#sorry about image formatting my phone had a FIT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedragonqueen1998 · 10 days

Text

Today at work i got insanly inspired to write and once i got off work, i immidiently went on my phone to type it out. XD I just finished a 3 hour long writing ses(had a 15 minute food break in the middle). ^^ Probably just gonna forever gonna be a wip thing, but it was fun and i'm kinda proud of it. Despite it being rough in some parts, mostly because i wanted to rush to the 2nd half and i didn't wanna get stuck, i'm happy to share it. ^^

It's a kinda long, so i'm gonna add a Read more line to not fill your dash with text. Also, first time trying formatting out! XD

So, originally this post was just gonna be a "i actually wrote something! Look!" thing, just showing of some work i did, but after writing the reason why i wrote a line a certain way, it went into something very sad and kinda dark, so if you don't wanna read about death, a light mention of suicidal thought and grief... just stop after What even is my life.

Idk why i wrote it, but it took alot of effort and it feels... important to me, i guess. Part of processing and such. So, yeah. Read at your discretion. Thank you for your time. 💜

Ezio had many regrets in his long life. Not being there when his father and brothers were arrested. Of not being there more for his sister and mother. Of not trying to be together with Cristina. Not being able to save her. Or being able to save Uncle Mario and Monteriggioni. But biggest of all, not having spent more time with his family before the execution.

He had love, but didn't cherish it. Didn't truly feel it and took it for granted. But unlike so many others, Ezio could take those regrets and change them. Thanks to Desmond.

When he walked into the Library, he thought he might get an answer or two in return for many more. He truly didn't expect that calling out Desmonds name while the Apple bathed the walls in gold would result in it being answered by the being himself.

The being looked like a man, clad in a white light, eminating from a strange device under his right arm. His face looked like an exact replica of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad's face, though his build was closer to his. Broad shoulders hidden underneath a strange hooded white doublet and long legs wearing strange tight fitted pants made from a material he did not recognise. Even the scar was the same as his! Was Ezio made in the image of the one he was the Prophet for? Was Altaïr the herald? All questions Ezio wondered, but not knowing if Desmond was like Minerva or not, he dared not waste any questions if the beings patient was thin.

But first: "Are you Desmond?" He had to know, have it confirmed, even if the being appeared after the name was called.

"Ezio? Is this the Library? Am i seriously bleeding while dying!?" Desmond was looking around at the empty tomb, before his eyes returned upon Ezio.

"Yes, this is Altaïr's library. You are bleeding? I do not see any blood and you are dying!? Is there anything i can do to help you? Please, my lord. Tell me what i need to do to save you." Ezio was desperate to know his purpose and if all his life lead to this moment, where he could save Desmonds life, he would fulfill it.

"There's nothing you can do. I am dying semi willingly and even if this is some Animus infused death hallucination, it is nice having my last moments with you, even if your not really here. I am so sorry i couldn't answer any of your questions or try to save you from losing everything. You never deserved any of it. In the end it didn't really even matter. I am sorry you wasted your time chasing riddles and ghosts." He looked so grieve struck while saying it and the look Desmond had while gazing down onto Ezio could only be described as lovingly.

"What do you mean? Could you have saved my uncle!? My father and brothers!? Why didn't you if you do not think i deserved it! I have served the Brotherhood almost my entire life, sacrificed so much trying to find out what Minerva meant and now your telling me that it was all for nothing!? If you think i wasted my time then give it back!"

Desmonds eye's widen before softly smiling and saying: "Your right, you wasted your time and sacrificed too much for nothing. Let's change that."

Before Ezio knew it, the world went white and he knew nothing more.

—————

When Ezio awoke, it was to a bed he hadn't seen in almost 40 years. His childhood bed and his room. He couldn't believe it. He was given a second chance. To live his life. To right wrongs. To save his family! To think going to the Library would result in this!

At the thought of the Library, Ezio suddenly remembered Sofia. To have forgotten her and even abandoned her without a second thought left Ezio feeling guilty. Would she wait outside the Library before realising he would never come back? Or because he is now in the past, a past where he intends to change the future, would she never meet him? Never exist? The thought of her hurt, but like so many others, Ezio knew that him being in her life would have risked hers. Even if she knew and accepted it, it is still better if she never got the chance to know him and inevitibly suffer because of it. Same with Cristina. Though he could now choose her, he knew that despite the many mistakes in his life, the Brotherhood was not one of them and his refusal to properly let her go killed her. Letting that life affect her once again was too cruel. It was for the better to just let her go.

Federico nudged him with his elbow. "Brother, what has you thinking so hard you look like you bit into something bitter?"

"Nothing much, just wondering what i should get." Ezio smiled and laughed. He was currently out with his family on a trip the market. The last time around, he had decided to sneak off to spend some time with a girl he didn't even remember the name of anymore instead of spending time with his loved ones, to his great shame and regret. This was the last thing his family had done together outside of dinners before the execution in 3 days. That he missed out on it was one of his biggest regrets, but Desmond let him change it.

That Ezio might never truly understand or know what or who Desmond is, how he watched him in the Vault or even what Minerva's people and the Pieces of Eden truly were will forever haunt him, but the trade to see his family again and to even be able to save them is a fair trade. He can go his life wondering these questions and maybe try to find them now that he will have more time, thanks to already knowing the Templars plans and who will be an enemy or ally.

He felt a finger poke him inbetween his eyebrows.

"There you go again Brother. Thinking too hard! Be careful or you might hurt yourself." Federico teased before yelping and then laughing when Ezio pushed him.

"Please don't start fighting now sons." Their father said before turning back to the stall owner to continue discussing what wares to buy and the prices.

"Sorry Father!" Ezio said before giving his brother a teasing look that promised this was not over.

Ezio remembered this day well enough. Not to remember the woman he decided to chase, but enough to know that when his family had been at the market a horse had run wild there and according to Claudia, nearly trampled her down in the confusion.

He was a bit sceptical to believe it was as close as she had made it out to be, but he knew horses much better now than he did before. After years of riding them to and from places in the chase for his targets, he knew that having one running towards you in a blind panic could scare anyone. Even though he knew to be wary of them and treat them with respecy during his original childhood, he didn't truly get how these gentle beings could be as scary as his sister had made the poor creature out to be.

According to his family, it had been a war horse, bloodied, running around in a blind panic, probably scared from a skirmish. Being chased by guards hadn't helped and eventually the guards got a good shot at it and put it down.

Ezio wanted to save his sister years of fearing horses, so he kept an eye and a ear out for any signs that the animal was on it's way.

There. A scream. Everyone stopped and looked around for the source. The source was still hidden by the crowds, but in the distance you could start seeing people moving away from something coming this way and the screams were getting closer.

Ezio breathed and slipped into his Second Sight, the Eagle Vision, as he now knew Altaïr had called it. Or more accuratly, Eagle Sense. With the years, his constant use and need for it had changed his Sight. It had become much stronger, letting him see farther, expanded his hearing, to let him hear his enemies heartbeat and even know what moves they were going to make. Even let him know where his enemies was going to go on a patrol route.

It truly was a gift and now he would use it to try and predict where the animal would go, as to lead his sister and family away from the danger. Then he saw it. The shine of something important. Something that glowed as strongly as the Apple of Eden had. The horse.

There was much about his Gift he could not explain. He had tried, but it is much like explaining sight to a blind person. Why things he didn't even know about could glow gold and lead him to the answer. Why allies glowed blue and enemies red, nor how he could tell friend from foe and now. His Sight told him, with the same intuition as telling friend from foe, that this horse was Desmond.

How is Desmond here? Why? Did he lie about dying? Or was certain death only a large chance that Desmond beat? Ezio supposed it did not matter. If he lets events play as they had before, Desmond would be struck down by an arrow within minutes. Oh, maybe Desmond had tried to prevent his father and brothers demise, but was struck down in the attempt? Though, why choose to do it as a rampaging horse? Either way, Desmond was clearly panicking, almost upon him now. If Ezio could not calm him down, his death was guaranteed.

But how? Ezio has just seconds now to plan a way to stop him before he is trampled down.

Then, he finally realises, that among the bright gold he shines, he also glowes blue. Such a deep colour which he has only seen in the greatest friends or closest family and he knows, Desmond would never harm him. The look of pure love on Desmonds face made more sense now.

So Ezio decides to not move and simple raise up his hands, as if to pet the horse.

"EZIO!"

————

Desmond was in pain. He knew that Juno lied about his death being quick and painless, but god, why did it have to hurt so much!? During his hallucination, it wasn't nearly so bad! And can't forget the weird nightmare he's having ontop of it. He's a goddamned horse on some battlefield. He was rearing up when the nightmare started, neighing as his rider was shot and killed by an arrow.

There's so much blood. The smell strikes fear in his heart. There's so much red. He slips into Eagle Vision and there's even more red. Not a spec of blue. A sword slides against the armor he is wearing and the screech of metal is too much. He bolts.

He needs to run. Away from the monsters with sharp sticks. Away from the smell of blood and death. Away from the shadows hiding hunters. They follow him. They chase him for a long time.

He is getting so tired.

He needs to get back to the barn. His owner would make everything alright. He would croon soft noises he did not understand, but the tone was soft and gentle. He would give him a treat while brushing him down after a hard days work.

He did ride him into scary battles he did not understand, but afterwards he would wash and groom him extra thoroughly, while feeding him the best apples, crooning more sounds in a happy tone. He would repeat one of the few sounds he understood, which meant "him" and "pay attention to me".

Dante.

But he wasn't on his back anymore and he didn't hear his voice. Just the loud, scary noises of more men in the shiny hard thing. They had the pointy sticks too and tried to take the things dangling from his mouth. Only his owner can touch that! Only he is to be trusted with them.

Running is getting harder, there is large, straight hills in the way and the path is narrower with many strangers in it.

There is still so much red. He can still smell the blood, feel it clotting his fur. Too much red!

Blue.

Suddenly there's blue in front of him. He knows blue means ally. Though why and how this person is blue confuses him. But he is Blue and running him over is not good, but why is he standing there!? Does he not see the red!? Smell it!? Does he not understand we need to run!?

"Desmond"

That single word pierces the fog of fear and wild panic that has flooded Desmonds mind. Ezio is in front of him, hand already gripping the reigns while the other rests on his muzzle.

"There we go Desmond, everything is alright."

Desmond still feels phantom threads of fear, but with Ezio's calming blue glow and his voice saying gentle reassurances, it feels far away.

Now with his mind fully human and not driven by horse instincts or memories, the question becomes: How and why the fuck is he a horse in 15th century Italy with Ezio!?

What even is his life.

————

So, a couple parts i'm stupidly happy about is the "He had love, but didn't cherish it. Didn't truly feel it and took it for granted." part. This, as you can probably tell was inspired by the famous quote "When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it."

I believe Ezio didn't fully understand liberty until he tried to live a peaceful life with Sofia and realised he would always fear Templars taking revenge on his family and time, because the knowledge that he would never see his children grow up to adults had never been a concern before he met Sofia. He probably thought he wouldn't have a family at all.

But love. Love he would understand what he missed. He would understand it just days after he lost his father and brothers. Those moments you missed out on. Of opportunities to spend time that you squandered away. Time you will never get back, because in real life we don't have time travel.

And now i understand it. Before the end of the last year, i was like Ezio before the loss. Before i lost my grandparents only a few weeks apart.

Those opportunities to spend time was rare and thankfully i took most of them, but i still squandered it away by not actually spending time with them. I just visited and hid away in my room, wasting the time by sitting on the phone.

I will forever regret that because ny memory is shit and besides a few childhood ones, i have no memories of them. I still remember their voices, they were pretty distinct thankfully, but how long until i forget that.

It hurts and as someone who is afraid of death and it's finality, such a reminder that time and love is finite is soulcrushing. It is only recently that i have truly started to think of my grandparents and i guess try to process the fact they are gone forever.

When we first got the news that my grandpa had died, i was even more glued to my phone, not wanting to acknowledge what was happening. I also didn't wanna sleep and only got some when i passed out from exhaustion. We even went to the doctor to get time of work and some sleep medication i didn't dare end up taking.

I even had thoughts of just taking all the pills and just sleeping, to get away from the pain forever. But i'm thankfully too much of a coward, so it just stayed thoughts. I'm doing much better now and as i mentioned, i think i'm starting to process the fact that they are gone.

So, yeah. This post went in a direction i didn't expect. But it feels important and maybe in a few years i can look back at this post and see a snapshot of who i was and reflect on who i am now. So, here's to the future me and anyone else who needs to hear it:

I hope things are going well and if they're not... well, things get better. They always do. You're loved and even if your loved ones are gone, they live on in you. You will carry that love with you, for the rest of your life. 💜

#personal #personal thoughts #dealing with grief #tw grief #tw grieving #tw suicidal thoughts

53 notes · View notes

beauty1n7h3darkness · 3 years

Text

Who They Are

Summary: After deciding to trust the fellow, you take their hand and make your escape. You have no idea who he is or how he knew what he knew or if he was telling the truth. Hopefully though, he was telling the truth. It would explain so much to you about your “family” and why you are treated like you are. ...as well as why they- well, that’s another story.

(This was written on a desk-top btw, I apologize if the formatting is weird)

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

After evading the possible kidnapping, you started to observe your “savior.” He was a tall fellow. Olive skin, fit physique, medium hair, and semi-broad shoulders. His clothes were neatly put together, which suggest an organized life. The clothes weren't bright or crazy, but they were basic and dark, which tells you that he doesn't want to stick out.

What you didn't realize was that you were staring at him. At first, he decided to ignore your eyes on him, but after a while, it got creepy.

"Not to be rude, but why are you staring at me," the man asked.

Widening your eyes, you looked away, "I was observing you."

The man makes a noise of acknowledgment after a while, making you doubt if he believed you. But seeming as he let it go, you were too.

"Alright, just through there," the man said.

Looking at where he was talking, you froze. The building was old and worn down, but you could recognize it anywhere.

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

'hmm'

'mama, papa?'

'Why are we at Edrigia' (E-Dri-gi-a)

'You're going to be here for a while, until we come back'

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

Blinking rapidly, you shook out of it, "I'm sorry, what was it?"

"Y/n.....Y/n......Y/N!!"

"As I was saying, we'll need to cut through here. There's nothing to worry about, I just cut through yesterday, it's deserted," he informed.

"What’s your name," you asked.

"That’s hardly im-"

"You've drug me from danger and to this place and I would like the name of the man I'm supposedly supposed to be trusting," you sassed, stopping in your tracks and crossing your arms.

Sighing, the man stopped and turned around, looking at your posture of defiance, "Fine. My name (is Jeff) is L’Rod.”

Cocking your head to the side and furrowing your eyebrows a bit, you repeated it with confusion, “L’Rod?”

“Yes, now let’s keep moving,” he grunted, turning around continuing on.

As you were following behind him, you still pondered over his name. ‘Was it an alias? most likely, but hey, anything his possible right? Right.’ Letting out a puff of air, you shook your head of those thoughts. With everything that’s happened so far, it’d be best if you had a clear mind. Ahead of you, L’Rod pondered over your behavior. You didn’t seem to act much like your mother, so maybe you relate more with your father. Grunting he cleared those thoughts out, he had to be observant and on high alert not wondering about his-

“Sooooo...Why were those guys tryna kill me,” you inquired, successfully bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I’ll tell you when we get to our destination,” he answered curtly, letting you know he wasn’t going to answer anymore questions.

Sighing, you guys continued your stretch to wherever you were going. At least it was a beautiful night. The pale moonlight beautifully illuminated the worn building, giving you a chance to see the growing greenery on and around it. Gosh, you wished you had a camera, it was truly something out of the land of make-believe. When you entered the building you were blown away. It complimented the outside well.

(credits to the owner of this image)

As L’rod went on he noticed your lack of footsteps and turned to see you admiring the place.

“Come on, y/n,” he called, pullign you out of your trance, “we need to go to my safe place. Who knows, we could’ve been followed.”

Nodding, you gave the place on last once-over before trotting up to him. Mentally, he kicks himself, he could have been nicer, he’d apologize for the possible harshness once you two got to his safe haven. For now, he had to put more emphasis on you and your well-being, his included. So pushing the matter aside, he refocused and started forward, making sure you were in tow. It was going to be a long night.

----------------------------Meanwhile at Passione headquarters----------------------

The Capo and Informant had just finished telling what happened in the interrogation to the now 18 year old Don. Sighing, he frowned a bit, taking in the information. Obviously they were being targeted by someone, the question is who? Ever since the changes he’s made, Passione has gained a lot of enemies. But from the way the information was being told, it seemed this has been planned for a while, given that the two men knew almost everything about them- excluding their stands and abilities thank goodness.

“It seems you were right again Bucciarati,” the Don began with a light chuckle. Bucciarati had previously made the Don aware about things that could happen once he took control of Passione and had been right about a few of them. Privately, the capo had told him about a dream where something like this happened. It seems he was perceptive even in the dream realm. “We’ll have to be very cautious and observe everyone of our enemies. Abbacchio, Mista I need you go back to the restaurant you guys were dinning at and gather information.”

Grunting, the white haired man nodded, while the gunslinger gave an audible response.

Moving on, the Don continued, “Fugo, I need you to hack into our visitors’ phones, check and see who they’ve been communicating with and look into them all. It’s strenuous, but I know you can do it, I’ll help you as well. Bucciarati, Narancia, I need you two to see what people on the street are saying. It’s risky but together, you two are invincible.”

The Don looks out the window, knowing that this would be the last night of peace for them all. War was about to begin.

“Dismissed...we all need to rest up for what’s about to begin...we may be on the verge of another war,” The Don clarifies going over to his desk.

The others in the room quietly left-aside from Bucciarati. Sensing the stress on the young man, the capo stayed to talk with him.

“Giorno, that means you rest too,” Bucciarati stated, watching the younger nod slightly.

“I know but-”

“No buts,” the latter cut him off, “Tomorrow we’ll all start on our work,” Bucciarati finished, scolding the younger slightly.

Knowing the older man wasn’t going to give up, the younger man gave in, “Alright, Bucciarati, you win. I’ll rest.”

Bucciarati made a hum of approval, waiting until Giorno was done locking up his office so they could depart together. As they were going to their place of residency, the pair knew that they had to be cautious about this enemy, not wanting to have any repeats as to what happened in the other war. They had all almost lost their lives in that fight, Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bucciarati had the worst injuries though. Clearing their heads from those thoughts, they put their minds to different things. Giorno thinking about the two mens’ possible identities and Bruno thinking as to why they wanted Y/n so badly and why her name sounded so familiar.

@#$%^&*()_+P6549841651654A987/49885165484N!@#$%^&*()_E!@#$%^&*()

#bruno bucciarati #Vento Aureo #bruno bucciarati x reader #who series #who they are #stay tuned

9 notes · View notes

fuyupeach · 4 years

Note

Hey! I loved your take on my last request! I was wondering if you could do a similar scenario for Akira. Maybe he cheats or the s/o thinks he is cheating. I think it would be cool to have a palace falling apart because her heart is breaking. Maybe the group carefully watch some shadows and her shadow says something like "You are amidst the inner workings of my breaking heart and yet you still avert your eyes".

Hey! Thank you, I'm glad you loved it! I hope you don’t mind that I broke this up into headcannon format, since the scenarios are so similar. Thank you again for the request, this was interesting to write!! I could never have bby Akira cheat, but the Valentine events are full of multiple possibilities in game LOL

Akira had been busy for the past week, and though you both had time together in Mementos, it was with the others, along with the fact that making it out alive was your main priority. You were understanding, but it was beginning to eat away at you. Why? Well…

Akira didn’t have time to spend with you, but he seemed to have enough for Makoto. You would see the two together almost all the time now, you left on the back burner. You were patient, but the more you saw them together, a smile pulling at Akira’s lips and a caring look in Makoto’s eyes as she talked to him, your stomach couldn’t help but turn. You were nervous, scared. Were you not enough?

The moment it went downhill was when Akira denied your kiss, saying he had to go.

“Where?” It had come out harsher than you expected, your eyes widening.

“I... can’t say. I’m sorry.” He leaves, your heart aching as he walked away.

You had begun to lash out in bits of jealousy, even pushing Makoto out of the way so you could get to where you needed to go. You couldn’t help it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. Jealousy and insecurity laced with defeat controlled your heart, taking over your kind and patient persona.

Akira finds out you have a palace on a hunch, concerned for your sudden change in behavior. He had seen it multiple times as a phantom thief, but for it to be you? He needed to help you as fast as he could.

Your palace had seemed fine on the outside, but the moment they entered it had almost crushed the entire group, the foundation breaking at its core.

Makoto could not enter, shadows constantly on her as they tried to reach your shadow. Images of Akira and Makoto fill the palace, them on a date, them kissing before scratching out as if to visualize your frustration.

As Akira comes face to face with your shadow, tears are running down your face, expression the angriest he had ever seen you.

“You are amidst the inner workings of my breaking heart and yet you still avert your eyes," You say, striding over and gripping his face in your hands. “Do you not see how you have broken my heart? I cannot stand to see you with her.” Your voice is powerful, having spat out the last word, leaving Akira and the others speechless. Your shadow’s yellow eyes keep him in place, piercing.

Your expression quickly crumbles however, fitting for your tears. “Am I not enough for you? Will you at least tell me why you’re with her now?” Your hand falls from his face. “You longer have time for me. My heart, it hurts so much.”

“What are you talking about?” Akira is so confused, heart aching as he looks at you. “I love you. I’m with no one but you.” He desperately reaches out to you.

You stare at his outstretched hand for a moment, ultimately disappearing from his sight.

Akira has to confront you in person--though I have no doubt he’d go straight to you right after this--to make progress in your palace.

You’re at home, thoughts only on Akira as you pad over to the door, opening to see his face. You stay silent, waiting for him to speak.

“I love you.” He starts, causing your eyes to widen. Akira had never told you he loved you before now. You had been dating for not too long, but not too short either. As you move to respond, a vicious response more than likely going to come out rather than what you actually want to say, Akira lifts his hand.

“Please.” His eyes stare into your soul as he pleads. You close your mouth, heart beating fast against your will. It was always that way, he’d already stolen your heart before you knew it.

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, and I’m sorry for hurting you. But I’m not with Makoto.” Akira pulls out his phone, showing you a picture of a restaurant, as well as of a necklace. You blink in confusion.

“I was asking her for help on what to get you for our anniversary, as a thank you for how much you’ve changed my life in such a short amount of time. I was going to tell you I loved you then, but…” He looks away, gesturing between the two of you.

You can’t help but simply be in shock, heart melting at his words. Had you really forgotten what the days were? You had been so wrapped up in your mind you didn’t notice.

The vice grip on what you said seems to have finally left as you speak to Akira.

“I..I love you too.” Tears can’t help but well in your eyes. “I said and treated you and Makoto terribly. I’m so sorry.” Your fists clench, unable to meet his gaze.

No other words are needed as Akira wraps you into a hug, head resting on your shoulder.

Unknown to the both of you, your palace crumbles away, existing no more.

#akira kurusu x reader #akira x reader #persona 5 x reader #persona 5 fanfiction #persona #persona 5 #persona fanfiction #peach writes

192 notes · View notes

kayr0ss · 4 years

Text

Ribs

[LWA, Diakko, growing up, timing, kind of angsty at the start, BUT very hopeful, inspired by a song ty Lorde, emotional author, I guess a song fic?]

You don’t always need to get it right the first time.

You can listen to the song when the fic cues it, but it might be confusing so feel free to listen to Ribs by Lorde after.

—–

“We’re just so—so—”

Akko couldn’t look at Diana. She bit her lips, trembling, and somehow the brunette knew that meeting those eyes would bring her over the edge and straight into bawling.

“—so young,” she finally supplied, voice wavering.

Diana’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Keep it in, she clenched her jaw. Keep it in because the slightest crack will make you fall apart.

“I never thought you’d be the one worried about that between the two of us,” the blonde witch managed a dry laugh. She looked down at her hand, finding it out of place so far away from Akko’s. She wanted to hold her.

Akko had no response, though—and reaching over didn’t feel like an option.

They sat on the grass of Luna Nova’s grounds, the sky a deep, inky violet dotted by stars whose formations they’ve memorized after years of instruction. Did a good day really need to feel so… bad? Graduation had crept upon them like a vine left unchecked, and before they knew it they were being pulled apart—apart by continents, time zones, and the sudden realization that they didn’t know if tomorrow promised them the opportunity to stay together.

“When did we put up this wall?” Diana finally broke through, hugging her knees close to her chest while she lifted her gaze towards Orion’s belt.

“W—When we started worrying?” Akko sputtered out, shaky and unsure.

“When we realized,” Diana wondered out loud, “that things aren’t as absolute as we thought, maybe.”

It was a bitter, melancholic thought. Responsibility is something Diana is used to—and growing older and into the world just meant more of the same. She could take it. It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be anything new. But Akko—she spared a quick glance to the quivering girl sitting so close yet so far away—Akko wasn’t used to this. The fraying of their rope began when Diana asked a question that Akko was all-to used to skipping: “How do we make this work?”

“We’ll wing it!” she blocked away the query without so much as a thought. But that was two years before the absolute separation of graduating and living half-way across the globe from each other.

A year before their term ended, Akko’s absolute rebuttals had turned into, “We’ve always managed… somehow.”

Three months before the term ended, when asked again, Akko grew irritable. “Why are you always thinking about the future?! We have right now.”

Suddenly time was up.

Diana could feel thorns press into her chest—she couldn’t take it, no—“can’t we break through?”

Two hours before they had to leave campus for the last time as students, Akko drew a teary-eyed sigh.

“I’m scared.”

“You’ve never been before.”

“How do I fit in in that life of yours?”

“We’ll break down this wall.”

“I—” Akko sobbed into her arms. “I—I’m sorry.”

All the constraint had finally become overwhelming. With a heavy, shaky breath, a small sob had broken through.

She cried, but Diana didn’t want this to be the last image of the first girl she ever loved.

“Maybe time will tear the wall away,” she rubbed at her eyes, looking up towards the Big Dipper. Hoping, holding onto a thin thread and hoping—because that is all she has to hold on to for now.

–

The sudden silence of music stopping jolted Diana awake. She blinked her tiredness away, eyes scanning her immediate surroundings, registering that she was on a bus, in a foreign city she had called home for quite a few years by now.

A dream… a memory? She hadn’t thought about her in a while.

Luckily, she wasn't due to disembark until the next stop, and she leaned her shoulder against the glass window while the familiar hiss of the door closing mixed in with the ambient noise of a busy city—it was all a little muffled through muting of her earphones. The sky was dark enough for the first set of city lights to flicker on, but still light enough that the scenery was basked in blue instead of black.

[ Ribs – Lorde ]

Huh. She snuck glance to her smart watch, matching the title of next song to the ethereal voices and synthesizers that made up its introduction. She nearly laughed when the first droplets of rain pitter-pattered against the window pane, thinking that the view of lights blurring past her in a blue-and-violet sky matched the song poetically. Good enough to be a—a—she wrestled with her train of thought, looking for a world a special girl from years past had taught her. Ah. A music video.

She looked up to and wondered if she’d see the big dipper if the clouds didn’t decide to hide it for this evening.

[The drink you spilt all over me]

Soft beeping and a polite announcement let her know that it was time alight. She pulled out a folded umbrella, in much too contemplative a mood to feel vexed at the sudden downpour. It wasn’t so heavy, anyway.

The walk to her apartment was a different experience together when you couldn’t hear the noise—the music drowned out any other sound, and she somehow felt like an outsider; like she was still on the bus and watching other people go about their lives through a glass pane. A new to experience the monotony of going to work, school, and then coming home. Of growing older.

[The drink you spilt all over me – “lovers spit” left on repeat mom & dad let me stay home, it drives you crazy getting old The drink you spilt all over me – “lovers spit” left on repeat mom & dad let me stay home, it drives you crazy getting old’]

There’s a soft lull in the music while it braces for another act; and in this space—as if the music decided to take a breath—she heard jarring familiar,

“Mou!”

Diana takes a sharp breath, and nearly makes a full 180-degree turn.

“I’m never going to find my apartment before dark at this rate!”

Her mouth hangs open but she doesn’t speak—the blonde witch finds herself enraptured; waiting for the apparition in front of her to finish speaking as if to confirm that this was—real.

“Kami-sama, help me!” Red eyes rolled in exasperation and she’s talking to no-one in particular. She still has that silly ponytail sticking up from her hair. The brunette looks around, no doubt trying to discern if North was actually South or vice-versa by the way she was turning her cellular phone around and over.

Maybe time can tear it down.

Diana is walking towards her, afraid that she’ll disappear behind every pedestrian that obstructs her line of sight. She tries several times to call out; to say her name, but it gets caught in her throat and before the fourth try the woman in question catches her line of sight.

The sparkle in her eyes, and the way her mouth had formed a perfect ‘O’ spoke a thousand more words than ‘hello’

“H—Hello.” But Diana went for ‘hello’ anyway. “Akko.”

“Diana,” Akko replies, eyes tracing the blonde witch’s features as if to confirm this wasn’t some scam. “It’s been…”

“…seven or eight?” Diana can’t help but beat her to it. She didn’t realize she was keeping track. “Years, I meant.”

