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artificialqueens · 5 years

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living on the edge of the law (biadore) - chapter 5 - lily2

bianca needs an outlet and all her friends are either flirting or too drunk to realize, adore is beyond stressed with her new restrictions and album being put out & sasha reaches an absolute breaking point.

— *.✧ “So you’re not exactly the fondest of her is what I am hearing?” Jinkx asked, taking a sip of her Pepsi, genuinely intruiged by the way of which Bianca was speaking. It bad been a full work week since Bianca had begun assisting Adore Delano, the grundy and up and coming singer from Azusa, California. Her auburn hair twirled around her finger curiously listening to Bianca talk, well yell— all her emotions and anger and work stories out. “It’s not that! It’s really not, when she performs and she’s doing her thing? Jesus, she’s fucking amazing.” The small twinkle in Bianca’s eyes when she started talking about Adore singing was enough of an indication to Jinkx, “So you like her and her music, she’s just understandbly a bit tense, she’s young, and smells horrible?“ “Exactly!” They laughed, cheering glasses, Jinkx the one who was unlucky and stuck driving for tonight, Pepsi in hand whole Bianca took down tequila shots, “You don’t have to die of alcohol poisoning today y'know!” She spoke up over the music, Bianca rolling her eyes, scoffing a bit offended. “Bitch you of all people should know that I, as a Latina, cannot legally get drunk off tequila, it’s fucking water!” She yelled before taking down another shot and holding onto Jinkx’s arm, smiling to know that she had her closest high school friend in her presence and now permanently since she had moved to Santa Monica. The waiter came with their food and with a small slip of paper, passing to Jinkx who was definitely confused as to why a young waiter would be passing her something as generic as paper, crumpled and with clear writing inside judging by the blue ink stains from the outside. “Is this for me?” She asked, Bianca stunned. “Yes, our bartender wanted you to have it, the girl with the dyed platinum hair.” He said before taking his now empty tray as Jinkx opened the slipe to find a phone number enclosed as well as a small message that read: Please take the number, I’m Ivy and I think you’re absolutely beautiful xx . Bianca snaked her eyes over to look at the note as she completely widened her eyes, “Well damn, atleast she isn’t fucking around with you.” The bartender who was apperantly named Ivy stared at Jinkx, looking for a reaction and getting one in the form of a smile and glance over, shoving the number in her pocket and brushing her hair from her face, “Maybe I still can get around.” She joked much to Bianca’s dismay. “Oh bitch we are not that old, don’t do me like that.” Bianca taking a bite of her salad, decently content with the actual flavor of it though Jinkx was now only staring at that mysterious bartender who would return the glances often with a bashful smile. “Go and talk to her, say I want some alcohol bitch.” She whispered teasingly before Jinkx punched her stomach under the table, Bianca yelling before Jinkx shushed her, standing up. “I need five minutes is all.” She left the table and went over right to the mysterious woman. “Oh sure!” She yelled before going on her phone, not wanting to answer Adore’s new texts right now, more trying to look occupied so she could try and spy on her close friend, Jinkx already cackling while talking some nonsense to the flirty bartender who made her a drink, unsuprisingly. She finally replied to Adore who was just ranting on and on about how many limits her new album would have, Bianca telling her to suck it up and realize this was how the cooperate world worked unfortunately. The singer replying with nothing but crying emoji’s, Bianca quickly clicking out it not exactly wanting to deal with her childlike antics in a restaurant like trying to look preoccupied. Two notifications popped up across her phone’s screen as banners, both were from Sasha, which was surprising considering how little she ever needed or asked for from Bianca, she seemed like she had her life together and wasn’t too worried about depending on friends over text, she just occasionally asked for some paperwork and a question about Shea, she realized even in just one week working at the office that everyone realize the emotions and feelings were beyond real besides the two people who were showing it most: Shea and Sasha. Bianca, Katya is throwing a party tonight, no reason specifically and she totally forgot to text you, I’m at her house and she invited you if you would like to come. She begun typing a response almost immediately before doing a double take on the second message which mentioned the fact this party would almost hundred percent be a karaoke party. Working with singers was one thing but actually having to be under the influence of her co-workers and alcohol and sing for fun was a completely different ballgame. Bianca didn’t care much for if she sounded good or not, she wasn’t Adore and not like karaoke was ever taken very serious especially at a party with the people she had begun to consider friends at the very least— she wasn’t exactly where the flaw in the plan was but something in her stomach growled, maybe she was just feeling far too attached to music and musicians tight now and didn’t want to think about her job outside of work. Okay I’ll come, just text me the details of the party and date, bring alcohol or no? And just like that Bianca Del Rio, most known for her attitude just accepted a personal invite to a damn house party for a job she had barely started a full week ago, the only thing that could’ve made it possibly better was Courtney being closer and not hours ahead, never being able to FaceTime and Adore being a bit more mature and making her own decisions, to be less reliant on her friend she had spoke about in her office and on Bianca herself. Bring nothing, Katya has enough please trust me on that :) Jinkx insisted she would be back by now but Bianca just finished her food and paid the check without her knowing, slyly sliding off her chair and leaving a note for Jinkx saying there was a work party she had to go help and that she hopes things work out with the Ivy chick. She snuck herself out before skipping along to her car, turning it on to work the AC before reading Adore’s message, asking for her to come if she could and help Adore find a house or studio to stay in, expressing genuine want to get out of her best friend’s apartment in Los Angeles. Please B!!! I need help, I have virtually no credit but I can’t keep leaning on her, you’re totally right. We can do it at your house if you want so you don’t have to make the trip. Bianca groaned, “She really just had to reply right after Sasha?” She muttered before thinking, it was a Friday so not like she had anywhere to be on the weekend, all she needed to do was finish organizing her closet and call Courtney and spill some more news and stories for the week. “Okay let’s do a few hours at Katya’s and then she can