftly. He paused his approach, his hands raising to show he’d meant no harm. That ache in his chest only grew when he spotted the wet tear streaks glistening on your cheeks and the look of sheer panic on your face. He felt himself soften to you instantly, his steps resuming when the panic had eased from your expression.

“I’m fine,” you answered, rubbing the sleeves of your sweatshirt across your damp cheeks.

“Forgive me for sayin’ so, but, ya don’t look it,” he replied carefully.

Your arms wrapped around your chest, your eyes tracking Michael’s movements as he came to stand beside the stone fence near you. He rested his forearms along it slowly, leaning forward towards you. He offered you a faint smile, watching you watch him with that wary expression.

“What every girl wants to hear,” you muttered.

He shrugged a shoulder. “Wasn’t tryin’ to flirt with ya just now,” he said.

Michael saw the corner of your lip twitch, almost as if you’d been about to smile but you’d decided to hold back. He wished you wouldn’t have.

“That implies you’d try to flirt with me some other time,” you pointed out bluntly.

He chuckled, his gaze dropping down to the stone beneath his hands. Despite the heat creeping up his cheeks at your boldness, he’d found himself quite enjoying it. You often spoke what was on your mind. He found it refreshing in comparison to the way most of his family hid what they really meant behind the things they said and did.

“Quite possible after seein’ how ya were checkin’ me out this mornin’,” he teased, glancing up at you from under his lashes.

Satisfaction flooded him when he saw your bottom lip slip in between your teeth, embarrassment washing over your features. That only further proved his suspicions–you had been checking him out this morning. And you’d found him attractive. Which made him feel a little more bold in return.

“Wasn’t exactly expecting that when I opened my curtains,” you mumbled, your gaze falling to your feet.

“I apologize,” he replied. “Wasn’t thinkin’ when I woke. Won’t happen again.”

A silence fell between the pair of you, Michael noticing the way you’d somehow seemed to gravitate closer towards him during this conversation. He found he’d liked that you had.

“Be honest with me,” you suddenly said, the words catching Michael off guard and causing his brows to furrow as you abruptly looked up at him. “Why’d you step outside?”

"Wh–what?" Michael stammered out.

"Just now," you clarified. "Why'd you step outside?"

He hesitated for a moment, trying to comprehend why you’d asked. “I–I wondered if ya were alrigh’?” he said slowly. “Ya looked upset.”

You nodded quickly, taking a step closer towards him. “Yeah, you said that,” you pointed out. “But why do you care?”

Michael raised a hand from the stone fence, running it across his mouth awkwardly as his gaze dropped downwards. You’d certainly called him right out on that.

“Forgive me for sayin’ this, Grace,” he answered carefully, a partial wince on his face as he continued, “but ya seem…troubled. And I–I just want to make sure you’re alrigh’.”

“But why?” you pressed.

Michael tore his gaze from the fence, his eyes falling on you again. Yours were slightly narrowed, staring back at him with an intensity that made it feel like his soul was suddenly laid bare before you. It was disarming and unexpected, but he also couldn’t look away.

“I don’t exactly know,” he answered softly, your eyes still holding his in place. “But ya were there for me the other night. A total stranger, one who ya’d known was straight outta prison.” He huffed out a laugh, his hand lightly patting the worn stone fence beneath it. “Ya jumped a fence for me.”

“Anyone would have done that,” you replied quickly.

Michael shook his head, a small smile on his mouth. “No,” he said slowly. “Ya know that’s not true.”

Your gaze abruptly broke from his, focusing down along your shoes again. Your arms hugged your chest a bit tighter as your hands slipped beneath the sleeves of your oversized sweatshirt. For some reason he found himself overcome with a curiosity to get to know you better.

“Would ya–would ya fancy gettin’ a drink sometime?” he asked cautiously. "Or a–a coffee?"

Your eyes snapped right back up to his face. This time you were the one who looked shocked, your brows having jumped up onto your forehead at his question. After overhearing the conversation you’d had with your sister and catching you clearly crying in the backyard, he was aware his timing wasn’t quite the best, but still, he wanted to try.

“A drink?’ you asked.

“As a–a thank ya of sorts,” he quickly replied, rubbing a hand nervously over the back of his neck. “For bein’ there for me the other night.”

“That sounds awfully like you’re asking me on a date, Mr. Kinsella,” you pointed out.

“And what if–if I was?” he questioned you, hope in his tone. “Maybe not this time but–but maybe another time?”

A frown pulled at your lips instantly and Michael’s heart sank in his chest. You were going to tell him no. Somehow he was more disappointed by that than he’d anticipated he’d be.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go on a date,” you answered softly, shaking your head. “I uh, I can’t exactly get involved with anyone.”

One of Michael’s brows drew up onto his forehead. That was certainly not the explanation he’d been expecting. He figured you’d say it’s because of his family. Because he’d been in prison. Because you’d Googled him and read about some of the things he’d done. But it was because you couldn’t get involved with someone? Why? And did that mean, under different circumstances, you’d have said yes?

“Thanks for–for checking on me but I should get back inside,” you said quickly, your hands rubbing your arms like you were cold. “Have a good night, Michael.”

“G’night, Grace,” he replied.

He watched as you turned, slowly making your way back towards the house. Michael remained there at the fence, both of his hands resting along it as he watched you. But when you'd barely made it halfway towards the door, he found himself calling your name. You turned, a questioning look on your face.

"Why'd ya want to know why I stepped out?" he asked.

You eyed him for a long moment, turning a little more towards him with your arms still crossed over your chest. After a lengthy period of your silence he wondered if you were even going to answer his question.

"Because you're not what I expected," you finally replied, your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

"Is that good or bad?" he called out.

Your head tilted to the side before you shook it slowly. "I'm not sure yet," you called back.

He couldn't resist the pleased smile that slipped onto his mouth as you turned and continued walking back to the house. When you slid the back door open, he saw you pause and glance over your shoulder. Your eyes landed on him and he felt his heart flutter in his chest–something it hadn’t done in a very long time. He raised a hand, sending you a small wave. You nodded at him, a faint smile spreading on your lips. And then you stepped inside, leaving Michael standing by the fence wondering what the hell he’d stepped into with you and why he wasn’t remotely attempting to walk away from it.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x female reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella angst

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bangtanhoneys · 9 months

Text

Yoongi & Grace: Future's Gonna Be Okay

It was nice to not have many plans now his military service had been announced. His tour across the world with his solo trilogy albums was completed, his tattoo was revealed, he had seen his brothers and now the healing could truly begin. Of course, he had seen the news blow up on Twitter and ARMY’s response.

‘Couldn’t have Big Hit even us more than 24 hours? We’re not recovering from the concert.’

‘First Yoongi breaks my heart by crying and now he does this? What the hell SUGA?!’

But it is what it is.

It has to be done.

It had been great to have dinner with all six of the boys and Grace. Of course, she wasn’t going to miss out on seeing his last concert and he knew she had been backstage, ready to take the mic from Adora in case she needed to jump in to cover the tracks he couldn’t get through. As much as he struggled, he got through those three tracks even with tears and snot covering his face.

He loved her for that. That she was always there, ready to jump in. She did it for everyone.

It was also nice to see the family dynamics at play again with Seokjin & Grace reunited, Jungkook reunited with his adopted parents, Jimin back with his sister, and Taehyung back with his partner in crime. How they controlled the grown-up maknae line with gentle prods. How they soothed an anxious Namjoon and a bouncing Hobi.

Yoongi had the chance to sit back and watch it all, surprised he missed the feeling even after living alone for the past couple of years.

Now he would be the next one to leave.

And he knew what it was like for Grace to say goodbye to Seokjin and Hobi.

Now she would have to say goodbye to her twin.

It was always joked that Yoongi and Grace were two cats in a pod. The near enough same personality, the cool exterior but the massive warmth underneath. How they would do anything for anyone. Yoongi’s shadow. Grace’s bodyguard. Yoongi’s safe place. Grace’s go-to.

Four more to go, another four to say goodbye to. All while prepping for her own solo career and world tour.

Of course, he found her in the practice room, the layout of the stage printed on paper and stuck on the mirror for everyone to memorise. The set list (which was changing every week) was printed up on the wall with handwritten notes from Grace, their performance director, choreographers and even the dancers.

Notes of costumes were on another wall with approval stamps from Balmain and Louboutin, more notes from the stylist team.

The whole floor at HYBE had been dedicated to Grace’s solo career with Bang’s office right at the end, the one spearheading the whole thing. Grace’s own team, now currently nicknamed the Queen’s Guard, was spread across other rooms. Yoongi was proud of her, in more ways than one.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said as he closed the door behind him and found Grace sitting on the floor, dance practice clothes on but covered in sweat, looking up at the setlist.

“Are you changing your mind again?” he then asked, sitting down next to her while handing over a large mug of tea and a doughnut.

“No, it’s pretty much finalised. There’s just a couple of tweaks to make with each stop but I’ve got a plan for that,” she smiled as she gratefully took the offered items and wrapped her hands around the mug.

Of course, a lot of it had been hidden away from the boys as she wanted it to be a surprise for everyone including ARMY. So many surprises were coming their way that it was going to be a rollercoaster month starting from November and all the way through to when they came back together in 2025.

“How are you feeling now the notice has been put up?” Grace asked, nudging Yoongi to look at her.

“It’s a relief. It’s hard and it’s worrying but Seokjin-hyung and Hobi have done alright. And the military have been informed of my shoulder so we’ll take it day by day. How are you feeling?” he turned the question onto her, turning his head to fully look at her.

“Four more to go,” she muttered with a dry laugh. “I agree with ARMY when they say the quicker you all go, the quicker you get back. And I do feel that. But not seeing you all for at least eighteen months is hard. Jungkook’s is going to be the worst.”

“Well, he is your baby after all.”

He grinned at the look he got and took the doughnut back, breaking it in half so he could have some.