There’s a tentative silence, poorly filled in by the sound of idle chatter, footsteps, and engines cruising down the street. A night-time noodle stall is setting up shop near where they’re standing, and the lack of words was beginning to get unbearable.

“Is that gray hair?”

Akko breaks the tension away like it was nothing. Diana missed that grin so, so much.

“It’s the lighting.”

She also missed feeling that mixture of tenderness and annoyance uniquely caused by this woman.

“Suuure it is.”

Diana rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re a few thousand kilometers away from home.”

“According to this app, actually, I’m only about 20 yards away. Just don’t know which direction those yards might be.”

Diana slips into an easy smile, “I’m just down the street.”

They don’t notice that the rain has stopped, and that the big dipper is sparkling fondly above them through a clearing in the clouds. The wall is gone—and while Diana looks into crimson eyes she wonders if hope is a thread that pulls them apart so they can be stitched together in the right time and places.

“Shall I show you around the city?”

Akko’s hand feels familiar when she takes Diana’s open palm. She laughs lightly. “We have to find my new house first.“

–

A/N: Hello. I’m writing from the heart and what I’m currently going through. I don’t know what to do with this longing and hope, so I’ll just turn it into a story. Ribs by Lorde could give more perspective so I encourage you to listen.

And if the girl I met through writing stories sees this, know that this is what I wish for us after maybe 8 years of healing on our own. I will see you then, wherever that is, when I come down from the bus stop.

#Diakko #Diana #Akko #Diana Cavendish #Atsuko Kagari #Dianakko #LWA #Little Witch Academia #wlw #Femmeslash #fanfic #writing #angst #growth #second chances

155 notes · View notes

itsbajabitch · 4 years

Text

You're my favorite thing to watch (Abed x Annie oneshot)

NOTES: So I like the concept of Annie not being skinny and basically just wanted more fat Annie content and was thinking about how I imagine Annie might remember the Abed insult episode stuff (S2E7 “Aerodynamics of Gender”) when they’re dating and get worried that he’s noticing all these ‘flaws’ about her, but never tell her. I imagine this is like season 4ish. There is discussion of body image and insecurity and that kind of thing but nothing graphic or detailed, it’s just a cute Annie x Abed comfort fic. Thank you to @s1owdanc32death for helping me get unstuck on the ending! Sorry if there’s weird grammar or formatting stuff, thats not my forte. Enjoy!

...

It was another movie night in the Trobedison household.

I was perched on the arm of Abed’s chair and Troy sat in his own chair while we watched the Dark Knight Rises. This was a good day, or at least it should have been. Nothing bad happened, I had classes, study group and now I was in the comfort of my own home with my boyfriend and our best friend watching a movie. This should be enough to keep me happy.

It was one of those days though. A day where I felt restless and am hyper-aware of my body. A day where as soon as I woke up the feeling of hunger in my stomach awoke the part of me that makes each bite of toast at breakfast a battle and makes getting dressed take double the normal amount of time because I don’t like the way my body looks in anything. The kind of day that makes trying to sit through a conversation in the cafeteria so panic-inducing that I excuse myself to the library for some paper I have to work on. I know I can’t punish myself for having days like this, it's a part of the recovery process but that doesn’t make it any easier.

And I know Abed can tell something is up, he’s been giving me looks all day, private check-ins. Each time I give him a smile and try to project some semblance of happy and normalcy. I don’t know how to explain that today some of, okay a lot of, my anxiety is Abed related. I don’t know how to have that conversation so I close my eyes tight in an attempt to center myself and when I reopen them I fix my eyes on the screen and try to focus on the movie.

This plan instantly backfires.

On screen Anne Hathaway is in a skin-tight black bodysuit prowling around Gotham and immediately the comparisons and the insults come racing through my mind.

Abed had mentioned wanting to go to a convention together someday, what if he wanted me to dress like that, to be the Selina opposite his Bruce. What would he think seeing my body like that, completely on display with no cardigans or layers to shield me. I can hear it in my head, a ruthless cataloging of all my flaws in his cool monotone. Ever since Shirley, Britta and I used Abed as an insult wielding machine I’ve been thinking of all the things he might notice about me, but not say. It was getting better but then we started dating and I noticed myself thinking about it more and more until today and it’s like a damn broke and everytime I so much as breathe I’m imagining Abed picking apart my every imperfection. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair to myself or to Abed because he’s never done anything in our relationship to make me feel ugly or scrutinized but I can’t stop thinking about it and I don’t know how to stop and I’m to scared to talk to him about it and oh god what if I ruin the best relationship I’ve ever had because I can’t stop obsessing….

“Annie?”

I move suddenly and my eyes jump back to focus. The movie is paused. I feel Abed’s hand on my back and realize Troy and him are both looking at me, concern etched on their faces. I straighten myself and start to sit up off the chair. “Gosh, sorry I just zoned out. I’m not feeling great. I think I’m going to lie down, but you guys should finish the movie. I’ll catch up later when I’m not so out of it” I say, trying to keep my tone even and not look so suspicious as I avoid eye contact and head towards my room.

As soon as the door closes I curl up on my bed and surround myself with my stuffies, clutching one to my chest. I feel like a kid again. I feel like it's high school and I’m spinning out of control using anything I can to try and get that control back. It’s really hard in moments like these to remind myself that I have grown and adapted and I don’t need that kind of control anymore. I sit up and force myself to do a deep breathing exercise. I’m focusing on counting each intake of breath, each hold, and each exhale.

Time passes and I start to feel a little better, more grounded. My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I reach over to check it.

A text from Abed, “water, tea, or special drink?”

I smile and think for a moment before typing my response, “tea” and then, “thank you”

Barely a minute later there is a soft knock on my door and I look up to see Abed entering with two mugs, one gently steaming the other likely his special drink. He sets my mug on a coaster on my nightstand then turns to me,

“Do you want me to stay?”

I nod and start to move over all my stuffies so he can sit beside me. As Abed settles in next to me I grab my mug, blowing lightly before I sip.

“Did you guys finish the movie?” I ask, still looking at my mug.

“No, we decided to pause and wait to finish it another night with you” he answers, no hint of annoyance in his voice.

“We might need to start at the beginning”, I reply sheepishly, “I kind of zoned out”.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks and I finally turn towards him,

“I’m starting to. Thank you for this” I add, gesturing to the tea.

“Of course” he says looking at me contentedly.

I turn to set my mug back on its coaster, “I want to talk about something, but I’m pretty embarrassed and I don’t know exactly how to say it so is it okay if I just start talking and you listen for a bit?”

Abed nods. I take a deep breath and face him.

“So I’ve been anxious lately, while more than usual, and it was really bad today and I guess I’ve just been really self conscious and stressing about how I look and that kind of thing except that now I’m worrying about how you think I look and I know it was a while ago, but I keep thinking about that time Britta and Shirley and I used you as some kind of take down machine, which I’m still sorry for doing that to you, but I can’t stop thinking about all the things you’ve noticed about me and didn’t say because you were being nice like do you really think that my laugh sounds like a piglet or do you think my face is too round or not symmetrical or notice that my clothes don’t always fit right and I know won’t look like Anne Hathaway in a catsuit and I…”

“Annie”

Abed’s voice pulled me back from my rapidly derailing train of thought speech.

Sorry I murmured

“Thank you for sharing that with me. You’re right, I do notice a lot of things about you that I don’t say out loud, but it's not the way you think”

“What do you mean?” I ask trying to regain my breathe

“You’re my favorite thing to watch Annie. You read about 1 page every four minutes when you're studying, that's faster than the national average, and it's faster for non academic reading plus your forehead scrunches when you have to reread a passage. I notice which cardigan you wear most often and the different outfit combinations you favor. I don’t tell people these things because most people find it uncomfortable to be watched that closely, but I can’t help but watch you Annie. And I do notice your body. How soft you feel pressed against me when we watch movies or sometimes the light catches your face and it's so perfect I wish I had a camera on me to try and capture it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. When Abed talks like that, so straightforward and sure, it’s hard to doubt what he’s saying, to not accept it as fact. I leaned forward to embrace him, but he stopped me holding me up instead and I looked up, finding his eyes staring back at mine.

“I am attracted to you, all of you, and I’m sorry if I don’t always verbalize that”.

He held my gaze for a long moment

My eyes watered and he loosened his hold allowing me to rest my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around him

“Thank you” I murmured, not moving my face from against his body. A moment later I part slightly to look back up at him

“I’m attracted to you too”

A smile spreads over his lips and i can’t help but mirror it

We both let ourselves fall back onto the bed, lying down I nestle close to him

“For the record I think you’d make a great Catwoman, catsuit and all”

I hit his arm playfully in response

“I’m serious. I’d never make you cosplay in something that made you feel uncomfortable, but it's all about commitment and character. We both know I don’t look like Batman, but when I put on the costume I commit so it works and Annie you’re so committed to everything you do so you’d be great. You as a Catwoman, hot. hot hot hot”

I grin again, pressing a kiss against his cheek then I whisper into his ear

“Maybe for your birthday”

#abed x annie #annie x abed #annie edison #abed nadir #community #comfort #annie is not skinny #oneshot

27 notes · View notes

the-original-b · 3 years

Text

Archangel: High Society

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 8,400

Krueger and Khai embark on a rescue operation deep in enemy territory, where they come face to face with a dangerous foe.

Warning(s): blood, violence, brief nudity

Khai sat at the conference room desk buried in charts and reports, long after everyone else had left the office. She thought she would get better at it with time, but long after Simon’s passing her work as the Manhattan Branch’s controller hadn’t gotten any easier.

Somehow it seemed more difficult after the promotion was made formal just a few short weeks ago.

She leaned back in the old chair and sighed, resting her glasses on the stack of papers that never seemed to shrink. She shut her eyes and rubbed her eyelids with her thumb and first finger as she wondered how the Partners could ever think she was even remotely qualified to run the place.

The ringing phone was a welcome distraction. She straightened up and answered without putting her spectacles back on. “Elizabeth Khai’s office,” she answered. She still wasn’t used to saying that.

“Liz?” the man on the other end said. His age added a rasp to his voice. “Chuck Silvio. Congratulations again on your promotion.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Silvio.” She relaxed a little, leaning back in the chair again and crossing her legs. “It’s been a while, how are you these days?”

“Not bad, not bad. The Miami weather’s good for me.”

“I bet,” she said with a chuckle. In her mind’s eye she could see him leaning back in his chair at the office, mirroring her posture. She turned in her chair to watch the rain drops streak down the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “Beats the hell out of the cold rain.”

“Oh, it gets plenty wet here too,” he commented, matching her laugh. “Trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it… So, what can I do for you?”

“You remember my little shithead son, right?”

“CJ? Of course.” Khai reached out for her glasses and put them back on one-handed. “As I recall, Specialist Krueger and I helped him out of a mess with the Company last year.”

“And I can’t thank you two enough for that,” Silvio added. “Really… But those connections don’t wash away so easy. The Jackass is going to some kind of get-together in Williamsburg, Virginia,” he began. “A big gala on the water at the end of the week.”

“Williamsburg is Company territory,” Khai noted. “You think they’re trying him again?”

“Not a doubt in my mind,” he said, “and I need to borrow Mr. Krueger to get him out of another mess.”

“He’s cleaning up a snafu in Cape Cod,” Khai noted, consulting her desktop calendar partially obscured by a takeout container from Tillman’s in which sat a half-eaten steak sandwich and handful of fries. “He should be back tomorrow night, but I’m not certain as to what his schedule looks like afterward.”

“I talked to Isaac,” Silvio said. “He’ll be available.”

Khai offered a shrug as if he could see it. “Well, alright..! I’ll get him in the schedule and make the arrangements.”

“Perfect,” Silvio said as Khai keyed the password to her desktop computer. “One of my guys got his hands on a few tickets, we can have one overnighted to you.” She summoned Krueger’s calendar to enter his travel dates.

She paused before saving the entry and leaned back in her chair again. “Say, do you think you can send two tickets up here?”

“Thinking about attending a waterside gala, Miss Khai?” His smirk was audible.

“I did pick up this lovely gown the other day,” she jested. “I need an excuse to wear it… I can have Everett keep an eye on things while I’m away.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to cover for you while you’re out having some fun,” Silvio chuckled. “I’ll send a pair of tickets up to the Branch. Thanks again for this, Liz.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Silvio. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Khai hit the lever in the phone’s cradle to end the call with Silvio, then released it to dial his number.

He answered after a few rings. “Good evening, Miss Khai,” he said.

“Hello, there,” she charmed. “You feel like taking me someplace nice this weekend?”

~~~~

Krueger reviewed the fabric samples the tailor offered him, and after narrowing down his selection for the outer layer to a solid black and textured medium gray, revisited the options for the lining. “Do you do waistcoats as well?” he asked the tailor.

“Certainly,” he replied.

Krueger nodded. He looked over his shoulder at Khai, in the room with them with her gown folded over her arms. He picked a few fabric samples up off the table and held them out in front of him, lining them up with the portion of the gown he could see from where he stood. He shut one eye as he scrutinized each sample; each of them matched the shade of her gown almost perfectly. “What shoes will you be wearing?” he asked her.

“The black ankle strap round-toes,” she said. “With the red soles.”

Krueger knew them. That narrowed his decision down. “This one,” he said, handing it to the tailor.

“Excellent choice,” he noted. He jotted the selections down in his note pad. “What style did you want for them?”

“British.”

“And the fit?”

“Modern.”

“And that’s two buttons, yes? The same as before?”

“Two buttons, that’s right,” Krueger nodded. “I’ll need a shirt as well.”

“Of course,” the tailor said. “Give me a moment and I’ll return with the samples.” The tailor took his leave with his notes.

Shortly after he left, another person entered the room—a brown-skinned man in his early thirties with a ten day beard. “Sorry you guys,” he said. “Collision on the Belt Parkway took out the left lane.”

“No worries, Brandon. We haven’t left yet.”

Krueger arched a brow at their newcomer.

“Oh, right,” Khai noted, “you two haven’t formally met… Milo this is Brandon Desmoulins, my tech expert out of Brooklyn.”

“The one who decrypted Orham’s files?” Krueger said, offering the man a hand to shake. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“No, the honor is mine, Mr. Krueger.” Brandon shook Krueger’s hand, then reached into his jacket pocket to pull a pair of two-by-six inch slivers of card stock. Khai recognized them as the gala tickets. “They’re usually keyed to the individuals who purchased them, but our guys in the Southeast Region were able to wipe these two. Which means,” he continued as he retrieved his laptop from his backpack, “We got a pair of blank slates for you guys.” He opened the computer and took a seat at the table.

“Well,” Khai said, taking a spot beside Krueger as she looked over Brandon’s shoulder at the monitor, “I’ve never been somebody else before, so why not?”

“You can be the Queen of England if you like.”

“Sure,” Khai scoffed. “I’m the spitting image of her.”

“You know,” Krueger jested. “I think I see it. Turn your head a little…”

“Oh, like this..?” she added laughing to herself. “And you, Sebastian?”

“Not this time,” he noted. “The Company knows Sebastian Weber. They said my eyes gave me away in Miami, I’ll need a disguise as well as a new name.”

Brandon turned in his seat to look at him. “You look like a Michael to me.” He brought his hand to his lip as he considered naming him. “Michael Fff… Fuchs.”

Krueger shrugged. “That works.”

“Mike Fuchs it is,” Brandon declared. He loaded one of the tickets into a fist-sized portable printer and keyed in Krueger’s new alias. In moments, the device wrote a barcode and etched the name into the document’s face. “Hope you like it, cos it’s too late to change. As for the peepers, we should be able to get you contact lenses pretty easily.”

Krueger nodded. “The more common the color the better.”

“Can’t go wrong with brown ones… and you.” He turned over his other shoulder to look at Khai. “I’m thinking Samantha. Samantha…”

“Nguyen,” she suggested.

“Good as anything else, I guess.” He loaded Khai’s ticket into the printer and coded it to her new identity. When the printer was done he presented them their tickets. “There we go—Michael Fuchs and Samantha Nguyen. Just a pair of run-of-the-mill socialites and definitely not high ranking members of the Marlow Partners’ organization.”

Khai took the tickets and studied them before handing Krueger his. “Nice work as always.”

“For you two, nothing but the best.” He shut his laptop and returned it to his backpack. “There is one more thing—I keyed in Vizier Status to those tickets, it’ll let you carry a pistol on the premises. Probably not necessary, but if you guys are going into the lions’ den, I figured you’d prefer to be armed.”

“Good thinking,” Krueger nodded.

Khai checked the clock on the far wall. “Don’t know if we’ll have time to head to the armory today—”

“No need,” Krueger said. “I know exactly what I’ll take for this one—the Five-Seven. With hollow points.”

“Not the armor penetrators?”

“I’d like to avoid collateral damage,” he said. “Even there.”

Khai couldn’t disagree with his logic. “Fair enough. I’ll just have to swing by after hours and see what I’ll be able to conceal in this.”

The tailor returned to the room with another collection of fabrics. “Here we are,” he said. “Given what I understand about this gathering, I went ahead and narrowed down the usual selection.”

Krueger walked over to view what was offered. Immediately he was drawn to a textured sanguine red.

“Do you like that one?”

“I do,” Krueger admitted. “But that’s not what we’re here for today…” He redirected his glance to something more conservative and examined the samples. “Can you conceal the buttons?”

“I certainly can. What color do you want for them?”

“Black.”

Khai leaned against the table beside Brandon as she observed the two of them, her gown still folded over her arms. “So,” she said to him.

“So..?”

“So does he live up to your expectations?”

“Honestly?” Brandon returned with a whisper. “I thought he would be taller.”

~~~~~~

Krueger opened his door and stepped out of the limousine when the driver brought the vehicle to a stop. He offered Khai his hand and helped her out of the car as they walked up the red carpet to an elegant villa overlooking the James River, nestled in the heart of a luxurious resort and golf club. A black evening shawl rested on her shoulders beneath her hair and draped over her contours, drawing any onlookers’ eyes to her crimson long sleeve gown with a thigh-high slit up the right side. She traded her usual eyewear for contact lenses and colored her lips the same shade as the gown. Her shoes called attention to Krueger’s outfit—a black suit and tie over a crisp white shirt and crimson waistcoat with a subdued black print.

Together they approached the open front door of the venue, where they presented their invitations to the staffer there. He reviewed their tickets and asked if they were carrying; Krueger opened his jacket to expose the Five-Seven tucked in the holster under his left arm. The staffer cleared them for entry and directed them to the coat check a few yards into the foyer, where Khai deposited her shawl and looked up a grand stair case that split toward the top as it led to the second floor.

“No hassle so far,” she noted sotto voce.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Krueger whispered as they went deeper into the building and found their way to the main atrium. “We’re in the hornets’ nest now.”

Khai took a breath as she beheld the main atrium, an ornately decorated love letter to excess and decadence. Marble columns stretched from floor to ceiling in each of the room’s four corners, and a gargantuan crystal chandelier dangled from the center to illuminate the room. Bicolor marble tiles covered the entire floor space, and the walls were adorned with recreations of famous paintings watching over the tables and dance floor. Finally a huge pair of French doors opened up to a terrace overlooking the water and setting sun, where there were likely more food and drink stations to satisfy the patrons there.

“Remember,” he continued, “we’re here for Silvio.”

“Right,” she nodded. “I remember.” She scanned the room some more, noting the food stations along one wall ending in a carving table, and the well-appointed bar opposite them. “It’s just a shame we have to be here for work.”

“Well,” Krueger smirked, resting his hand on her hip to pull her closer, “maybe Michael Fuchs and Samantha Nguyen can return and spend a week on the resort grounds someday.”

“Don’t you go giving me ideas now…” She brushed her hand on the small of his back as she took a few steps deeper into the room. “We’ll cover more ground if we spit up to work the room.”

“I’ll start outside,” Krueger said, and they went their separate ways to look for CJ Silvio.

They met up at the inside bar after a futile forty minutes. Khai ordered a glass of pinot noir while Krueger ordered a gin martini. “Did you fare any better than me?” he asked her, leaning against the mahogany finish.

Khai shook her head after thanking the bartender for her wine and taking a sip. “His father said he would be here.”

“Is he usually late to gatherings like this?”

“I don’t think he’s ever been to a gathering like this,” she jested, turning around and leaning against the bar top to look at the room again. “Way too classy an audience for him—” her eyes widened and jaw gaped for a moment before springing around to turn her back to the room and mouthing “shit..!”

“What is it?”

“White tux,” she responded with an almost inaudible whisper. “Don’t look.”

Krueger discreetly scanned the room to try and spot the person or thing that so completely and immediately terrified her. “I think I see him,” he said, matching her tone. “Tall, gray, handsome fellow?”

“That’s Osiris. In the flesh.”

Krueger turned back to face Khai and accept his cocktail. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Roland Preston,” she explained, maintaining her volume. “He controls Company operations across the entire Eastern Seaboard and as far west as Chicago. He’s every bad day Isaac and Charles ever had.” She paused to consider the implications of his presence. “If he’s here for the same reason we are…”

“Then we better find CJ first,” Krueger surmised.

Khai nodded. “Alright, new plan,” she said as she straightened herself up and took another sip of wine to collect herself. “We stick together.” She took Krueger’s hand and led him toward the French doors and the terrace beyond them. “We stay out of his sight, find someplace with good visibility to look for Silvio, then collect him and get out of here.”

“And if Osiris finds him before we do?”

Khai took a breath. “Then I hope you have more bullets than there are bodyguards in this place.”

The two of them stayed on the terrace overlooking the water for the remainder of cocktail hour, and when the time came for them to find their seats they quietly made their way to a table near the dance floor with a good view of the bar. As Krueger understood, they would have the best chance of spotting CJ Silvio from there.

About twenty minutes into the reception, his wager paid off. He spotted CJ Silvio, dressed in a neat black suit and tie, nearly running after a blonde woman in a short dress on his way to the bar. It was obvious to Krueger that this woman wanted nothing to do with him anymore, and it appeared Young Silvio was looking to redeem himself after some unseen slight. After a short while he gave up and turned to get the bartender’s attention.

“I think we should order a drink,” he said, subtly gesturing the bar.

Khai followed his nod to the person in question. “Good idea.”

She stood up shortly after him and followed Krueger toward their target, but they were intercepted by a tall, classically handsome green eyed man with gray swept-back hair and manicured mustache. “And here I thought I was well-dressed this evening, then you two come along and show me up so elegantly.” He addressed them with a rich, honeyed voice, wearing a white tuxedo jacket and dark slacks with a crisp black bowtie. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, offering Khai his hand. “Roland Preston. This is my gala.”

Khai discreetly swallowed her terror and flashed him a warm smile. “I wondered whose party this was!” she extolled. “Samantha Nguyen,” she said, shaking his hand. “And this is my partner, Michael.”

Krueger followed her lead, keeping CJ in sight. “Michael Fuchs,” he introduced himself. “This is a lovely party,” he continued as he shook Osiris’s hand.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Fuchs,” he said. “So, tell me how it is I’ve never seen you here before, dressed like that.”

“Kind of a long story,” Khai said. “Mike, would you mind?” she said, gesturing the bar.

“Of course,” he said, making his way toward the indicated area. “You had the pinot noir, yes?”

“I did, thank you.” She redirected her attention to Osiris, guiding him away from CJ as she explained. “Michael and I run a small IT setup. We were stationed in Southern California until last December, but we found a better opportunity out here.”

“Is that so?” Osiris returned. “And how are you liking the East Coast so far?”

“Oh, we love it! It’s like we’ve lived here all our lives..!”

Krueger made his way to the bar as Khai distracted Osiris, and stationed himself adjacent to CJ as he ordered a pinot noir and gin martini, slipping the bartender a few bills. “No frozen margaritas here, unfortunately,” he said to him.

CJ looked over his shoulder at the other man. “Huh?”

“This isn’t a poolside party. You’ll have to order smarter if you want to blend into this crowd. You can’t go wrong with one of the classics. A martini, or an Old-Fashioned if that’s more your speed.”

CJ quickly shook his head, befuddled. “Do I know you, man?”

“You do.” He finally turned to face CJ. “Also not a great idea to chase women here. Especially not when you have a baby on the way.”

CJ shut his eyes tight and opened them again as he leaned in, squinting at Krueger as he placed where he’d seen him before. “Sebastian—?”

“Not tonight. Tonight I’m accompanying your boss while she and I do your father a favor.” He gestured to his right at Osiris and Khai as they conversed. “Before you make a fool of yourself and say something you’ll regret, yes that is her in red. And she’s stopping that man from finding out who you are, because if he did, you’ll be dead by dawn or worse.”

Speechless, CJ looked over his shoulder at Khai and Osiris, then back at Krueger.

CJ’s disbelief informed Krueger he was completely unaware of the depth of the trouble he was in. “We’re trying to help you,” Krueger continued, “so let us help you. Leave,” he ordered. “Get your coat, call a taxi, and get as far away from this city as you can as quickly as you can. And then call your father to apologize.”

CJ nodded sheepishly, then retreated from the main atrium back toward the entrance.

Krueger watched Silvio exit the room as he reclaimed his drinks from the bartender, making sure he thanked him.

“Mr. Fuchs,” Osiris got Krueger’s attention. “Samantha was just telling me you head security for your company.”

He turned to face Osiris, having to turn his gaze upward slightly to establish eye contact. “That’s right,” he said, handing Khai her beverage. “I used to be a consultant in the field, but she made me a better offer,” he said with a smirk. “She still lets me freelance every now and then.”

“It keeps him happy,” Khai jested. “He would get bored otherwise.”

“Boy do I understand that,” Osiris added, laughing. “Would you mind lending me your input for a moment? I’ve been looking for ways to tighten security and upgrade networks for a few of my operations, and I can benefit from an outside opinion.”

Krueger and Khai discreetly shot each other looks. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said.

“Please, it won’t take much time at all,” he charmed. “Then I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Khai said.

“Excellent,” Osiris extolled. “If you’d follow me to my office upstairs,” he gestured the hallway before them. “You can take your drinks with you.”

“Lead the way,” Krueger said. He put himself between Khai and Osiris as they followed him out the main atrium and toward the front lobby.

“So what did you say your industry was, Mr. Preston?” Krueger asked.

“Logistics, primarily,” Osiris answered, leading Krueger and Khai up the stairs. “Transportation of goods, and occasionally providing security services for those transported goods… the yardstick to inter-state commerce.” He turned left at the split to lead them down a hallway, and Krueger kept a mental tally of the staff they passed. “But some people don’t see it that way,” he lamented. “They would see my logistics operation crumble, and have attacked me through less-than-legal means,” he explained as he turned right and led them into an elegant office space. A mahogany desk sat before a massive window, to their left was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, and to their right a coffee table and lounge area with a few cozy-looking couches. The carpet below their feet was a rich red. “So I’ll have to do the same, if I’m going to survive,” he concluded, turning to face them.

“Uh-huh… and these less-than-legal methods,” Khai put forth as Krueger went to rest his martini on the lounge table, “how do you presume we’ll be able to help you?” She turned to look over her shoulder as two more staffers closed the office doors behind them. Once again she closed the distance between Krueger and herself.

Osiris simply smirked and stepped aside, allowing them to see a shiny piece of gold-colored metal atop the mahogany desk. “Do either of you know what this is?”

They could both see it was a gun, a large hand cannon with a long, ported slide and barrel. Neither of them recognized the exact model.

Osiris picked the firearm up off the desk and held it in his hand. “This was a gift from some associates out west,” he explained. “It’s big, heavy, impossible to conceal, and poorly designed.” He reversed the gun in his hand to show them the lack of padding on the rear of the grip. “It shoots giant bullets, and has nothing to ease the recoil from those bullets, so it hurts every single time I shoot it. I don’t have the heart to tell the guys who gave this to me how much I hate it, but,” he continued as he loaded a five-round magazine into the hand cannon, “it makes a statement. Just know that every time I pull the trigger, I really want the guy or girl on the business end of this thing to understand that statement. So… to answer your question, Miss Khai,” he added as he pulled back the slide and released to chamber a round. “I think you’re opinion on what’s less than legal is well-qualified, as that is your area of expertise.”

Khai blinked and recoiled as her stomach sank when he called her by name. She backed toward the door almost subconsciously as Krueger stepped up between them to shield her.

Osiris’s lip curled into a sinister smirk as he stepped up to close the distance between them. “Yes,” he began. “I know who you are, Elizabeth Margaret Khai. Operations Controller for the Marlow Partners up north. I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. Which would make you,” he directed his gaze—and cannon—to Krueger, “the specialist she hired to make sense of the organization again… Sebastian Weber? But we both know that’s not your real name. Neither is Michael Fuchs.”

“Congratulations,” Krueger commented, “you’re clairvoyant.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourselves,” he said, “you certainly would have fooled anybody else.” He took a few more steps toward them, and had them backed against the wall. “You know, you cost me a lot in Miami, Specialist—it took years to get three of my guys close to Silvio’s son… But they succeeded posthumously; he ended up here tonight after all. So while I can’t be too angry with you, holding onto any amount of anger is unhealthy. So…” He lowered the hand cannon to abdomen-level and fired, catching Krueger in the left ribs and dropping him to the floor almost instantly.