come over, perfect!” She planned aloud before texting her to come to her house around 10PM, sending her addressing and adding a: Don’t fucking walk this time you bitch. STAY SAFE!!! She dropped her phone and blasted her music, slightly letting the window down, she had the decent and general idea of where Katya lived after having to take her home this past Wednesday because her car broke down or some shit like that, she was right across the recording studio and a block on the left so not like she could get lost, especially when seeing the Russian flag on her mailbox. It was extremely fucking stupid as a decoration in her own opinion and it was indeed very extra but it definitely helped Bianca distinguish her house quite easy. “Hey whores!” Bianca teasingly called from the door once hearing Katya’s distinct voice yell at her to come in once she rung the doorbell. “Hello!” Smiled Sasha who was rummaging and sorting through the alcohol that filled the absolute perimeters of Katya’s shelves. “Guess I really didn’t need to bring the alcohol when you have an entire liqour store in the back of your kitchen.” Katya snickered at Bianca’s comment before turning, holding a bottle of whiskey, “Some of it is just for guests, I don’t drink beer but I have some just incase someone like Shea comes over who can’t handle her liqour well.” Sasha slapped her on the back and cursed something unintelligible to Bianca who laughed, clapping and stealing some of the chocolate Katya had laid out. “How many people did you invite?” She asked jokingly looking at the alcohol and food before Katya replied with a shrug, “Only about twelve people.” Bianca nervously smiled, that was about ten too many in her book. She was extremely extroverted but really liked her peace and quiet and knew it would be her awkwardly sipping alcohol and watching all these others talk so comfortably with eachother considering they all probably had worked together for years “Oh you’re great, you’ll be fine.” Katya’s voice sounding absolutely serious when she spoke the reply, Bianca had her doubts but trusted her newfound friend and co-worker. “Don’t worry if I get left out I’ll just steal all your fucking alcohol and leave, bag that shit up and go!” She yelled before grabbing Katya’s arm and laughing with the Russian sitting next to her before they started escalating into conversation about Adore and how that entire thing is going, everyone seemed obnxiously interested in that world of Bianca’s especially if it had to do with Adore, it was sweet at first and now it was annoying as hell: she didn’t have much to share so then it was time for Katya to speak. “I finally asked my crush of about four years on a date.” Bianca’s eyes widened and Sasha almost dropped her glass in her surprise, “You’re joking!” She screamed before clapping and mumbling something in Russian. “Who? You never even told me you had a crush let alone for that fucking long.“ Shea better take notes! "Her name is Trixie, she’s a singer but we met because we used to work in entertainment, she’s a makeup artist and does hair to but she’s trying to break into music.” Bianca rolled her eyes, “Seems like everyone is nowadays.” Katya almost pushed her off her chair, “She’s actually a fantastic singer, she does more country and folk music, it’s some really cool stuff but I finally asked her and you know what she responsed?" Sasha absolutely delighted for best friend smiled, "What? I really wanna know!” Bianca put her face in her hands and listened definitely curious, she would laugh if after all of this build the answer was a deadpanned “No”. “She said yes!” Katya screamed before Sasha also yelled and Bianca yelled since everyone else was, they all hugged before Bianca questioned her antics and if she was invited to tonight. “Oh fuck no, if she saw my friends she would dump me right before our date even happens!” She joked though Sasha wrapped her arms around her fellow Russian friend’s neck and smiled, “I’m very proud of you!” The two seemed to click like sisters, Bianca would’ve probably guessed they were if it wasn’t for Katya very early on distinguishing the two of them though she was sure somehow they were twelveth cousins. The doorbell rung and all three of the girls yelled the door was open, Katya giving a thumbs up before getting out more cups as Shea and Aja walked through the door all at once, stepping in and saying their hello’s and Shea quickly running over to Sasha who happily took the hug and held her hand as they spoke aimlessly as absolutely fucking expected. “What is the alcohol of choice?” Katya said showing off her bar cart, twirling in her red tulle skirt, smirking. “I just want something straight, no ice.” Aja said dull, sitting down quickly and with a sour face. Katya nodding and fixing her a vodka pouring just a bit of club soda since Aja seemed intent on just vodka but the Russian knew better than that. “You seem distinctly off today, something wrong?” Bianca tried to be the mediator here but Aja didn’t say a word, clearly wanting space though that only caused Bianca further confusion, “Honey why did you come to a party if you’re just gonna sit there in silence?” Katya quickly shushing Bianca and taking Aja to her room so she could drink and be in peace until she was ready. The Russian came back out, greeting Farrah, Sharon, Aquaria and Alaska before grabbing Bianca’s arm, still clutching a vodka-soda in the other hand. “She’s having some relationship issues and she really wants to have a good time, I pushed her to come and atleast have a little drink so she wouldn’t have to think about it at home, alone, just let her be. It’s complicated but I swear after a few minutes of peace she will be fine.” Bianca took her word and nodded, the blonde obviously knowing her own co-workers of years in and out, much better than Bianca certainly. “Let’s fucking sing!” Katya yelled to her friends who were already here, knowing in the back of her mind this was the people she knew wouldn’t be two hours late or busy. “Who is first?” She asked turning on the microphones and her laptop which was hooked to her system and flatscreen which projected the karaoke program on screen, Sasha raised her hand and whispered something to Shea who laughed and got up with her. “Throw us money bitches, you aren’t ready for this!” Shea shrieked before downing her shot and smiling, still holding Sasha’s hand. Bianca took out a one and threw it, Farrah throwing a ten already. Shea picked up the money and grinned, stuffing it in her coat’s pocket before Sasha typed the song and stood back to back with Shea. “Oh my god it’s a whole production over here!” Alaska grinned happy, leaning into Katya’s large couch that took up almost two thirds of the entire living area which was impressive considering the scope and size of the woman’s house. The music started and all of them cheered immediately recognizing the song though they let Sasha and Shea take the lead on this, Bianca wanted to see this happen in action. The Russian grabbed the mic as did Shea and they turned towards eachother, not even having to look at the lyrics but neither did anyone else, this song was an absolute classic.