“But you’re going to do well. ARMY is going to explode with all the things you’ve got planned and I’m sure Seokjin is going to be with you when he comes back for most of your tour, or he’ll at least try to be. And I’ll be keeping up to date with it all,” Yoongi said around a mouthful of the doughnut which Grace tutted at.

“I know. I suppose I’m kind of getting used to the idea I’ll be on my own but not fully. I know you all will be watching and supporting. But it would be nice to have you all there anyway.” Grace finished off her tea and set the mug on the floor, letting out a long sigh.

The two stayed silent as Yoongi finished off the doughnut he brought. They stayed like that for a few minutes until he pushed himself up, brushed down his hands and held out his hands for his sister to take.

“Come on, Gigi. Let’s go for dinner, my treat.”

Grace took hold of her younger brother’s hand and let him pull her up, giving her a quick but tight hug.

“Oh yuck, I’m covered in sweat now.”

“I’ve got more dancing than you to do. All you did was stand there and bounce around.”

“Bounce around? Did you see me sweating?”

“I saw you standing there yelling shibal for the world to repeat.”

“Aish.”

#gracechuasks #bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts female member #bts scenarios #bts fic #yoongi 8th member

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 4: Semi-Charmed Life]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, delicious Thanksgiving nomz, ANGST and let me repeat that last one in case you missed it ANGSTTTTTTTTT!!!

Word count: 5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Here’s the thing about the Ice Fisher: he doesn’t have a type. Ted Bundy liked girls and young women. John Wayne Gacy liked boys and young men. Juan Corona liked farm laborers, Belle Gunness liked suitors who answered the marriage ads she placed in Chicago newspapers, Robert Hansen liked sex workers who he would set loose in the Alaskan wilderness and then hunt down with his Ruger Mini-14. Everyone has their preferences. But not the Ice Fisher.

The first victim was a burly mid-fifties logger and recreational hunter named Josiah Wolfenstein. The second was nineteen-year-old college student Tammy Miller; she was from Sitka and studying psychology, a choice that now strikes you as ironic. The third and most recent victim was Carol Philips: forty-three, Garth Brooks superfan, amateur baker, and beloved soccer mom. They have nothing in common except for their manner of death. They reveal no pattern. They shed no light on who the Ice Fisher is targeting, and conversely who can consider themselves safe. Everyone is a potential victim. And there is no such thing as safe.

In between veterinary appointments, you watch the local news coverage on the grainy tv in the clinic lobby, your arms crossed instinctively over your chest, your face grim.

“You want some bear mace?” Jennifer says, showing you a small black cannister attached to a keychain. “My boyfriend buys a new one for me every time someone gets murdered, so now I have extra.”

You take it tentatively. “Bear mace?”

“Yeah, but it works on people too. It has a 30-foot range. You can spray that Greek guy with it.”

You laugh and clip the bear mace to your purse: a Coach patchwork saddle bag that your parents bought you a few Christmases ago. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chief of Police Eugene Baker, a high school classmate of your parents, is holding a press conference on the television screen. “We believe this killer to be an adult male with considerable physical strength and knowledge of the outdoors. While the first two victims were found in Dredge Lake, Ms. Philips’ remains were recovered from nearby Crystal Lake, complicating the investigation. Police are patrolling the Tongass National Forest, but we simply do not have the manpower to surveille all Juneau-area lakes at all times. We therefore will continue to ask for the public’s cooperation in submitting tips and identifying possible suspects. To this end, we have set up an anonymous 24/7 hotline staffed by volunteers; the phone number is displayed at the bottom of your screen. We advise all Juneau residents to stay vigilant, particularly around strangers, and avoid leaving their homes alone after dark…”

Outside in the violet-and-amber afternoon light, there is the sound of tires slipping on ice. Aegon’s 1985 Chevy Nova drifts sideways into a parking spot; or, rather, into a position improbably straddling three separate parking spots. He and Sunfyre exit the vehicle.

“Oh, great,” Jen grumbles. She hides behind the reception desk so she won’t have to interact with Aegon. She busies herself with cutting pieces of paper into snowflakes, impaling them with paperclips, and arranging them on the miniature Christmas tree that you obtained for the clinic.

“Hey!” Aegon announces merrily as he breezes inside. He is dressed in his light-wash Levis, black Converses, and an oversized pale green sweater with holes in it; the white of the T-shirt he has on underneath shines through the gaps like stars. Overtop he has thrown the black parka you gave him, unzipped and peppered with melting snowflakes. Half of his hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Sunfyre—still wearing his cone of shame—trots along beside him, unleashed.

“Hey,” you return, smiling. “You’re early.”

“We weren’t catching anything, there was an orca pod in the bay this morning and it scared most of the fish off. So we docked the boat after lunch.” His spots the new addition to your purse. “What’s up with that?”

“It’s bear mace. For bears…or serial killers…or you. I haven’t decided which yet. What’s up with your hair?”

“It’s a man bun,” he says, somewhat defensive. “They’re very popular in Southern California.”

“That sounds fictional.”

“I’ll have you know that in the acclaimed feature film Mulan, love interest and all-around badass General Li Shang had a man bun.”

“Literally fictional.”

“Are you going to take the stitches out of my dog’s face or are you just going to mercilessly bully me? I’m very sensitive, you know. As an Aquarius, I hide this beneath a thin veneer of rebellious behavior and inability to commit, but at my heart I am a profoundly fragile man. I’m forever just a few seconds away from disaster. I’m a Christmas ornament in the unsteady hands of a five-year-old high on the jittery, saccharine rush of Kool-Aid.”

“Tropical Punch?”

“Cherry. But knowing you, every cup would have to be a brand new flavor.”

You’re still smiling; you haven’t stopped since he walked in. Aegon smiles back. Jen peeks over the top of the reception desk with wide, curious eyes. Sunfyre whines and scratches at his cone, as if to remind everyone about the true purpose of this visit.

“Bring the beast,” you say, leading Aegon back into the exam room. He scoops up Sunfyre with a grunt and places him on top of the table; the dog’s nails click against the cool, reflective metal surface. You liberate Sunfyre from his cone, then numb his muzzle with lidocaine and remove the stitches one at a time, snipping them with surgical scissors and then pulling them out of the flesh with tweezers. Aegon watches you with his hands in his parka pockets, his expression strangely vacant.

“He’ll have a scar, won’t he?”

“Yes, a small one. But that will just make him more rugged and attractive to all the lady-dogs. Or gentleman-dogs, whatever Sunfyre is into.”

“A scar on his face,” Aegon murmurs, then shakes his pensiveness away. “What should I bring to Thanksgiving?”

“Probably nothing. I think my parents have it covered…the appetizers, the dinner, the desserts…and also, you do not strike me as someone who cooks.”

“Yeah, I eat a lot of Lunchables. But I feel like I should bring something.”

Your eyes flick to his, playful. “Are you worried about making a good first impression?”

Aegon smirks, shrugs, says nothing. Sometimes you make an appearance at Ursa Minor, sometimes you don’t; sometimes you pick up when he calls, sometimes you end up spending hours in his apartment watching the X-Files or Law & Order or 60 Minutes. Other times, you fill your time with work, family, friends, flipping through the tower of travel magazines you have stacked beside your bed. It’s not that you’re ignoring Aegon. It’s that you’re trying to figure out what being with him would be like: what you would gain, what it would cost. He hasn’t tried to touch you since that night under the Northern Lights. You haven’t tried to pry into his many mysteries. But each unanswered question is like a landmine one careless step away from eruption, and they’re filling up that space that stays between you on his threadbare floral couch. At this precise moment, Aegon seems sober, which is highly unusual. There’s something quiet and boyish about him when he’s like this, something almost vulnerable. You can picture him wandering aimlessly through the Foodland, staring at mounds of Idaho potatoes and cans of gooey apple pie filling, having no idea what to do with any of it.

“My mom really likes flowers,” you say. “And obviously she doesn’t get to see them a lot this time of year. So if you want to bring something, bring flowers.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“No rum and Cokes today?” you ask, still removing stitches with sure, deft hands.

“Not yet. But I’m counting the seconds until we’re done here, believe me.”

You recall what he told you as you sat together in Ursa Minor under Christmas lights and strands of shimmering silver tinsel: I don’t do well when I’m sober. You pull out the last stitch and pet Sunfyre’s soft fluffy head. He pants happily, his tail thumping against the table, his trusting dark eyes gazing up at you, tiny starless universes. “Why did you buy the Nova if you’re almost always too drunk to drive it?”

“So I can take Sunfyre up to the woods on nice days. He loves the trails.”

“Um, I don’t think you should be hiking out there alone.”

“Relax. Killers never get the people who deserve it.” Aegon flashes you grin, digs around in his parka pocket, tosses you a gold key that you catch in fumbling, cupped palms. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s a spare. Just in case you ever want to stop by and hang out with my dog. Or, you know. Me.”

You gawk at the key, at Aegon, back to the key. “You’re giving me a…? Why would…? How…?”