Khai stifled a scream and jumped away from them, back toward the lounge table as Osiris freed his hand. He held onto the cannon with his left as he rhythmically flexed his right and winced, groaning. She distanced herself further from him, heading toward the mahogany desk by the window as her eyes darted from Osiris in front of her to Krueger motionless on the floor. As Osiris looked back over his shoulder to face her she wished, prayed, Krueger would start moving again.

“Now there’s the matter of what punishment best suits you,” he dictated. “Maybe Young Silvio can give us some ideas. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a little late for his opinion,” Khai said, consciously slowing her speech just enough to hide her fear from him.

“Am I?” he queried. He took a conspicuous glance at the watch on his left wrist, and CJ Silvio was brought into the office by two of the staffers mere moments later, sporting a split lip and bleeding brow. Osiris dropped his hand and approached her again, carrying his cannon, and she recoiled almost immediately, but was stopped by the desk behind her. “Did you really think I would let any of you leave this place alive?”

Motion in Khai’s periphery gave her the cue she so desperately looked for earlier, giving her the boost in confidence she needed to act. “Lapse in judgement,” she said, shrugging. “Happens to the best of us.” She immediately threw her right knee into Osiris’s groin and dove to her left, hitting the floor and reaching for a subcompact Glock 26 she had holstered on the inside of her left thigh as Krueger—still on the floor—reached for his Five-Seven.

Krueger raised his handgun and fired six times in rapid succession, landing all his shots in Osiris’s back, while Khai struck each of the staffers in the room twice with well-placed shots from her handgun.

Osiris collapsed to his hands and knees, taking a labored breath as he turned to face Krueger, Khai, and CJ. He raised his hand cannon one more time, but lacked the strength to keep it at the ready; he dropped the gun to the floor and fell onto his side, coughing blood and grabbing at his chest.

Slowly, Krueger made it to his knees and holstered his weapon, then moved his hand to his side while he doubled over in pain. He propped himself up against the doorway while he tried to catch his breath.

When she was sure he wasn’t too badly hurt, Khai sat up to re-holster her handgun then stood to look down at Osiris. She crouched down to pick up his hand cannon and raised it one-handed to hold him in the sights. “The Partners send their regards,” she said. Then she squeezed the trigger, striking Osiris in the chest.

The recoil nearly wrenched the cannon from her grip. Shocked, she looked at the weapon in her hand in disbelief. She realized Osiris wasn’t lying about the weapon’s design flaws, but ultimately agreed with him about its ability to make a statement.

She rushed over to Krueger and knelt down in front of him, placing Osiris’s hand cannon on the floor to examine his wound. To her relief, she found he wasn’t bleeding. “Are you alright?”

Krueger nodded. “Armor saved my life,” he noted between shallow breaths.

This, as well as his apparent refusal to remove his right hand from his left side, worried Khai. She looked up at CJ, who was just getting back onto his feet after the violence that unfolded around him. “We have to get him out of here now,” she declared.

CJ agreed. “Say no more,” he said. “When they scooped me up they brought me back in through a side entrance. We can use it to slip away without them noticing.” He went to stand and wipe some blood from his brow.

“Do you remember where that exit is, by any chance?”

“End of the hall to the right.” CJ went toward the front door to pull a fire alarm mounted near it. “That should buy us some more time and cover.”

“Good thinking…” She turned back to address Krueger. “I’m going to help you up, Milo,” she said, taking his hand in hers and putting his arm around her shoulders. She propped him up onto his feet and stood up with him; when she was sure he could stand on his own, she retrieved her Glock from its holster once more and eyed CJ. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” CJ noted. He searched the two bodies on the floor next to him, and found a set of car keys.

Khai peered around the doorway into the hall, and popped back behind cover after spotting half a dozen armed men and women on their way up the stairs, likely to investigate the noise in Osiris’s office. “Damn it,” she hissed. “I hope you’re a good shot, CJ.”

“He won’t have to be,” Krueger said, retrieving his Five-Seven from inside his jacket and handing it to him. “Keep their heads down with this, get them to retreat to the lobby while we find our way down.”

CJ reluctantly took the handgun and took a breath to prepare himself. Then he popped out from behind the doorway and squeezed the trigger several times in the general direction of the event staff. Khai and Krueger took the opportunity to make a break further down the hallway, and CJ scrambled to follow them as he emptied the magazine down the hall.

They made it to the emergency exit stairwell at end of the hall, just where CJ said it would be, by the time the gun was dry. Khai turned around and un-holstered her Glock, bracing herself against the doorway, and took aim. She targeted not the guards but the light fixtures above them. She fired three times at the one between them and her, and succeeded in breaking the thin chain that held it to drop the chandelier and slow the guards.

In the chaos and panic among the other guests, they snuck out the side and around the back of the villa to a parking lot. CJ led them through, tapping the unlock button on the key fob he lifted to guide them to the car it belonged to. When he found the SUV, he hopped into the driver’s seat while Khai joined Krueger in the back to nurse his wound. CJ put the car into drive and took off, passing an oncoming ambulance on his way off the resort grounds.

“Easy,” Khai said from the back seat. “We don’t need to call any attention to ourselves.” She undid Krueger’s waistcoat and shirt, then carefully opened the body armor underneath. She turned the light on above them to get a better look, noting a small cut in his side where the bullet struck the armor as well as some bruising and swelling, confirming her fears. “See if you can find a pharmacy,” she said. “Or anywhere we can pick up a first aid kit. We need to treat his rib fracture.”

“Not to question you,” he said, “but is that really for the best? We should probably get out of Williamsburg, or at least as far away from the resort as possible.”

Krueger nodded. “I agree. Call your father or Isaac. See if they can arrange to get us out of here.” He winced as he straightened up in his seat. “Then we can worry about fixing me.”

Khai waited with Krueger in the parking lot of a CVS some twenty miles from the resort, and conferred with Charles Silvio over the phone while CJ went inside to pick up the first aid supplies she detailed for him. Upon his return with the equipment, Khai explained the situation for them all to hear.

“I spoke to your father,” she said, opening the rear door to step out and meet him outside the idling car. “He thinks the best thing for us right now is to lie low for the night while the dust settles, then he’ll send somebody in the morning for us.”

“So we’re spending the night here?” CJ confirmed. “Balls deep in hostile territory..?”

“I’m afraid so…”

“We’ll need lodging,” Krueger said from the car’s rear bench. “I spotted a discreet motel on the way here.”

“That’s perfect,” Khai said. “They shouldn’t ask questions.” She took the first aid supplies from CJ and stepped back into the car. “Take us to the motel,” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” CJ sighed.

Upon their arrival at the motel, CJ stopped the engine to let Khai out and the two of them helped Krueger onto his feet. He followed them from the car to the entrance, and together they made it to the reception area and got the host’s attention.

“Welcome and good evening,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“Hi,” Khai said, fighting to filter the adrenaline from her voice as she spoke to him. “We’ll need three rooms for one night. Next to each other, if that can be helped.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said. “Can I have a name and credit card on file for your stay?”

Krueger reached into his inside jacket pocket and retrieved a stack of neatly folded $100 bills. He placed it on the countertop and slid it toward the receptionist. “Ben Franklin,” he said.

The receptionist looked up at Krueger, then down at the cash, and then back up to Krueger. Nodding, he retrieved three sets of keys from under his desk. “Rooms 203, 204, and 205,” he said. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Franklin.”

“Danke schön.” Krueger took the keys and turned to lead his companions to their rooms. On the way handed CJ one of the keys and $200. “Go to the Goodwill down the road,” he ordered. “Get some cheap clothes that won’t draw attention and deliver them to my room.”

“Y-you bet.” CJ looked at Khai, and back at Krueger. “Um, what’s her size?”

“Take a guess.” Krueger slid the key into his door and entered. Khai followed him inside with the first aid supplies, leaving CJ to walk to the car and fetch their disguises.

Krueger rested his jacket on the back of a chair then went to the bathroom to wash his hands and splash water on his face one-handed. He worked on his shirt while Khai washed up in the bathroom behind him, peering over her shoulder every so often to check on him.

She fished her glasses out of her evening handbag and swapped her contact lenses for them just in time to watch Krueger roll his shoulder, painfully, to get out of his shirt and waistcoat and let them fall to the floor. She saw him struggle to remove the body armor and stepped in to intervene. “Let me,” she said. Gently, she peeled it off of his torso and stepped back to let him walk forward a little. Her eyes lingered on the numerous old battle wounds that were still visible on his bare back and chest.

Krueger tightened his one fist and gingerly held his side with his other hand, covering the growing purple blotch in his side as he slowly sat at the foot of the bed. He shut his eyes and exhaled a profanity before looking back at Khai. “Far from my first broken rib,” he said. “But I never did get used to the pain.”

She bent over to pick his shirt and waistcoat up off the floor and went to the chair his jacket rested over to place them with it. “Good,” she replied, stepping out of her stilettoes on her way to the first aid supplies in their bags by the door. “I’d be worried about you if you were so accident-prone.” She retrieved a bottle of isopropyl solution and a cotton ball from the first-aid kit, opened the bottle, and tilted it onto the cotton ball a few times to absorb enough antiseptic to disinfect the cut. Then, carefully, she applied the cotton ball to the shallow cut in his side. “This doesn’t get any more fun each time,” she added playfully.

“It’s a lot less fun to endure,” he returned. “Believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it…” She retrieved a fresh cotton ball from the kit and gingerly dabbed the wound to dry it, conscientious of what was beneath the tender skin. Then she reached into the bag for a cold compress. “You know what comes next, right?”

Krueger nodded. “I’m ready for it.”

“I’m sorry in advance,” she said. Then she gently pressed the ice pack to his side, applying just enough pressure to hold it in place.

Krueger winced a little, but didn’t protest much otherwise. “Don’t be. I’m just happy to have you here fixing me. I could have been doing this alone.”

She paused a little at his remark, realizing how different things might have gone tonight if she weren’t there. She considered how far from fine it all went, and felt responsible. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Silvio,” he said.

He was probably right, but she couldn’t ignore other possibilities. “Hold that in place,” she said, then stood up to approach the door, reaching for her Glock resting on the inside of her thigh as she got closer to the peephole. When she confirmed Krueger’s assertion, she holstered the handgun and leaned against the wall to let CJ into the room, carrying bags from the Goodwill store, CVS and a fast food eatery.

“Disguises in here,” he said, laying the Goodwill bag down. “There was also change enough for some overnight stuff—you know toothbrushes, toothpaste, the like. And finally some cheeseburgers, since none of us ate dinner at the resort party... you guys don’t have any dietary restrictions, right?”

Khai shook her head.

Krueger shrugged. “It’s my cheat day.”

“Sure,” he continued, not sure whether he was joking. “Cheat day... One for you, Miss Khai,” he said, handing her one canary-yellow wrapper. “One for, well I would have said Sebastian, but—”

“Krueger.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Milo Krueger.”

Khai nodded, mid-chew. “I can confirm.”

“Right. One for Mr. Krueger…” He reached across Khai to hand him a cheeseburger. “And mine is in the bag… I split the clothes up to make it easier for everyone. Krueger and I are about the same size, so he was wasn’t a problem. For you, I got the smallest things I could find.”

Khai chuckled. “Thanks for trying to flatter me, but it’s for a day. I’m sure I’d be able to manage if you got my size wrong.”

“Well, I guess that’s true.” CJ stood up, taking his bags with him towards the door. “Is there anything else you guys need?”

“I’ll head back after I finish up here. Thank you, CJ.”

“You bet. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.” Then CJ Silvio turned and exited the room to return to his quarters for the night.

Khai waited a few moments after CJ left, then stood up from her spot to deposit her cheeseburger wrapper in the bathroom trash bin. She quickly washed and dried her hands then reached up her back to undo her gown, pulling the zipper all the way down on her own and paring it off her slender frame, leaving only a black strapless bra and panties to cover herself. She folded the gown over itself as neatly as she could and crossed the room to place it on the chair with Krueger’s clothes, then removed her garter holster and handgun to rest them there as well. “No way I’m letting you sleep alone tonight,” she said returning to the clothing bags CJ left behind and finding hers. She threw a t-shirt on and went back to the bathroom to grab a few hand towels, then returned to Krueger’s side to take the ice pack away. “You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Krueger said.

“I know. But your body will need the nutrients if you want to start healing.”

If Krueger protested, he didn’t show it. He laid the cheeseburger wrapper in his lap to free its contents, then took hold of and bit into it, chewing slowly.

Khai placed the hand towels against his side and had Krueger hold them there while she went to the first-aid kit. She peeled a length of medical tape from the roll and fastened it to Krueger’s sternum, crossing the soft towels and sticking the other end to his back to hold them in place. “You know, you scared the crap out of me tonight,” she admitted.

Krueger swallowed. “How so?”

“When Osiris shot you, you… just fell.” She repeated her actions with another length of tape. “And when you didn’t get up, I thought...” She paused for a bit with a third length of tape to stop her voice from wobbling. “I thought I’d lost you.” She retrieved a pressure bandage and unraveled it, starting to wrap it around his core.

Krueger chewed some more as he put his thoughts together, then swallowed. By now he knew her well enough to know she would be blaming herself for what happened somehow. “It’s not your fault, Liz,” he confided.

“I didn’t have to come with you, but I did. You heard Osiris, he spotted me first.” She secured the bandage in place with the included fasteners and looked up to make eye contact with him, her hand falling into his lap. “If I weren’t there he would never have found us, and you wouldn’t have come that close to dying.” She shut her eyes and shook her head, cursing herself.

“You don’t know that, Liz,” Krueger said. He placed the rest of the cheeseburger into its wrapper to lay his hand on hers. “He could have spotted me anyway, or gotten to Silvio before I could if you hadn’t been there to distract him. I wouldn’t have even known who he was if not for you.” He moved his hand to her cheek and she looked back up at him. “It’s impossible to tell what could have happened if things were different,” he continued. “You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have foreseen. Nobody can predict everything, what’s important is that we all made it out alive. People like us aren’t always so lucky,” he finally said. “I know this.”

Khai took his words to heart and exhaled to calm herself again. Then she stood up, took his face in her hands and placed two kisses square on his mouth. “Don’t you dare get killed out there, Milo Krueger,” she appealed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

~~~~

Khai kept his promise to him, spending the night by his side and treating his wound as needed. They finally drifted off to sleep after several hours, and when they awoke the next morning Khai took a phone call from Charles Silvio letting her know their transport would be there within sixty minutes.

Khai dressed herself in the pullover hoodie and jeans CJ picked out for her and gathered the rest of her belongings. “Shame about Samantha and Michael,” she jested. “It doesn’t look like they’ll be back to that resort any time soon.”

“Looks that way,” Krueger said, easing a zip-up hoodie over his left shoulder to keep the pressure off his healing ribs. “That’s why I picked up a souvenir.” He walked over to where his suit was folded and reached for the holster, revealing Osiris’s gold-plated hand cannon. “It seemed a shame to leave it behind.” He held it out for her to take.

She picked it up and held it with both hands, running her left thumb over the barrel ports and her right over the slide release. The visible engraved text read AMT AUTOMAG V 50 A.E. Irwindale, CA. “I hate shooting it,” she said with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “But it makes a hell of a statement.”

“And what better statement to make than owning Osiris’s gun?”

“None better,” she said. She released the magazine and cleared the chamber before placing the gun in her hoodie’s kangaroo pocket, then reached one hand up to caress his cheek and give him a long, appreciative kiss. “Suppose I’d better go maintain the illusion,” she lamented after breaking contact. She returned to the bag that held her gown and shoes from the previous evening, picked it up, and stepped out of Krueger’s room.

“Ja,” he said. “Zurück an die arbeit.” He went back to his suit jacket to fish his belongings out of the jacket and place them into his cargo pants pockets.

~~~~

Khai woke CJ and had him get dressed to meet her and Krueger for breakfast, which they shared mostly in silence. And as promised, Charles Silvio’s driver arrived at the motel within the hour to pick them up and take them back to New York. He dropped Krueger and Khai off at his home in Rego Park for her to collect her car, and took CJ home to his apartment in Astoria.

Khai debriefed Isaac Hayden upon her return home. “Krueger can be up and working in as little as fourteen days,” she concluded, “but in a limited capacity. He should be back to full strength within six weeks.”

“I see,” Hayden said over the phone.

“Any updates from the Company?”

“My sources say Osiris was rushed to a hospital nearby. They say he’s comatose, and his prognosis isn’t good, but they weren’t able to get any other details regarding him. He ran the operation closer to the vest than we suspected, however. His generals are scrambling to keep his network at full functionality, and it’s already starting to splinter. We can expect them to back away from us on fronts across the entire Eastern Seaboard while they pull themselves together.”

“The way I see it sir, there’s no better time to push them out of the region than now.”

“You may be right,” he said. “But in so doing we may end up uniting them against us, and the advantage we’ve gained with Osiris’s removal from the field will be gone. I’ll coordinate with Charles and Dana, we’ll apply just enough pressure to keep them off-balance, and let them destroy themselves.”

“Understood, sir.” She poured fresh coffee from the stovetop pot into a mug and took it with her to her living room, setting down on the couch she got from Amelia’s barely a week ago.

“Charles asked me to thank you and Mr. Krueger again for your help with his son, and advised we keep him on a short leash.”

Khai had an idea about that. “What if we have CJ help me out at the branch? Be my assistant, the way I was to William and Simon.”

“Do you feel he’s up to the task?”

“I do. After what the three of us went through down there, I think he’s matured enough to handle the additional responsibilities. And if it doesn’t work, I’m sure his father can find something for him in Miami.” She took a sip of her coffee.

“On that we agree,” he added, almost chuckling. “I’ll have him report to the branch Monday morning for his new assignment. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Miss Khai.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hayden,” she said. “Good night.” She ended the call and put the phone down next to her, savoring her coffee as she admired Osiris’s empty AutoMag resting on the table in front of her. She picked the phone back up and dialed another number.

An older woman answered this time. “Hello? This is Gina.”

Khai leaned back into the couch. “Hey mom.”

“Liz!” she extolled. “It’s so good to hear from you again.”

“I know, it’s been a while. Sorry it took me so long to call back I’ve just been so busy at the branch lately.”

“I bet you have been, Miss Branch Controller..! Your father and I can’t tell you how proud we are of you. Running an operation at your age? That’s unheard of.”

“I did have help,” Khai said, trying to be modest. “And a great set of teachers, so you and dad can take thirty percent of the credit.”

“Is that all you’re willing to give us?” she jested.

“Okay,” Khai conceded, laughing. “Forty, but that’s as high as I’ll go..!”

“I’ll take it,” Gina laughed. “So tell me, what else is new with you?”

“Well,” she said, sinking further into the couch and letting it cradle her. “I just hired an assistant—you know Charles Silvio’s son?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah he’ll be helping me out with all the minutiae, and clear my schedule a little.” She paused briefly before continuing. “Also I met somebody.”

“Did you now?”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t leave me hanging, how’d you two meet?”

“He did some work for the branch a few months ago,” Khai began. “Isaac was so impressed he offered him a permanent position, so he’s with us full-time now. He’s a real sweetheart, too… he treats me well, spoils me… you and dad would love him.”

___(Masterlist)

#fiction #original work #original content #original fiction #prose #creative writing #drama #thriller

4 notes · View notes

not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

The Stories We Write (Final)

COMPLETED MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

*************************** A short but politely worded message on Steve and Bucky’s Tumblr gave the name and address of the hotel Tony was staying at, and when they checked at the front desk to ask about a room number, the receptionist handed over a key and directed them towards the stairs.

Steve’s hand shook a little when he tried to fit the key in the door, and Bucky turned him around for a quick kiss. “S’alright, Stevie.” he murmured. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’a messaged us if he if he didn’t want to see us. Definitely wouldn’a given us a key. It’s alright.”

“I guess.” Steve took a deep breath. “This is just big, right? If he wants to be with us then everything’s gonna change and if he doesn’t want to be with us--”

“Hey hey hey.” Bucky slid his fingers into Steve’s hair and pushed their foreheads together, leaving tiny kisses on Steve’s nose and cheeks. “No sense stressin’ bout it, losin’ your hair ain’t gonna change what’s gonna happen when we open that door. Besides, if you go bald m’gonna leave you so cut it out.”

“You’d leave me if I went bald, Bucky?” Despite his nervousness, Steve smiled a little. “That hurts me deep, babe. Who knew you were so shallow?”

“Course I’m shallow.” Bucky murmured over another kiss. “S’why I didn’t let ya fuck me till you were all big and golden and muscly.”

“Christ, I hate you.” Steve laughed, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Let’s do this.”

Steve’s hand was still shaking a little, but the door opened this time at least and together they stepped into a ridiculously plush hotel suite.

“Wow.” Bucky whistled quietly as they took it all in-- the living room with over stuffed couches, a small but fully capable kitchen with a bar, double doors that led to the bedroom and sliding glass doors that opened onto a balcony. “When Tony runs away, he does it in style, huh? This is nicer than all my apartments I’ve ever lived in combined.”

“And then some.” Steve added. “It might be nicer than our room at the Tower, too.”

“Yeah well, I’m a billionaire so it’s not like I’m going to camp out in a Motel 6.” Tony spoke from a door neither had noticed, standing on top of a step that led into an adjoining room. “And running away makes it sound like I’m throwing a tantrum because a sibling stole my toy. I prefer the term strategically retreating. Little more professional.”

“Oh, Tony...” Steve tried not to sound so sad, but Tony was doing that thing that he did when he was uneasy, unleashing that cutting wit and a healthy dose of sarcastic humour to cover how badly he really just wanted to bolt out the door and hide somewhere.

A quick glance at Bucky to confirm and Bucky nodded slightly. He knew what Tony was doing too.

“Well.” Bucky cleared his throat, consciously softening his voice and tipping his head down so he was looking at Tony through his lashes. “You strategically retreat to some pretty great places. Who did ya hafta flirt with to get a suite like this for this long?”

“No one.” Tony’s expression didn’t waver as he looked them over. “I own the hotel. The one next door too. Real easy to get a room when it’s my name on the deed.”

“I--” Steve didn’t know what to say to that. “Well um-- it’s a great room. You made a uh-- a great real estate choice. Um… kudos.”

Bucky sent Steve a scathing look, mouthing kudos?!? but Tony's lips twitched in what might have been a smile so maybe it would be alright.

“This is actually your room.” He said after a minute, motioning around the space. “I’m in the adjoining room. Didn’t know if I was ready to handle you guys in close quarters and I wanted a door to slam if you pissed me off.”

“That’s… fair.” Bucky sat down on one of the couches, grabbing Steve’s belt and yanking him down as well. “And um--”

“So are you considering doing the fan fiction thing full time?” Tony interrupted. “Because I don’t think you should quit your day jobs quite yet. You’re better at saving the world than you are at putting sentences together.”

“Told you.” Bucky punched Steve’s shoulder. “Told you I can barely take a phone message, definitely can’t write a story.”

“Okay but in our defense--” Steve smiled hesitantly, trying to gauge Tony’s mood. “It’s been seventy somethin’ years since we were in school and having to do this sort of thing all the time.”

“Sentences haven't changed all that much, not valid.” Tony shook his head, but he uncrossed his arms at least, leaned against the door frame instead of standing so stiffly. “But I mean, it wasn’t the worst format I’ve seen. At least you used paragraphs and attempted punctuation.”

“Yeah yeah, so our grammar wasn’t all that great.” Bucky chewed at the inside of his cheek nervously. “But what about the words, were those alright?” Beside him, Steve went very very still, sitting ram rod straight on the couch and holding his breath. “Cos you know that’s--that’s what was important about it. Not the format, but the words.”

Tony stared down at the floor for a long time before he sort of collapsed onto the step leading into their room, dragging his fingers through his hair and destroying the perfectly crafted style.

“Tony?” Steve asked quietly when Tony didn’t say anything another minute or two. “Why didn’t you ever just tell us how you felt? We had no idea for so long, why didn’t you say something? Anything?”

Tony sighed, clasped his hands between his knees and didn’t meet their eyes when he said, “Steve, I’ve been in love with you for years. Since New York.” Steve made a wounded sort of noise and Tony nodded. “And Bucky, I had a crush on you when I was like fourteen. Steve was this perfect image of Captain America that I would never measure up to, but Bucky, all those stories from the Commandos and Aunt Peggy-- you just seemed real. Like you would like me and I’m a little embarrassed to admit the first few people I kissed looked a whole lot like you, I’m a real sucker for all that hair and those blue eyes.”

Bucky tried not to grin so big, and Steve elbowed him sharply when he ended up looking goofy anyway. “Sorry.” he muttered. “But ha-ha I was Tony’s teenage crush.”

“Yeah, you’re a real heart-throb.” Steve hissed back.

“Anyway.” Tony cleared his throat loudly and both their heads snapped around to look at him again. “Anyway, after New York I thought Steve and I might have a chance, you know? You were a lot more human than the stories made you out to be and we laughed and we talked and you used to hang out with me--”

“And then I showed back up.” Bucky finished.

“And then you showed back up.” Tony confirmed. “And Steve, you were gone. Out the door like a shot looking for Bucky and announcing your love on live TV and wearing matching holiday sweaters and I--” he spread his hands in a what now sort of gesture. “--how was I going to compete with that? Everyone knew Cap and Sergeant Barnes had been a love story. Even the strongest anti-gay jerks out there applauded when you two were reunited. A love story that literally spans a century? I can’t compete with that.”

“Tony.” Steve started up off the couch, determined to go and just wrap Tony in a hug but Bucky stopped him, shook his head and muttered, “Let him finish.”

“The uh-- the writing started out as a weird sort of journal.” Tony said next, deciding to just get it all out in the open at once. “I don’t like to hand write things and so I thought about starting a blog, some place to dump my thoughts into the void. Tumblr seemed safe because it’s anonymous and with a little encryption the blog wouldn’t ever be traceable. Plus, it's a platform for everyone else that's sort of obsessed with you two, so I fit right in.”

A self deprecating laugh, and god they hated it.

“Never once did I think you would find it.” He added. “Never in a million years would I think that you two would not only stumble onto fan fiction but also onto my specific blog and then realize that it was in fact my blog. What are the odds of that happening?”

“And never once--” quieter now. “-- did I think you’d return my feelings and try to tell me via fan fiction. This whole thing has been fucking ridiculous and every time I think about it, it gets a little more ridiculous and now I’m hiding in a hotel because I’ve been too fucking embarrassed to even look you two in the face.”

Tony still didn’t look right at them, his gaze trained on a spot on the floor in front of the couch. “And now here we are. That’s the whole-- the whole thing.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look, came to an agreement via eye contact and raised eyebrows and Tony about jumped out of his skin when there was suddenly a super soldier on either side of him, crowding onto the step and winding their arms around his waist.

“What--what are you guys doing?” he squeaked and Steve brushed his fingers through the silver at Tony’s temples before pressing a gentle kiss to the strands. “Steve?”

“We suck at writing fan fiction.” Steve squeezed at Tony’s side. “I mean really suck. I had to talk Bucky out of using the f-word but lost the battle on hump. We are not good at it.”

“The F-word?” Tony repeated.

“Flaccid.” Bucky answered helpfully and Tony clapped a hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t scream. “Yeah, that was about Stevie’s reaction, too. We ain’t any good at this sorta thing, Tony. Not at writin’, not like you are.”

“The stories you write made me cry.” Steve admitted, his lips moving against Tony’s ear. “The way you wrote about us falling in love and then having to say goodbye? Sweetheart, it killed me.”

“And all th’ones bout thinking I was okay even though I’m all scarred.” Bucky added. “Not carin’ bout my arm, holdin’ me when I had nightmares. We must’a fallen in love with you a thousand different times, baby.”

“I-- you-- um--” Tony’s eyes widened helplessly. “I don’t--”

“And if we gotta write you a hundred more fics to prove how much we love you, then that’s what we’re going to do.” Steve said firmly, cupping Tony’s jaw so he couldn’t look away. “Do you understand? Bucky and I had this talk already. Sure, we stumbled onto your blog by accident, and Bucky was the one to realize it was you, but as soon as we knew it was you we sat and talked about what we wanted.”

“We weren’t gonna go ahead with nothin’ if we weren’t on the same page.” Bucky tucked his forehead into Tony’s shoulder. “Stevie told me that he’d wanted ya before I came home and I told him I’d wanted ya about since the first time you smiled at me.”

“In retrospect we should have just told you how we felt. We probably could’a saved the conversation about fan fiction for after we were together for a while, you know?” Steve lifted the back of Tony’s shirt to touch skin, humming contentedly when Tony leaned into the touch. “But instead we thought if we tried to court you the way you talked about in the fics, then maybe you would figure it out.”

“Didn’t think you’d get embarrassed.” Bucky shifted so more of him was pressing into Tony’s side. “Didn’t think you would think we were makin’ fun of you, you know? We were never makin’ fun of you, sugar.”

“It’s a little embarrassing to know you guys were basically reading my diary.” Tony said slowly, tipping his head to the side when Bucky’s mouth landed at the base of his throat. “And it wasn’t like I was just waxing poetic about your muscles, I wrote some pretty porny stuff.”

“We know.” Steve sounded like he was smiling. “We liked it.”