“I’ve been hearing your heartbeat inside of me

I keep your photo right beside my bed

Livin’ in a world of fantasy

I can’t get you out of my head!”

Their singing wasn’t even half bad, it was pretty decent actually although Bianca prayed that meant they wouldn’t be asking for a record deal tomorrow. It was ironic they chose what apparently was “their song” according to Farrah who already had her phone out, recording her friends like a mom at a shitty dance recital, since this song absolutely epitomized their relationship. Shea and Sasha staring at eachother intently as they sung each word in perfect sync and with the beat just having fun with the song, the Russian twirling her friend around and smiling in pure, delusional happiness.

“I’ve been waiting for the phone to ring all night

Why you want to make me feel so good

I got a love of my own

Shouldn’t get so hung up on you.”

At this point they both faced eachother back to back before turning on the word you, pointing to eachother. “Get a room!” Yelled Alaska who was absolutely eating this performance up, clapping and mouthing all the words when she wasn’t chugging her (already) second glass of some cocktail Katya must’ve made her.

“I remember the way that we touched I wish I

didn’t like it so much

I get so emotional, baby

Every time I think of you

I get so emotional, baby

Ain’t it shocking what love can do!”

They held hands the entire performance just staring into eachother’s eyes so damn sincerely that Bianca wanted to murder them both. “This is too good.” Farrah whispered to Aquaria as she danced in her seat, still recording. It went on for the entire song before they got to the last lyric and just danced around the wooden floor, smirking and putting the mics back before they all clapped and laughed wildly, “Absolutely stunning.” Aquaria commented before Bianca noticed Shea pulling Sasha away for something. Oh my fucking god maybe today will really be the day! God knows what Shea is gonna say anyway. The party grew twice its size in about two hours due to Alaska’s impulsive decisions and big mouth and Bianca decided this would be the perfect time to finally leave and be able to catch up with Adore, texting her as she said goodbye to Katya, attempting to look for Shea and Sasha but not finding them, which made her both extremely nervous and extremely happy. She skipped along to her car before turning it on and driving away, not rushing to be anymore since Adore promised she would be at her house at around 9PM, it was about 8:30PM, Bianca definitely had time. It was a fun party but she definitely felt out of place a bit, she wasn’t sure if it was of legitmate concern or just because it had only been a week since she started working there at the office. I’ll figure it out eventually, I always do. *.✧ Shea took Sasha’s hand and squeezed it, the Russian questioning exactly where they were going but the blonde simply left it up on her best friend who insisted she stay quiet so they could sneak their way through Katya’s room and going up the staircase though Katya and Alaska covering a tipsy version of “Last Dance” by Donna Summer was definitely enough of a distraction from anyone caring about what they were doing. “Are we going on the roof?” Sasha joked before Shea stopped in her tracks. “Oh— you were serious!” The Russian laughing and whispering before blinking, feeling the mascara on her long lashes gently touch her skin, hoping there wasn’t a blackspot now. “I don’t mind!” She quickly intervened before her friend could reply, taking her another corner of the house and saying how she had done this multiple times with Katya on a holiday to watch fireworks without the mess of trying to go to pier all sweaty and crowded. “I know all of my Russian sister’s home!” She gloated before they made their way, still holding hands and not letting go until they sat awkwardly silent, listening to the wind and staring out at the sun, which was beginning to make its course to set. “Do you ever miss home?” Shea asked out the blue, it wasn’t at all an odd or weird question to ask Sasha who often talked of her culture and past but in the conversation and setting it did indeed feel a bit suprising. “Well…” She breathed in before laughing and biting her lip, “It’s complicated.” Shea scooted as she closed her eyes and thought long and hard how to respond, her hand on Sasha’s knee happily offering her support, mumbling that she didn’t have to answer and that it was a dumb question. “No, no, not at all! I do miss Russia and I will always be proud to have such a complex culture and amazing landmarks and history but part of me, it feels so ashamed. I can’t be who I am because of the country and even though it holds most of what I love and adore and it’s been the biggest source of childhood and happiness, I can’t act like I would want to go back." Shea was definitely surprised. "I miss all the tea and the way of