“Just so you know it’s an option,” Aegon says. He lifts Sunfyre down from the exam table and leaves like the sun at dusk.

~~~~~~~~~~

You love waking up at home on holiday mornings. There is the noise of clanging pots and pans, the scents of bacon and pancakes and rising Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, the sound of one of your dad’s rock albums spinning on the record player in the living room. Today, his Thanksgiving preparation background music is Third Eye Blind; you bound down the stairs as Semi-Charmed Life drifts through the house. After a swift breakfast—your mom has already set out a plate for you, along with a glass of ice-cold orange juice and a Flintstones multivitamin—the real work begins.

The turkey is slathered with butter and herbs and placed in the oven. The neck and giblets are boiled to make stock for gravy, and then you set them aside for Sunfyre. The rolls are baked, the potatoes are mashed, the yams are smothered with brown sugar and marshmallows, the green bean casserole is topped with French’s fried onions, the stuffing is Stove Top out of the box, the cranberry sauce retains the precise shape of the aluminum can it was jiggled out of. Once you and your dad have finished setting the table, you tell him you’re heading out to pick up the mysterious friend who will be joining you for dinner.

“Your friend doesn’t have a car?” your dad asks, not critical or suspicious, merely intrigued. You have been uncharacteristically cagey about this particular friend, and with good reason. You know practically nothing besides what your parents have already surmised: male, probably single, inopportunely sexy.

“No, he does. I just told him that I’d give him a ride.” In case he gets too hammered to drive himself home, which is almost a certainty.

“Okay, ladybug,” your dad says, folding the red cloth napkins into inelegant triangles, his scruffy grey eyebrows knitted together. “Whatever floats your boat.”

When you knock on Aegon’s apartment door, he appears dressed in his most festive attire: a blue Hawaiian shirt, black jeans, combat boots, a gold chain around his neck, his white-blond hair neat and mostly straight. He is holding a bouquet of roses that have been dyed a deep sapphire color, like the ocean, like biting winter cold.

“Wow,” you say. “You look like Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo + Juliet.”

“I hope I get a happier ending.” He calls Sunfyre over. The golden retriever pads into view. He is wearing a meticulously groomed coat of fur and a blue bowtie to match Aegon’s shirt.

“Hey, buddy!” you squeal in delight, squatting down to scratch Sunfyre’s ears and cover his scarred muzzle with quick smacking kisses. “You are going to be so psyched when you see what we have for you. There’s a nice turkey neck…and a heart, and a liver…and a delicious gizzard…and maybe even some nice juicy kidneys…and I’ll slice it up all up for you into easily chewable little bites…”

“Calm down, Appletini,” Aegon says, grabbing his parka. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re the Ice Fisher.”

Back at your parents’ house, your mom and dad dash to the door to meet your enigmatic friend, clamoring like teenage girls at an Enrique Iglesias concert. Aegon beams and shakes their hands, thanking them graciously for the invitation. Your dad shoots you a furtive grin: This friend IS sexy! Sunfyre presents himself for pats and high-pitched coos of adoration.

“I’m Vince, and this is my wife Debbie,” your dad says. “But you can call us Mom and Dad, that’ll make things less confusing. That’s what most of my daughter’s friends do.”

“That is so totally cool of you. I’m Aegon.”

“Aegon?!” your mom blurts out before she can stop herself.

He sighs. “It’s Greek.”

“Oh, how exotic!” she recovers tactfully, then gasps when he hands her the bouquet. “For me?!”

“It’s the absolute least I could do. I hope you like roses. The options at the Foodland were roses, roses, or…let me think…oh yeah, more roses.”

“They’re lovely,” your mom purrs. “And such a unique color!”

“They reminded me of Alaska, all the ocean, and ice, and big open sky…and also Appletini. Because I always give her the blue mug.”

Your parents blink at him, confounded. “…Appletini?” your dad ventures, smiling.

“It’s a long story,” you say, suddenly shy.

“Well, come on in,” your mom courteously deflects. “There are deviled eggs, salmon dip, Ritz crackers, and pigs in a blanket just waiting to be eaten.”

As your mom and dad bang around the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner, you and Aegon assemble your appetizer plates and loiter in the dining room, nibbling and chatting, bathed in the flickering golden light of the woodstove and humming along to the red Third Eye Blind vinyl that is still rotating on the record player like a bloody planet. There are three unopened bottles of wine on the table. Aegon keeps glancing at them, his eyes gleaming and famished.

“Would you like a tour of the house?” you say. “An authentic Alaskan house? Come March you’ll probably never have this opportunity again. You’ll be jet-setting off to some other far-flung destination, probably somewhere warm where they have plentiful Taco Bells and internet.”

“I’m not a fan of the internet,” Aegon replies, piling a Ritz cracker worryingly high with salmon dip. “But Taco Bells are a must. Yes, lead the way, oh wise and prophetic Madame Appletini.”

You show him the kitchen where your parents are laboring (floral wallpaper), the study (more floral wallpaper), the living room (wood paneling), and the backyard (adorned with a salt lick for the friendly neighborhood cow moose). Then you take Aegon upstairs to your bedroom. He ponders the details for a nerve-rackingly long time as he gnaws on slightly-too-crispy pigs in a blanket: your stack of travel magazines, your veterinary books, your dark blue bedding, the photographs taped to your mirror, the plethora of posters tacked to your walls.

Aegon speaks without looking at you, still investigating. “Has Trent ever gotten to enjoy your extensive collection of Ricky Martin posters?”

“Not yet. Preferably not ever.”

Now Aegon turns to you; he is smiling. “I feel so sorry for him.”

“Dinner’s ready, kids!” your dad shouts up the stairs, and you obediently report to the table to eat until you are in agony, which to your understanding is the primary objective of Thanksgiving.

“Drinks?” you mom inquires as she lights the tall red candles. The blue roses are in a vase at the center of the table. “There’s Tang, and Snapple, and water of course, and Pinot Noir. Martha Stewart says that’s the best wine to pair with turkey.”

“Wine, please,” Aegon says. She fills his glass. It vanishes almost immediately.

Aegon is the perfect guest: he samples everything and offers enthusiastic compliments, even when he is clearly horrified (as he is by the green bean casserole): “The turkey is so moist and flavorful!” “The yams are like dessert!” “It’s so fun to poke this cranberry sauce!” “My, what a creative use of cream of mushroom soup!” Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sunfyre feasts on a plate of turkey organs and a few slices of white meat. You have a glass of wine, and so does your dad; your mom has two; you lose count of Aegon’s glasses after four. He becomes increasingly uncoordinated, giggly, fogged like a window. Your parents do not encourage him to drink, but they don’t try to stop him either; they ignore his drunkenness like a ghost that stands in the corner of the room, silent, waiting, set ablaze by firelight.

“Do I detect a British accent?” your dad asks Aegon pleasantly. “So this must be a new experience for you. Did you grow up abroad?”

“I grew up everywhere.” Aegon smirks evasively, swigging his wine. “And yes, my exposure to Thanksgiving is extremely limited. But I like this. I like this a lot. I’m going to have to do it every year, wherever I am. Sunfyre will rebel if I don’t. He’ll call PETA to file a complaint.”

“You do quite a bit of travelling, I gather,” your mom says. She watches Aegon with an intense, mesmerized sort of interest. It’s almost unnerving. It’s like she is searching for something: fingerprints dusted at a crime scene, gold nuggets sifted from a river.

“All over. All the time.”

“What do you do for work?”

“Everything,” Aegon says. “Here I’m salmon trolling. In San Francisco I was a dockworker, in San Diego I was a lifeguard—you don’t want to know how little training it takes to be a custodian of human lives, it’s absolutely horrifying, they’d let a great white shark be a lifeguard if it looked good in red—in Phoenix I did construction, just outside of Denver I got a job working on a cattle ranch. In Dallas I picked cotton. In Portland, Maine I caught lobsters. I’ll try anything once. I just like to keep moving. As long as I can make enough money to have somewhere for me and Sunfyre to sleep at night, I’m happy.”

“You’re just like Jack Dawson in Titanic,” your mom sighs, smiling in a way that brightens her whole face. “All you need is the air in your lungs.”

“You work on the same boat as Heather’s brother Trent, is that right?” your dad asks.

“Oh, Trent!” your mom says. “He’s a hunk. He looks just like a long-haired Matt Damon.”

You squint at her. “Yeah, if Matt Damon did steroids.”

“He’s a nice boy, that Trent,” your dad says. “I mean, he won’t be winning Who Wants To Be A Millionaire anytime soon, but he’s solid.”

Your mom nods in agreement. “Dumb as a rock.”

“He’s a great guy,” Aegon says diplomatically. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was a salmon.” He laughs overly-loudly, sloshing red wine out of his glass and staining the tablecloth like blood on snow. Your parents pretend not to notice.

After dinner, your mom brings out dessert: one pumpkin pie, one apple pie, one plate full of Tongass Forest Cookies. Aegon samples both pies and gobbles cookies until his Hawaiian shirt is littered with crumbs, washing them down with more wine. Then he gets up to pull on his parka and let Sunfyre outside. Aegon lurches as he moves, clutching walls and counters and the backs of chairs.

“I’ll go with you,” your mom offers before you can. She helps Aegon down the icy porch steps and then plays with Sunfyre in the backyard: chasing him through the snow, throwing sticks for him to fetch, tossing snowballs for him to snap between his jaws. Aegon, wobbly but in good spirits, participates as much as he can. And the way that your mom looks at him…it’s an expression you can’t recall ever seeing on her face before. It is fascination and fondness and grief all tangled up together. The light in her eyes is beautiful; it is also breathtakingly sad.

Your dad taps one of the empty wine bottles. “He’s got a problem, ladybug.”

“I know.”

“You can’t fix that for him. He has to want to fix himself.”

“I know,” you say again, your voice a brittle whisper.

Your dad sighs deeply and clasps his hands together, stares out the window, contemplates something heavy and unseen. At last, he speaks. “I’ve loved your mother my whole life. And when she and Jesse got together, I thought it was going to kill me. It wasn’t the fact that she was with another man. It was what he put her through. There were fights, there were bruises, and then there were promises and apologies, past-due bills and handmade birthday cakes, locked doors, open doors, kicked down doors. I couldn’t get her to leave him, and I couldn’t watch it keep happening. I tried everything to get away from your mother. I joined the goddamn Marines to get away from her. Four years in Vietnam and I still couldn’t sweat her out. I came back to Juneau and used my G.I. Bill to go to the University of Alaska, and…I would never admit this to anyone except you, but you need to hear it…I waited for that marriage to fall apart. And it did, but it took Jesse drowning in the Gastineau Channel.” He looks at you with miserable, glistening eyes. “Watching the way your mother suffered with a man like that was hell. Watching you go through the same thing would be unbearable.”