“We sure did.” Bucky was grinning too, rubbing light circles into Tony’s stomach with his right hand, tightening the gears of his left arm to budge them all closer together. “But we liked it more when ya talked bout how much ya loved us.”

“Waking up in the morning and just holding each other.” Steve whispered. “Taking showers and washing each other’s hair.”

“Making out during movie nights.” Bucky waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “All th’little things that people in love get to do. Those fics were the best.”

“We tried to figure out what you liked to put it in our fic.” A shy confession from Steve. “And we aren’t as good at it as you are, but we meant every word.”

“Every word.” Bucky emphasized, then met Steve’s eyes for a second and added, “We love you, baby doll.”

“We do, Tony.” Steve nodded quickly. “Sweetheart, we are just crazy about you. Have been for ages. And if we fucked all this up and have to start over with you, we will. No crazy plots and schemes from fan fiction--”

“-- no terrible one liners that sound like they are from a porno--”

“--no weird stalking you on Tumblr--”

“-- or spamming your account with comments--”

“Or using weird words to describe sexy times--”

Tony laughed then, and Steve and Bucky sighed in relief. “You guys are dorks. You don’t have to stop doing any of that. You were acting terrible and cheesy and weird but you know--” he shrugged. “I sort of liked it. Before I realized you were quoting my own fan fiction at me, I was pretty flattered by all the attention.”

“We’re gonna flatter the shit outta ya.” Bucky swore and Steve groaned out loud. “What Bucky means is--”

“No no.” Bucky cut in. “I stand by what I said. Tony knows what I meant.”

“I do know what you mean.” Tony wet his lips uncertainly, then leaned in and kissed Steve, pulling away after a few seconds to turn and kiss Bucky as well. “And I’m fully on board.”

“Yeah?” Steve brought him back for another kiss, nibbling across a plush bottom lip longingly. “We didn’t screw this up terribly? You still want to give us a chance?”

“You screwed it up pretty badly.” Tony went back to Bucky, shivering when metal fingers traced along his jaw and into his hair. “But I suppose I didn’t have to strategically retreat and ignore all your attempts to reach me for a few weeks either.”

“You got nothin’ to apologize for.” Bucky’s moan was more of a rumble when Tony sucked lightly at his tongue. “Let us do the apologizin’ and the makin’ up and we’ll take care of it all, yeah?”

“Well I mean, he could apologize for one thing.” Steve countered, and when Tony started to pull away, he rushed to finish-- “You’ve been writing all this sexy stuff about us and never once hit us up to try it out together. For all you know, you’ve been writing us all wrong.”

“Ohhhh.” Bucky’s pale eyes lit in agreement. “He’s right! Tony! You are just makin’ things up about us, where’s your integrity as writer? Should’a done some research, what if I was offended by how you wrote me?”

“Research?” Tony repeated in disbelief. “Offended?”

“The way I see it,” Steve stood to his feet smoothly, bringing Tony and Bucky with him. “The only way to avoid this problem is to do some hands on research for your next fic.”

“My next fic?” A little yelp as Tony found himself being herded towards the bed. “Hands on research?”

“You aren’t done writin’ are ya?” Bucky kicked his shoes off and fell back onto the bed, holding his arms open for Tony and grinning when the genius climbed up on the bed as well. “Don’t you got more ideas?”

“I have--” Tony flattened his palm on Bucky’s chest, tensing his fingers as the muscles twitched beneath his palm. “Wow. I have so many ideas for so many more fics.”

“Well then this is our chance to inform you that we expect our representation in these future fics to be one hundred percent accurate.” Steve deadpanned. “And that will require hands on research.”

“Have you two been reading college au’s?” Tony asked suspiciously. “Because this sounds like a line from a college au where research and study sessions end in sex.”

“Damn Stevie.” Bucky winked and Tony almost melted. “He’s onto us.”

“We’ve been reading a bunch of “oh no there’s only one bed” fics as well.” Steve slipped onto the bed next to them and budging a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Interesting how real life follows fic plot lines so often.”

“There’s actually two beds.” Tony pointed out. “I reserved two rooms--”

Bucky flung his shoe at the adjoining door and it hit with a thwack, shutting the door between the rooms. “Oh look at that, now there’s only one bed.”

“Oh my god.”

“Hashtag platonic bed sharing.” Another kiss at Tony’s temple. “If that’s what you want. We’re just happy we didn’t lose you, sweetheart.”

“Did you just hashtag a --”

“Sweet thing.” Bucky interrupted. “Hashtag extreme cuddling. Stop talking and come here.”

“Oh my god--!” Tony’s shout of laughter was muffled by an flurry of kisses-- and accompanying terrible fan fiction lines-- from both the soldiers. “After we’re done, I’m going to tell you two exactly why you’re dorks.”

“That’s fair.”

“Yeah, we probably deserve that.”

“Hashtag happily ever after.”

“Oh for fucks sake--”

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

“Hey.” Later, after some not platonic bed sharing, Tony stretched happily and snuggled into Bucky's chest. “Did you guys ever read anything other than reader-inserts?”

“We started off just reading stuff about us.” Steve climbed back in bed and mouthed kisses across Tony’s shoulder before sitting up and kissing Bucky as well, handing Tony a bottle of water. “Then sorta fell into the reader inserts when Bucky discovered Yoolyn--”

Tony spit water onto Bucky when he started laughing and Bucky just rolled his eyes. “Yep. That was a fun day. Stevie thought Yoolyn was an X men. Good times.”

“An X men!” Tony laughed even louder. “Oh my god!”

“Why are you asking about what else we read, baby?” Steve brought the conversation back around, pulling Tony towards him so Bucky could step away to clean up. “Should we have been reading other things? Cos I’ll be honest, once we found your stuff we stopped reading everything else.”

“I was just wondering if you guys had stumbled onto stuckony fan fiction yet.” A tremor ran through Tony’s body when Steve’s big hand landed on his lower back then slipped down to his read, palming over the curve and squeezing lightly.

“Stuckony.” Bucky repeated. “Is that like Stucky but with you added on?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Tony ducked his head so they wouldn’t see how goofy his smile got when Bucky got back in bed and he was suddenly squashed between them.

“Super soldier sandwich.” Steve teased and Tony turned bright red. “You like that?”

“So much.” he mumbled and Bucky hugged him tight, smiling into the back of his neck. “Anyway, stuckony fan fiction is sorta fun to read.”

“Yeah? Whole lot of fun scenarios the three of us get into?” Steve pulled the blankets up around Tony’s shoulders. “Lot’s of trouble?”

“Lots of trouble.” Tony confirmed, still pink from the sandwich comment. “Could be fun to maybe read together.”

“We can read whatever ya want.” Bucky confirmed. “And if ya want to write more bout us that’s okay too. Whatever stories you write is fine with us.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Steve laughed a little. “Especially if they run the same lines as that one you wrote where we find you wearing lingerie beneath your clothes.”

“Oh god, kill me.” Tony tried to hide under the covers. “That was-- I didn’t-- I don’t want to-- that was definitely-- I mean--” he groaned. “Damn it. Of course you guys found that one.”

“And read it like a dozen times.”

“At least a dozen times, yes.”

“Ugh wonderful.” Tony closed his eyes and let himself drift for a minute. “This is all I ever wanted, you know? This right here.”

“We got you, babe.” Steve murmured and Bucky whispered into Tony’s ear in agreement. “We got you.”

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

Epilogue

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

“I am mega hot as a pirate.” Bucky announced loudly. “I should get some tattoos, should I get some tattoos? Also, swords. Also, can we start calling me Bronco?”

“Sweetheart, no one is going to call you Bronco.” Steve bent and kissed his forehead, and then leaned over and kissed Tony as well. “But Tony, I wouldn’t hate if you stuttered a little when you called me Captain, that little stammer is so sweet.”

“I’ve never stuttered in my life.” Tony objected. “I dunno what that author was thinking but I was definitely never so innocent that a kiss in a garden beneath a tree would make me fall in love or make me stutter like that.”

“Alright, but are you bloodthirsty enough to leave Stane to burn in a warehouse while sipping scotch, though?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Randy enough to let me fuck ya at a waterfall on some island where Thor wears a loincloth?”

“Okay you know what?” Tony jumped to his feet and snatched Bucky and Steve’s phones out of their hands. “You guys aren’t allowed to read fan fiction anymore. Fandom card rejected, this was a terrible idea.”

“But baby!” Steve pouted playfully. “I really really want to show you how to sharpen sword and I don’t mean the used to kill people, I mean the one in my- ahem- scabbard.”

“REJECTED!” Tony said louder and stomped out of the room. “Stupid super soldiers, ruining the things I love to read.”

“Aw sweet thing come back!” Bucky called. “I’ll take you for a ride! You wanna ride on the Bronco?”

“Nah, he wants his Captain to teach him how to be a husband!” Steve cackled. “Tony! Come back! I want to take you roughly against the ships wheel!!”

And Sam, from the doorway because he had the unfortunate habit of walking into the wrong conversations at the wrong time-- “What in the hell---?”

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

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE FIC!

If you loved what you read, BUY ME A KO-FI!

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

#ncts fics #stuckony #stucky #stony #winteriron

302 notes · View notes

rkevent · 5 years

Photo

MGA SEASON 5: THE GRAND FINALE STARTS NOW!

It’s the start of the end. After nearly two months of airing, the grand finale has finally arrived. At the start, there were 100 hopefuls, and now only 20 of the best contestants remain and fight for the title of winner. Only one group may take on that title and now it is time to see what they have to show us for it. The episode starts live at 9pm sharp and as the audience cheers live, so do the people at home.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the grand finale of the Mnet Global Auditions Season 5!” It’s the assigned MC, Hong Jinwoo, who greets the public and, in return, they all cheer in excitement. “It’s been a long road here, but we got to learn a lot and see a lot during it. Many left us along the way, but they also left their impression in everyone’s hearts at home. Tonight, our 20 finalists will have to give their best and show what they got to be called the very best. Before starting, let us please greet our lovely judges!”

The man points over to the five chairs filled with known faces. With each name he mentions, the judge stands and greets the public around them. “Nova Entertainment’s CEO Hyun Bin! Royal Entertainment’s CEO So Jisub! KT Entertainment’s CEO, Katie Lee! TRC Entertainment’s CEO Tiger JK! And Sphere Entertainment’s CEO, Baek Jiyoung!” Beautiful text appears below their image to introduce themselves to whoever was watching, but these are figures anyone tuned in should already know.

“All of our finalists worked very hard during this week,” the MC continues. “Before they get on the stage, why don’t we show you what they were up to during practice? Check it out!” The man points to the camera and, while the images appear on the big screen on the stage for those watching there, the same scenes show on everyone’s TV screens at home.

It’s the same order people are used to. The building on the screen is that of Sphere Entertainment. Inside, there are only four contestants. It’s only them are the three coaches and… cupcakes. “It’s Jinwook’s birthday!” Jinki says as they each grab a cupcake for themselves and when the camera zooms on the birthday boy, candles fly around his head. But there isn’t much time for commemoration. Instead of jumping into an impromptu ‘Happy Birthday to You’ performance, KAND DANIEL decides to start things off. “Can I say something?” He asks, and his teammates allow him to.

“It’s about last round, and what the judges said.” A quick flashback shows their previous performance and a few of Tiger JK’s words to them. “We believed yours took a step away from what is normally thought of when people think of Sphere. You didn’t give us much more than what already came with the song.” The CEO says before it returns to the practice room. “Truthfully, I agreed with everything they said, and I worried about it all before performance day, too. I should’ve spoken up about it before, so I wanted to apologize for that.” DANIEL continues with a cupcake in hand. “It was my direction that put my trio team in danger and sent my teammate home, and I didn’t want that to be the case again. I want to do better this time!”

“I know I mentioned it last week, but what about a mashup?” His crowd doesn’t look too appeased, but the boy continues on. “Hear me out, okay! We can choose two songs with easier dances because I think everyone but WOOJIN will struggle learning two dances.” Jinwook cuts him off. “There’s something I’ve been working on, actually. We can use that so we already have a head start and don’t have to dedicate so much time to it if everyone wants?” With a newly found light, people finally seem to agree. “Yeah! That would be really cool!” DANIEL says. “It fits the Sphere concept if it was a Sphere idol that made it, right?”

From his corner, WOOJIN shoots them a question. “What are we going to do about choreography?” After a small pause, DANIEL suggests something. “It would be cool if we could include elements of choreography from the other dances too.” The dancer doesn’t look too convinced by his words. “Maybe, if you can learn the dances fast enough.” On the other side, JUHO speaks up. “DANIEL, we can learn the choreography together once WOOJIN has sorted out the parts. It might help things move faster if we can both help each other during the process.” With everything decided, the team gets to work.

While the team gets to work on sorting parts, WOOJIN steps off to learn the choreographies, as he had done in the weeks before. The rest of the team joins him later on and they all dance along to different songs, but the mashup itself is saved to be played only on their grand stage.

“To show what they prepared,” the MC appears on the stage and the quiet silence from the practice room changes into the cheering of the live audience, “please welcome our Team Hollywood!” The first four finalists make their way to the stage: KANG DANIEL, MIYAWAKI SAKURA, BAEK JUHO, and PARK WOOJIN. They stand there for a moment wearing brightly colored sunglasses. The stage is properly decorated with tropical vibes including blow-up palm trees.

They take off their glasses and put them in their pockets before the instrumental starts to play. It’s WOOJIN who starts singing the first lyrics, followed by DANIEL. With a mashup, it also allowed for him to intercalate his lines while JUHO sings the one from a different song. It’s SAKURA who comes in next to introduce yet another song, all tied in together. While he had already sung before, DANIEL also raps along with SAKURA. WOOJIN takes over the final dancer center and then the other members slowly sing the last few lines from DANIEL to JUHO, and then SAKURA. They hold their pose for a moment before reaching for their sunglasses, then putting them all back on in unison, turning and strutting back stage.

The camera moves into Nova’s practice room as the coaches are about to give their feedback following the last episode’s results. Sunmi is the first to talk as she scribbles on her notepad.“Okay, so not only where you guys clocked for the ambitious choreography it was also subpar of expectations. now not only do we need to meet expectations but we have to exceed them.” And despite ranking fifth last episode, instead of looking gloomy, the group seems determined to show they could be more impactful and do much better during the finals. After some time brainstorming, they decide to go with an angel and demon concept for their Nova performance. They settle for a remade version of Paradise Lost mixed with B.A.P’s 1004 hoping to highlight their strengths and choose to add an intro to develop a story. While it looks challenging to find a good way to make it all work, they can count with the coaches’ insights and experience. Sunmi helps with the skit and suggests choreography aspects, Sungyeol provides extra ideas for stage setups and effect and Seungwan mixes the song with her own flair to make it stand out.

During one of the practice sessions of 1004, YEWON pulls KENTA aside and apologizes to him. “I’m sorry too, that we didn’t do well. I don’t think there’s much we could’ve done better except gone for a different song, but… still. And I can understand why you were frustrated with me last week, but I hope you’ve changed your mind since!” He says. “I’m glad you get to have a bigger role in both of our songs. You’re too talented not to shine as much as you can on our last stage.” With this, they return to practice and the honest conversation proves to be a good remedy to improve their teamwork. With only two vocalists now, Seungwan continues sharing her expertise with JACKSON and KENTA, giving exercises and tips. “When practicing high notes, remember to use sounds that go outward. Ah!” She demonstrates as she gestures for them to repeat after her. "You may laugh, but that’s actually a good sound to make.” She smiles. “You can practice by being angry with me. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” After some sessions, KENTA seems to project his voice better.

The contestants continue to receive the coaches' advice through the week and CHANGBIN approaches Seungwan to revise the lyrics he wrote. After studying it for a second, the coach informs she's going to consult some friends. It’s And*roma’s CHAEYOUNG who answers the phone and tells the boy to go over the rap so she could hear it, giving positive feedback to him. On the other hand, coach Sunmi doesn’t seem happy with their song choices when she returns to check their progress. “I’ve looked over everything and was filled in on your ideas and reasons behind them but I just wanted to let you guys know I feel like your first choice for Nova isn’t really a Nova song at all.” She says, but it seems too late to make drastic changes. Although disagreeing with their choices, the coach still helps to choreograph the dance opening, making good use of the skillsets of the members so that the dance wasn’t too difficult and more creative.

An ominous instrumental starts and YEWON, KENTA and CHANGBIN are seen kneeling on stage with bibles open in their hands. They mouth something as if they were reciting hymns and keep a blank expression on their faces. Is JACKSON who appears behind them with a sinister look on his face and takes off his cloak before their song starts. KENTA also throws his cloak and Bible off to the side and reveals his all-black outfit before he gets center-stage and does a solo dance that looked like he was playing piano, the expression still strong. The other two left behind throw aside their Bibles and cloaks, then get into formation and JACKSON sings the first verse. KENTA shows his vocals and the group manages to keep up with the choreography. CHANGBIN opens the rap portion following the chorus, letting YEWON shine with her powerful rap before returning to showing what he was known for. JACKSON’s high notes create more impact when they sing the chorus again and church bells can be heard, the red fog becoming red as they transition to another song. The instrumentals give off a different vibe as YEWON dances. The whole stage lights up as KENTA sings and they lift the girl up. Another dance break is performed by the dancers, followed by rap and then high notes in the background. Toward the end, CHANGBIN and KENTA take off their black tops and reveal white clothes underneath. The instrumental ends the performance and fades out beautifully.

The camera zooms and the scene changes to the designated practice room inside TRC. With only four of them now, their spirits seem shaken as they gather for the first time to talk about their plans for the final. “Well, I was disappointed of course.” LEE CHAERYEONG says during her interview when asked about the results last week. “It hurt a bit. Is it bad that I took the words the judges said personally?” KANG HYUNGGU admits. However, the group looks determined to show a better side of themselves to the public and discuss different ideas they would like to incorporate into the performance. Coach Jinsoul points out they should keep their strengths in mind as they share their thoughts, and CHOI MINHO presents a rough copy of a mashup he’d had before to the others. There are disagreements about whether they should do it or not, but in the end, they agree with a mashup for TRC stage. Once again, they decide to join forces and work on the choreography together. Another clip of HYUNGGU’s interview appears again. “We’ll prove to you that we’re not boring this week, judges.” The boy says with a serious expression.

Even when there’s visible progress, it’s Doyeon who notices something different in MINHO and approaches him later. The boy opens up about the loss of contestants that became friends and his current situation. “I know people are tired of hearing about it, yeah? That I’ve been on the show before… but it’s different this time. The pressure’s different. The stages are different. The people— I didn’t lose this many friends last time. Seeing ‘em get eliminated, it’s…” He tells her and the coach gives her piece of advice before joining the other coaches again and letting the male focus on practice. The coaches continue to give them some pointers through the day, especially on singing and stage presence. "Doyeon and Jinsoul did their best to guide our singing. They checked on us, kept our spirits up, but made sure to give us constructive criticism. The three of our coaches were so supportive and I think everyone needs that. Being on the MGAs or not.” MINHO tells the interviewer. HWANG YEJI is the next to share her thoughts on them. “Jinsoul was really very helpful and motivating when it came to my singing? She gave me such good advice and upped my confidence a lot. Doyeon was also very nice and helpful, she’s also so pretty, i’m shocked. Then SANA as well, I am really grateful to all their advice these two weeks.”

More scenes of their practice time are highlighted, showing them tweaking and making adjustments for the choreography and lyrics. On Sunday, YEJI storms out of the practice room without explanation and surprisingly returns with food for everyone. “Is anyone hungry?” She asks and the team shares Korean BBQ to get some energy for the next round of practice. CHAERYEONG appears practicing her facial expressions after getting a few tips from the coaches. HYUNGGU brings another round of energy drinks and snacks as they discuss how to make the performance stand out, throwing more ideas for the stage and team name. “Lucifer,” HYUNGGU suggests once the concept of angels vs. demons comes up, but they settle with Sirius. "I think our creativity is overflowing this week and you’ll want more. I think we’ll get another episode then?” MINHO says shares in the middle of the week. “I personally think it looks promising. The song choices are more ambitious and interesting and their ideas are definitely bolder than what they prepared last week, so it has potential to impress the audience and the judges.” Doyeon gives her opinion. On the other hand, Jinsoul shares her concerns. “Honestly, I was worried about the song choice. There aren’t so many singers in our team, and since we had Nova as our other concept well… you know how their dancers are, but MINHO has a great tone when he’s singing, and they put together really interesting performances with a theme and a storyline and everything, so I think it’ll be good.”

The video comes to an end and the audience warmly welcomes the following group with louder cheers as they make their way to the stage. The girls are wearing elegant flowy white shirts and angel wings while the boys show a different side with their black and red suits, a glimpse of the concept they chose for the stage. “Shining bright!” HYUNGGU calls out and they all shout “We are Sirius!” in unison. After they’re done with introductions, they move to take their places. The lights dim and the stage is completely black, building the expectation for what’s coming.

When the beat starts playing, spotlights reveal the four sitting on contrasting sides of the stage in thrones. The left side is more ethereal while the right one shows the opposite vibe. White feathers trail behind the girls as they stand to walk to the center and black ones are left on the ground where the boy once was. When they meet center-stage, pyrotechnics are added and YEJI starts the song with clear vocals. As they dance and sing, the group also tells a story of demons trying to make the angels fall for them, a constant push and pull. HYUNGGU steps forward during his part, along with MINHO, as they offer roses to the girls, but they toss them aside. They showcase a self-choreographed routine and CHAERYEONG continues to prove she’s also a talented rapper. Who surprises is MINHO, singing the verse and showing a set of moves from MYNAME’s Paradise. The feathers, the red apple, the interactions, and facial expressions support the story they’re telling as the song progresses. YEJI sings the chorus and HYUNGGU is responsible for the adlibs, flames flaring up with each mention of fire and creating an intense atmosphere on stage. MINHO returns with a rap portion. Leading to the end of the performance, HYUNGGU sings and the boys reveal their intentions and replace the flower crowns the girls had for one with black roses. It’s MINHO who’s in charge of the last line.

Another company appears on the screen, this time it is KT. The four contestants sit together in the room and YUKHEI hands each girl a cup of coffee. The mood is clearly more subdued this time as things all turn towards the end. At least they appear focused on the mission and choose a song quickly. They’ll follow the story they started the previous week. SIA suggests the storyline and the rest help add onto it. NAKYUNG gives the idea of making the stage look like a secret hideout, YUKHEI adds the idea of using a couch and YURI of decorating the area with chain-link fences.

They still struggle a bit with some other sorts of details. A team name doesn’t come as easily so they decide to call for some help. The screen shows scenes of Eclipse of the KTWorld Concert, and the text below it says that the idol coaches couldn’t stop for help due to their schedules. Back in the practice room, the contestants are all crowded around SIA as she holds onto her phone in front of her face. They all sport their best begging faces and puppy eyes. On the other side of the line comes the voice of Minji who is illustrated by a picture of herself on the bottom of the screen.

As a savior, the idol suggests ‘Black Widow’ as the name for their group, and they all appear to agree with it. They all say their goodbyes and it shows the end of the day. On the morning after, YURI gets there the earliest. She has a number of cupcakes in front of her as well as some coffee orders beside her. SIA arrives after her, and YURI shouts out. “Happy birthday, SIA-unnie! I hope you enjoy it— I made the cupcakes fresh and frosted it, piped everything myself. But it was worth it for you!” The birthday girl looks surprised. “I- I didn’t realize you knew it was my birthday,” she admits. “You’re too good to me, you know that, YURI?” They hug each other before the screen changes back to the stage.

“And now,” the MC says, “let’s welcome our KT group, Black Widow!” The four make their way to the center before doing their group greeting. NAKYUNG is the one to start it. “When cupid fails, we are-” and then all the girls point their hands as finger guns at YUKHEI and he puts his hands up in a surrender pose “Black Widow.” Once they’re done with their individual introductions, they move over to their starting positions. Before any song can start, the stage goes dark.

A clip of their performance last week plays on the screen behind them showing all five of the original members. When the song dies off, JIEQIONG’s voice, the contestant eliminated last week, says “The story isn’t over.” From then, their song of the week starts to play. YURI starts by vocalizing over the instrumental, followed by a few lines from YUKHEI. SIA is the one who takes the actual first verse. The dance is a bit demanding to those not exactly trained in dancing, but they keep up. When it gets to the bridge, they repeat the same movement from their introduction, but this time with YURI singing in the middle. Before the song can pick back up again, NAKYUNG comes out with the highlighted short rap. They all turn their backs in the end and walk away.

The final place appears on the screen: Royal Entertainment. The last four finalists are sitting together trying to come up with ideas when the door opens and their coach, Cheri, appears with an ice cream cake in her hands. SUWOONG hurries over to help her with a smile. The smile quickly disappears when the cake tips over and falls to the ground. KYUNGSOO stretches his arms but stands too far to reach, HEEJIN and YOUNGJAE freeze in shock. Suddenly, Ella and Wonwoo walk in with a new cake and the contestants sport a new expression of shock.

They dig into their second cake, commemorating their win from the previous week. Despite the delicious lunch, the finalists are soon put to the test. To prepare themselves for their performance, Ella insists that they must practice their squats. Cheri instead suggests they should harmonize while doing squats to make sure they’ll be completely prepared when on the stage. The four proceed to do as they’re told, sweating while trying to sing. Once they’re done, SUWOONG throws himself on the ground. “Coach Ella just wants to see us suffer, doesn’t she?”

However, on the following day, SUWOONG is the one dragging KYUNGSOO behind the door on a sprint. “Quick, hide! I think that’s Cheri’s footsteps… shh!” They wait quietly, but the one who walks in is HEEJIN. He quickly recruits the girl to join them and soon there are three people trying to hide behind a door. “We’re going to get them back,” SUWOONG says “You do know you’re not exactly quiet, even when you try to be, right?” HEEJIN says, but they continue with the plan. When the door opens again, they shout a loud “Boo!” The one coming in is YOUNGJAE, who lets out a loud shriek while retreating to a corner of the room. “Don’t do that!” He whines while hitting SUWOONG’s chest. Soon, the boy is recruited as well, and the four of them wait for their coaches to arrive.

When the door opens again, they all shout once more. Both Ella and Cheri squeak. SUWOONG is laughing away while KYUNGSOO and YOUNGJAE walk over to check if the two are doing well. They apologize constantly afterward and then get back to practice. They are shown back doing squats, and maybe they feel some regret from pranking the coaches back. With this, the show is back live on the stage. The MC smiles at the camera before speaking. “Representing Royal, welcome the Royal Flush!” The contestants walk over to the center and start to introduce themselves. “We are Royal Flush!” They greet before bowing with unison. They introduce themselves individually before getting into their positions.

They’re either seated or lying down. The stage is decorated with beautiful flower sets and the camera zooms in on those before the song starts. KYUNGSOO is the first to sing, followed by SUWOONG. They go over their squat choreography as they had so intensely practiced before YOUNGJAE takes it away with their lines. HEEJIN is the one who delivers the high note, as expected from the chosen best singer on the early episodes. They all shout together and confetti shoots out from above them. With their final pose, the confetti continues to fall as if they were white petals, ending their stage.

It takes a few moments with them standing on their place before the camera moves to someone else, the MC. “Weren’t those some great performances?” The crowd cheers loudly. “Which one was your favorite?” They all shout different names, but it’s tough to point anything out with 3000 people present. “Well, but that wasn’t the end quite yet! Today, to make this finale special, the groups prepared two performances, each with a different concept. Would you like to know which ones they were assigned?” The audience replies with a loud ‘yes!’ and the man chuckles. “We’ll gladly show you… after the commercials! Don’t change your channel we’ll be right back!”

#rkmga5 #rkmga5finale

13 notes · View notes

game-meak · 5 years

Text

A Proper Postmortem

Maybe?! Heck if I know how to actually format a good post but let’s try. As game development went on for almost four years, this is probably gonna be long... and also give away basically the whole game oops! Read on with caution.

Sometime around July 2014, a month after the initial release of my first game, my room was being remodeled and I was stuck with nothing for free time but a garbage laptop I could do anything on, an old flip phone, my sketchbook, and my 3DS. So beyond playing an obscene amount of Animal Crossing and Tomodachi Life, I at some point went “hey, what if I made a second game starring the kids.” So I started trying to plan it out! And it went

absolutely nowhere that I intended it to go!!!

For instance, this is the very first page of sketches. This squirrel was supposed to be really important. It’s not. I don’t even KNOW what’s up with that duck.

A thing I like to think about before I set off making any of the story, assets, or scripts for my games tend to be themes and motifs. And I kept circling back to a very important, very personal “theme.” Without using the internet at large as my therapy couch, I was emotionally abused and taken advantage of multiple times in my life and it greatly impacts how I interact with people to this very day, as you’d expect events of such a degree would. Particularly, I kept thinking that the RPG Maker fan crowd tends to skew young and be in the teenage range and at ages 14-16, I could’ve used something to help.

Of course, my entire thought process isn’t necessarily one of charity and selflessness. It was also a way of me expressing what I’d dealt with in ways I’ve only ever communicated with my friends who were also victims of the same circumstances, the closest I would let myself come to personal stories and retellings with a cover of plastic children and wild adventures. It was also in some ways a way of me verifying to myself that something ongoing was, in fact, bananas and should not have been happening, but that might be another story for another time.