living in terms of pace, the neighborhoods, how everything is full of a myriad of cultures and I definitely miss the food—” she snickered, “But, I see all of the news and how badly the government is constantly acting, it’s getting worse for us. For us who are different and not willing to concede and fit in with what they think the perfect picture of society is, it’s the worst feeling ever knowing that I will never feel comfortable in my own motherland again.” Sasha feeling herself tear up. Fuck. Shea didn’t mean to start such a conflict of interest, she quickly put her hands on her cheeks and frowned, wiping her wet eyes, “Don’t cry, it’s not just because of your mascara either, I didn’t mean to make you so sad, I think it’s a very beautiful country I was just wondering since you said your family still lives over in St. Petersburg." "Do you miss Chicago?” Shea still not taking her hands off her cheeks shrugged honestly, “Sometimes yes, sometimes no: I definitely wanna go back during PRIDE though!” She bragged as she nudged Sasha with her now free hands, the Russian feeling herself get good energy again, smiling at her best friend’s enthusiastic reply. “Speaking of—” Shea started, stuttering a bit as she felt her Sasha’s face soften and stare, her perfect smile revealing her rose glow at her cheeks.“Yes?” Everything seemed so perfectly silent and at ease when they just stared at eachother but Shea knew she would have to stay atleast something, something to make herself feel validated especially with Bianca and Katya beginning to understandably breathe down her neck about the entire situation. “Sasha, I think we should talk about us, you know.” Her nervous smile and laughter making it difficult to speak, the Russian nodding in wait. “I know you just recently broke up with your man—” Sasha rolled her eyes, “I know but I’m over it don’t worry, you knew he wasn’t the best from the beginning and you were absolutely right, youre my good judgement I guess." "Well, I’m your best friend, it’s just what I’m here for.” Shea said painstakingly aware that if she didn’t say it now it would never come out. “You’re here always, the others can’t relate!” Sasha was joking but the wink she gave to her completely set off Shea who let her open her mouth to speak before she started looking away, completely in a state of emergency. “Shea, what’s wrong?” Her gentle and soothing tone spoke, rubbing her shoulders before Shea breathed in before grabbing Sasha by her collar and leaned in, smashing their lips together. The blonde completely surprised to say the least, pushing her away almost immediately after kissing back, something just felt a bit wrong, she wasn’t sure what. “Sasha, I’m sor—" "No. Stop it, please.” She begged, holding her hands, kissing them before staring into Shea’s eyes trying to make sure she was listening and paying attention. “I was kind of hoping you would soon, Bianca was starting to ask me about how I feel about you every day and I started piecing it all together in my head after years.” She laughed, Shea didn’t know whether to slap or thank Bianca on Monday but they would see after this endeavor. Their hands interlocked and Shea looked down before Sasha smiled and bent down to lift her head and kiss her, finally. Shea had never felt greater in her entire life and it just had to happen on Katya's roof of all places, as the sun went down: you really couldn’t make this shit up. They didn’t really want to stop kissing, only stopping to breathe and struggling to kiss without giggling everywhere even as their lips met, it was weird. “Okay I’m gonna call it quits now but only because, I think we should go to my house.” Her hand ran through Sasha’s hair who only gave her a grin, “To your house?” Knowing the kind of activities that would entail, no matter how badly Shea didn’t want to encourage it, it was gonna happen tonight and they both kind of accepted it. “To my house.” Shea whispered leaning in to kiss her again before the Russian pressed her finger to her lips, “And my car?" Shea slapped herself for that one, "Dammit…” She whispered before they both decided to go into the house so they could atleast talk without wanting to fall off the roof, now that it was getting dark especially. “Let’s just take my car and I’ll drive you in the morning to go and get yours, deal?” She held out her hand for a shake but Sasha only slapped their hands together before quietly jumping into her body unexpectedly, pulling her by her waist, arms around Shea’s neck. Beyond satsified even as she heard the obnxiously loud karaoke still continue. “Let’s get out of here." "Thought you’d never ask." *.