There is silence: a silence as thick and perilous as the ocean. Your dad studies you, searching for understanding, for a rational consensus to be reached. You study the lines in your palms. There is nothing rational about what you’re feeling. Alaska is flush with eligible men who are not temporary, not secretive, not unrepentant alcoholics: pilots, truckers, fishermen, loggers, oil riggers, scientific researchers, park rangers. You don’t want any of them. You’ve never wanted anything the way you want Aegon. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

The back door opens, and your mom and Sunfyre—elated and covered in snow—romp into the house. Your mom is giggling as she grabs a dishtowel from the kitchen and begins to clean the snow from Sunfyre’s fur. “You might want to…uh…retrieve Aegon,” she tells you. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Making snow angels.”

“Oh. Great.” You put on your own parka and head out into the afternoon twilight.

“Hey,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the ground. He’s sweeping his arms and legs back and forth as stars rise in the sky.

“Hey. Are you having fun down there?”

“Yes.” His breath is a cloud in the frigid air. His arms and legs go still. “I love feeling small like this. Nothing matters. Not our pasts, not our accomplishments, not our mistakes. We’re all just bones with memories. We’re all just future space dust.”

“You don’t want to be remembered?”

“God no. What would be worth remembering? I want to be a whisper. I want to be the wind that blows over the ocean.” He cranes his neck to look up at you, thoughtful in that glazed, drunken sort of way. “You can remember me, I guess. I’ll allow that. But only you. No one else.”

“Assuming I outlive you.”

“You will obviously outlive me.” He holds his arms up in the air and you pull him to his feet.

“I think it’s time for you and Sunfyre to go home.”

“Oh no.” His face is filled with abrupt realization. “Do your parents hate me?”

“No, they like you. They like you a lot. They’re just worried about you.” And they’d be a lot more worried if they knew about the track marks on your arms or the fact that you can’t stay in one place longer than six months without being descended upon by maybe-metaphorical ghosts.

Aegon laughs wildly, almost hysterically. He reaches for your shoulder to steady himself and then stops short. He sways in the late-November air, his hair dripping from the snow, his hazy blue eyes all over you. You tuck his ever-errant lock of hair behind his ear. I love him, you think helplessly, like when you know you’re dreaming but can’t wake up. “Worried about me,” he muses without elaborating. “Worried about me.”

Your parents send Aegon home with warm hugs and Tupperware containers full of leftovers, including extra turkey meat for Sunfyre and a truly ludicrous helping of cookies. You drive to Aegon’s apartment building slowly so Sunfyre can stick his head out the back window and bark gleefully at every car you pass. It is dark when you get there, the sunset come and gone, the constellations visible in a rare clear sky: Gemini, Orion, Draco, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. Your Jeep idles under the lusterless beam of a streetlight.

Aegon asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips: “You want to come upstairs with me?”

“Yes,” you reply. And if you do, you won’t leave until morning. “But not until I’ve talked to you about something first.”

“It’s important,” Aegon says softly, not a question but an observation, reading your face like a weather forecast: chance of sun, chance of storms.

“Yes, it’s important.”

“Okay. Let me take Sunfyre inside and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, he doesn’t even hug you. He reaches out with one hand and dusts his calloused thumbprint across your cheekbone, marveling at you like you’re a radiant horizon, like you’re ancient ruins: cave paintings older than the pyramids, pillars of stones and secrets. Then he gets out of the Jeep and staggers into the apartment building with Sunfyre scampering along beside him. He reappears moments later, his hands buried in the pockets of his parka. You were too anxious to wait in the Jeep; you pace back and forth beneath the dim ochre streetlight. Aegon watches you from several yards away, waiting for you to begin.

“Look,” you say. “I like you.”

“Cool.”

“No, I mean, I really like you.”

He smiles like the sun, like the Northern Lights. “So you are applying to be my Juneau girl.”

“Yes. But I need something from you first.”

His blue eyes are calm beneath the streetlight, beneath the starlight. “Name it.”

“I need you to get help.”

Aegon shakes his head, not understanding, his smile slowly dying. His lock of bone-white hair cuts his cheek in half like a scar. “What are you talking about?”

“You can go to rehab. I’ll help you find a program, I’ll take care of Sunfyre while you’re away.”

Everything about him changes, like the phases of the moon: his face darkens, his eyes go steely and sharp, everything you love about him is eclipsed. “I don’t need rehab.”

“Aegon, you obviously need rehab.”

He glares at you with savage distrust, with betrayal.

“I need you to get yourself together,” you plead. “I want to be with you, I want to let myself care about you, but I can’t do that when you’re killing yourself right in front of me.”

“I don’t see how it affects you.”

“It does. It will.”

“I’m a lot better now than I was two years ago.”

“It’s not good enough, Aegon.”

He looks down at his combat boots, then back at you. You barely recognize him. “So I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not what I said—”

“It’s what you meant, it’s what this whole fucking conversation is about, right?” he flares. “You not being satisfied with the kind of person I am. You thinking that you get any say at all in who I am. Are you delusional, are you that goddamn narcissistic? Have you staked some claim to me that I’m unaware of? Are you Christopher Columbus here to strip me bare and claim you discovered me?”

“Are you listening to me?! I’m trying to tell you that I l—”

“No, you don’t like me. You like some hypothetical version of me that you’re trying to convince yourself exists.”

You stare at him in heartbroken disbelief. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help.”

“But I thought…if you would just…we could…”

“When the fuck did I ever promise you a future?” Aegon flings like a blade. “When did I ever promise you anything? You think I showed up here to build you some cabin on the side of a mountain, get a desk job, give you Christmases and kids? That’s not me. That’s never going to be me. I’m not yours to use. I’m not a Ricky Martin poster to keep tacked up on your wall. I’m not the impetus to bail you out of your spineless, unfulfilling life.”

“Please stop.” Your throat is burning; there are hot tears slithering from your eyes. The icy wind stings against your face. “Please just stop.”

“I’m not the one who fucked this up,” Aegon hisses. “It was you, it was you, because I told you the truth but you refused to believe it. I’m not yours and I never was and I’m never going to be, so you better get that through your thick fucking skull. I’m not yours.”

“And why would I want someone like you?!” you scream into the darkness. He flinches away like you’ve hit him. His eyes are huge and glassy. “An alcoholic, an addict, a coward who runs away from anything worth living for? I’d rather die than waste my life on you. Wait, my mistake, waste the next four months on you, because then you’ll be fleeing to go terrorize some other girl in some other city. I don’t want you. I can’t wait to forget you.”

“Then go!” Aegon roars over his shoulder as he turns away. “Just fucking go!” He storms off into his apartment building; he disappears like the end of summer, leaving a jet-black endless void.

You retreat back into your Jeep, slam the door, and sit there under the silver-cold moonlight sobbing into empty, trembling hands.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #hotd fanfic #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n

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cassieuncaged · 2 months

Text

Night Out (A Mortal Kombat Oneshot)

Summary: Nyx and Alex go out for a night out, away from the Black Dragon.

TW: shenanigans, light violence, bleeding, suggestiveness, mention of tattoos, language (etc.)

WC: 3.4 K

A/N: Thank you to the amazing @chadillacboseman for letting me use Alex for this totally fun oneshot of Nyx actually making a friend and finally allowing someone to get to know her (sort of). It's just a fun outing mostly and little bit of trouble because this is the gruesome twosome we're dealing with here :)

Other's OC's Mentioned:

Echo (@roofgeese)

Tigue (@mintspider)

Ombra (@theelderhazelnut)

Kate (@quantum-lover)

Thanks for letting me borrow your babies!

Taglist: @roofgeese, @chadillacboseman, @theelderhazelnut, @quantum-lover, @elderglocks, @galaxycunt, @voidika, @spacestephh

Lights on the rooftop flickered, cigarette smoke hanging in a filmy haze. The night was black, starless except for the skyline of L.A. If that even counted. Nyx expelled smoke from her painted lips, thinking of the city and her crummy little apartment crammed above a Thai food restaurant. At least that meant unlimited helpings of pho and noodles to get her through sleepless nights.

The door creaked on its hinges before slamming shut with a thud. Rubber soles smacked against loose asphalt. Nyx felt her jaw tighten, suppressing a scream as she felt the pressure of company forced upon her. Nostrils flared, fat plumes of smoke exuding in silent aggression.

“What up, Elvira.” Alex yawned, nursing a swollen jaw with a frozen flank steak. She had no idea where it came from and didn’t really want an explanation. “Surprised you’re still here.”

“Doing Kano’s dirty work doesn’t leave me with a lot of time for a budding social life.” Burgundy eyes rolled, contact slipping enough to reveal a sliver of blue. Alex didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t you have another fight?”

“Got paid to throw it,” he shrugged, setting the steak on the ledge to pull a hoodie over his plain t-shirt. “Took a pretty nasty hit to the jaw. Bit the inside of my cheek.”

He tapped the bloated side of his face, blood soaked gauze exposed when his lips were cracked open.

“That explains it then,” Nyx smirked, flicking her cigarette off down below. He sounded like his tongue was too fat for his mouth.

“That’s littering,” he lisped with a chuckle, earning an eye roll, “Red irises tonight.”

“Yeah. So?” she snapped, crossing her arms over a leather clad chest.

“Just making small talk.” He laughed again, wincing at the throbbing pain in his jaw. “Which you are great at by the way.”

“Dickhead,” Nyx groused, eyes focusing on the waning sliver of moon.

“I’d make a jab too but something tells me you’d sock me in the other cheek.”

“Just like Jesus.” She actually cracked a smile, tipping her head in his direction. Alex hand never noticed until then how long her nose was, silhouette prominent against sprawling darkness.