As you can probably guess, Haze and Seal came into the picture since I needed to make two characters who would have this struggle. A lot of decisions came about because of my personal experience. They’re 15/16 because I was at the time of the incidents that primarily inspired me to make this game. They’re both nonbinary because I am. They love anime because I did (and do...?!) One of their friends is even directly modeled off how one of my friends looked in high school. To that degree, I guess someone, somewhere can call them self inserts. But they’re also not, since I didn’t want to just do a personal retelling with fictional characters. I’d just write a memoir or something at that point.

Haze’s design came first, and then Seal’s was sort of made as a foil to them. Haze’s “colors” are pink, black, grey, and red. Seal’s are teal and light purple... and also black. Haze had a rabbit motif (which got toned down as I went on), Seal had an owl motif (which is now just a single mention in their list of likes...), etc.

Though in the beginning, the story was entirely different. Initially, everything took place in the neon-ish areas with black sky and reflective, celestial water (that I, very eloquently, call “spacewater”). The idea was that Haze and Seal were beings from another dimension and that their “fighting” was causing a rip in the universe that the kids stumbled into and therefore got wrapped up in this mess. I had an entire script written and started making assets and when I went to sum up the game’s plot in a neat paragraph, I realized... I hated it!!!

So I chucked all I had done by that point writing-wise and started again.

In fact, I rewrote a lot. After the first it was mostly small tweaks and adjustments, but the biggest ones (and the ones that still present a challenge to me!) usually involved trying to make Seal feel like a believable character. I had shown an early draft to someone who said that Seal felt too much like trying to get back at someone, so I scrapped a ton of their lines and tried again. I still worry whether or not they come across too Strawman-y, but I’ve done the best I can and whatever criticism people have can apply to my next writing attempts. It’s very hard to separate yourself from subject matter you feel really personally attached to. I don’t want to write them in a way that you immediately hate them, or hate me for writing such a blatant “villain” character, but in a way that you can formulate your own thoughts. That said, though, I am violently allergic to people who call Seal a “tsundere,” even in jest. So I guess I want people to have their own thoughts as long as it’s not that specific one...! (;;;;)

You may be thinking “heck, this is a lot of paragraphs in and you haven’t even brought up gameplay thoughts” and yes... that’s very true. Shamefully, for a game where I thought “I should definitely, absolutely focus more on making it a Fun Game than a walking visual novel” I might’ve actually dropped the ball in that area. I’d like to think I was more adventurous than I had been with my first game. Some parts do kind of fall into the “walk to the next cutscene, find a key to unlock the next cutscene” pit, but I did put effort into figuring out what I could do with RMXP. My obligatory “please don’t use this engine here, people thinking of using RPG Maker” statements here. In the final product, though they’re very simple, I’m most proud of the chalkboard puzzle and the paint sorting puzzle.

Even if, y’know... I somehow neglected to include the letter “k”

Speaking of, I’m not sure if this is a general RPG Maker thing, a “man I hate RMXP” thing, or a “meaka cannot gamemake” thing, but I had several event/puzzles just up and quit on me a few times. Like they would work fine for months and months, but one day I’d go to them and just nope, suddenly they’re not working, sorry. Copy+pasting the event to a new map wouldn’t work, so I’d have to manually redo the event. One of them was the chalkboard puzzle. The other was the sliding puzzle when Tony is by herself. Which I’m also aware slows the game down a ton, but I have legitimately no idea how to fix that... I tried and I could never get to to not lag like crazy.

Like I said, I started in July 2014. I’d shipped the game off to my beta testers in March 2018. A vast majority of that time was spent creating the visual assets since everything you see in the game is custom. All the sprites, all the tilesets, every little pixel of it. All me! Needless to say... it was very exhausting and very time consuming. I grossly underestimated how much time I thought it’d take. I never accounted for the very real possibility of burnout, which is incredibly silly considering I was making something entirely by myself that was also an occasionally difficult subject matter...! There were quite a few weeks where I touched nothing because I couldn’t bring myself to and even a few times where I just considered deleting everything and cancelling the project. I knew I’d be mad at myself if I quit, especially as I got later into production, so I just tried my best to make sure I didn’t turn it into a huge chore. Obviously, there were parts that were more tedious than others, but this game really is a very large labor of love that I put a lot of my heart into.

Part of that time is also a little bit of indecision. Did you know I went through 3 possible title screens? I sure did! I’ve also publicly posted about redoing both Haze and Seal’s bust sprites before. I almost redid all of the kids’, too, but I didn’t wanna get caught in the loop of remaking everything, so I opted to just leave them as they are. Most of them don’t bug me as much. M...most of them!

I’m hopping back on the Story train since obviously that was my main focus, but the decision to have Seal sort of “reveal” their true nature (or at least have a jealousy-related anger burst) to Octavio as an animated cutscene was one I’d decided pretty early. Which is also why, unsurprisingly, I was debating getting voice actors for a hot minute. But I wouldn’t have used it anywhere else in the game, so I opted not to. I also wanted to keep the file size low, but that wound up not happening so much, h-haha... For someone who uses the only engine without native support for videos, I sure do like making animated cutscenes, huh.

Anyway. This scene originally bridged Octavio’s section of the game to Pablo’s, which would’ve been (for some reason) in an abandoned hospital. But that didn’t pan out because it didn’t fit what I wanted the game to be and also by switching the order of the two, it builds up more tension(?) on the kind of character you expect Seal to be. I hope their very first “fuck off, maybe” took someone out there by surprise!

This also was the point when I decided I wanted to commission an original soundtrack, since nothing quite got across what I wanted at the time. Which is when I put out my silly ad post and somehow managed to get the amazing ProjectTrinity to compose for me...! I’m still amazed by the sheer quality of music he made for my little RPGMaker game.

Having the teen characters curse was also something I waffled on for a bit. Clearly, I dwell on the important things as a writer. I wanted it to contrast the cutesy, kidlike way the siblings talk and also the sort of squeaky-clean image the witches (particularly Seal) present to the kids by contrasting how they talk to each other, most importantly how Seal talks to Haze and their other friends. I did have the same issue with the Mother in my first game, but I opted to not have her curse at all either since she’s childish in her own way, too. But that’s not for THIS game’s postmortem, get otta here!!!

I also very much was set on a “battle” with words being the final event of the game. Though I had a hard time imagining what that would be initially, but eventually arrived at a sort of fake battle system that was introduced in the mine. The setting for this battle changed with time (everywhere from the park to the academy and in between) was considered...! The dirty secret is that while I did like the decision to make it take place in the voids between worlds, I also sort of did not want to draw the staircase in the witch academy. Originally, the kids would’ve also helped Haze “reach” Seal (who was putting actual obstacles in the way), but I guess in my own way, I wanted to give Haze the ability to confront Seal on their own, one-on-one. Or something like that...! I also didn’t want to add too much needless backtracking.

I’m... unsure what other point I really want to make, so I guess I’ll end this here unless anyone has anything in particular that interests them they’d want me to answer!

All in all, this game means a lot to me and took a chunk of my life to make and I really hope it’s able to reach at least one person who might need it, even if it’s only a little.

To all of you who gave it a try, thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.

A shameless link to the game: [itch.io] & [RMN]

#living playground #the witch's puppets #rpg maker #postmortem

16 notes · View notes

whaddyameanno · 5 years

Text

David/Patrick: What I Did for Love

So this is what happens when I have an idea in my head and then I actually sit down and write it...yikes.

It’s super angsty so I understand if no one wants to read it, but it ends up being okay.

Tumblr messed with the formatting, I’m sorry.

Patrick knew who Sebastien Raine was, of course. The very name of the man made his blood boil.

Shortly before he and David had gotten together, Sebastien Raine had been in town and David had gotten revenge and closure, in that order, but Patrick still hated the man.

David and Patrick had sat down and talked about each other’s histories after the whole Rachel debacle at the barbecue. Patrick had never wanted another surprise appearance from an ex to come between them and so they talked.

David had, of course, made offhand comments here and there about experiences he had been through and many of them had made Patrick sad, and even more of them had made him angry, but nothing could compare to how he had felt when David had disclosed the details of his and Sebastien’s relationship.

David had told him all about how Sebastien had made him feel special and how he had actually felt something for the man and would’ve done anything for him. He went into details about how Sebastien had told him to be in bed, naked, waiting for him and how Sebastien had stumbled in, drunk off his ass, with another person in tow. And then, of course, there was the manipulation. How David would be unsure of doing something and Sebastien would convince him he should “do it for him” or “for their relationship”. The best example of this was the nude photoshoot. He explained to Patrick that that was why he didn’t want Sebastien anywhere near Stevie, he didn’t want her going through that too.

As much as he didn’t want Patrick to see, David had been unable to hide the tears in his eyes as he told Patrick all about their three month-four if you counted the month where Sebastien was seeing other people-relationship and how much it had completely shattered him as a person. He had been unable to leave his bed for a long, long time. A lot of people had hurt him, he had told Patrick, but never had it hurt as badly as what he went through with Sebastien.

And that was how Patrick found himself making a promise to himself, were to ever get his hands on Sebastien Raine, he’d let him have it. He knew, of course, the chances of that happening were slim to none, but sometimes, after witnessing and helping David through one of his particularly bad anxiety attacks, the thought would cross his mind.

***

Patrick hated being away on business. He would much rather be at home, with his fiance wrapped up in his arms. Fiance. He would never get tired of referring to David as that, well, that is, until the better, more fitting term “husband” was applicable.

He was sitting at the bar in his hotel, drinking-maybe one too many- but he was feeling lonely and missing David when he saw him. At first, he thought maybe he was seeing things because there was no way Sebastien Raine would be here in this same hotel in Chicago, but he had seen pictures and was unable to get the image of the horrible man out of his brain. There was no doubt about it. Sebastien Raine was here and he was going to give him a piece of his mind.

He stood up, quickly paid his tab, and then took a seat closer to where he was sitting with some other people. Were they acquaintances or his next victims? Patrick couldn’t be sure. Had he thought this through exactly? No, but he was drunk and seeing red and the only thought in his mind was that Sebastien needed to pay.

He was smart enough to know that he couldn’t just make a scene in front of a bunch of people. He needed to wait until the timing was just right. He bided his time, watching and if he were less drunk, he would realize that most likely he looked like a stalker, but he didn’t care. He saw his opportunity when Sebastien got up and headed for the bathroom and he followed him. Yep, he definitely looked like a stalker.

He entered the bathroom to see Sebastien staring at himself in the mirror. Patrick wanted to roll his eyes and he pursed his lips to keep back the biting remark he wanted to make about how vain he was.

Patrick took a step closer and cleared his throat. Sebastien looked at him, briefly, and then turned back to the mirror.

“Sebastien Raine, right?” Patrick asked, nonchalantly, as if he was a fan looking to confirm it was indeed him. Make no mistake, he was not a fan.

“Yeah, that’s me, can I help you with something?”

“Stand still,” he said as he rushed towards him and punched him in the face.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“That was for hurting David,” Patrick said.

Sebastien, who had been clutching onto his nose up until this point, smirked at him and said,

“Oh, so you’re his new boy toy, huh?”

“I’m his fiance.”

“You seem like you’re holding onto some anger there,” said Sebastien and Patrick wanted to punch him again if only to wipe that condescending smirk off his face.

“Hell yeah, I’m holding onto some anger. How dare you prance about acting like the world owes you everything when you take and you take and you take and you never give?”

“You know, I’m not really understanding the problem here, bud. You got the guy, you won, I lost.”

Patrick got right up in his face and yelled, “YOU’RE the problem because you think people are there for you to do whatever you please with. You stomped all over him, broke him down to nothing. And the worst part is, you don’t even see it, either that or you don’t care.”

Clearly, anything Patrick said to this guy would mean nothing to him and so he started to walk away. His anger had simmered down and he didn’t want to take things too far and get arrested for assault or anything like that. David wouldn’t be too thrilled with him if they had to use their wedding budget for his bail money.

“If I didn’t care, why would I keep all the pictures of him?”

Patrick froze in place, the thought never occurred to him. David had mentioned that there was a nude photoshoot. Patrick felt like he was going to be sick. Sebastien had once planned to post pictures of Moira in Schitt’s Creek, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t post those...right?

“If you even think about leaking those, I swear to god, I will-,”

“Hey, whoa there, I would never do that.”

This lying motherfucker. Patrick wanted to punch him again, but he felt he should stay calm for now. He was going to need to, to negotiate for the photos.

“What do you want for them? I will give you anything for you to hand over all the photos of David.”

“Well,” said Sebastien, starting to circle him, looking him up and down. “I think I know just the thing.”

Patrick was starting to feel uncomfortable. If Sebastien asked him to cheat on David, it was not happening. He would just have to figure out another way to get those photos back.

“How about his nudes for yours?” asked Sebastien and Patrick nodded, not even having to think twice. He would do that for David. He would do anything to prevent David from ever being hurt by this man ever again.

Sebastien told him to come with him to his room where they would take the photos. He headed towards the elevator and Patrick was starting to feel sick. It wasn’t too late, he could back out now. He should never have come out here. David was going to be so angry with him. He would never forgive him and then it would have all been for nothing.

The photoshoot lasted for what felt like forever. After Sebastien announced he had taken his last photo, Patrick got up, put his clothes back on, and stormed over to him.

“Now I want to watch you delete every single photo you have of David and if I ever find out there was more and you leaked them, I will be back.”

Patrick watched as he deleted all the photos and then turned to go.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” smirked Sebastien as Patrick left the room.

***

As soon as he got back to his room, Patrick puked his guts out and then called David.

“David, David, I’m so sorry, I never should have done it, I never should have come here.” Patrick sobbed into the phone as soon as David picked up. He realized David would probably be freaking out by his poor choice of words and then he quickly tried to explain.

“I saw Sebastien and I confronted him and yelled at him and punched him but then he told me he still had nudes of you and so I made a bad decision and I traded your nudes for mine.”

“I’m sorry, you did WHAT?”

“I knew you were going to be angry, I’m so sorry. I just, I couldn’t risk him leaking your nudes. It would have been my fault if he had done that because I punched him and antagonized him and so I told him I’d do anything to get your nudes back and he wanted mine. I w-watched him delete all the photos of you, though. They’re gone.”

“Patrick,” David said, softly, his voice cracking, “are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just afraid you’re mad at me.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not thrilled at the concept of Sebastien having nude photos of my fiance, but I, I can’t believe you would do something like that for me. Nobody’s ever gone to that extreme for me.”

“I just, I love you so much, David. I would do anything for you. He hurt you and now he never can hurt you ever again.”

“I love you too, Patrick, but I really think you need to get some sleep. You sound exhausted and drunk and we can talk more about this when you get home.”

“But we’re okay?”

“Yes, we’re okay and we always will be.”

#using my noggin #emma writes #this is my first official fic posted for this fandom #it will most likely be my last because you all will kill me probably #okay im gonna go hide now #david and patrick

3 notes · View notes

im-a-writer-sometimes · 6 years

Text

Terrible Things (Bucky Barnes x reader)

A/N: This imagine is based off of Terrible Things by Mayday Parade (although I changed the lyrics a bit to make it fit the story) and my heart actually sputtered out and died while writing this (sorry in advance if your heart dies too)

---

By the time I was your age I'd give anything / To fall in love truly was all I could think / That's when I met your father the boy of my dreams / The most beautiful man that I'd ever seen

You stared like a madwoman at the man who had just entered your coffee shop, blushing incessantly when he looked your way and smiled the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. He waited in line with a group of others, casually chatting. You couldn't help but glance his way, barely paying any attention to the customers you were serving. His dark hair was knotted in a loose bun and his eyes, Jesus Christ, his eyes were like an icy winter sunrise gleaming off a morning snow. You caught yourself staring again and looked away, snapping your attention back to the customer in front of you.

"Hot chocolate, please."

You looked up and met his ice-blue, momentarily lost in them before snapping out of it and smiling kindly at him.

"What size?" You asked, trying to sound less nervous than you were.

"Just a small."

"Could I have a name for the order?"

"Bucky."

Bucky. You smiled. A cute name for a cute guy.

"Thanks, you're not too bad yourself."

Holy shit you just said that out loud. You tried to cover up the horror on your face but it was futile, and he chuckled, leaving a tip before moving toward the pick up station. You smiled, gaining a small bit of confidence, before writing something on his cup and passing it down the line.

The next customer cleared their throat, clearly growing impatient and you turned your attention to them.

Bucky smiled at his son, as you watched on, softly gazing at the pair with a faint smile on your lips.

"Mikey, no. You cannot eat the crayon."

You chuckled softly, your eyes starting to water with the love you felt for them.

"But it looks yummy."

Bucky laughed at this, pulling the crayon from his grasp.

He said, "Girl, can I tell you a wonderful thing? / I can't help but notice your staring at me / I probably shouldn't say this, but I really believe / I can tell by your eyes that your in love with me" / Now son, I'm only telling you this because life can do terrible things.

"An order for... for Bunky?... yeah, Bunky."

You chuckled to yourself, searching for the stranger in the crowd. He laughed out loud and came to claim his drink, eying you with faux annoyance.

It wasn't long before your shift was over, and you left the counter, slipping off your apron and checking your phone. After a few minutes, you decided to make yourself a coffee for the way home.

"What's your name?" You nearly jumped at the deep voice, looking up to meet those pale blue orbs.

"Y/N."

"Ah, Y/N, I'm Bunky I don't think we've met," he said, a playful air to his tone.

You laughed looking back down at your hands, which were pouring creamer into your coffee.

"I thought you'd appreciate that," you chuckled.

"Oh, I did. It was cute."

You laughed again, securing a lid on your cup.

"Would you like to go out with me sometime?"

You looked up, startled.

"I... ummm... Sure, why not." As if anticipating your answer, he slid you a piece of paper with his number on it.

"Alright, well, text me. I'll see you later, Y/N."

"So long, Bunky."

Bucky and Mikey sat at a booth, both on the same side as they aggressively played tic tac toe on the kids menu Mikey had.

"Ha! I won! You suck, Dad!"

"You wound me, Son. I call for a rematch."

You watched, a smile in you eyes as they went at it again.

"How do you always win?" Bucky sighed, throwing his crayon down.

"I learned from the best Dad."

They both shared a cute glance before laughing out loud, Bucky rifling his hair.

Now most of the time we'd have too much to drink / We'd laugh at that stars and we'd share everything / Too young to notice and too dumb to care / Life was a story that couldn't compare

"Scooch your fat ass, Barnes."

You heard him groan beside you, making more room.

"You're such a pain in my ass," Bucky said, trying hard to sound serious.

You two lay on the bed of your truck, parked in the middle of some field, stargazing. It was cheesy, but it was still cute. You laid beside him, smiling as he snaked his arm around you.

"Look, it's the Little Dipper," you said, pointing up at the star formation.

"Known as Ursa Minor to intellectuals like me."

You jabbed him with you elbow, laughing when he pretended to grunt in pain.

"You wound me."

You both lay in silence for a while staring at the sky, admiring the view. Or at least you were. With your eyes trained on the stars, you didn't see Bucky staring at you, eyes filled with admiration and love.

"Michael Steven Barnes, get your ass down here."

Mikey trudged down the stairs, sure to make his displeasure evident.

"What do you want?"

Now thirteen-year-old Mikey was a spitting image of his father, with dark hair and light eyes.

"I asked you to do the dishes," he said, jaw clenching.

"So?"

"They're not done," Bucky grumbled.

"I have homework."

"Okay, fine. Then finish your homework and then come down and finish the dishes."

Mikey opened his mouth to protest, but his father raised a hand, telling him it wasn't up for discussion.

You watched as Mikey stomped back into his bedroom, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

He said, "Girl can I tell you a wonderful thing / I made you a present with paper and string / Open with care now I'm asking you please / You know that I love you, will you marry me?"

You stared at the little white stick, an unbelieving smile on your face.

Pregnant.

Holy shit. Suddenly, you heard the door open and Bucky walked in, greeting you before kicking his shoes off.

"How was your day, honey?" He asked, nonchalant.

"i'M PREGNANT." It kind of busted out of you all at once and neither of us were prepared. Bucky's eyes went wide before a smile graced his face.

"yoU'RE PREGNANT?! HOLY SHIT!" You both danced around the living room for what seemed like hours, until you both collapsed on the couch, Bucky peppering kisses along your skin. "I love you so fucking much."

"Babe, don't curse in front of the baby!" He broke out into stupid grin, kissing you again.

Now son, I'm only telling you this because life can do terrible things / You'll learn one day, I hope and I pray that God shows you differently

"Can you tell me about Mom?" Bucky head jerked up to see Mikey standing awkwardly by the doorway, hands fidgeting nervously.

"One sec." Reaching behind him, Bucky pulled a photo album off the bookshelf and motioned for his son to sit next to him.

"Your mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, no joke."

Mikey smiled, looking at the picture his father opened up to. You watched, unseen. You remembered when that picture was taken. It was a few hours after he had proposed; you were both wasted in the company of good friends. A smile washed over your face.

"What happened?"

The grin wiped off of Bucky's face as he opened his mouth to explain.

I said, "Boy can I tell you a terrible thing / It seems that I'm sick and I've only got weeks / Please don't be sad now I truly believe / You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

You both stared at the doctor, no one brave enough to move.

Cancer. Terminal cancer.

You had so little time. Bucky and you shared a glance. Mikey wasn't even a year old, and he would grow up without a mother. No one said it, but it's what they were all thinking. You choked back a sob, standing up sharply and exiting the room, Bucky following behind. Once you had left the room, you collapsed into his arms, letting the tears come. You could tell Bucky was crying too, both of you completely struck to the bone with fear, and despair, and a sense of urgency. The night was spent in silent discomfort. Bucky clinging to you every chance he could get. You held Mikey, staring down at his eyes, his father's eyes. Tears rolled freely down your face, and when one plopped onto Mikey's plump little cheek, you wiped it off, stroking your fingers along his face.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you whispered, "I'll always be watching over you, love."

Slow, so slow, he fell to the ground on his knees

"Do you have everything? Clothes, books? Toothbrush? Do you have your toothbrush?"

Mikey chuckled.

"Yes, Dad. You can stop freaking out now." Bucky's face softened.

"Off to college... Mom would be proud of you," he said, his voice barely audible above the bustle of the airport.

"Mom would be proud of both of us."

You could see the tears forming in both of their eyes, and you felt the sobs forming in the back of your throat as they embraced. You were proud.

So don't fall in love, there's just too much to lose / If you're given the choice, then I beg you to choose / To walk away, walk away, don't let her get you / I can't bear to see the same happen to you

"How are you feeling?" Bucky asked, eying you as you sat up in your hospital bed. You just shook your head, telling him you didn't want to talk about the pain. He came to sit next to you on the itchy sheets, opening up his arms. You gladly fell into them, not having the energy to cry.

"I just want you to know... that it's okay, after I'm gone, to... I won't..."

"Shhhh," Bucky quieted you, pulling you closer.

"I just want you to find happiness," you said looking up at him.

"Princess, you are my happiness."

Now son, I wish I could tell you this...

Mikey looked out of place, dressed in black. Sympathetic glances were directed at him, knowing he was too young. You were too young. But most of the glances were aimed toward Bucky, who didn't even try to hide the red puffy eyes and shaking hands. No one dared to look at him, few offered their condolences, not knowing what to say. He was alone. Him and his son, not even two, would be alone.

Because life can do terrible things

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky fluff #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel #james buchanan barnes #james barnes

111 notes · View notes

my-5sos-babes · 6 years

Text

TDMAR || Part 6

Summary: Luke is feelin' and reelin'. Ashton is gorgeous, per usual. Mike and Cal fight a bit.

Word Count: 3260

Triggers: swearing, band(?)

Publish Date: 9/21/18

a/n: trying something a bit new this chapter bc i'm not digging the first person anymore. also sorry for changing the tense in the last two updates?? i totally didn't notice that, i'm v sorry. p.s., I listened to some coffeehouse playlist while writing this chapter, so i'm guessing a lot of the tones in my writing came from that lmao, i'll try to make this story less trash. ALSO, if y'all would like, I can change the whole thing to third person, if it makes the story more cohesive. just lemme know. p.p.s., I saw 5sos the other day, pls talk w me about it <3

He sighed heavily, unable to repress it.

“Good, mate?” Calum asked.

Luke glanced up from his phone. “Oh, no, yeah. Just thinking about my anatomy notes for tonight,” he lied. “Lots of bones.”

Cal, unable to catch on, continued the conversation. “Ugh. Why would you take anatomy and physiology? It’s such a terrible class. Notes every night, tests every week? I couldn’t fathom having that much work every day.”

“Yeah, I can’t fathom that you know the word ‘fathom’,” Michael quipped. Quickly the conversation devolved into some squabble after Calum shoved Michael rather aggressively. Luke, while amused by the fight--and having no intentions to stop it--got caught up in his own headspace.

That seemed to be the norm these past few weeks. He wasn’t sure if anyone actually bothered to notice, but he hadn’t been talkative. Luke had been trying to look better, though, and that was something that people noticed.

He decided that he was tired of the emo-grunge look, one day. Almost out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere. He had some inspiration (from the kid who made his heart beat out of rhythm).

To Luke, Ashton always looks so comfortable in his clothes: button down shirts with loud patterns, suave shoes of varying styles, and an occasional necklace or two. Luke, feeling partially intimidated--and partially turned on--realized that he would have to start putting more effort into his look if he wanted to make an impression. He wasn’t sure how, yet he knew he was going to do it.

With the help of his mother in the purging of his closet, Luke bought nicer clothes, better shoes, and even some accessories. The trip to the store had been interesting enough with the outfits, but when they passed the jewelry section, things got a little awkward.

“Luke? Where’d you go, honey?”

“Over here.”

“In the… accessories aisle?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“... Okay.”

That weekend, he spent time preplanning outfits and coordinating his jewelry so nothing clashed. He felt strangely proud of his work, as he looked at the clothing strewn about his room. He even threw on a few ‘fits and checked himself out in the mirror, admiring the way they fit his body. Luke had never really had such fitting clothing before and was--while apprehensive--unable to keep himself from thinking, Hot damn.

The day he showed up to school in new clothes, though, that pride plummeted. Everyone who knew him stared at him, everyone who didn’t was staring as well.

Oh, Jesus, I’m an idiot. Who the fuck would come to school looking like they just came off a knock-off Gucci mannequin.

Michael and Calum were perplexed at this sudden change in image more than anyone else.

“Woah, dude. What’re you wearing?”

Luke tugged at his sleeve, his confidence falling straight through the floor. “New clothes. Went shopping with my mum on Friday. She insisted.” He added on the last part as an afterthought, as if that would sway his friends shock. It helped a little. He was relieved when they bought his bluff.

“Finally got tired of your rebellion, huh?” Calum queried good-naturedly.

“Sure. Something like that.”

Michael scoffed, “A true punk wouldn’t have let the rebellion fade.” He smirked afterwards.

Luke chuckled. “Guess I’m not a true punk-rocker anymore.”

At first, he found himself pulling his collar up his neck, like he couldn’t cover up enough skin. It wasn’t until someone complimented him during first period that he felt validated again. Gradually, kids every so often would approach him and say something like, “Nice boots!” and “Lookin’ good, Hemmings”; yet, it wasn’t until he saw Ashton for the first time that day that he felt most insecure.

“Luke?”

“Oh, hey, Ash,” Luke said, trying his best to be nonchalant.

“You’re lookin’... different.”

“Well…” He tried to not let the older boy’s word choice bother him. “I mean, felt like a change. Got some inspiration.” The younger boy nudged the other in the ribs.

“Ah!” Ashton replied. A furrow appeared in his brow, his gaze lingering over the new threads adorning Luke’s skinny frame.

If Luke didn’t know any better, he’d say Ash was checking him out. Of course, that wasn’t true. Ashton’s the kind of guy that just does stuff like that. He probably thinks it’s weird. I’m weird for liking his style.

Luke mentally chastised himself. If he feels weird about it, he’s covering it up really well. Christ. Just don’t say anything stupid.

The two surprisingly didn’t speak for just a moment. Luke was astonished by this.

Ashton spoke first. “You did a decent job, Hemmings. Not bad at all… Although,” He circles around the other boy, a hand to his chin, “I think I would’ve chosen a wider pant leg. Skinny jeans just feel too tight for the shirt you have on--in my opinion, at least.

“As for your jewelry… I like the watch, it’s classy. I would’ve taken out the lip ring, though.”

Luke unconsciously reached for his face, wondering what the hell to say to that. Ash saw this immediately.

“Wait, oh, God--sorry. I just gave you a fucking review like I’m Miranda Priestley or some shit, didn’t I?” The older boy chuckled. “Wow… Jesus, I’m sorry if I made you self-conscious. You do not have to listen to me, just--just ignore what I said.”

The younger boy quickly shoved aside Ashton’s comments. “No, dude! That was awesome. I’ll take notes next time, seriously. That’ll help me so much. But you like it?”

That totally didn’t sound needy, dipshit.

Ashton nodded vigorously. “Yeah, definitely! You are stylin’!” He glanced at his phone, then. “Oh, shit. Better get to class. See you later!” He hurried down the hall. “Stylin’!” He reiterated, already far enough away to shout.