✧ Adore knocked once, then twice and then heard Bianca scream and knocked three times just for good measure, coming in an unsurprising jumble mesh of clothing she knew she made look good: not like she was trying to impress anyone anymore, they wouldn’t revoke her contract just because of personal fashion tastes— atleast she hoped not. "You really had to knock that many times? How fucking obnxious.” Bianca still threw the door open, the singer gripping her planner, a pen and her phone before she closed and locked the door. “Do you want water?” The voice spoke from the kitchen as Adore, beyond impressed, gave herself a little tour of the studio before waving Bianca off who poured some water and ice into a cup anyway, one for Adore even if she seemed to not pay attention to a word Bianca had said. “I know, it’s very nice.” She sat on the leather couch before Adore joined her, stretching her legs on the couch before putting them down on the ground but keeping them crossed as she opened her planner, Bianca audibly gasping. “Wow, she actually has something besides her phone and tights, I cannot believe I’m experiencing actual history in the making.” Adore flipped her off and cursed her out, “Oh fuck off hag.” She flipped to the page with the month’s plastered over them, looking for October as she spoke about how in the conference they wanted to do the album release the first week of October but promotion and some single releases month before. “So basically you have to come up with some venues I can do, they said to go out of state if I can for a little." "Let’s say Nevada because I’m sure the bitches in Las Vegas would die to see you. I don’t think you have enough material just yet to go bigger but we can try and do some stuff there and I’m the west if you think that’ll get you some bank and promotion and actually not fall flat on it’s ass." An hour later after some math, Adore moving places constantly and Bianca taking notes and making sheets for future reference on her laptop they had begun to slow it down and focus a bit less on work. Somehow they ended up on the topic of family and that’s where something begun it’s development. Adore, now laying her head on her assistant’s lap, groaned, Bianca suprisingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. "My dad is dead and my mom and I gave up on contact after she found out I dropped out of college.” That was tough, even Bianca paused a minute and really thought about this for a second, contemplating getting up so Adore would actually talk and not just close her eyelids and ignore all eye contact possible. “You have guts for talking about it.” She knew deep down that she should probably finally speak about her parents, which she didn’t often, especially in a situation like this, having only really known Adore for a week, less than even. “I was thrown out.” She admitted softly, finally Adore sat up and grabbed Bianca’s hand, usually she would flinch and almost punch her right in the stomach and make some witty comment about her scent but she would let this pass without any comments. “They found out from someone, a friend let it slip that I was into women and well— you can imagine how well two latino, immigrant parents took that!” She almost laughed, it was truthfully just the reaction she expected especially considering her age and the time it was found out, right before senior year. “I don’t regret it though, every bitch for them fucking selves, I was raised by wolves." Adore leaned into her shoulder and felt her lips glued shut as she bit the inside of her cheek, "You’re very brave.” She admitted with nothing but respect and admiration for someone who clearly had seen all she needed to see at a young age especially regarding her personal life and interests, Adore’s mother never had an issue with her sexuality, it was just school and the alcohol. “Well enough of that sappy shit.” She cackled before moving to open her laptop, “Now let’s talk just a bit more about your next few apperances, we wanna organize it good so we can promote it.” *.✧ Eventually Bianca decided to give the clearly drowsy girl a small tour of the studio, showing off all the furniture and admitting Courtney had set her up, she knew nothing about houses which was what they had originally come to speak about but Adore needed to rest first, now wouldn’t be the best time. She saw a guitar and suddenly she was completely melting, running over and grabbing it, “Can I?” She asked like a kid in a candy store, Bianca leaning against the door frame as she turned on the light, this was just a vacant space with no purpose yet. “If you sing and play, of course, not like I’m gonna serenade you anyway.” She sat on the small couch right next to where Adore planted herself, tuning the guitar before placing her fingers across the strings, rummaging for a pick in her coat, finding one hidden in the left pocket and giving a wink to Bianca, “See I’m not too messy!” Besides the joking she thought a minute, contemplating her song choices, it be cheesy to do her own song wouldn’t it? Or super egotistical? “Okay, this is one of my favorite songs.” She admitted with a heavy grin before she looked down, beginning to strum the strings.