“Exactly.” he nodded firmly, watching as she rested her arms across the ledge. Alex did the same. “Except I can’t turn water into wine.”

“Bummer.” that dry timbre returned, pale fingers knotted in a fist, nails lacquered black.

Of course.

Nyx was as plainly predictable as she was capricious. A mall goth pushing what everyone assumed was thirty, based on interests and pop culture references. Alex had garnered that she’d watched the Price Is Right when she was home sick from school and loved Gerard Way. Both were slips on her part but he could be disarming considering the regulars who frequented the Black Dragon. She wasn’t completely inscrutable like Echo.

“What’s your poison? You don’t seem like a cabernet type.” He pronounced the word incorrectly.

“Cabernet.” She corrected, lazily. He didn’t mind the habit of hers. It bothered the shit out of Kabal and Kano. “And I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

“Alcoholic?” he giggled, trying to be quippy and fresh. Keep the mood light. It wasn’t his best idea.

“Recovering actually. Prefer the Devil’s Lettuce these days. Maybe a bit of Molly if I go to a club.” This was absolutely shocking. He felt like he was discovering virgin land. No one else had ever pushed this far and been admitted. He’d expected a sweetheart like Kate would have been able to crack this nut but apparently it was Alex who was the excavator of this social ‘dig’. “Good way to pick up chicks.”

“You go out?” he was flabbergasted, scratching at the tag at the neck of his t-shirt. “I thought the rumors about you going home to a ferret were true.”

“Who the fuck knows about that?” she turned completely, black lips agape, piercings gleaming in the moonlight. A septum and an eyebrow stud. Not to mention a fading scar decorating one eye. He’d never studied her like a bug under a microscope before.

“Kabal. Says your pillow talk leaves something to be desired.” He shrugged, half smile plastered across a tan face. Black brows quirked. If Nyx didn’t know any better, she’d say he was handsome. A dope, but handsome nonetheless.

“Fuck a guy once and he can’t stop talking about your ferret.” Those dark eyes rolled, in annoyance, small hands flying up to smooth bi-colored hair.

“That sounds like a double entendre.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“What’s it named?” he was genuinely curious, shocked by their conversation’s progression. Any other time she’d briskly tell him to ‘fuck off’.

“Her name is Ghost.” she added softly, “She’s all I have left.”

A heavy silence lingered as Nyx fished in her pockets for fingerless leather gloves. Pulling them over pallid digits. She was getting ready to leave. Alex wasn’t exactly expecting a goodbye but was wholly shocked when she cocked her head and said:

“Wanna go out and paint the town black?”

……

Muscular arms wrapped around Nyx’s middle as the Ducati zipped through traffic. She wasn’t used to a passenger but loved the chance to show off. Even though she wore the only helmet; hopefully Alex wouldn’t go careening off into the street, head splitting like a watermelon.

She liked the guy and that would be a tragedy.

So the woman carefully glided between vehicles, sliding through a few yellow lights before turning onto Sunset. Neon lights blinded them, theaters wedged between many palm trees in concrete prisons. She hated the nightlife splendor, only partaking in a few clubs to find someone to occasionally warm her bed. There was never company, a passenger wrapped around her gut, clenching tighter at every stop light.

“You want In ‘n Out?” she slid the visor back, turning so Alex could hear her. She knew he was a glutton for carbs but only got a sharp headshake in response.

“Nah,” his voice was muffled beneath his white fanged mask, dark eyes sparkling with childlike glee. “Let’s find a strip club around here. Those places have the best wings.”

“Really?” she asked, fingers tapping on the leather handles of the bike, eyes flitting back to the fiery red light. “Didn’t take you for the strip club type.”

“What can I say,” he stretched his fingers across her leather clad jacket, catching a slight spasm. “Holy shit! Are you ticklish? The Princess of Darkness is a secret softyyyy-”

His words lingered like a comic book character’s speech bubble left hanging in the air, tires screeching when the light turned green. Stark white hair covered dark eyes like a blindfold as Nyx weaved in and out of cars. A chorus of honks chided them, a track of burnt rubber tattooed onto the asphalt.

The distant Hollywood Hills looked like mountainous peaks, light pollution adding a supernatural austere. Nyx enjoyed how the city came alive at night, sprawling miles of pink and blue lights spreading out like a network of veins. They were nestled in the belly of the breathing beast, the same one that housed the parking lot she wickedly turned into. Alex held on for dear life, jostled off the seat before she slid into an empty spot.

“That was kickass,” he proclaimed, pulling his mask off and slicking wild hair back into its ponytail. “You ever watch Akira?”

“Hell yeah,” she added, voice muffled beneath the helmet before prying it off. Black and white was fully revealed in a waterfall, space buns slightly squished. “Always wanted to recreate that slide. Figured it’d make me a badass.”

“Puh-lease.” Dark chocolate eyes rolled, tan skin appearing golden beneath flashing neon lights. The man had the body of a heart throb housing the personality of a puppy. He was like a cute kid brother she was growing protective of. “You say that like you aren’t already.”

“Thanks,” black lips pursed for a moment as gloved fingers sat the helmet atop the vinyl seat. Both turned to gawk at the neon sign flashing above them. It read Sunset Girls in flamingo pink, featuring the silhouette of a woman dancing when the light flickered. “You wanna go in?”

“Fuck yeah,” Alex exclaimed, pulling a pair of Wayfarers from his pocket and sliding them on. Nyx snorted; he looked ridiculous wearing sunglasses and sporting a purpling bruise on his jaw. One arm was tossed across her slender shoulders as he steered them both towards the door.

……

The place wasn’t a dive, but it sure as hell wasn’t classy either. Blue and purple lights painted the stage in the same indigo as an aquarium paired with the odiferous scent of cheap perfume and sweat.

Nyx had secured a small table towards the back while Alex combed through a rather sizeable buffet, sunglasses pushed atop his head. Def Leppard’s Animal throbbed through the sound system while a woman with a curtain of bottle blonde hair snapped a sequin bikini off.

Black lips curled in amusement; the establishment was so painfully cliched, right down to the schlubby sleazes roaring in amusement and throwing crumpled dollars onto the lighted floor. Taking a sip of a weakly mixed Bloody Mary, red contacts found her buddy for the evening ambling over with an abundantly filled plate.

“Here!” The food was plopped on the table, one side being presented as an offering. “They even had crab rangoons. You like those?”

“Not usually at a nudie bar, but I’ll bite.” Alex only smiled politely, not completely hearing sardonic words buried beneath the hair rock. Picking up the fried packet of dough, Nyx carefully tore it open with her front teeth. The filling was actually quite delicious as she began to chew, watching Alex destroy a pile of wings, “Holy shit, this is amazing!”

“Best part about these places is the food!” He used one hand to magnify his voice as soon as the song ended.

“Dude,” a man a few tables over chimed in, “You know there’s naked chicks here, right?”

“Drizzle them in cheese and jalapeños like the nachos at the buffet and then we’ll talk.”

Nyx practically choked on her drink, watching in amusement as the stranger grinned awkwardly, earning a genuine thumbs up from Alex before Xtina’s Dirrty was queued next.

“You’re alright.” She settled leather clad arms on the table before playfully socking the man in the shoulder.

“Kano should get you to fight,” he snickered, playfully rubbing his arm, “You could smash someone’s skull with that right hook.”

“Shut up,” her eyes rolled before quick fingers snuck another rangoon from his plate.

“Come on,” he teased, “sharpen it up and you’d fit right into the line up with Tigue and Ombra.”

“Don’t forget about Kate.” She warned; the woman could fry them all to a crisp but Nyx had a soft spot for her.

“I always thought you didn’t give a shit about us at the club. Like in a ‘too cool for school’, edgy rebel sort of way.”

“I don’t like to get attached to anyone in this business,” her gaze dropped to the table, fingers aimlessly braiding straw wrappers together. “It’s depressing.”

“Yeah,” he nodded knowingly, face cast in a shade of blue as he chewed. “But so is being alone. Besides, it’s not like any of us at the Black Dragon are saints; we can take care of ourselves.”

Before she could respond, there was a commotion from the private rooms behind them. Both of them immediately turned when a woman screamed:

“Get your hands off me, scumbag.”

No one else could hear anything over the music, leaving them to Nancy Drew the situation. Nyx slinked from her seat, leading the way as Alex wiped sauce sticky fingers on his sweatpants. The ‘private rooms’ were only alcoves hidden by velvet curtains, offering little privacy. There was another squeal from the closest one, followed by a smack. Nyx eyed her compatriot, silently directing him to take the other side.

“I paid for this, I’ll do what I want.”

Taking the lead, Alex slid in first, hands proudly resting on his hips when Nyx bolted past the thick , purple curtain.

“Not if we have anything to say about it!” He announced jubilantly, confounding the showgirl from squabbling with her sleazy patron. She moved to cover herself with a decorative cushion.

“What are you, Superman?” Nyx screwed up her pale features with disgust. Alex broke character, hands thrown up in surrender.

“Whaddya want? I’m trying to be heroic!” he declared, pounding his chest with one fist. The dancer flipped dark curls over one shoulder, dropping the cushion to reveal bare breasts. Both tried to stop their eyes from dropping immediately.

“I don’t a hero,” her green eyes glowed in the dim light, red lips open with a huff, “I need my manager to remove this fucking creep.”

“Hey, I paid extra!” The man roared, sporting slicked back hair and a bowling shirt. “If I wanna touch your tits, I will.”

“Listen, Tony Soprano,” it was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes, cross his arms across a maroon hoodie. “Everyone knows you get to look, not touch.”

“Who the hell are you two? Her guardian angels?” His beady eyes narrowed, paunchy face drenched in sweat. The man was astoundingly repulsive.

“No,” Nyx admitted coolly, kicking the heel of one boot forward before slickly pulling a kunai from the heel, “Just a couple shadows that you’re going to forget. Along with this woman. You’re gonna go home to your sad little house and jerk off like everyone else.”

“Or what?” His eyes were on the weapon, watching with the others as she brought the heavy object to dark lips before sticking out a pink tongue. Bringing the blade to soft skin, Nyx carefully brought the sharp edge across the edge of her tongue, releasing a shallow rivulet of blood. The tip flitted to the edges of pointed incisors, giving her the visage of a vampire. She tossed the kunai upwards before catching it.