Luke called after Ash. “Aces!”

Luke. Who the fuck says ‘aces’?

Band rehearsal nearly every night meant that Luke couldn’t wear his new (lowkey restrictive) clothes in the afternoon. As soon as he got home, he changed out of whatever button down and jeans he wore that day and swapped them out for shorts, t-shirts and sandshoes. He couldn’t complain, however. He’d rather be comfortable at rehearsal anyways, with how demanding the show was this season.

Tonight was quite a rough run-through. The band director hadn’t been satisfied with the formations or the sound quality; to Luke, Watkins was downright scary.

Everyone else in the band could tell that rehearsal wasn’t going well. Something was just putting them off, but no one knew what.

Calum, who was up on the podium, grew more irritated by the second. Of course, Luke wasn’t able to pay much attention to that since he was busy running across a turf field with a six foot pole in his hands, which was adorned with several square feet of silk, all while dodging disgruntled clarinetists and trombonists. Whether he was fortunate or not, he only caught glimpses of Cal’s stiff arm movements and stern face.

The band dragged on miserably for the next hour. Luckily, when it finally came to a close, Watkins didn’t even bother with a speech; their band director sighed disappointedly and let the kids go. Luke, quite ashamed of himself, began wrapping up his silk while walking off the field. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t see Ashton pop up at his side.

“Yikes. Tonight was bad,” Ashton put plainly.

Luke snorted. “Tell me about it.”

They walked together for minute, stewing in their misery. Then, “Think I need to take my mind off it. Blow off some steam or something.”

“Me too,” the younger boy exhaled.

They continued a little longer, both simmering with dissatisfaction and something indescribable that always comes after a bad rehearsal.

“Would you wanna--” Ashton adjusted his harness, fingers twisting at the screws,“--would you wanna go get some pizza? Just veg out and stuff?”

Luke considered it, not expecting a request such as that. “Uh… yeah! Sure.” He smiled wide, looking at Ash. Suddenly he stopped both of them in their tracks. “Wait, is it cool if I invite Calum and Michael?”

Ashton remained quiet for a moment. Luke, of course, took this the wrong way. Before he could let a word out, though, the older boy spoke.

“Of course, mate! Yeah, no sorry--bit of a mental lapse. Yeah, no, that’s cool.”

“Sick, be right back!”

Luke ran towards his friends, both way back on the practice field, doing drum major duties of some kind. By the time he made reasonable distance, he changed his pace back to walking. Luke, pathetically, was winded by that short run, and he strained to control his breathing. When he could hear more than the rush of blood in his ears, he heard Michael and Calum’s voices. They were arguing rather intently.

“... just, Mikey, c’mon, we’ve been over this. It’s not very likely that it’ll happen.”

Michael, ever the dramatist, fired right on back. “Okay, Cal. Whatever you say. I still think it’d be a good idea! I don’t get why you’re so closed-minded about it.”

Luke hung back, not sure if he should be hearing this.

To that, Calum only sighed and shook his head. “The answer is ‘no’, Michael. It will always be ‘no’.”

Luke could feel the fire fueling between his friends. Unconsciously, he knew that there needed to be a metaphorical fire extinguisher, and quickly. So, he happily threw himself into the fray.

“Hey, guys!”

He got a few disgruntled sounds from Michael (unsurprisingly), but Calum gave a more mature response.

“Hey, Luke… Have you been there long?”

Luke shook his head vehemently. “No! Just, uh, just rolled on up. Wanted to talk, you know?”

Calum eyed him suspiciously, but soon enough, let his suspicions go. “... M’kay. What did you wanna talk about?”

“Oh, uh.” Luke had to remember why he came over here in the first place. “Well, uh, Ashton wanted to hang out and get some pizza… Care to join?... Both of you?”

Calum and Michael, with very tense movements, glanced at each other and abruptly looked away.

Michael spoke flatly. “Not tonight, mate. Got some games I planned on beating and shit.” With that, the crazy-haired boy left, slapping Luke on the shoulder as he went.

Calum, a frown dancing on his lips, attempted a friendly smile. It was half-hearted at best. “Thanks, bud, but me neither. Homework... I appreciate the offer.” He walked past Luke with his mace and some stray band equipment bundled up in his arms. “Have fun tonight.”

Jarred by his best friends’ transgression, Luke slouched his way to the band room, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. As he expected, the band had already cleared out, the drum majors lingering in Watkins’ closed office for some official business. What he didn’t expect was Ashton Irwin, sitting in the corner of the room, waiting. He couldn’t help the words as the tumbled out of his mouth.

“Ash, you’re still here?”

The older boy abruptly looked towards the Luke. “I was waiting for you, dude. Pizza? Remember?”

“... Right, I just didn’t think you’d wait.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Pause.

“So what’s the verdict?”

“On…?”

“Calum and Michael. They coming?”

“Oh!” Luke shook his head. “No, they, uh. I think they have stuff going on.” He checked back over at Watkins’ office, where Calum had emerged. “Or something like that.”

“Alright, cool. Let’s get going.” Ashton twirled his keys around his fingers. “I’ll drive.”

“You sure? We can go separately if that’s easier for you--”

“Nonsense! I don’t mind.”

Luke, unaccustomed to being the one taking rides from others, suppressed all his objections after that and followed Ashton. With the setting sun, it would’ve been hard to make out any shapes in the dark. The parking lot lights were on, and Ashton happened to park directly under one, which made maneuvering easier.

It was quite old, the car. A bit rusty here and there, and it groaned like a dinosaur when the engine turned over. However, the inside seemed homey. The seats were worn soft from time, and it smelled musky. Like… teakwood? Something manly, Luke thought to himself. The radio had been on some rock station, but the volume was turned low, so it was only a soft murmur in the background.

Luke found himself sighing.

Ashton, pulling out of the parking lot, glanced over, eyebrows knitted together. “Good, mate?”

He sighed again, relaxing into the seat. “Yeah, Ash. I’m good.”

The pizza was everything they needed it to be. It was cheesy and gooey and just greasy enough. The two boys heartily chowed down on the large platter in front of them, barely bothering with plates.

The diner Ashton had brought them to was unfamiliar to Luke. In fact, he had rarely been to this side of the city. That didn’t hinder him any from the joy of the incredible, wonderful goodness that was this diner’s pizza.

In the neon lighting, everything was cast in some ethereal glow. Some odd greens, blues and reds scattered throughout the tiny, empty room, and formed interesting shadows on the floor. The ‘50s theme--with squeaky leather-like cushions and cool silver metal framings--was a design Luke hadn’t seen often in the area. There were approximately two employees and two customers in attendance.

Luke paused in between bites, studying Ashton’s features. Ashton pushed on, unaware of the boy’s stare. In the lighting, Ash’s face aged significantly. Not in a bad way, of course. He just seemed to look more wan, more tired--but also prettier. Luke couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe Ashton always looked this pretty, but he’s just now seeing it. He wondered if he looked the same.

Don’t be stupid, dude. Ashton isn’t into that.

Luke felt a harsh tug in his gut anytime he even thought about the boy sitting in front of him. The mention of his name, the sight of him, a scrap of his homework, anything. Anything sent his head spinning.

Luke knew that this meant he was something he didn’t want to be. Something that he never expected to be. When Ashton wasn’t there merely two months before, Luke ignored any doubts he may have had about his sexuality, and with ease. He simply brushed off his attraction to men as jealousy… but since the minute Ashton appeared, his walls came crashing down.

Probably around three in the morning a few days ago, Luke whispered, admitted, under his breath:

I like guys. I like Ashton.

Seeing him now, in the late-night glow of this decrepit hole-in-the-wall, Luke really knew this to be true. He couldn’t not like someone as beautiful, someone as genuine, as Ashton Fletcher Irwin.

He bit into another slice of pizza, pondering. A question slipped past his lips into the space between them.

“How’d you find this place?”

His voice almost disappeared into the abyss, it seemed. Everything was so quiet. So gentle.

Ashton smiled, swallowing his last bite. He smiled like he had a secret, an old memory. “Few months ago… I was just driving around and saw it. Was kinda hungry, so I stopped in. Now, it’s uh…” he fiddled with some leftover crust, “it’s my favorite place.” The corners of the older boy’s mouth turned down slightly, yet Luke didn’t notice. “You know, I’ve never actually brought anyone else here before.”

It was supposed to be question, but came out as a statement.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Really?”

Ash nodded. “And, honestly, I don’t care for pepperoni. I’m typically a just-cheese kinda guy.”

Luke glanced at the scraps of pepperoni pizza and back to Ash, unsure of how to process this information. “Um. I feel honored?”

Was that the right question?

Ashton physically shook himself from a pensive thought and replied. “Yes. Yes, you should definitely feel honored.”

Luke smiled shyly. “Then, I do.”

A second passed between them with no words spoken, just little grins and twinkling eyes. There was a spark in Luke’s chest. A hopeful, teensy flicker of a flame. Maybe Ashton felt it too.

Their waitress sauntered in, breaking the charged air.

“Hey, boys! How you doing? Need anything?”

“We’re doing great, Shirley. Thank you,” Ashton put kindly.

The pretty waitress--as if from nowhere--then procured a glass she had been hiding somewhere; Luke didn’t want to imagine how she was able to keep it hidden.

“Aw, Shirley, I can’t--” Ashton started.

“Of course you can. It’s on the house! For my favorite customer.” With a wink, the dark-haired girl went behind the vintage-style double doors, leaving the room an empty void again.

Ashton, shaking his head with good humor, picked two straws out of the nearby dispenser and held one out to Luke. “Like some? It’s strawberry…” He let out a small giggle.

Luke couldn’t resist his smile as it crept onto his face. “Love some.”

He grabbed the straw from Ashton’s grip, unwound the wrapping and plopped it into the glass. The older boy motioned to the cherry on top, but Luke shook his head. Ashton, plucked the fruit from the whipped cream and tantalizingly dangled it in the air. Luke watched as Ash’s jawline protruded sharply under the taut skin. Ash chewed slowly, and, whether he was aware of it or not, and smirked sinfully. Luke swallowed thickly.

God damn.

The younger boy pushed aside the images in his head and focused solely on the strawberry milkshake. He focused on the closeness of their foreheads as the sipped from the glass at the same time. He focused on how when they both reached for their drink, their hands brushed for just milliseconds. His heartbeat thrummed in his throat.

He assumed he was imagining the blush on Ashton’s cheeks. Probably just a trick with the neon. Yeah, it’s just the lights.

He chuckled to himself, knowing he should know better. And he chuckled at the mantra that repeated in his head again, like clockwork. Nonetheless, Luke brushed off all of his unwanted thoughts and focused on the moment and the beautiful boy before him.

Not much later, Ashton dropped Luke off at school, where they had left Luke’s car hours earlier. Ash carefully parked right next to the old machine and shut off his engine. Together, the two sat in the still air, neither wanting to break this peaceful lull they were experiencing. It was something precious, fragile, new. They knew, though, that it was inevitable.

“Do you even know what time it is?” Luke asked from the passenger seat.

Ashton squinted at his watch in the dark. “Almost midnight, I’d say.”

The boys looked at each other and immediately burst into a fit of giggles.

“My mum’s gonna kill me,” Luke managed between splutters.

“Me too,” Ashton chimed, breathing heavily.

They tried to sit a while a longer. Luke, however, knew he had to go before his mother actually murdered him.

“Hey, Ash?”

“Hmm?”

“Um. Thanks, for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

Ashton smiled through the darkness. “Of course, Luke. Thank you. I don’t think I’ve laughed like this in ages. It felt nice.”

Luke said nothing in response, only gave a soft smile; reluctantly, he opened the door and heaved his lanky frame out of the seat. In his own car, he pulled on the seatbelt and turned the engine over. At that, Ashton did the same, and once he was certain Luke was ready, set off himself.

The younger boy sat just a few minutes longer, relishing the new memories. He smiled once more to himself, shifted the car into gear, and took his time on the ride home.

21 notes · View notes

impalaimagining · 6 years

Text

Saving Grace - Part 1

Pairing: Misha x Reader

Word Count: 1,105

Warnings: none

A/N: Commissioned by @riversong-sam. Apologies for how long this took - my brain couldn’t compute Misha for a few days there. This is my first time trying image breaks because of the new format on mobile. I apologize if they make things look weird or are annoying (please let me know so I can try to improve upon these types of things!).

Ubeta’d

Series Masterlist - Commission Information - Masterlist

Arriving at set on Monday was the most anxiety-inducing minute of your life. You’d finally gotten what you hoped would be your big break. This season was a whirlwind on Supernatural, and they needed as many angel actors as they could get. When you auditioned, you had no idea what you were actually trying out for, but then they called you back.

You caught up on the past seasons in what had to be record time. It took you a month and a half to watch twelve full seasons of Supernatural, and your boyfriend at the time called you utterly obsessed. You scoffed and pressed the play button on the last episode of season twelve.

You stepped onto set after sitting in the hair and makeup trailer for way longer than you expected, but then again, you were supposed to be an angel, and angels didn’t have flaws. You were directed to a specific part of set and as you walked through the door, you saw Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles standing in front of you.

“H- hello?” You looked around for crew members, but they were preoccupied with getting everything ready for your scene.

“Hey!” Jared caught a glimpse of you and waved you over. You stammered and swallowed hard, stepping forward slowly. Jared’s smile grew as you approached them. “Hi.” Jared reached out his hand and you took it. “I’m Jared, this is Jensen. Today your first day?” You nodded.

“You’re shy.” Jensen observed with a smile, reaching out and shaking your hand when Jared dropped it. “No need to be. We promise not to be too hard on you. That’s what Misha is for.” He winked, and you giggled quietly. “See? There we go.” Jensen patted your shoulder. “Come on, we’ll show you around.”

Three days later, you’d fallen into a comfortable work routine with Jared and Jensen, meeting up with them for breakfast before the three of you were needed in the makeup trailer.

“I think I’m working with Misha today.” You chewed on your toast, looking between Jared and Jensen.

“Oh God.” Jensen faked a groan. “Good luck with that.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, we’re not going with you to set today.” Jared sipped his coffee. “They need us on location.”

Your eyes grew wide. “So - so it’s just me and Misha?”

“You wanna meet him beforehand?” Jensen shrugged. “I’ll call him. Wait here.” He stood up and disappeared around a corner, his phone pressed to his ear. When he returned, he was grinning. “He’s on his way. I offered to pay for his breakfast and he thought I was blackmailing him.” Jensen laughed.

Misha showed up not long after the phone call, raising his brows when he saw you. “Somebody has a visitor?” He looked from Jared to Jensen, both shaking their heads.

“New angel.” Jensen smiled.

“Well then.” Misha reached out his hand and shook yours. “Welcome to hell.” He laughed and a giggle escaped your lips. He glanced at the seat beside you. “May I?”

“Sure.” You nodded and scooted over.

“I hope dumb and dumber haven’t given you too much trouble so far today.” He gave you a sympathetic look.

You shook your head. “They told me that’s what you’re here for.” You outed them, earning a soft gasp from Jared and Jensen. “You’re the punching bag.” You giggled again.

“Oh, I see how it is. Tell the new girl right away that it’s always fuck Misha over day.” He rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “Just wait until you have a scene with all of us. You’ll be so screwed.” He sighed knowingly.

You shook your head and finished your breakfast quietly, listening to the guys talk about the plans and script for the upcoming episodes.

Despite how well breakfast had gone, you were nervous as you walked onto set without Jared and Jensen. Misha told you he would’ve walked with you, but he had forgotten something in his trailer and had to run back while you headed to set so you could make your call time.

The day went as smoothly as it could with Jared and Jensen popping in right after lunch for a short scene with the four of you. You stood behind Jared as the camera shot over his shoulder, focusing on Misha. Every time Misha would get through one line, Jared would screw up the next, and you fell into a fit of laughter with each new frustrated tantrum Misha threw.

“Jared’s not saying his lines right.” Misha whined, making Jared cackle and double over with laughter while Jensen turned around.

“Hold it together, man!” Jensen reprimanded, trying to keep his own composure.

You were still behind Jared, and he’d turned around, clapping his palm onto your shoulder as he bent at the hips and continued laughing. “Stop, stop!” You clutched your stomach.

Misha pouted and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sick of you two. Can we switch the order and put Y/N in front, so we only have to shoot this with her? We don’t need these two here.” Misha waved his hands and dismissed Jared and Jensen.

“Alright, alright. Jared, Jensen, head back out. Thanks for tryin’.” The director gave a little roll of his eyes and ushered Jared and Jensen off set. “We good now?” He looked between you and Misha.

“I’m good. I’m sorry.” You bit your bottom lip and looked at your feet.

Misha reached out and wrapped his hand around your forearm, making you look up at him. “Hey. It’s okay. It happens, especially on this set. You got this.” He whispered, giving you a warm smile. You nodded, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, soaking in the confidence Misha was pouring out.

“Okay. Okay.” You rolled your shoulders and nodded. Opening your eyes, you smiled widely at Misha. “Let’s do this.”

Jared caught you in the lot as you were walking to your trailer. He jogged to catch up to you and you gave him a little smile.

“How was your first day without us?” Jared smiled back. “Misha didn’t treat you too badly?”

You blushed and shook your head. “He was sweet.” You confessed quietly. “And you were there for a little while.”

“Misha? Sweet?” Jared scoffed. “His drama classes must’ve paid off.”

“Stop!” You laughed as you scolded Jared. “He’s nice to me.”

Jared chuckled and nodded, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “Well, good.” He squeezed your upper arm. “I’m glad you’re fitting in with everyone.”

“Yeah.” You nodded with a quiet, happy sigh. “I think I’m really gonna like it here.”

Part 2

gif: x

Have something to say? Questions? Comments?

Like what you see? Want to make a request? Support my writing!

Forever Tags: @angelofwinchester17 @assassin-inthe-scoutregiment @atc74 @bambi95-blog @be-amaziing @becominglionhearted @beththedemonhunter @blacktithe7 @brooke-supernatural16 @camelotandastronauts @danamarie2123-blog @dustycelt @emoryhemsworth @esoltis280 @essie1876 @evansrogerskitten @fall-out-harto @fanfics-2 @feelmyroarrrr @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @hair-dresses @heyitscam99 @holyfuckloueh @hunterpuff @i-am-enough-always @iammeeio @icequeen6666 @iliketowrite02 @iwantthedean @jadalecki-jackles @jmekitchens @just-another-busy-fangirl @keelzy2 @keeryackles @ladylachesis @lenaabs @linki-locks11 @lynnebla @maddieburcham1 @mizzzpink @mogaruke @mottergirl99 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @multifanworld @myplaceofthingsilove @mystrie @nyghtshadow @panicatttckiss @percussiongirl2017 @pjofangirl18 @plaid-lover-bay25 @poukothenerd @ptxforlife0 @queernovak @raelady1184 @riversong-sam @saira-chan @sammysbeanie @sandlee44 @scottish-kid @sea040561 @serpentbaby @shydinosaurcandy @sleepylunarwolf @smoothdogsgirl @speakinvain @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spn-fan-girl-173 @spnwoman @starry-chaos @super100012 @supernaturaltakeover @sweetpeamoose @the-crime-fighting-spider @thegrungequeer @theoriginalpossemagnet @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tmccarney @vacam79 @wayward-and-worn @wordstothewisereaders @writingthingsisdifficult @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @andkatiethings

Misha Tags: @ellen-reincarnated1976 @melbelle45 @metallihca @newtospnfandom

Series Tags: OPEN - send an ask to be tagged!

#Misha Collins x Reader #Misha Collins x you #Misha Collins #Misha x Reader #Misha x you #reader insert #imagine Misha Collins #Supernatural RPF #SPN RPF #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #SPN fanfiction #imagine Supernatural

163 notes · View notes

ninemoons42-lestallumhaven · 6 years

Text

(I was asked to continue with this astronaut AU and I got caught on the idea of how a musician/photographer could have met a software engineer who happens to do a lot of work on a space station, and this was the result, and thanks to @stopmopingstarthoping for asking for this.)

Quick Fic Pick 72: can you see me, major?

The bed looks awful good, Prompto thinks, the bed looks awful good and so do the threadbare blankets, so do the squashed-flat pillows, but -- every step he takes causes him to shed an awful amount of glitter onto the cold tiled floors and he curses the cheap beer and the hangover that’s already creeping in around the edges of the back of his mind, and he forces himself to head into the tiny bathroom.

He maybe curses the piano he’d been stuck with -- something fatally wrong with the pedals -- he’d had to improvise and go without any of the usual three and as a result his ears are still ringing, because the little bar had already been too loud and then his songs had been discordant, harsh, stripped bare of sostenuto and of legato, and he’s never never never doing anything like that ever again -- worst comes to worst, he’ll improvise on an electronic keyboard.

Anything but that jangling shit sound that’s still maybe sawing at his nerves even after he washes his hair three times, even after the water goes lukewarm and he leaves a trail of swirling spiraling sparkling muck on the shower drain.

Maybe he should have taken the sleeping tablets that Iris had tried to press on him. Maybe he should have smuggled Holly’s pot into the venue. Sleeping’s the farthest thing from his mind, here in this lonely shoebox of a motel room, a hundred miles from home and he can’t just make a beeline for his actual own quarters because he still has shit to do in the morning.

Shit like -- he groans, and lays out his only “get in front of the cameras and smile” outfit out on the bare shelves of the tall thin closet. Black button-down shirt, neon-green tie, undershirt, boxers, red-striped socks.

The bed fits him exactly: it is as long as he is and as wide as he is, and he curls himself up into a miserable ball of blanket and pillows, and he goes to charge his phone and he has to look, he has to look, because he can’t breathe and he misses his room and all the other things that live in that room. The ginger cat that belongs to the family next door, that spends most of its nights sleeping on top of his baby grand piano. The safe that contains his hoard of film cartridges for his analog SLR camera. The equally secured crate with its multiple lock-holes for his digital cameras.

All he has for this trip is the usual, which is his smartphone, which is now exactly two years, eight months, and three days out of date but it’s still got the single best camera he’s ever encountered in this kind of thing and so he’s gonna hold on until the thing breaks itself into little bits and pieces of shattered glass and circuit boards.

Fortunately the image he needs to look at is -- freely available online, freely remixable.

Impossible to find a comfortable spot in this bed so he just flops back onto the pillow and swipes to the image, the first file in the camera roll on this device.

The image is labeled “sand dunes” on the ’net, and he’s long since given up on complaining that it just doesn’t do any justice to the actual view, and he feasts his eyes, and thinks about letting go of the day and of the night and of all of the aggravations in his life.

Calm and dynamic all at once: looking straight down from the Eos Space Station, the image shows off the dusty-golden sands of the Leide deserts, and the single rarity of Lake Hammerhead, still and huge and the perfect reflection of the blue skies in that region. Cloud formations in the image cast shadows onto the sands and onto the lake’s shores, and in the lower-right corner, still mostly clear when he swipes to zoom in, are the hundreds upon hundreds of specks of captured movement: the migration of a massive herd of coeurls.

Every time he looks at the image he finds new details: a statue casting a strange shadow, a particularly elegant curve of dune, new and different phantom shapes in the cloud formations.

Every time he looks at the image he finds himself being able to take a deep clean breath: it must be the colors and the lighting, or it could be the idea of that oddly suspended serenity that he finds in the tension between the clouds and the coeurls and the shapes in the sand.

He takes that breath, and the words fall almost gently into his mind, the line fully formed and he swipes to one of the note-taking apps and locates one of his documents.

Maybe this is the line that completes a stanza, or this is the line that begins the chorus -- the idea blows softly away and he lets himself focus on the one thing, the important thing, which is -- capturing the line.

Sailing shadows in a summer-spark sky

He numbers that line, following all the others he’s already drafted, and he hums quietly to himself and the memory of the image allows him to stay calm, and veer away from the usual stresses of creating something new and something he’s never heard before.

And then, just because he can, he switches to a different document in the app, and reviews the story behind the image of Leide, taken from space: the name of the photographer. How the scene had been captured in the first place. Nothing more or less than a complete accident, a calibration of image sensors, a mistake.

It’s a damn pretty mistake, Prompto thinks, and he falls asleep and dreams of stars sparkling embedded in those desert-stretch ripples -- stars that are still winking in the dawn a few hours later, when he’s woken up and asked to get dressed and this is the last time he’s participating in one of those early-morning news-magazine shows.

He can’t quite smile, when he’s ushered into the green rooms and he crosses his arms atop the nearest horizontal surface, puts his head down, thinks of coeurls on the run and closes his eyes --

“This seat taken?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll -- leave you to it then.”

Some impulse makes him shake his head a little, and groan, and mutter, “Sorry. I swear I’m not usually rude like this. Not enough sleep.”

“Ah. Well,” and is there something familiar about that voice? But his head is so heavy, and the climate control in the room keeps his sleeves cool and comfortable. “Been a while since I pulled the good kind of all-nighter.”

“There’s no such thing,” Prompto says, and he sighs and keeps his eyes closed when he straightens up. He only turns his head in the direction of the other voice. “And I’m telling you that as someone who has to do all-nighters all the fucking time.”

“So what are you doing up so early?”

“Beats me,” he says. “Not like I’m even supposed to be singing, they want me to talk about the other thing,” and he raises his hands, pretends to hold up a camera, pretends to click the shutter button.

“Ah. That’s a little different from singing, isn’t it?”

He snorts. “A little and a lot.”

“Just so.”

Before he can make up his mind to open his eyes, there’s a rustle of movement on his other side, and a voice saying, “No, no, don’t open, you need a lot of concealer right now.”

Prompto groans in agreement. “Please. I’d do it myself if I had steadier hands.”

“Let me work.”

By the time the makeup is misted and set, he’s alone in the green room, and he only has the ghost of that almost-known voice to go by, and he doesn’t even have a face to match that voice to.

So it’s a real shock when he’s joined on one of the couch-sets by --

“Have you met?” the segment host chirps. “You know, common interests and all?”

And Ignis Scientia, sitting next to him, smiles in a small precise way, and shakes his head. “Hardly. But I’m happy to be here, and I hope to learn something from Mr Argentum.”

“Not sure I have anything to teach you when it comes to looking at things,” he blurts out, and the words fall in a puddle between them, completely reckless.

“I am not worried about my eyes; I am worried about everything else,” and Ignis fucking Scientia performs the exact same gesture of holding up a nonexistent camera, of taking a photograph -- only he’s looking straight at Prompto when he does it -- looking at him, and smiling, and Prompto takes a deep breath, and attempts to smile back.

“Oh, interesting,” the host says, and Prompto knows he’s beet-red for the entire time he’s on the air with the exact same Ignis Scientia who’d accidentally taken the photograph that’s been his obsession for some time now.

And he can still feel the heat lingering in his forehead and his throat when he says, safely off the couch-set, “What exactly is stopping you from taking pictures anyway? Are you that busy, in space?”

“I’m afraid I am; and I’m afraid I get stuck looking at code anyway, so.” Even a shrug is elegant, on him, and Prompto would curse him if he hadn’t been drinking in the prettiness of him, if he hadn’t been itching to take a picture of him.

And all he’s got is his smartphone and he raises it helplessly between them, and Ignis Scientia only nods, small calm measured movement, and Prompto’s hand is shaking but the image he takes comes out startlingly vivid and clear.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly look like that.”

“You actually do,” Prompto says.

“I’d like a copy, if you don’t mind -- let me give you my number. I think I’ll still be using this one for a few more days.”

“Or I could work on this a little and then send it to you afterwards,” he says, scrambling for his footing in a familiar topic.

“I would like that. It was lovely to meet you. Mr Argentum.”

“Prompto,” he says, holding his hand out at last. “You don’t have to be so damn formal, and no one calls me that anyway.”

“Then please call me Ignis, and will you please email me -- your work?”

“Yeah.”

(He does a little better, once he’s done jittering, and the email he sends has the processed portrait as an attachment, and the following lines:

(Sailing shadows in a summer-spark sky -- catch the clouds and the contrails in careful hands like yours)

#stopmopingstarthoping #milodrums #pairing: promnis #character: prompto argentum #character: ignis scientia #music and lyrics #fic: mine #quick fic pick

13 notes · View notes

taeminuet · 6 years

Text

where there is no Echo

Title: where there is no Echo Fandom: SHINee Pairings: Jongyu Wordcount: 12k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Illness, homophobia, character death (set before the fic), discussion of suicide (set before the fic) Summary: In which Jongin’s older brother is sick.

This is the first of the WIPs I will be posting over the next little bit. Please pay attention to the warnings.

note: I did my best to get almost everything in this fic to at least stage 2 of my outlining process (though I think one section may be at stage 1). That means there are no gaps in this fic. There are definitely areas where the plot is glossed over, where it’s not formatted into a full fic, but there’s about 10k of full-on fic and a few sections later where I formatted it into a very loose shape of what the future paragraphs would be. I’m sad to think that this will never be a fic, but even the editing of this killed me, and I don’t imagine I could write the whole thing.