“I got my red dress on tonight

Dancin’ in the dark in the pale moonlight.”

Bianca could die at any second as long as she got to hear that vibrato again, her face unknowingly leaned into her hands just as they did when Adore performed at her gig in Los Angeles, the singer slowly playing as she strummed the strings, so far so good. It was beyond good, it was absolutely perfect, no words to say.

“Done my hair up real big…”

Adore paused and stared into her assistant’s eyes, radiating onto her, she strummed: ”Bianca Del Rio style—“ the sudden ponder and lyric change earning a small clap and grin from Bianca herself who usually would call it a cheap move anyway but this was different, she fixed her long skirt so it covered her legs as she planted them comfortably on the couch as she took in the atmosphere of it all, Adore’s voice was enough to convince anyone of— who knows, the proof of god, but she always had the setting and emotions of the songs down, even if it was a gig as small as singing to Bianca in an abandoned room.

“High heels off, I’m feelin’ alive

Oh my God, I feel it in the air

Telephone wires above

Are sizzlin’ like a snare

Honey I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere

Nothin’ scares me anymore.”

Her hands so perfectly moving across the guitar as she barely even had to look down, even she knew her great capacity of play, this was definitely a song that deserved it’s own cover on her album but they could discuss that later, enough about work on a Friday night, especially after having to suffer through an entire karaoke party. Their eyes met and Adore felt herself completely bash up the next few chords, staring at Bianca the entire time, she embarrassingly put the guitar down before the older woman frowned, “That was fucking amazing, why did you stop?” Adore shook her head, “Messed up is all, got to me.” You did, when you fucking look at me it’s enough to mess up all my skill, how can I already be so damn fixated. “I’m very tired.” She whispered, wiping her eyes though that wasn’t at all a little white lie, she legitmately felt brutually deprived of her rest. “If you want, and don’t tell anyone I’m being kind, you can stay in the spare guest bedroom, it’s a decent size and has a bathroom so then we can actually focus on finding you a house and I don’t have to have a constant and rampant panic attack about you getting home safe, deal? Great!” Adore couldn’t really refuse, there wasn’t any negative to this expect that she had to tell Tatianna awkwardly that she was sleeping over at her assistant’s house, you know— as professionals do. Bianca stuffed her hands with two pillows and an extra blanket before dropping it on top of the guest bed, presenting it to Adore who could cry really, that bed looked comfortable and it was getting to be late even if her tolerance for a late night was almost always much, much higher. “If you do anything stupid clean it yourself.” She joked by the door frame before Adore grasped one of the pillows and walked near Bianca, not caring too much that she definitely leaned in to kiss her assistant of one entire week, Bianca’s hands covering Adore’s entire face as she grinned, “Sleep, don’t be fucking stupid. Good night.” She whispered before telling her she was in the other room if she needed anything. “Thank you.” Adore said loud enough for Bianca to atleast give a smile which made her entire heart burst, the door half closed and she was left with her phone and a million pillows in the midst of darkness once the living room lights were all turned off. Dammit Adore, you are so stupid.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #katya zamolodchikova #shea coulee #sasha velour #farrah moan #aja #jinkx monsoon #ivy winters #aquaria #biadore #sashea #jivy #living on the edge of the law #lesbian au #roza #concrit welcome #submission

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salavante · 6 years

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Odwain! The goodest.

Wow, featuring one of the more flattering drawings I’ve done of Odwain. Like last time, I’ll post all these guys separately and then do all the headshots in a masterpost. In the meantime buckle up for...a lot. (Thank you for giving me my favorite character.)

Full Name: Odwain Novak. In Ben Yit’gab, the Bennai language, his first name would be Oediwen, and it’s what his dad called him. His mother calls him Oddy and he does not like it.

Gender and Sexuality: Male and Bisexual

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: Odwain is a Ben-Aleth, a Human-Bennai hybrid, also called a mosshead if you’re in coarse company. His human mother Blanche Novak is mixed race. Odwain’s maternal grandfather came directly from Earth, Poland specifically, during one of the several accidental migrations of humans coming from Earth to The Road. His maternal grandmother is from a previous wave who were already settled on The Road by that time, but the family can trace her ancestry back to West Africa. Odwain’s father, Ashatov Novak, was a full-blooded Bennai, a plant-based halfling race. Ashatov took his wife’s last name.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Thinking about this trips me out man. Odwain was born in 1946, sometime in the summer, probably July or August, in Septor Secundis, a coastal, metropolitan city and the seat of The Road’s government. He’s 27 during his first adventure and right now, in Godslaughter, he is 69 (what the FUCK). He will live maybe 20 or 30 years longer than your average human, and is in better physical shape than a human would be at 69. He’s more like late 40’s or early 50’s.

Guilty Pleasures: A lot, probably - Odwain has just a bit of hedonistic streak just because he feels miserable so much of the time that he needs to feel good somehow. He smokes cigarettes for much of his life (but eventually quits), is a casual cannabis smoker and binge eats really truly terrible junk food (and has a bit of a gut because of it, but because he’s kind of lanky otherwise, he’s just kind of gourd-shaped). He likes beer, but doesn’t drink hard liqour all that often because he gets astronomically bad hangovers. Despite having a generally weak stomach, Odwain really likes frightfully spicy food, and his kids’ obligatory dad-gifts for him are probably hot sauces. When he’s not pounding down garbage, his favorite kind of cuisine is Thai. Not a guilty pleasure per say, but he also loves all things that have to do with insects, and when he and Rusty have a house together, Odwain takes up gardening as a hobby and plants an expansive garden of flora that are attractive to bees. (A Nice Thing: Odwain plants this garden when Rusty is pregnant because he found his love of insects through his father’s garden as a child, and wanted to give his kids the same opportunity) Odwain also maintains an apiary from the time that he’s living in a warehouse in the desert, to when he’s living with a partner and beyond. When he learns how to make Hot Honey it’s over for all of us. He has a modest collection of novelty bee-themed things that he’s amassed over the years, but he is not guilty about asserting his love of bees/wasps, like, at all. He’s also a little kinky but I’m not going into that.

Phobias: All of Odwain’s fears are existential - what if I push everyone away, existing in society is anxiety inducing, what if I’m just a bad person and my existence is making everything more difficult for functional people, etc. Though he’s kind of a sad fellow and has ideated suicide, and came very, VERY close to trying to kill himself after he dropped out of college, he also fears growing old and dying. I think death is more digestible to him if it’s on his own terms, but even then, I think what coaxed him off the edge was fear. If anything ever happened to his chosen romantic partner or any of his kids, he’d be besides himself, and is kind of one severe trauma and emotional breakdown away from becoming a bee-themed supervillian.