“Do you really want to find out?” Her voice was huskier, dark as a thick syrupy bourbon with a bite to it. The man shook his head before scrabbling past the curtain and out of their sight. Black lips jutted forward as she sucked on her tongue, swiftly pocketing the knife before management got involved.

“Holy shit.” Alex gawked, along with the dancer who seemed not to mind their company. “That was awesome.”

“Yeah,” dark curls bounced as she nodded, “Thought we were going to have to call the cops. But you’re a bit of a freak. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Sorry to bother you. The two began to peel the curtain open when the woman spoke again.

“Wait!” she fell back onto the red velvet bench. “I have fifteen minutes left before we need to vacate. Either of you want a dance? The other can get a free drink at the bar. For your troubles.”

Leather clad fingers clapped a broad shoulder, as Nyx leaned in to jokingly whisper:

“Go get her, tiger. I’m going to claim my boozy reward.”

……

Lucky’s was a grungy tattoo parlor on the edge of Hollywood Boulevard, sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a gated pawn shop. It was filled with a couple artists who worked on the occasional celebrity, sometimes after awards shows down at the Dolby Theater.

“You sure you both want skulls?” Ernie asked dutifully, scrawny as his partner Billy was pudgy.

“Yeah!” Alex spun in a swivel chair as Nyx extended a bare wrist. “They’ll be different. I want flames and she wants snakes.”

“Maybe like an ouroboros through the skull's eyes?” she added as Ernie sketched a design.

“You want it eating its tail or some shit?” a bushy brow arched upwards before she nodded her head. “To each their fucking own.”

“Fuck yeah!” Alex jeered with joy, spinning again. All the posters displaying flash prints bled together as he rode his high from dissipating liquor and a free lap dance. “Tonight is stellar.”

“You a couple?” Billy grumbled from behind his own sketch pad, expelling a huff from his nostrils.

“Nah,” Nyx piped up, suddenly animated, “He’s my baby brother. Wanted to get a tattoo with his big sis.”

“Heh,” Ernie exclaimed, revealing his sketch with fanfare. “Don’t look anything alike.”

“Different dads,” Alex added ruefully, winking at Nyx when she threw a sheath of black and white hair over one shoulder. “Genetics are weird, man.”

“Hell, yeah.” Ernie, jested, awaiting for her approval of his design. “Would you believe Bill and I were cousins?”

“No shit?” Alex played along, finally stilling in his seat. Then the tattooer threw his head back, cackling with amusement.

“I’m fucking with you. Just like you’re fucking with me.” he giggled a little more playfully, “Not that I give a shit. One lady came in here back in February, wearing this fancy ballgown saying she just won a fucking Oscar.”

“Didn’t she have it with her?” Nyx asked flatly, less than impressed while Alex’s eyes ballooned wide.

“Can spot a fake a mile away.” Ernie seemed prideful, leaning forward to plaster the outline onto her arm, “Probably foil covered and filled with chocolate.”

“Probably,” she parroted, watching as he hopped to surprisingly lithe feet, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and fresh needles. It was going to fucking sting but if she weren’t ready to feel something again.

……

Alex picked at the gauze covering the soft skin of his forearm, shadow of a flaming skull winking beneath the sheer material. Blinking away the bright lights of the burger joint, he hissed as one finger traced the decorative wound. Nyx bit into a juicy sandwich, relishing in the tanginess of pink meat.

“Okay?” Her mouth was full, half masticated on full display.

“They not have manners wherever the hell you're from?” he chuckled, popping a fry between his lips as she clamped her jaw shut and roughly swallowed. “I’m fine. Takes more than a few needles to bother me. How’s yours?”

“Alright,” she patted the leather covered span of her wrist, where a snake threaded it’s way through a cracked skull’s open mouth. “Not my first rodeo. Have four others.”

“No shit.” Another long fry was swirled in a pool of ketchup. “What else you got?”

“Ghostface, a candy heart that says ‘Bite Me’, a bat on a tombstone. And a daisy.” her gaze dropped to her half eaten burger.

“Not to get all Sesame Street on you, but one of these things is not like the other.” Alex leaned forward, balancing his jaw in an upturned palm. “I mean, you don’t have to share, but I’ll never tell your secrets.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Stick a needle in my eye.” A warm smile split across his face, the beginning of five o’clock shadow decorating his chin.

“It’s for my mom. It was her favorite.” Red eyes dropped to the red formica table, moisture gathering in the corners.

“That’s a nice memorial.” Silence settled between them, the comfortable kind that found old friends enjoying each other’s company. Alex continued to eat his fries as mellow rock music played through a crackling radio. It was either John Mellencamp or Bryan Adams, but what was the difference?

The sound of meat sizzled from the kitchen as patrons continued to filter in despite the clock that ticked well past midnight. Other night owls passed by the plexiglass windows, cigarettes hanging from their lips. That was normally what Nyx did after completing a job, wandering the streets and paying it cool, giving herself a few alibis.

But there were no jobs tonight. Just company.

“Virginia.” she blurted suddenly. “That’s wherever the hell I’m from.”

“Oh,” dark eyes widened to saucers again, realizing that a dangerous wolf had allowed him to pet her snout, teeth no longer bared. “Thanks for trusting me with that.”

“I don’t trust a lot of people.” she nodded, black lipstick starting to fade and reveal pale pink while matte powder bled away to reveal a stray smattering of freckles. The mask was slipping. “But you’re proving to be trustworthy.”

“Don’t hear that a lot.” his eyes grew to the size of saucers, chocolatey and inviting as ever. Nyx felt her contact slip again. “Thanks.”

She grinned, this time authentic. Her cheeks warmed at the moment of intimacy, something she hadn’t experienced since leaving home. Noah used to make her blush all the damn time, reminding her what a good sister she was. Compliments always turned her tomato red, like she didn’t really deserve it.

“Your eyes are pretty by the way. Blue like the ocean.” he mirrored her grin, even wider than before.

“Thanks,” she relayed once more. Maybe they were friends. Maybe friendship wasn’t that bad.

#fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfiction #nyx and alex #platonic otp #gruesome twosome #oc: nyx #oc: alex #friends ocs #thanks for letting me borrow him tara!#your the best 💕#mk alex #mk nyx

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thefringespod · 2 months

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Its #AudioDramaSunday once again and I'm back with an actual round up of listens for the week! Starting off with @innbetween which I got caught up on this week! I love that The Lowlifes got so caught up in the spirit of love that they (minus Rukes) were ready to host a wedding. Absolutely iconic of them, they all lost the brain cell in that moment. I also got through the early access for the next episode and it was very very fun

New @tellnotalespod made me feel every emotion under the sun. Parts of it were very lighthearted and fun! Car rides! Secret plans! Frank is queer! And then parts of it had me close to tears at my desk. Leanne really put me through the wringer this week and I love them for it <3

Public release of @souloperatorpod ep 4 was this week and it was so fucking good. The more that is revealed about this town and the people living there, the less I feel like I understand (positive) it's absolutely incredible. Also the editing on this was one phenomenal 10/10

@woebegonepod has once again done things to my heart that I will never recover from. I'm so worried about Base working for the Compound. I'm worried about all the iterations in the Compound. I am still worried about Michael and this ep did not help that. An excellent ep as always

Magnus Protocol has given us *so much* in terms of lore and red string board theories. I love Colin. I'm certain bad things will happen to him. I want to protect Sam but he's proving to be very hard to protect. This show keeps getting better each episode, i can't wait for more

@kingmakerpod episode 19 has proven that the most terrifying thing out there is children with magical powers. A thirteen year old mentalist? Nope, don't like that. Thirteen year olds should not be able to read minds, Colette is right about that one

The new ep of The Grotto *destroyed me* it was so good. Also I'm in it! Which was very fun! This episode had @taytayheyhey ripping my heart out of my chest and also had my favorite song Athan has written for the show so far. If you're not listening to The Grotto you *gotta*

Here on the Fringes, we've released this seasons dragon episode! The dragon episodes are very dear to my heart and hearing people's responses to it have been lovely 💜 Early access for this week's episode is also up right now at patreon.com/PineTreePods!

And that's all for this week! Busy week ahead with work, podcast things, and an appointment for a new tattoo but there are also some excellent shows for me to listen to to get through it 💜

#audio drama sunday #audiodrama sunday #pines notes #recommendation post

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bettyfrommars · 2 months

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Itching for more biker!steve😆

you read my mind

I've been thinking about him so much, everything else is on temporary hold until I can get a first chapter out. It's going to be gritty and wild, and I can't wait.

Here is a little sneak peek to the beginning of our biker Steve story Ring of Fire (has not been edited, and I might switch some details around, but anyway, I'm happy you mentioned it anon)

18+ONLY

The bell on the door dinged to announce a customer, but you didn’t look up right away, you were too busy trying to figure out why your till was a few bucks short for the day. Donovan would not be happy. Heavy foot falls made it to the counter and then the person in question cleared his throat.

“Ten on pump 2 and a pack of reds,” the voice was deep and scratchy, like he was recovering from a sore throat.

You closed the cash register and glanced up for the first time.

The view made you inhale a sharp breath and hold it. The man before you had on a thick motorcycle jacket zipped up halfway over a white tee atop blue jeans that were a dark denim wash, faded over time, with a tattered hole in one knee. There were tattoos scattered over his flesh, peeking from his collar, and down his hands. Letters on his knuckles spelled something, but you couldn’t quite make it out, and didn’t want to reveal that you cared. He had a crazy mop of maplewood hair on his head that looked like it had once been gelled into place but lost the fight hours ago. He raked a big hand through it slowly, pausing halfway through the movement, and tucked his chin to pin you with an anticipatory stare.

The last person you ever expected to see again after all those years was Steve Harrington.

He pushed his wayfarer sunglasses up to reveal hazel eyes that were just as sad as they were electric. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his top lip, he coughed into his fist and repeated himself. “Pump 2?”