That said, I will repeat: please pay attention to the warnings. Thank you all so much for your support and I appreciate all of you. <3

“Look, it's not I'm trying to avoid anything,” Jinki defends himself, shifting the phone he has pinned between his shoulder and his ear. It slides dangerously, threatening to fall, and he hisses a note of panic, throwing his hand up to catch it and stabbing himself in the cheek with his pen. Moaning weakly, he scrubs at the spot, more than a little glad that his roommate isn't there to tease him for this not-so-uncommon show of grace. Unfortunately, on the other end of the line, his cousin is already snickering at him softly.

Jinki sighs. “I want to come home,” he goes on, though how true that is when he's being laughed at is questionable, “but it's just not feasible right now. I have exams to study for, and I barely have enough money to buy food. I just can't afford the week off or the money it would take to get there. I'm sorry, Tae. If it was possible...”

“You know mom would give you money if you asked,” Taemin protests, a pout of his own evident in his voice. Jinki can imagine him without effort, sitting in the center of his bed, his long hair pulled into a high ponytail and his lips curled down at the edges as he sulks into the phone. His cellphone model actually has a speakerphone that works, but he probably hasn't remembered to use it, so he'll be leaning in close to the phone as he whines, “Just come home. You know she'd give you enough to get here. She misses you. We both do.”

Jinki sighs again. He really does miss them both terribly, and it's such a tempting offer, the thought of getting to go home and see him making his resolve waver. But, “I don't need the money though, and I don't want to do that to Auntie. She works hard enough.”

“But hyung,” Taemin whines, “I--”

“No 'buts', Taemin,” Jinki cuts him off. He feels mean, but he also knows that if Taemin keeps talking, he'll give in eventually, and he doesn't want to do that. “It's spring break, not the end of the world.”

There's silence for a long moment, and Jinki wonders if Taemin is giving him the silent treatment -- he honestly wouldn't put it past him. But then the younger takes a deep breath, the sound sending a static buzz across the microphone as if to confirm Jinki's mental image. “It's just really lonely here.”

“Oh, Tae...” Jinki sets his pen down and switches the phone to his other ear, fixing his attention more fully on Taemin. Maybe he can't spare a whole week to visit his cousin, but he can most definitely spare a couple of minutes to talk to him properly. At very least he can do that.

Taemin is his entire world most days, and that's only recently changed. By recently, he means when he moved to college, because up until then, it had only been the two of them.

Living out in the country hadn't been a bad way to grow up, not by a long shot, but it had been a little lonely. Most of the other occupants of their town were older couples, their children moved on into the city with their own jobs, and while of course that had meant that he and Taemin had been adored and doted by older grandmotherly types, it also meant that there just weren't any other children to play with.

It wasn't a good place for kids to grow up, really, but his aunt had tried hard. It had to have been hard to have taken on a child that wasn't her own when she was already struggling with bills and raising her own child. Jinki understood now exactly how much she had done for him, but at the time he had been a confused child, struggling with the loss of his mother and struggling harder to understand exactly why he had been left with a woman who he had only met a few times and a toddler who wasn't old enough to keep him company and cried all the time.

Jinki understood now that it had been the only option, but he had been a lonely child until Taemin was old enough to keep him company.

Once Taemin was older though, grown enough to really spend time with him, they had been inseparable. It had been the two of them against the world; Taemin had looked up to him with some kind of hero worship, and Jinki had adored him. Even when the two of them were old enough to be driven almost an hour the nearest public middle school, exposed to more children around, they hadn't really bothered to befriend the other children.

Or, rather, Taemin had been too busy defending himself from the incessant accusations of him being gay to try and actually make friends with the people sneering at him and whispering behind his back, and Jinki had been furious and unwilling to speak to anyone who would dare make fun of Taemin.

He had tried his best to defend him, of course, but it was hard. Despite Taemin being the one to fit all the ridiculous high school stereotypes -- long hair, delicate features, an interest in dance, and the frame to suit it – Taemin isn't gay. But Jinki is, and Taemin refused to let him risk transferring all the torment to himself. Jinki was the smart one, Taemin had insisted despite Jinki’s protests, the one who had always been going on to bigger and better things.

But now that he has, graduated with honors and moved to the city for university, he's left Taemin alone in a small town and a high school where people tease him, and Jinki feels awful for it. He feels even worse for denying him when all he's asking for is some company. Jinki is five and a half hours away from him studying day and night. If nothing else, Jinki owes Taemin a little while to talk to him.

“Tae, I'm sorry,” Jinki apologizes after a long minute of silence. “I'll be home for the summer. If I can pass all of my exams, I won't have any summer classes, and then I'll be home for months while you're out of class.”

“I have to study during the summer, hyung,” Taemin reminds him, but there's something in his voice that Jinki thinks might be a smile. “And I have dance classes.”

“I'll help you then!” Jinki offers, smiling back. “And I'll come watch you dance. It'll be like old times.”

Taemin laughs into the phone and Jinki exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, leaning back in his chair. More than ever now, he wishes that he was going home to visit Taemin for break, because he's been so stressed out about everything that just taking a moment to speak to his cousin makes him feel more relaxed than he's been in weeks. So much so that when Taemin laughs, “God, I hope not. I've gotten tons better this year,” Jinki giggles so hard that he falls backwards out of his chair.

It's just in time for his roommate to walk in and see him sprawled on the floor, but the guy merely rolls his eyes before going to drop into his bed and grab his laptop. Jinki blushes pink and picks himself up and then the phone in time to hear Taemin ask, “Hyung, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his leg with a wince. “Just not as graceful as you. I'm glad your dancing is going well!”

Taemin laughs again. “Yeah, well, we got a new student, who's actually really nice. We've been practicing together, so...”

“New student?” Jinki asks with interest, perking up. Taemin groans at his tone of voice, but Jinki's too excited to listen to the clear note of fond protest in Taemin's voice. “Is she cute?”

“He, hyung,” Taemin says with a laugh. “And yeah, I guess so, but you know that's more your scene than mine.”

“That's fair,” Jinki chuckles, “Does he live close?”

“You're not hitting on my dance partner, hyung!” Taemin protests, “He's like five years younger than you!”

“I don't want to hit on your dance partner. I'm pretty sure you'll have him corrupted by the summer anyways. I just meant so that you might have some company.”

It stifles the amusement a little, reminding them both of exactly how this conversation started. Taemin's laughter tapers off into a soft noncommittal sound. “His family lives in an apartment in the city right now. They're trying to find somewhere nice, but they haven't gotten a good place yet.”

“Ah,” Jinki says, smiling sympathetically, “Maybe they'll move in close and you won't be so lonely. It'll be okay, Taeminnie.”

“Don't call me that,” Taemin whines, but he sounds pleased. After a minute, he adds, “I miss you, hyung.”

“I know, Tae,” Jinki sighs, and then catches the glare from his roommate. Right. His roommate can't sleep while there's talking. “I miss you too. And I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yes, hyung,” Taemin says, and there's an almost dejected creak from his mattress as he moves around.

Jinki frowns. “I really do.”

“I know. Later, hyung.”

“Later, Tae,” he whispers, but the phone line is already dead. Sighing, he plugs his cellphone in to charge and crawls into his own bed just in time for his roommate to switch out the lights, shift around for a minute, and promptly start snoring softly.

Rolling over, Jinki realizes that he might be just as lonely as Taemin.

Homework swamps him over the next few weeks, and Jinki honestly does spend most of his spring break in the school library. He also spends the weeks after that, and before he knows it, he's answering the phone to his cousin's voice for the first time since they spoke since before spring break, and it's to Taemin's greeting of, “Happy Easter, hyung!”

Jinki blinks at his calendar for a long minute, shocked and appalled. How on earth is it Easter already? The weeks have flown by, and Jinki realizes that in all his preparations for his upcoming finals, he hasn't really had time for anyone else lately. The thought makes his stomach churn uncomfortably. “Happy Easter, Tae. How's it going?”

“Oh, you know,” Taemin replies, and his voice isn't nearly as upset as Jinki would have expected considering that Jinki's practically been MIA for the last for weeks. In fact, he sounds almost giddy when he adds, “Pretty good!”

“Pretty good?” Jinki repeats, dubiously. It's not that he's not happy that Taemin is happy, but it's just strange when it wasn’t that long ago that Taemin was begging him to come home and confessing in that trembling voice how lonely he was. Still, Jinki's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth over this. He grins, knowing Taemin will be able to tell the expression in his words. “Okay, I'll bite. What happened?”

“Free chocolate isn't enough?” Taemin laughs, but he's quick to add, “You remember that friend I met in dance class? He moved in!”

“Moved in?” Jinki asks, bewildered. “Moved in where?”

“The old house a few blocks over. The one that's been for sale forever,” Taemin says, and then giggles. “You know, the one that we used to say was haunted?”

“Taem, tell me you didn't tell your new friend that he lives in a house full of ghosts!” Jinki admonishes, thoroughly ruining it with a laugh of his own.

Taemin snorts into the phone. “Of course not, hyung. What do you take me for? I told him about the brutal murder-suicide in the attic and let him draw him own conclusions.”

“Taemin!” Jinki says, scandalized, and then pauses for a moment before asking, “Does that house even have an attic?”

“I dunno,” Taemin shrugs. “I don't think so, but I mean, Jonginnie's pretty gullible.”

“Jonginnie, huh? You sure you're not interested in him that way?”

“Hyung!” Taemin yells, and it's his turn to sound scandalized.

Jinki laughs until he can't breathe, and Taemin keeps protesting into the phone until it's time to pass it over to his mother. Jinki greets his aunt warmly, and she does the same thing, telling him about her promotion at her work.

“Now that Taeminnie has a friend,” she says honestly, in that furtive voice that means Taemin is nearby and she’s trying not to let him hear, “I'm not so worried about leaving him to take care of himself.”

“You should be. Now he's just corrupting an innocent,” Jinki laughs.

“Well then,” his aunt counters, “you'll just have to come home and stop him.”

Jinki sighs, clearly caught. “Summer vacation starts in a few weeks. I'll be home then.”

“You better,” she threatens, her voice soft. “It's not the same around here without you.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” he apologizes. “I miss you both, and I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, Jinki. We'll see you soon.”

Jinki hangs up, rubbing his eyes slowly. Taemin has a friend now, but that doesn't make Jinki feel any less worn out, any less eager to get back to his family. He buries himself back in his studying, losing himself in flash cards and facts until his roommate wakes him up with a loud clearing of his throat, prompting Jinki to jerk up in alarm from where his head was laid down on his desk. “You need the light?”

“Oh, uh,” Jinki replies, “no. You can turn it--”

It's off before he finishes his sentence, and Jinki has to feel his way to his bed in the dark.

“So, uh,” Jinki says awkwardly, scuffing his foot along the carpet. His bags are in his car, his books have been returned to the school, he has his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and he's staring across the dorm room at his roommate who is packing up a few more things and not really looking at Jinki. Jinki feels more than a little uncomfortable. “It's been fun.”

“Yeah, sure,” his roommate says, batting his hand in the air. “It's been a real riot, Joonki.”

“It's Jin... you know what, nevermind.” He rolls his shoulders for a second. “I'll see you around.”

He doesn't get a response this time, and he sighs softly, ducking his head as he walks out of the dorm. It's probably the last time he'll see his roommate, considering the size of their campus. Maybe he should feel a little bad, but considering that conversation, he can't say he does. Instead, he scoops his phone out of his pocket and punches in Taemin's number.

It rings a couple of times, and Jinki feels his heart plummet with the thought that Taemin isn't going to answer him. Then the phone clicks and Jinki's assaulted with the sound of music, the bass pounding through the speakers loud enough that he has to pull the phone away from his ear. He's glad he did, because a second later, Taemin is literally screaming into the phone, his voice loud as he hollers, “Hyung? Are you home?!”

Jinki laughs. “Could you even hear me if I was going to say 'yes'?”

He almost doubles over when Taemin's only response is, “What? I can't hear you!”

“Turn down the music, Tae!” Jinki shouts back, earning himself a couple of weird looks from the other students packing up their things to head home for the summer.

“Hold on, hyung,” Taemin says, quieter now, but still too loud, “Jonginnie, turn the music down!”

The music quiets a bit, and Jinki smiles slightly. “You're with Jongin? Are you sure you two are not--”

“Hyung,” Taemin says, and he sounds so honestly mortified that Jinki is actually genuinely taken aback. “I mean,” Taemin adds after a second, “no. You know I'm not--”

“Okay,” Jinki says, holding up his free hand in mock surrender, even if he knows Taemin can't see it. “Okay, I get it. But if I get home and you two are engaged, don't say I didn't tell you so.”

“So you're not home yet?” Taemin asks, and his voice has a little bit of a pout in it.

“No, not yet,” Jinki apologizes, “But I'm on my way. Give me a few hours and I'll be there, okay?”

“Okay,” Taemin chirrups, “I'll see you in a few hours.”

“Alright, Tae,” Jinki says, climbing into his car. “Bye.”

For once, after a conversation with his cousin, he doesn't feel guilty or lonely, and he hums happily under his breath as he tosses his laptop bag and his cellphone into the passenger seat and heads for home. It's a long drive, admittedly, and he remembers about halfway there exactly why he didn't want to do this for spring break, but he has the entire summer now. He'll have some studying to do to keep up with his work, but mostly it'll be free time and getting to spend time with someone who actually remembers his name.

Also, apparently, someone who he's never met before, Jinki realizes as he pulls up outside his house a couple of hours later. The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, and Jinki has to squint into it as he pulls up the street, so he's not entirely sure whether he's going crazy or not when he sees someone suspiciously similar to his cousin standing right next to Taemin, but when he gets out of the car, he just lifts an eyebrow.

Taemin is beaming, long hair tied up in the loose bun that says he's been dancing, and he bounces up and throws sweaty arms around Jinki's shoulders with a grin. Behind him is what appears to be Taemin if he grew a couple of centimeters, got a tan, and cut his hair short. Jinki blinks, and then remembers to make a face of disgust and shrug Taemin off with a soft, “Ugh, Taemin, that's disgusting. Go take a shower.”

“It's nice to see you too, hyung!” Taemin chirps, clinging on closer with an impish grin. “How was the drive home?”

“Long,” Jinki admits. “What's with the good twin?”

“Wait, why am I the good twin?” The boy speaks up, looking bemused. He tilts his head to one side and stops looking quite as much like Taemin, mostly because he now looks a little like a bewildered puppy.

Jinki smiles at him. “Jongin, I presume? Right, well, you should know Taemin well enough at this point to know that he's certainly not.”

“That's...” Jongin starts and then stops and shrugs, “That's fair.”

Jinki laughs while Taemin pulls away from him to frown at his new friend. “You’re a traitor. You’re a traitor, and I don’t need you now that hyung is home.”

The sentence actually takes Jinki aback, and he blinks rapidly, eyebrows knitting and mouth pursing into a tight line. He isn’t sure whether to tell off Taemin first or apologize to Jongin, and so he stands there for a moment, totally off guard.

Jongin bursts into laughter, the kind that makes his mouth gape open and his upper body bounce with the force of it. Next to him, Taemin beams, covering the expression with his hand like that might help hide the fact that his complaint has now turned to nothing but smiles and happiness. Jinki hasn’t seen his cousin this happy in a very long time, and Jinki reaches out without thinking to squeeze his shoulder, a smile on his lips. He’s glad to be home.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jongin,” he says, voice all honestly. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ve got to get home. I was just walking back with Taemin after practice, and he insisted I wait here until you got here so I could meet you. He's told me a lot about you, hyung.”

Jongin’s smile is sweet, and Jinki nods a little approvingly. Taemin, however, pouts. “Jonginnie, stay. Mom won’t mind, you know. She always says you’re welcome.”

“No, no, it’s alright!” Jongin rubs at the back of his neck a little. “I’ve got to get home. It’s not every night your cousin gets home. This should be a family thing. Besides,” he adds quickly to abate the protest Taemin has just opened his mouth to add, “I’ve got summer school work to catch up on, you know? Moving put me behind, and I don’t want to be a grade behind you just because I’m struggling with some math.”

“Jinki-hyung is great at math! He could help you catch up!” Taemin says, like it’s some kind of bartering system, and Jinki lifts an eyebrow at him for volunteering his services without asking.

Jongin just blinks at him though, suddenly looking a little shy, and asks, “Could you, hyung? I’m just kind of confused by some of it, and I don’t want to repeat a year when I know I could wrap my head around it with a little more practice.”

Jinki caves. Either Taemin has taught Jongin the tricks of the trade for getting Jinki to give in to things or Jongin just naturally has that hopeful puppy look, but either way, it doesn’t bode well for Jinki if Taemin and Jongin ever team up on him.

“Sure, Jongin. It’s not a problem,” he agrees. “Just not tonight? I’m a little tired from the drive.”

“No! No, of course not, hyung!” Jongin says, grinning brightly. “Just whenever you get settled in!”

Jongin and Taemin both look far too excited about this, Taemin’s mouth a proud little smirk like he somehow just brokered the world’s greatest peace treaty instead of some strange tutoring session for his best friend. Jinki fights not to roll his eyes, just grabs the essentials out of his car and tosses them at his cousin’s face. “Help me carry these in?”

To his credit, Jinki only breaks two things while moving back in, and that plate had been on its last legs before he even left, so he can’t really be blamed for that. Also to his credit, in the same amount of time, Taemin loses his cellphone (twice), three different hair ties, and somehow, mysteriously, his left shoe. Jinki figures they all have their vices.

It takes him three or fours days, mostly because he keeps getting derailed by the requests to spend quality time with both Taemin and his aunt, who, while her job takes her away a lot, makes a concerted effort to be home for dinner every night, even if that dinner is take-out. Taemin volunteers to cook, but he’s shot down extremely quickly.

Jongin shows up for at least a couple of hours a day, usually to hang out with Taemin, though sometimes he ends up helping Jinki move things, smiling at him and claiming to “really want to help, hyung!” when prompted. He’s a good kid, Jinki decides, and so, when he’s finally finished unpacking, he figures he owes it to Jongin not to put it off anymore, even if he really doesn’t want to do any more math.

Still, high school math can’t be as bad as college level calculus courses, he figures.

He’s wrong.

It’s not that the numbers are harder – if nothing else, Jinki breezes through the equations once he’s got them figures out. It’s that somehow, somewhere along the line, someone hired a batman super villain to write the word problems that Jongin shows him from his workbook. It takes way longer than it should just to figure out what the questions want him to figure out, and usually there’s at least one completely unnecessary number in there to throw him off, because why just teach math when they can easily throw advanced problem-solving into the mix, just in case the students had strange film noire aspirations to their lives.

Jinki doesn’t say any of this though. No reason to discourage Jongin. Instead, he casually mentions maybe not doing all of this today and coming around to help out a lot more. “Easier to do an hour or two a couple of times a week than try and cram it all into a few days and get frustrated, right?” he offers in his gentlest voice.

The look Taemin gives him from the chair across Jongin's living room tells him he’s fooling no one, but Jongin lights up hopefully. “Would you? God, it’d be great not to have to sit down and do five or six hours of math at a time.”

“Of course. And,” he adds, because Taemin has upgraded from giving him a look to giving him a look, and Jinki wants to discourage that right now, “it might make it a little easier to get through if you’re not getting frustrated after a couple of hours.”

“Yeah,” Jongin admits, looking sheepish again. It’s not an uncommon look for him, Jinki’s learning. “I just can’t sit still for a long time or I get really sleepy, you know? It’s like –“

Jongin stops abruptly, though even if he had gone on, Jinki would have missed it. His head has already snapped around to look up towards the ceiling, the loud thumping noise like something falling making him jump a little. For half a second, Jinki has some weird flashback to him and Taemin joking about this house being haunted, but that’s ridiculous. Besides, Jongin looks more concerned than confused, like he knows very well where the noise is coming from.

“Hyung?” He calls loudly, and there’s a long stretch of silence. Jinki almost jumps when it’s broken by the trill of Jongin’s phone going off. It’s sitting right between them on the table, and Jinki catches a glimpse of the name 'Hyung~ ^^' before Jongin picks it up and swipes the screen, greeting, “Hyung, are you okay?”

Jinki can hear what’s said, but it’s obviously not good because Jongin tenses a little and starts to get up. Across from them, Taemin shakes his head. “Jonginnie’s brother is really sick,” he tells Jinki in a quiet voice. “He doesn’t leave his room a whole lot. It’s why they moved out here – the doctors said the fresh air would be good for him, even if it’s a little further from the hospital. Don’t know if fresh air helps when he doesn’t get outside much, but…”

He shrugs loosely, and Jinki glances at Jongin, but he’s absorbed in the phonecall, saying, “Hyung, if you fell on the way to the bathroom, I can come help… No, I get that, but… Mom’s going to be really upset if you got hurt because…”

It sounds like he’s getting refused at every turn, because he sits back down slowly, protests getting quieter by the minute. Finally he sighs out, “Okay, but if you need me, text me. I’ll be right up.”

He hangs up the phone and sets it down, looking worried. Jinki frowns, empathy stirring up feelings of sadness in his chest. He pats Jongin’s arm quietly, the same as he would for Taemin. “Do you need to go help him?”

“No, he says he’s fine,” Jongin sighs, giving no sign that he’s even remotely upset by Taemin telling Jinki what’s going on. “My mom’s a little overprotective, and he gets upset after a while. Says that he’s sick, but he’s not an invalid. It’s just…”

Jongin shakes his head a little and then shrugs. Taemin reaches out and squeezes his friend’s arm. “It’ll be fine. Do you need to skip dance practice this afternoon to keep an eye out for him?”

“No, my mom will be home,” Jongin says, shaking his head. “We’re good. Can we finish up these two pages maybe?”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, but Jinki’s more than willing to give into it. He probably hadn’t wanted to talk about his mom a lot there at the end either.

“Okay,” he says instead, pointing at a problem, “So they’re looking for which of these could be the total price amount of the coins you have, and you have a ratio of 4:3 with a total of 14 coins…”

Jinki squints at the word problem in exasperation, Jongin looking completely at a loss, and Taemin stands up abruptly, fishing out a handful of coins from his pocket and dumping them out on the table. They’re still laughing and rearranging the money when Jongin’s mother comes home and Jongin and Taemin rush up to Jongin’s room to change into dance clothes.

Jinki smiles after them and introduces himself to the woman as he cleans up Taemin’s money and organizes the workbooks they’d been pouring over. It kind of surprises him when he finds himself being greeted warmly and told to come over any time he’d like, that Taemin is practically a third son at this point and that Jinki is more than welcome any time.

It makes Jinki’s heart swell to hear such good things about Taemin, especially when his cousin rushes back downstairs with Jongin in tow and whines, “Hyung, come on. We’re going to be late!” like that’s Jinki’s fault.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jinki says with another bow as he shoves Taemin’s coins into his pocket to return them when Taemin is once more wearing an outfit with pockets. He gets tugged out of the door before he gets a response, and shakes his head as Taemin and Jongin have a brief scuffle over the passenger seat of Jinki’s car.

Looking back at Jongin’s house, he pauses for a moment at the sight of a short boy in one of the windows, blinking down at them with a look that tugs at Jinki’s heartstrings. He gets distracted when the scuffle ends with Taemin knocking into him, and by the time he looks back, the boy is gone from the window. Jinki stares a moment longer before banishing both of the boys to the back seat under threat of rescinding his offer to drive both of them to dance.

It’s the next Tuesday before Jinki has a real chance to go over and help Jongin again, mostly because Taemin coaxes him into taking him into the city over the weekend. It’s not a big deal, really, but they spend most of the day window shopping, visiting arcades, and getting ice cream. It’s all those things that they both wished they could do all the time when Jinki was still in high school, and getting to do them now is nice.

Nice is also more than a little exhausting though, and they spend Sunday recovering, playing video games in their boxers with the blinds drawn and only stumbling downstairs for dinner when Taemin’s mom gets home.

Monday is another lazy day, though this one is because there’s really nothing much to do; Jongin and his family are in in the city this time. There’s probably no ice cream and window shopping though, because Taemin points out that if they’re in the city then they’re probably at the hospital for Jongin’s brother.

That makes Jinki’s stomach drop hard and fast, but Taemin just shakes his head. “He has checkups, like, all the time. Every couple of weeks or so. They’re pretty much trying to just keep an eye on him.”

“Right,” Jinki says, though it doesn’t help any, and when they walk over to Jongin’s on Tuesday for Jinki to help Jongin with his math, he pauses for an extra moment outside, looking up at the window where he had seen the boy looking out. All the rooms upstairs are dark though, and when Jongin opens the door, he explains why.

“Hyung’s sleeping,” he says, voice hushed. “He’s been kind of worn out lately.”

“Do you want to do this another day?” Jinki asks, because he doesn’t want to disturb the sick boy. “It’s fine if you’d rather wait.”

Jongin shakes his head. “No, honestly, it's fine. We just can’t be super loud or anything.”

They follow Jongin into the living room where he has his math books set out along with some spare papers and a few pencils. He starts to sit down and then seems to think better of it, looking at them both and asking, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a beer,” Taemin says in such a deadpan voice that Jinki glances at him for a moment.

“Okay, so you want a soda,” Jongin says in a voice just as deadpan, and then looks to Jinki. “And for you, hyung?”

“Soda would be great, thanks,” Jinki replies, taking a seat, and opens the math book to begin looking over it and making sure he knows what he’s talking about.

Taemin follows Jongin into the kitchen to get drinks for them, the two of them chatting in hushed, amiable voices that Jinki can’t quite make out. It’s nice background noise, and Jinki hums softly to himself as he listens to their quiet voices from the other room, eyes skimming the words. He hears them come back in the room, jostling each other and still talking away, and he looks up to smile and take the drink from Jongin’s hand only to watch in a kind of helpless horror as Taemin knocks against Jongin a bit too roughly, liquid sloshing from the glass he’s offering and spilling sticky across Jinki’s hand and arm, dripping down onto the table as well.

“Oh my god, hyung, I’m so sorry,” Jongin fumbles out at once, wide-eyed and red-faced, jerking away and ending up spilling more soda across the table. From behind him, Taemin snorts with laughter, and both of them glare at the long-haired boy, Jongin hissing out a, “Shut the hell up, Taemin.”

“Jongin, it’s fine,” Jinki says, trying to be kind, because Jongin looks frankly mortified. “It’ll wash out. Just, where’s your bathroom?”

“Oh, god, uhm, it’s… upstairs and to the left. Or, no, second door on the left. Yeah. First one’s a closet, and… should I, uhm, show you, or…?”

“I’m sure I can find it, Jongin,” Jinki says, trying to be as patient as he can. “You might want to clean this up, though…”

“Right, yes, okay,” Jongin says, and rushes towards the kitchen to, presumably, get something to clean up with.

Taemin watches him go, reaching down and plucking Jongin’s math book away from the mess, and Jinki shakes his head for a second and then heads upstairs, taking them as quietly as he can.

The bathroom is easy to find and loosely decorated, the soap dispenser matching the shower curtain and the towels, though both of those are hanging loosely and unfolded from the rack, making it clear they’ve been used recently. It’s a typical bathroom for a teenage boy, and Jinki finds himself smiling slightly as he turns on the tap and starts scrubbing at his hands and arm, trying to wash the soda out of the sleeve of his shirt.

When he’s gotten it mostly out, to the point where it won’t be troublesome when he goes to wash it, he looks around, fishing for a hand towel of some sort. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something, and when he turns his head, he sees two faces in the mirror, another boy standing behind him in the doorway.

Jinki nearly jumps out of his skin, whirling around with a gasp. “Who…?”

The boy in the doorway blinks at him slowly. “You’re new,” he says, voice soft and light. He has light blond hair and a puppyish face, eyes a little dark like he doesn’t get a whole lot of rest. He’s wearing a thick, soft-looking sweater, fingers curled into it in a clear sign that he’s cold. Jinki can understand that; the air conditioning is running full-blast up here, making the upstairs seem a lot colder than the relatively comfortable downstairs. Still, it seems like a weird thing to be wearing mid-summer, and Jinki hesitates a moment, especially when the boy raises an eyebrow. “You’re… one of, uh, Jongin’s friends, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Jinki says, a little taken aback, and then he remembers the boy he had seen in the window only a few days ago. Jongin’s brother. Jongin had said he was sleeping, but he’d obviously woken up. “I’m Jinki.”

“Jonghyun,” the boy says, sounding almost nervous now. He must not meet very many new people. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jinki answers, smiling politely. “Sorry, you just startled me.”

“Yeah, I, uh… I get that a lot,” Jonghyun says with a shrug. “I didn’t really think you’d notice me, but…”

“Well, you were standing in the doorway. It was a little hard to miss,” Jinki points out, and Jonghyun hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t reply. After a second, Jinki adds, “I’m sorry. Did you need the bathroom?”

“Oh, uh,” Jonghyun says, looking like this has just occurred to him, “yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jinki says with a smile. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

He twists off the tap and settles for drying his hands on his pants, figuring no one will really care. Then he edges past Jonghyun who’s still standing in the doorway and makes his way back downstairs.

Jongin has the soda cleaned up, but he starts in on apologies the second Jinki’s back in the room, and Jinki has to shake his head a little and wave them off with a, “Jongin, it was an accident. And Taemin’s fault if anything. It’ll come out in the wash. Let’s just work on your math, alright?”