What They Would Be Famous For: Odwain is notable at a certain point in his career for being a pioneer in AI programming, and also for designing, building and patenting an invention called the Hercules Rig, which is basically a beetle-wing inspired jetpack. You can see it here. He holds the patent very closely and only allows it to be reproduced for recreation, construction, emergency rescue operations, etc. Odwain has taken a very firm stance on not allowing the military or any paramilitary organization to get their hands on it, though it has not stopped them from making shitty knock-offs that he is constantly suing people about.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Breaking and entering. Exploding something he shouldn’t. Buying illegal hazardous materials. Doing something petty that bites him in the ass.

OC You Ship Them With: To be honest there are not a lot of other characters besides Rusty that I ship him with. Bitter college rivals, thrown back together as late twenty-somethings, becoming better people together and learning to express empathy and vulnerability…it’s good. The only other character that I really go yeah, that’s the good stuff, is Jake’s character Finnick, who is kind of Odwain’s weird BFF and fellow mad scientist type. I don’t think they’d have a super stable relationship, and I think it would most likely be a “we yelled at each other and had weird sex enough that we like each other now” kind of scenario. But I do think they would come to love each other and have each other’s back to the death. Him and Hemlock, my dirty swamp witch who’s only picture was devoured during the great tumblr purge, also make a pretty fun couple for similar reasons. Iona too, but I think they are too explosive of personalities to ever find a stable middle ground. I also think he would find certain people attractive (August, Hare, Ganzrig, Ifechi the man I have spoken of but once, Jonquil in certain scenarios) but may not put himself out there to pursue them.

Neither of us have ever posted any art of her but here’s a few headshots of Finnick I did awhile ago, because she really is my favorite romantic partner for Odwain aside from Rusty, and is the only other one that’s really relevant in our games.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Odwain is fairly physically fragile and to be honest I think that most people could kill him as long as they could get their hands on him - he’s very dexterous and has a lot of gadgets that let him get the upper hand, keep enemies at a distance or escape. He has a ranged fighting/add-spawn build so he is mostly out of direct harm unless he’s reeled in somehow. But uh, Odwain IS dead right now in Godslaughter, he died fighting an eldritch deity named Dreamer who sucked him into a nightmare dimension and flayed his soul out of his body. It’s ok though, as long as the party beats Dio, he’ll be fine. I didn’t cry you’re the one who’s crying.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Ok, so, first off HAHA Odwain canonically likes Transformers and collects them, which are a thing in circulation after the last human migration from earth in the 90’s. Imagine. Imagine your grown ass father with a genius level IQ and multiple patents collecting plastic robots. Him and Finnick have transformers sonas - ANYWAY, that aside, he doesn’t really read for pleasure, just information, and generally just puts on cable while he works for white noise (and in later years, whatever The Road’s TV streaming service is). Most of the media he consumes is incidental to him, but will get interested in strange things that pique his interest. He probably thinks true crime docs are neat and enjoys pulpy sci-fi stuff that he can complain about. Any documentary about bugs. He’d like Mystery Science Theatre if they had it around. He enjoys things that are the fun, good kind of “bad” and has a fairly high threshold for disturbing imagery.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Odwain is that guy who makes 20 minute long youtube videos lampooning movies for “not making sense”. If there’s anything that breaks his suspension of disbelief, his attention and tolerance disintegrates, even if it’s just one of those things that needs to happen to move the plot along. It doesn’t really matter what genre it is, though he is most hard on sci-fi and fantasy. There is a tipping point for him, however, where he starts enjoying the thrill of blasting something and circles back around to enjoying it.

Talents and/or Powers: Odwain is only a little bitty bit magical, and only because Bennai are the most magical race on The Road. He has latent magical ability that allows him to sense magical signatures and incorporate magic into technology, and maybe cast a low level spell if he tries really hard. If he was in a high fantasy setting, he’d be an enchanter. His staff (the big lightbulb thing I draw him with sometimes), the Hercules Rig, his Wasp Suite (robotic wasps with an AI and different spells loaded into them) and any other devilish, bug-based weapons and utility objects do his work for him.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Odwain’s a bit of a tough walnut to crack because I think that he shines in moments of sincerity and vulnerability, but he has to, well, get there. He’s capable of very great, thoughtful acts of selflessness and compassion, and deeply desires meaningful relationships with other people, but he gets insecure about how he expresses himself and can clam up. He’s passionate, emotional and expressive, but has been put down for being so, and was probably a very brilliant, curious child who was beaten down into a somber adult. I actually think that, at some point in his childhood, he was not entirely unlike Whitty in the way that he was eager to share things with people and explore the world around him, which is why Odwain feels very protective of his grandson. I think the most lovable thing about him is that when he’s at his best, nothing can stop him - he’s extremely intelligent, diligent, creative and innovative. He truly, deeply loves making things, and making them better, and when he’s not in a crash, creates prolifically. What he loves, he loves deeply and without compromise, which makes Rusty, a person that could also be said of, a good match for him. I also think his cattiness makes him very witty, he’s a genuinely funny guy who can engage in some really goofy shenanigans when he’s feeling up for it.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Oh, lots of reasons. Odwain is an acquired taste to many, or just not to many’s taste at all. He is very petty, blunt and catty, and as a young man is extremely bitter and negative. You’d be very hard pressed to get a positive statement about anything out of him between the ages of 16-25. He’s very confrontational, can become very loud and intense if it’s something that he feels is important, and is not afraid to cut people out of his life if he feels that they aren’t good for him. Sometimes, he will end relationships/friendships prematurely because of this. Being such, he is heavily prone to self-inflicted isolation. He has no childhood friends, and only kept in touch with one person from college. He just cuts and runs. Odwain’s self-loathing runs very deep, which makes it hard for him to accept, or ask for, emotional support or affection. And that can be hard on the people around him who care about him. His executive dysfunction can also be abysmal, making it seem like perhaps he is messy or lazy, but he’s just kind of a mess himself, hah.