You gave a flustered wave of your hand. “Sorry, of course,” you turned to pull a soft pack from the wall behind you. “Matches?”

He shook his head, and then, “just a sec,” before sauntering over to the aisle on the other side of the potato chips.

Tossing a pack of Magnum condoms on the counter next to his smokes, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and said a polite, “those too, please.” The wallet was as worn as his jeans and connected by a chain to one of his belt loops.

“You new here?” He asked as you passed him his change. He rolled a piece of gum from the inside of his cheek to start chewing it again.

You stumbled over the question. “New to this store or Hawkins?”

He shrugged, a smirk lifting up one side of his mouth. “Both, I guess?”

He was well aware that you were new to the corner gas n’ sip because he’d been a regular customer for years, and he definitely would have remembered you.

Definitely.

Yet, something about you felt very familiar.

“I grew up here,” you admitted dryly.

Steve tilted his head back to assess you down the bridge of his nose and frowned like he didn’t believe you.

#Ring of Fire #biker!steve

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rose-like-the-phoenix · 2 years

Text

Skyrim thieves guild headcanons

The daedric prince of Hyperfixation is at play here, enjoy my ramblings. Also check out @thequeenofthewinter she writes some really awesome stuff 😁

Brynjolf (aka my fave)

He was recruited by Gallus around the same time as Mercer, he rose through the ranks of the guild quite quickly... a little too quickly if you asked Mercer. Gallus was going to make him the next guildmaster but after explaining he didn't care for responsibility he told Gallus to give the position to Mercer

He's not an easy man to pin down. if he reveals any part of his personality, other then overconfident, cocky and flirty, to you willingly, you should consider yourself special.

Flirts with everyone, lads and lasses alike (especially his guildmates)

He grew up in a settlement somewhere in the riff. The village of about 20 was mostly made up of Dunmer refugees, a handful of Khajiit and Argonians and a couple of Nord families, he sees them as equals and feels as though he can relax more around them then he can around other Nords. It's partly why he often avoids going to Windhelm

Speaking of Windhelm, it's the last place in tamriel he would ever want to go. Not only because of the Nordic residents poor treatment of the other races but also because he prefers warmer weather and doesn't care for the near constant snowfall

As recruits, he was the youngest and only teenager (17 to 19) and Mercer was the third oldest (mid to late 20s)

Occasionally gets caught on purpose for fun and thrills

When someone in the guild ticks him off (usually Mercer) he'll mumble insults in scottish gaelic to avoid the guild fighting amongst itself

If you're on a job with him and things go south, let him do all the talking (he's silver tongued for a reason)

Absolutely littered with scars

*spoiler alert* spells take a lot out of him, once that frenzy spell Mercer put on him wore off, he collapsed and was breathing quite heavily, unfortunately he didn't have much time to recover

Has a general distaste for bandits, however on the way back from a job, he was attacked by three bears and a Nord in bandit armor ran up and started helping him, once the bears were dealt with Bryn excepted the man to attack him or demand gold but the bandit just sheathed his weapon and turned toward him with a smile on his face "Heh, you fight pretty well. Name's Thrynn, mind if I travel with you for a while? There's plenty more bears around here"

Has definitely been told more than once that if he doesn't wipe a smirk off his face, his armor is going in the pond... with him in it

Brynjolf doesn't know Glover Mallory very well but, knowing it would never happen otherwise, took it upon himself to write Glover a letter for his birthday each year, usually a handful of gems will accompany that letter. He also makes the rest of the guild sign said letter and every time Delvin's just like "why would I need to do that?"

Has a tattoo of the guild shadow mark on his left forearm and "dying breed" across his shoulders

Doesn't go on jobs alone very often

Kept a journal he lifted off a drunk altmer once, it's mostly just filled with drawings, client information, stuff about the Nightingales and (much like Gallus) plans to make the guild good amounts of coin

Mercer Frey (aka captain backstabber)

Hated Brynjolf's guts from day one and always thought the scottsman was full of himself

Muttered and cursed under his breath more than he liked to admit

Was shocked to hear Brynjolf tell Gallus to make him guildmaster and when he asked why Brynjolf's answers only infuriated him more "I don't care for responsibility" "I'd rather not be a leader" "I just don't want to" etc.

"Brynjolf's a showoff" when Gallus asked why the pair didn't get along.. among some other more direct reasons

Mostly just payed for the upkeep of his house to keep the guild from going through his things and using them as leverage/playing keep away with him/hiding things from him/using his stuff for pranks etc. He only keeps the bare minimum of what he needs on a daily basis in his chest, end table and desk

Would never say it, but he did find Bryn somewhat funny BUT he definitely wasn't laughing when Brynjolf and Delvin dumped two bucket fulls of cistern water on him at 1AM

Gallus told him to teach Brynjolf some magic in hopes they'd learn to get along. Brynjolf however, politely declines the offer, explaining that "magic and I don't mix well" *Mercer nodding* "noted"

Ironically is the first person to start calling Brynjolf "Bryn"

As a teen, Brynjolf used to call him a "grumpy old man"

"I hate to admit it, but Brynjolf is the best person we've got at finding new recruits. That man really knows how to read people"

Delvin Mallory (old man *affectionate*)

The "fun" uncleTm

When Brynjolf was new to the guild, some recruits Gallus was training at the time, thought it was a good idea to mock Bryn's accent. Delvin was the one to put an end to it "just 'cause the boy's young, he's already twice the thief compared to the rest o' you lot"

Vekel "I know better and I'd still say the old bastard has a drinking problem"

Definitely issues all the drinking challenges/games

One of the only guild members who is even remotely or the slightest bit religious

Will begrudgingly pay off a guild members bounty if the guards are really hounding their ass, just feels like he should

Straight up refuses to retire, retirement is a drity word

Can't sneak for very long anymore due to his age so he's usually sent in as a distraction and if you don't know how to sneak very well then he can sure as hell teach you

Hardly ever seen without a bottle of mead in hand

Brynjolf was the one who gave him his opening line when someone asks for sneak training "if you need training, go talk to Delvin. Stick with him and they'll never know you're there"

Thrynn (Ex-bandit)

Very sarcastic and brutally honest

Uses archery targets for punching bags

Can left most guild members above his head

Once after a particularly aggressive troll attack, he carried a very injured Brynjolf back to the Flagon, despite Bryn's protests, which led to him calling Brynjolf "featherweight"

Damages his armor more than anyone else, which according to Tonilia is saying something considering Brynjolf is a bit of an injury magnet

He's pretty good friends with Brynjolf, considering the pair usually do jobs together. They've gotten to know each other quite well, sometimes too well

Can sneak, just doesn't want to

Doesn't quite understand the idea of magic, despite being from Winterhold "so you just hold your hands up and fire comes out of them? Weird"

*someone uses big words/scientific terms* "just get to the point"

Bear hugs/lifting people up from behind unexpectedly is one of his favorite ways to amuse himself

Prefers ale to mead, unlike his buddy Bryn who likes honey in his drink

Tonilia (♡?)

As quartermaster, she basically does everything Brynjolf or Mercer/dragonborn doesn't want to do

Gets annoyed easily

Met Vekel after she joined the guild

It's a rumor that her and Brynjolf are having an affair, what happened was some drunk in the Bee and Brab was trying to get a bit frisky with the fence and Brynjolf stepped in saying "the lass said no and so do I" Mercer saw them walk out of the inn, arms linked, he couldn't hear what was said but he watched Tonilia thank Brynjolf and hug him. Now, Mercer being the asshole that he is started the rumor of her and Bryn being a little too "friendly"

Probably had a girlfriend at some point in the past

Sapphire (💙)

Sapph and Brynjolf have an interesting relationship, it goes beyond friendship, more like a brother and sister who haven't seen each other in a long time but were never particularly close. They both lost their families and each have a deeper understanding of the other because of it

Her and Bryn were out and about in riften and ran into someone she knew before her family... well you know, when they asked who Brynjolf was she introduced him as her brother for lack of a better explanation

Vex is older than Sapph by nine years, Tonilia is younger then both of them but has been with the guild longer

Mercer would never tell, but Brynjolf saved his life. Sapphire's last order from the dark brotherhood was to assassinate Mercer Frey, it was the middle of the night when she snuck into the guild's hideout, Brynjolf and Mercer were up late working. Brynjolf convinced her to follow along with some jobs and she'd be payed more than what the dark brotherhood offered, she agreed on the terms that the guild was to not meddle in what she called "personal affairs"

Has a few coin purses filled with her collection of stolen sapphires in her end table

Viper the fleet (🙄..)

Was one of the last recruits to tarin with Gallus before he was murdered, Brynjolf picked up where his predecessor left off

Even Bryn can't stand how lustful this man is, Brynjolf's flirtatious jokes are one thing but Viper takes things too far in the the opinion of the senior thief

The last time the second in command caught Vip trying to bed Sapphire, he told Thrynn to trouble shoot his brain (bash it in..)

Has two heads but only enough blood supply to run one at a time

He can be a good thief but only if he would actually get his head out of the gutter

If it had been up to Bryn, Viper would have been fired from his position... MULTIPLE TIMES

Vex (our little vex <3)

Was a drifter, ended up in riften and has been there ever since

Second oldest female in the guild, the first being Karliah

Over heard Braith and Lars arguing while on job in Whiterun, Braith reminds her more of herself than she'd like to admit

Second best in a fistfight, first being Thrynn and third being Brynjolf

Usually slaps the back of someone's head if they piss her off

Her parents told her stories of the dragonborn but she never believed it until the the last dragonborn became part of the thieves guild

Much like the redhead she deems annoying, no one really knows where she's from

Curses the most

Vex: *punched Brynjolf in the shoulder as he walked past her* Brynjolf: *stumbles forward, look's at vex with a smirk* "I like that lass" Vex: 😳

Her closest friend in the guild is Sapphire

Rune (🪨..)

When Brynjolf heard Rune's story, he started asking the male Imperial to accompany him and Sapph on their outings. once the three got to know each other better, Bryn explained that he and Sapphire had lost their families as well