Taemin looks offended, putting his hand to his chest like Jinki has deeply wounded him, and Jongin snickers softly and agrees. Leaning in, Jinki starts in on the math with Jongin, not even thinking to mention that Jonghyun is up and about until a while later when Jongin’s mother gets home and asks Jongin how his brother’s doing. Still, it’s been a while, and Jonghyun’s probably gone back to bed, so Jinki lets it lie.

He and Taemin decline Jongin’s mother’s offer of dinner, saying that they need to get home, and they head out soon after, leaving Jongin with his family. Jinki glances over his shoulder out of habit and sees Jonghyun blinking at him from one of the windows. He waves tentatively, and Jonghyun takes a second and then waves back.

“What are you doing, hyung?” Taemin asks, already headed down the street without him. “Come on! Mom’s home, and she said she’s making something good for dinner tonight.”

“I’m coming,” Jinki replies and strides after his cousin, looking back once more to see Jongyhun staring after him.

It becomes kind of a routine after a couple of weeks. Fridays are dance for the two younger boys, so Jinki helps Jongin with his math then and then takes the both of them to their class in the evenings. Tuesdays are also set aside to help Jongin struggle through the mess of numbers he has to deal with. The rest of the week is kind of a give-or-take thing, and more often than not, the other days of the week find Jongin with Taemin at every possible moment, thus meaning that Jinki sees quite a bit of the boy. Eventually, after a few weeks, Jongin stops being so shy and openly extends the invitation for Jinki to come hang out at his house as well.

Jinki doesn’t mind doing so, though he doesn’t have the same thing for video games that the two younger boys do. Or, rather, he does, but he tends to lounge on the couch and play games on his phone while the two boys argue playfully and shoot each others’ characters in the face, even when they’re on the same team.

Jinki hasn’t seen any more of Jonghyun so far, but Jongin mentioned something about going to the city every Monday now, citing, “Hyung’s been a lot more tired recently. The doctors say the move just took it out of him and it’ll be a while for him to get back on his feet, but… I dunno, they say a lot of things.”

He sounds moderately sad about it, but he’s also kind of accepting, like he’s been dealing with this for a long time. Jinki thinks it’s probably hard for Jongin to deal with, but, of course, it’s probably hard for Jonghyun as well. He’s the one who’s sick after all.

Jinki doesn’t say either one of those things. Instead he gets up quietly while the younger boys argue over who gets to have a certain type of gun and wanders upstairs towards the bathroom.

He hadn’t been meaning to creep on anyone, but when he finds a door open, he can't help but poke his head in. It’s empty, bed neatly made, curtains drawn. It feels a little sterile actually, unlived in, and for some reason it makes Jinki squirm, a chill going down his spine.

Maybe this is a guest room? There are other doors along the hallway, all closed, and those could easily be bedrooms for two boys. Maybe –

“So you’re here a lot now, huh?” A voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jinki jumps about a mile high, heart starting to thunder in his chest. How he had missed Jonghyun sitting in a chair in the corner, he has no idea, but the boy just scared this shit out of him. Jinki presses his palm to his chest, trying to make sure he’s not having a heart attack or something. “S-sorry,” he fumbles out. “I didn’t mean—“

“You’re fine,” Jonghyun says with a shrug, getting up out of the chair soundlessly and moving to lean against the wall nearer Jinki instead. “I’m not mad that you’re in here or anything. The door was open, so…”

“Yeah, I saw that. I just thought… I mean, I thought maybe I’d say hello?” Jinki tries, a little cautiously. “I didn’t know if you were sleeping or what, but…”

Jonghyun looks baffled for a second, blinking a few times. Then he starts laughing for some reason, a kind of weary sound, and shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t sleep much.”

“But I thought…” Jinki starts, and then clams up. He doesn’t want to be rude or anything. After a second he tries, “Should I leave you alone so you can rest?”

“No,” Jonghyun says, a little too fast. “I like the company. I don’t get a whole lot of it.”

“Oh. Does Jongin not…?” Jinki asks, brow furrowing.

“He’s a sweet kid.” Jonghyun shrugs. “He’s just got too much going on to see me much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Not so much as you’d think. I’m kind of used to it. It’s just kind of a part of… all this.” Jonghyun smiles like he’s got a joke that he’s not sharing with Jinki. “I don’t mind so much. It’s nice to talk to someone though.”

“I can come visit more, if you’d like?” Jinki says.

Jonghyun’s eyebrows furrow. “Don’t go out of your way.”

“I’m not!” Jinki promises, smiling as kindly as he can. “Like you said, I’m here a lot now.”

“Then… yeah, that sounds nice. If I’m around,” Jonghyun says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. There’s something longing in his face though.

“If you’re around,” Jinki agrees. “It’s really nice to—“ Jinki stops abruptly when he hears Taemin’s voice from downstairs, calling out to him. He turns in the doorway, looking down the hall, and then sighs a little. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun agrees from behind him, and Jinki looks back to see him halfway across the room again, settling back into his chair.

Jinki frowns. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jonghyun says. “Can you, uh, shut the door behind you?”

“Sure,” Jinki says, stomach twisting a little. That hadn’t been how he wanted that conversation to go.

He shuts the door behind him and goes downstairs to find Taemin lacing up his shoes. “Where’ve you been?” Taemin asks. “It’s time to go home for dinner.”

Jinki thinks about answering, but it feels weird somehow, like he shouldn’t tell Taemin about the loose attempt at friendship he’s carving out with Jongin’s brother. If that can be counted as a friendship.

It doesn’t matter a whole lot. Taemin’s happy to accept Jinki’s shrug and, “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

“Did you find the ghosts in the attic?” Taemin teases, and Jinki laughs as he pulls on his own shoes and they head home for dinner, Taemin chattering excitedly about his and Jongin’s video game.

It becomes a sort of habit for Jinki to try and slip upstairs at some point to see Jonghyun. Not all the time, of course. He still spends quite a bit of time with Jongin and Taemin, sometimes helping Jongin with his math and sometimes just watching the two of them bicker playfully and play video games. But a lot of the times, he manages to find some time to go and visit. He had said he would try, after all, and it’s not like it’s hard to slip away.

Taemin and Jongin are in their own little world, and Jinki finds himself a kind of third wheel more often than not. It’s a little weird, but Jinki doesn’t mind. Taemin’s happy, and it’s nice to see him so open and entirely himself. It’s pretty much all Jinki’s ever wanted for Taemin, and while he originally thought that he might mind the two of them being so wrapped up in their friendship, he’s not.

Part of that is Jonghyun.

He’s not always there. Sometimes Jinki goes up and finds all of the doors shut, and when he knocks softly on the door, he’s always ignored. He figures Jonghyun really is sleeping at those times, and he doesn’t want to disturb him.

Other times he goes up and Jonghyun’s sitting there in his room with the door open, either sitting cross legged on the bed or folded up in the chair. Sometimes he seems to be scribbling things in notebook, but he always hides it away like magic when Jinki comes in. Still, he smiles at Jinki sweetly enough that Jinki has never had room to ask about it, always greeting him with a, “You’re back!”

The first few times he sounded more surprised than pleased, and Jinki had worried that he wasn’t as welcome as Jonghyun had made it seem during their earlier encounters. But Jinki realized quickly that Jonghyun just doesn’t get a lot of socialization. He supposes it’s always either Jongin or Mrs. Kim, and Jonghyun still sometimes expresses how rarely Jongin sees him. Jinki doesn’t have the heart to tell him that that’s probably because of Taemin, but Jonghyun seems to know anyways.

“Your cousin seems nice,” he tells Jinki a couple of weeks into their visits, a wry smile on his lips, and when Jinki’s eyebrows furrow, he continues, “I’ve never really spoken to him. He’s very wrapped up in Jongin, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty close,” Jinki says, shrugging a little. “They spend a lot of time together.”

“I’ve noticed,” Jonghyun says with a snort of amusement. “Jongin’s enamored.”

“What?” Jinki’s eyes widen, flicking downwards like he can see through the floor to the living room if he tries hard enough.

“Jongin’s got a crush. How’d you miss that? He’s always primping before you two come over.”

“But Taemin isn't gay,” Jinki protests, frowning tightly, unhappiness settling into his features. God, if Jongin has a crush on Taemin and it goes badly, Taemin could lose the only friend he has. He doesn’t want to see that happen, not when this is the happiest he’s seen Taemin in a long time.

“Yeah, I know,” Jonghyun says, and something in his voice is chilly enough that it feels like the air in the room literally plummets a few degrees. It pulls Jinki’s eyes back to Jonghyun’s face. The other boy looks pissy, shoulders suddenly set in a way that makes him stop looking as small and soft as he always does. “Your little cousin is as straight as they come. No shame to your family or anything.”

“Woah, what?” Jinki stiffens as well, mentally reeling. Jonghyun sounds so hateful, and it kind of stings to hear that angled at him, but worse is the words he’s using, like he thinks Jinki might genuinely feel that way. “I never said—“

“You didn’t have to. I get it,” Jonghyun says bitterly. He looks away from Jinki towards the window, head turned far enough that Jinki can’t see his expression, and it’s too bright outside for Jinki to be able to get a glimpse of Jonghyun’s reflection in the glass. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Then you’re not very good at reading,” Jinki says, and his voice is tight and controlled. He doesn’t want to yell at Jonghyun, partially because that feels mean, but also because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for being up here and upsetting him. “I don’t give a damn if Taemin is gay or not, and neither does my aunt. But Taemin has always said he’s straight, and that’s for him to figure out, not for anyone else to try and push on him.”

Jonghyun doesn’t look at him for a long time, but when he does, he’s wearing a look that Jinki is more than familiar with. It’s pretty similar to Taemin’s confused face actually, like he’s trying to buffer and process what Jinki just said, and it goes on for just a few seconds too long, making Jinki feel like squirming.

Jinki doesn’t know why, in his urge to break the silence, he admits, “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Jonghyun says after a second, and then his face contorts into something else entirely, staring at Jinki like he’s never seen him before. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Jinki says, shaking his head a little. After a moment he pauses and then says in a voice as firm as he can make it, “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No!” Jonghyun blurts out, shaking his head, “No, of course not. I just thought…”

“Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. I’m just not fashionable enough for a gay man,” Jinki jokes in a tone that makes it very clear exactly how much he hates that stereotype.

Jonghyun snorts a little. “I don’t think fashion is much of a deciding factor here. I used to know the most fashionable guy ever, and he was straight as a ruler. And Jongin’s got the fashion sense of a blind frat boy.”

“He’s in high school,” Jinki points out, smiling a little. “He’ll get past it. I hope.”

Jonghyun laughs, and like that it’s a little easier again. They don’t talk about Jinki’s confession, and they don’t really go back to discussing sexualities either. Not that day at least.

Before he leaves though, responding to Jonghyun’s yawn and proclamation of exhaustion, Jinki adds, “Hey, are we, uhm… good?”

It feels like such a lame thing to say, but Jonghyun nods, smiling gently. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

Jinki feels a little warm at the smile he’s apparently earned, and there’s a smile of his own on his face as he closes the door behind him and wanders back down the hallway, humming just loud enough that he misses the shuffling around behind one of the closed doors.

The next week is weird. Jongin and Taemin have a dance competition coming up hard and fast, and while they can’t make it out to the studio as often as they’d like, there’s space enough at their house for Jinki and Taemin to push all of the living room furniture out of the way and make space for Taemin and Jongin to practice. It’s fun to watch them for a while, but after about an hour of watching Taemin and Jongin repeat the same verse over and over with only the tiniest of alterations, Jinki’s getting a pounding headache.

His room’s not enough of an escape, and he can hear the base beat thudding through their walls no matter what he does. It’s driving him clearly mad, enough that when he crosses through the living room to the kitchen to get water and some ibuprofen, Jongin’s mouth pulls. The boy follows him into the kitchen, leaving Taemin for a second, and hesitates in the doorway.

“Uhm, hyung,” he says, looking sheepish (or as sheepish as he can look when he’s red-faced and dripping sweat, tank top soaked through and clinging in a way that is highly unnecessary on a kid his age), “I called my mom, and she says you’re welcome to hang out at our house. I mean, my brother’s there, but he’s still sleeping a lot, so it should be pretty quiet.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want to bother him,” Jinki says to be polite, though realistically, he’s kind of excited at the prospect. Peace, quiet, and maybe getting to spend time with Jonghyun. It’s not a bad deal.

“Well, I mean, he doesn’t leave his room a lot, so I doubt he’d even know you were there. And if he does, you can just say who you are,” Jongin points out, and Jinki realizes belatedly that Jongin hasn’t noticed him disappearing for hours to hang out with Jonghyun either. He wonders if Jonghyun’s ever even mentioned their friendship. The thought is oddly unsettling.

“That’s…” Jinki starts, and then hears Taemin curse and the track repeat. He flinches openly. “That’s probably a good idea. Thank you, Jongin, and thank your mother for me if I don’t get the chance myself.”

“Yeah, course, hyung!” Jongin says, smiling brilliantly and practically wagging his metaphorical tail as he digs his house key out of the pocket of his sweats and hands it over. He and Jonghyun both look like puppies sometimes, honestly.

“Jonginnie, come on! We’ve got to get through this bullshit transition,” Taemin calls from the other room, and Jongin turns his head in surprise and then smiles at Jinki a little softer before returning to his friend.

“Language,” Jinki teases as he slips back through the room and heads upstairs to go get his laptop, in better spirits now that he has an escape.

“Get out, hyung!” Taemin laughs, and Jinki does so, taking his time on the walk to Jongin’s house. The summer air is sticky, a little stifling, but Jinki doesn’t mind. It only makes the constant iciness of Jongin’s house feel better as it chills the sweat beading on the back of Jinki’s neck, cooling him quickly enough that he shivers a little.

It’s slightly strange being in Jongin’s house when there’s no one home. Well, no one but his brother. But it’s always quiet upstairs, in what feels like Jonghyun’s territory, and now the entire house feels like that. It’s oddly silent without Jongin verbally working his way through math problems or Taemin and Jongin arguing over video games. It’s nice though, and Jinki relishes it for a moment as he goes to get himself a glass of water, comfortable enough here that it doesn’t make him feel awkward.

He gulps it down, sets it in the sink, and takes a moment to look out the kitchen window to the slightly overgrown side yard. It’s strange, how it reminds him a little of the way their yard always looked like when he was younger, after he had moved in with his aunt but before she trusted him to run the mower without running over his own feet. He should probably offer to mow the Kim’s yard one of these days.

He’s still lost in thought when he hears a soft noise from the second floor. It’s quiet enough that he’s fairly sure it’s just the sound of socked feet on the floor above him, but it makes him pause anyways. After a moment, he smiles. He takes the stairs as quietly as possible, just in case, but he’s pretty sure that means Jonghyun is awake, and when he slips into the room at the end of the hall, he’s a little disappointed not to see him.

He frowns for a moment, looking around one more time, just in case, and then turns on his heel to leave, only to nearly jump out of his skin when he sees Jonghyun standing behind him in the hallway, where he certainly hadn’t been a moment before.

“Jesus—“ Jinki breaths, pressing a hand to his racing heart.

Jonghyun smiles. “I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step back to give Jinki some space. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No. God, no, you’re fine,” Jinki laughs, raking his fingers through his hair. “I should have given you some warning. I didn't want to be too loud coming in though, in case you were sleeping.”

“It's alright,” Jonghyun says, smiling. “I'm not sleeping. I wasn't expecting you here is all. I thought it would be-- well, someone else.”

Jinki lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking playfully. “Do you not want me here?”

“I like having you here. It's nice to have someone who actually interacts with me,” Jonghyun says. There's something sad in his face, but he smiles anyways. “I just don't see you much without your cousin in tow. And Jongin, of course.”

“Yeah, they're practicing over at my aunt's place. It's a tiny bit deafening,” Jinki says with a laugh. “They're good, but there's only so many times--”

“Ah,” Jonghyun says, nodding. “It's worse when you can't get away from it. They try not to practice here much, but Jongin plays the same songs over and over and, well...”

Jinki laughs. “He's in high school,” he points out, meaning it as a playful comment on his tastes, but it calls to mind the conversation from the previous week, and that makes him pause.

Jonghyun is obviously thinking the same thing, because he tips his head at Jinki and says, “So, when you said you were gay...”

“I generally meant that I'm attracted to guys,” Jinki says. “The traditional definition.”

Jonghyun laughs weakly. “No,” he says, “I meant... does that work out for you?”

Jinki smiles softly, a little sadly. “It's alright. It doesn't affect too much. I've always been a bit more interested in school and grades than relationships,” he says. He tries not to think too much about how few friends he has at school because of that.

But Jonghyun seems to see right through him. “It's rough, isn't it?” he asks, reaching out for Jinki. He seems to hesitate before touching him, and Jinki realizes abruptly that this is the first time Jonghyun ever has. His fingers are ice-cold and a little clammy, and he pulls them back quickly when Jinki shivers involuntarily. “Sorry.”

“You're fine,” Jinki says. “I know that you're sick. It's okay.”

Jonghyun pauses. “Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Sick. Right.”

That seems like a strange response, and Jinki's brow furrows. “Are you--”

Jonghyun only shakes his head. “I should go soon. I'm getting tired.”

“Alright,” Jinki agrees. He's not going to stop him. He needs his rest. “Well, I'll be downstairs if you want to talk.”

Jonghyun nods slowly, moving to one side. Jinki steps out past him into the hallway, letting Jonghyun move past him into the bedroom. After a quiet moment, Jinki moves down the hall towards the stairs.

“Jinki?” Jonghyun says, and Jinki turns towards him in surprise. Jonghyun is standing there, in the doorway, watching him. “I... I'm gay too.”

“Oh,” Jinki says, not sure what else to say. He's not sure if he's surprised or not. “That's--”

“I'm gonna go,” Jonghyun says, before Jinki can get out anything else. He steps back, disappearing out of sight, and the door closes. Jinki stands there for a moment longer before heading downstairs, leaving Jonghyun to his sleep.

-- Jinki and Jonghyun interact a few more times, becoming friends, and Jonghyun starts hanging out for longer and longer amounts of time.

-- Jonghyun admits, one day, to never having kissed a boy. Jinki kisses him --

Jonghyun’s mouth is soft, and his hands shake as he makes a quiet noise of disbelief and wraps his fingers loosely into the front of Jinki’s shirt. It’s not a long kiss, and Jinki pulls away after a moment, swallowing tightly. He hopes that that was okay. He hopes that he didn’t just shatter their friendship, because it startles him to realize that he considers Jonghyun his best friend and to think that he might have ruined that is terrifying.

“Was that…” he starts, slowly, and he can hear the concern in his own voice, wavering and unsure.

Jonghyun makes a tiny, sweet little noise and crumples into him all at once, shoulders heaving. Jinki startles, catching him, and for a moment Jonghyun feels almost insubstantial in his arms, like if Jinki squeezes too tight he’ll just melt away. But then Jonghyun makes another of those noises, a little wetter this time, and Jinki sucks in a breath and tightens his grip because Jonghyun is crying.

“Jonghyun,” Jinki says, a little helpless. He’s always been bad at this sort of thing. “I don’t-- I’m sorry if that wasn’t…”

Jonghyun shakes his head weakly, the action rubbing his face against Jinki’s shirt. “No, no, please don’t-- don’t apologize. I… g-god, I just… I never thought… I’ve never been kissed before, and I d-don’t…”

He’s stuttering, stumbling over his words a little, and Jinki should know better, should think more about it, but he doesn’t. He just unravels his arms so that he can catch Jonghyun’s face instead and pulls him up, kisses him again despite the tears on Jonghyun’s face and the way Jonghyun gasps into his mouth.

Jonghyun’s fingers spasm in his shirt, and then he’s tugging weakly, like he’s trying to pull Jinki closer. When Jinki breaks apart from him, Jonghyun whines, tugging pitifully, but Jinki just grins, leaning their foreheads together and breathing slowly, evenly.

Jonghyun curls into him slowly and clings for a long while, the two of them sitting in peaceful quiet before Jonghyun whispers, “This feels so real.”

Jinki laughs a little, confused by the murmur. “Of course it’s real. Jonghyunnie…”

“I know,” Jonghyun whispers but it sounds almost doubtful, almost near tears again. “I just… I want it to be real, and I know it can’t be. I know it can’t… can’t work out or last…”

Jinki bites back his cringe. He doesn’t like to think too hard about it, about the way Jongin always says ‘my brother is sick’ with the kind of tone where ‘sick’ means ‘dying’. He doesn’t like the think about the way the hope rings hollow in Mrs. Kim’s voice when she mentions going to the city or a new treatment. He doesn’t like to think about it, and now he has to, because Jonghyun is looking at him uncertainly, pulling away, and Jinki feels something ice-cold and desperate.

“Why can’t it?” he says, and then realizes how stupid that was. “I know… I know things aren’t perfect, or… or, I don’t know. I don’t want to mess this up. I like being with you. I like being your friend. And I’d be happy with that, I would. But I also… I like kissing you and holding you and…”

Jonghyun makes a soft, strange laugh, a little tense, a little strained. “I do too,” he says finally, biting his lip. “I want-- I want to be with you. However you-- I just don’t want to break your heart.”

That seems a little much, but at the same time, Jinki has a feeling like it’s too late for that. Romantic or platonic, Jonghyun is so important to him now, and one day he’s going to lose him.

He doesn’t say that though. He just kisses Jonghyun again, hands shaking as he moves to hold Jonghyun’s waist, thin and fragile under his bulky sweater.

“Okay,” Jonghyun says finally, and Jinki doesn’t know what that means, but Jonghyun is swaying a little, tired a little, and they rest there a moment longer before Jonghyun says, “Isn’t it time for you to take Jongin and Taemin to dance?”

“Fuck,” Jinki says, jerking suddenly. He lets go of Jonghyun, fumbling for his phone to check the time and then hisses, “Fuck. Thank you, Jonghyun. I gotta-- we can… later, yeah?”

Jonghyun smiles, hesitant and not entirely a happy expression. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here.”

“Jong…” Jinki starts and leans in to kiss him again.

Jonghyun stops him, hands bracing on his chest. “You’re going to be late,” he says, and then presses up for a tiny kiss, brief and chaste and something that makes Jinki’s heart swoop anyways. “Go.”

Jinki catches Jonghyun’s hand and squeezes before he goes, patting down his pockets to make sure he has his keys and taking the stairs two at a time.

-- Taemin and Jongin’s team wins their dance competition and are moving on to the next thing, so they start spending more time practicing and Jinki starts basically hiding out at Jongin’s house and just spending a lot more time with Jonghyun. They talk a little more, and Jonghyun never really gives a solid answer on what they are, he just kisses Jinki instead.

-- Jinki hanging out with Jonghyun, and Jonghyun sitting up suddenly and mumbling something about, “I have to go,” and rushing upstairs and Jinki worries about him and tries to follow him up, but Jongin’s mom gets home then and Jinki says hi and they talk for a moment before she starts to go up and Jinki says something about “I don’t know if he’s feeling well. He kind of…” and her face crumples a little and she forces a smile and says she’ll check on him and Jinki nods and kind of reluctantly leaves her to it and goes so it’s not weird.

-- Jongin is gone that weekend cuz his family goes into the city. Jinki and Tae scene where Taemin says something about how hard it is on Jongin and then backtracks and is like ‘I’m not saying Jongin’s got it worse, but… he just… it’s hard for him. His family being like this. I just don’t know what to do for him.’ and Jinki kind of frowns and says, “I doubt it’s easy on any of them, but… all we can do is be there. However we’re needed.” And Tae nods and the conversation kind of falls to other stuff.

-- Jinki and Tae are at Jongin’s house and Jinki’s trying to help Jongin study since Jongin’s been putting it off for dance. Jinki’s aunt calls and tells them that she has to work late and won’t be home until at least 10 or 11, and Jinki is talking to her when Jongin’s mom gets home and Jongin suggests Jinki and Tae stay for dinner. She agrees and Jinki tells his aunt and they make plans and settle in and Jonghyun doesn’t come down for dinner, but another boy -- maybe a year or so older than Taemin -- comes down and grabs some food and goes back upstairs and Jinki assumes maybe it’s someone with Jonghyun and gets jealous, but he doesn’t get a chance until he and Taemin are heading home and then he asks.

“Who was that guy who came down?” he asks, and they’re passing just under a streetlight now, so Jinki gets to watch as Taemin’s face pinches in confusion. Jinki doesn’t know what he said wrong -- it felt like a perfectly legitimate question.

“That’s Jongdae,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes it clear that Jinki should know who that is. After a moment, he says, “You know? Jongdae? Jongin’s brother? Have you not met him yet?”

Jinki is suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat in his ears. Jongdae. Jongin’s brother, Jongdae.

“Then… does he have another--?” But he can’t even finish that question. It’s too ridiculous. How could he have known Jongin for a month and a half and this still be catching him this off guard. Jongin’s older brother. He frowns. “What about Jonghyun?”

“Who?” Taemin asks, and his face is shadowed now. They’ve stopped between streetlights, Jinki frozen on the sidewalk. “Hyung, are you okay?”

Jinki shakes his head.

-- Jinki avoiding the house for a few days until Jongin has to beg him for help with a problem set and Jinki goes over and the entire house feels uncomfortable now, and Jinki asks how ‘Jongin’s brother’ is and Jongin kind of shrugs and mumbles something about “He’s sleeping a lot more recently. The doctors can’t figure it out. He just says he’s tired all the time.”

Jinki goes upstairs when they’re done and runs into Jonghyun and Jonghyun is staring at him and finally says, “I’ve missed you,” and Jinki doesn’t know what to say except, “Who are you?”

And Jonghyun’s face crumples and he gets angry and asks Jinki why it matters, why he has to care when he hasn’t cared this whole time?

And Jinki asks him again because he thought Jonghyun was Jongin’s brother, he thought he knew, and now he doesn’t and he’s scared.

And Jonghyun sighs really loudly and kind of shamefacedly tells his story. He was this kid who used to live in this house a long time ago and he committed suicide b/c he was gay and being bullied, and Jonghyun -- "It's funny how you never realize how much you want to be alive until you aren't anymore."

Jinki finds out that Jonghyun's the one who's been making Jongdae worse and he doesn't mean to, but it takes energy to stick around and Jongdae is the easiest target. And so Jonghyun takes energy from him and just basically leaves Jongdae passed out half the time and Jonghyun's like, "he's dying anyways! What's worse, for me to make it easy on him and give a second chance to someone who wants it, or for him to be in pain every hour of every day?!" and Jinki's literally so aware that Jonghyun can't do this, but at the same time, Jonghyun just wants to be alive, or as alive as he can be.

And Jinki had to choose between his feelings for Jonghyun and the knowledge that Jonghyun can’t do this because he’s hurting people. And Jinki tries to talk to him but Jonghyun starts getting angrier and angrier and lights start flickering, and Jinki stumbles backwards just as something flies across the room and it shatters against the wall and cuts him.

And he looks down and sees the blood on his fingertips and looks back at Jonghyn who’s looking at him in horror and just “I… I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t. Jinki, I promise, I didn’t mean-- I don’t know how I did it. I’ve-- I’ve never…”

Jinki drops his hand and just looks at Jonghyun for a long time. “Why are you here, Jonghyun? Why are you staying here?”

And Jonghyun whispers that he’s scared. And Jinki steps in and hugs him and kisses him really softly, and when he steps away Jonghyun’s just looking at him and his hands are shaking and he repeats, “I’m scared.”

And Jinki whispers that he knows, but that Jonghyun, the Jonghyun he knows wouldn’t want to hurt someone. Wouldn’t want someone to hurt because of him.

And Jonghyun kind of laughs bitterly and says, “How would you know? It’s what I’ve been doing all this time.”

But Jinki just shakes his head and says, “Jonghyun, please.”

When Jonghyun pulls away, he’s looking at Jinki’s injury and his eyes are sad and scared and he takes Jinki’s hand and murmurs, “I’m sorry. I wish… I wish that things had been different. I really wanted to love you.”

Jinki just stares at him, something ragged and tight in his chest. “I do love you, Jonghyun.”

Jonghyun just wells up and presses his face into Jinki’s shoulder, and whispers, “I told you I didn’t want to break your heart.”

But Jinki just shakes his head and closes his eyes, pressing a kiss into Jonghyun’s hair. He stays like that for a long time, and he doesn’t open his eyes until the weight of a body in his arms is gone.

-- Jinki helps Jongin finish his math stuff. He meets Jongdae, who’s feeling a little better now, not as tired all the time. The new treatment is working, they tell them. Jongin and Taemin win their dance competition. They celebrate at Jongin’s house and Jongdae joins them for lunch and talks to Jinki for a bit. He’s a nice kid, and when he gets amused, he smiles like a cat and laughs freely. They could maybe, probably be friends.

Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, Jinki catches sight of something out of the corner of his eyes. Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, he feels a sudden chill of cold air. Sometimes, at Jongin’s house, he finds himself crying for no real reason except the obvious, and he can almost imagine someone holding him.

Sometimes, he’s not sure if Jonghyun is gone or not, but when he can, when he finds himself wondering too hard, sometimes he whispers ‘I love you’ to the maybe-empty house, just in case.

#shinee fic #shinee fanfiction #WIP #unfinished #Jongyu #honestly thank you all #my writing #if anyone know where this title came from please hit me up bc my Fave book

23 notes · View notes