Him and vex were the only Imperial members of the guild for a long time

His little rune rock is his most prized possession, understandably

Most of the long time guild members have in someway attempted to decipher the symbols, if you were to ever get your hands on the second in commands journal (which he keeps in a locked dewar in his desk) you'll find a page with Rune's well, runes drawn on it, surrounded by notes of what they could potentially mean

Can be very blondeTm sometimes

Is happy that Sapph and Bryn have fond memories of their families but it also saddens him sense he can't remember his own, the other two notice this however and try not to bring it up too often

At a time when thoughts of home, wherever it may be, was weighing heavy on his mind, Brynjolf slung his arm over Rune's shoulders and claimed him as his younger brother

Is at least two or three years younger than Bryn

Second closest to Brynjolf, the first being Thrynn

Enjoys spiced wine occasionally (if you catch my meaning...)

No one's sure how but he says he has "connections" with the Whiterun guard

Lived in Whiterun for a period of time

The Inconspicuous drunk, you wouldn't know he was drunk until he tries to stand

This all I got for now, might reblog this with my ocs from my thieves guild fanfics 🤔

#skyrim headcanons #thieves guild #brynjolf #mercer frey #delvin mallory #thrynn #tonilia #sapphire #viper the fleet #vex #rune

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lairofdragonagelore · 1 year

Text

Comic: Dark Fortress

This post belongs to the series DA comic. The main intention is to collect the basic story of the comic and highlight any potential lore concept that may be of interest and may be explored later in the game series.

This post has the following points:

Story

Relevant Details

Characters:

Lore

In the Lore section:

Neromenian [Tevinter city] is also invaded by the Qunari.

Explanation of how to make Blue Wraiths: it requires Danarius' Sarcophagus, a sword made out of normal lyrium which is disintegrated in the process and fuses it into the body of the subject, and fire spells being constantly hit on the sarcophagus. The process takes hours and it is extremely painful.

The procedure to create a Red Wraiths requires Danarius' sarcophagus, a sword made out of red lyrium idol which is not destroyed in the process thanks to its self-regenerative properties, and the fire breath of a dragon. The process is faster, it may take minutes. We don’t know if it’s painful.

The use of a sword made out of the red lyrium idol grants to its wielder strong healing powers. This comes from the lore recently incorporated in Tevinter Nights which suspects that the red lyrium idol can regenerate itself.

The red wraith [Shirallas] reinforces, again, the idea that the red lyrium is a symbol of rage and vengeance, and not by chance it was narrated through an elf wearing the vallaslin of Elgar’nan, which tattoo design is a thorny vine.

By the end of the story, the Sarcophagus is deeply sunk into the ground, the red lyrium sword is sent to the Inquisition, and the red lyrium idol is being scried by Solas. We know he will take it eventually thanks to the book Tevinter Nights.

Eluvians are now surveillance cameras…. really, can this be taken seriously?

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

Story

We see that Shirallas, the magister that promised him power, and Cedric Marquette reach the Castellum Tenebris owned now by the bastard son of Danarius.

They remove Danarius' son from the castle and plan to use the sarcophagus to imbue Shirallas with red lyrium, then arm him with a sword made out of the red lyrium idol. The goal to turn Shirallas into this living weapon is to repel the Qunari invasion and recover Tevinter's former glory.

Meanwhile, Danarius' son, without his castle, goes to a tavern to drink in frustration. The group intercepts him and forces him to speak about what the magister plans to do. He reveals the details after being tortured by Fenris, including a secret passage into the castle.

The city close to the castle [Neromenian] is also invaded by the Qunari who want to stop these magisters from creating these aberrant warriors. They try to force their entrance into the castle.

As the group infiltrates into the castle via the secret passage, they find a Dragon inside, which presence is justified later: its fire is part of the process of creating a red wraith.

We see the variant in the process of creating a perrepatae like Fenris when used red lyrium: it requires a sword made out of a fragment of the red lyrium idol, which will survive the procedure.

With the dragon breath, the process is instantaneous.

We see the process by which Shirallas finally gets his most desired power. But he remains under the command of the Magister, simply because he was broken as Fenris told him he was going to end up. It’s worth noting that we have an aesthetic that relates rage, vengeful sense, Elgar’nar’s symbology, and thorny vines in the figure of Shirallas. All these elements are related to the Red Lyrium, which naturally has an “angry” energy, according to Cole’s words. Each of these elements is also potentially related to the codex Veilfire Runes in the Deep Roads found in the mural “The Death of a Titan”. It explains that something angry/red was hidden underground, unleashed because the Evanuris wanted more power, and vines tried to cage it for a while. I can see similar symbology in here, in Shirallas. I wonder if the Evanuris managed to do something like these magisters have been doing with red lyrium in order to reach divine power. If we think about it, Titans and Dragons both had the power to change reality. Dragons via the Fade, and Titans, apparently, through the reinforcement of reality by shaping The Stone, so Elvhenan had two sources of immense power to reach divinity: dragon blood and titan blood=lyrium.

Shirallas is now a red wraith, and we see his body has been marked with red lines that may or may not look like a vine. It does not have the symmetric and flawless shape that Fenris’ tattoo has. It’s a more chaotic version, following the untamed nature of the red lyrium.

Fenris wounds him deadly, but Shirallas heals immediately.

Marquette begins to panic and claims that the only way to stop the red wraith’s healing powers is to separate him from his weapon. After all, his sword was made out of a piece of the idol, which feeds from the red lyrium inside Shirallas’ body and, in consequence, heals him. Here is where we see that makes some sense the fact that the red lyrium idol self-regenerates: its powers can be transferred to a weapon. Knowing this, Ser Aaron Hawthorne sacrifices himself, separating Shirallas from the sword. This is probably the only action he feels it will ever matter in his life.

After this, Fenris can easily behead Shirallas.

I suppose the comic introduced to us the concept of Red Wraith that we may see in the future game. It’s the only reason I see to have made the concept so central in the comics. The red wraith also reinforces again the idea that the red lyrium is about rage and vengeance, and not by chance was narrated through an elf with the vallaslin of Elgar’nan, which tattoo design is a thorny vine. In contrast, we also see along the comic a human mage using thorny vines as her magic to kill and defend her people, as well as healing them.

Once the battle is over, they prepare Ser Aaron Hawthorne’s body for a proper bury in his origin city, and check what happened with the items that allowed the creation of the red wraith: the sarcophagus is deep into the ground thanks to Francesca, and the red lyrium sword will be sent to the Inquisition.

The red lyrium idol is in the hands of Danarius’ son, who wants to use it to guarantee his permanence in the Venatori. By the last panels of the comic, we know he’s being scryed by Solas... using an eluvian [?].

I found this a bit annoying too. Eluvians were used to travel long distances. Tevinters managed to use them for communication, meaning, that they could talk through them with another person who also had an eluvian. This one used by Solas works like a surveillance camera moving over the head of Danarius’ son, lol. Are eluvian allowed to have this scry property? I’m not sure.

Comics are really wild when it comes to details in the lore and show up how much Gaider was needed to keep some lore consistency. Since he left Bioware, the products that have been appearing related to Dragon Age have a lot of weird, never hinted lore, that makes me fear the fate of the world of Thedas in the future games.

Relevant details:

Why the title? This story is focused on the Castellum Tenebris, Danarius’ castle that now is owned by his bastard son, where the first Red Wraith was created, hence the name of the comic.

Time: After defeating Corypheus and [maybe] after the DLC Tresspasser. I assume this because Varric is Viscount of Kirkwall.

Characters: We learn a bit more about Ser Aaron Hawthorne [the truth about his legend in Ostagar]:

He is haunted by his sense of uselessness when he was part of Loghain’s army that left the King Cailan in the middle of the battle against the darkspawn.

He had managed to reach Cailan with plenty of time, but it did not matter, since the ogre killed him in front of him, and since then, Ser Aaron Hawthorne has not been the same anymore, feeling that none of his actions truly mattered in the end. That’s why he ends up being so bold during the combat against the Red Wraith and sacrifices to finally make one of his actions matter.

Concepts: what can this comic provide in terms of lore?

We have an explanation, again, of the process that made warriors [Blue Wraiths] like Fenris:

It includes the sarcophagus, a sword made out of lyrium which disappears when it gets fused into the body of the subject, and a fire-based spell that should last hours. The process was slow and filled with excruciating pain.

In contrast, the process of creating a Red Wraith is faster, reduced to minutes, due to the use of red lyrium and dragonfire. It includes Danarius’ sarcophagus too, and a sword made out of the red lyrium idol.

Since the red lyrium idol seem to have healing properties in itself [information hinted in the book Tevinter Nights], it provides healing power to the red wraith as long as the wraith is in contact with the weapon.

By the end of the story, Marquette gives the idol to Danarius’ son who wants to impress the Venatori so he can be still part of them. The inconsistency with which DA lore treats the red lyrium idol, in a world that already knows that the red lyrium is terrible.... is astounding.

A curious detail: Marquette implies that the red lyrium has been rendered useless, emphasised by the drawing which shows it like a wooden carved piece, without red lyrium in it. I always claimed in my post Red Lyrium Idol that the figure looked like made out of wood and not of red lyrium. This makes me suspect that the red lyrium idol feeds on red lyrium, but it is not made out of it. How this affects the lore is impossible to know for me, since there is no detailed information about it.

The other element used for the development of red wraith is the sarcophagus which Francesca sunk into the ground via her vine-powers. They freed the dragon used in the creation of the red Wraith

#red lyrium #red lyrium idol #blue wraith #red wraith #fenris #eluvian #da comic #comic #shirallas

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