A weird non-psychological one but I think is enough to get someone’s hackles up is that Odwain doesn’t like animals very much unless they are insects, invertebrates, etc. He finds mammals loud, messy and needy, and that “I’m the only one in my house that is allowed to be all of those things”.

How They Change: As Odwain ages and gains a stable support network of friends, his edges soften and he learns how to ask for help more effectively. He also learns how to better choose his battles, and how to exercise the compassion that he knows he has, but has been too insecure to utilize. He manages his mental health better, but is never entirely free of it, because you never really are. Most importantly, I think, he learns how to forgive the people who deserve forgiveness, and give people second chances, accepting that people can change. Which means the same can be said for him, too.

Why You Love Them: I’ve talked about this before, somewhere, I’m sure. Odwain is one of those characters that has a very big slice of my personality, and has a lot of my more negative traits, though they are ones we’re both working on. My first session with Odwain was a scene where Odwain’s dad died after being ill for a very long time, and as it happens, it was on father’s day, on the first or second father’s day after MY dad died, after several brutal months fighting with the cancer that eventually killed him. I had to put down the dice, so to speak, and for a short time, thought that Odwain might actually be a character that I scrapped completely. He came too close to something very painful and personal. I don’t remember how, exactly, but the solution to this problem of mine was that if he’s getting close to me on his own, then I might as well just let him in on everything. I can genuinely say that doing that has changed the way that I empathize with my characters and how I make them, and that there is something I share with Odwain that I don’t have with many of my other characters. Also, I like bees.

#odwain #tyromedico

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lxveille · 7 years

Text

sunshowers

the8 x reader

word count: ~9100 a/n: gang!au; warnings for mentions of violence, drugs, and for minor depictions of sex (so technically slightly nsfw - but you’ll probably be disappointed if that’s the main thing you’re looking for !!)

In a city plagued by increasing gang activity, Xu Minghao was only first drawn in for the sense of belonging that came with being part of something bigger than himself. He breaks his own heart when he falls in love with the peace activist who moves in down the hall.

When Minghao first heard a loud bang in the hallway of his run-down apartment building, he’d jumped in his seat. He promptly scolded himself mentally for such a reaction; if he weren’t alone, his company would surely be ridiculing him for being so easily startled. But thankfully he was alone in the same studio apartment he’d first moved into two years ago, sitting with the same soft quilt his mother had sent him on the first birthday he spent away from home. At that point in time he’d already begun the initiation process. If his mother knew that he’d so quickly let himself be drawn into one of the city’s infamous gangs, Minghao doubted he would have received any gift at all.

After the initial thankfulness that none of his friends are there to laugh at his initial alarm, the concern that sometimes came with being alone crept up on Minghao. His building was usually fairly quiet. It may have been situated in a troubled neighborhood, but the chaos was normally on the streets, not within these thin, wall-papered walls. But it was always an option, no matter how much quiet dread it filled him with, that just by living here he’d encourage something dark and violent up the stairs and to his doorstep.

He had to remind himself that he’s dealt with a fair share of horrible things before he slipped out from under the blanket and made his way cautiously to his door. The peephole was useless to him; a previous tenant had fainted it over while trying to spruce up the interior and it seemed no amount of picking at paint would make it possible to actually see through the fisheyed glass ever again.

He left the bolted chain locked when he opened the door an inch to look outside. In the hallway was an odd scene. An open door at the end of the hall, a large trunk-style suitcase at the landing of the stairs, and a young woman sprawled out on the floor between the two, eyes closed and slack-jawed.

The worst possible option jumped to mind first. Things had been worse lately. New groups were encroaching on established gangs’ territories, altercations and hospitalizations were both on the rise along with public outrage at what they saw as an infestation of violent youth. A dead woman showing up in his hallway would fit with the luck Minghao had being having.

(“If you thought she was dead,” Jun pointed out when he recounted this story later that night, “You should’ve have just stayed in your place.” The lot of them were loitering out back of Seventeen’s preferred bar at the time. Minghao wouldn’t have been so quick to tell others about the encounter if it hadn’t been for liqour smearing his sense of good from questionable ideas.)

So maybe he thought you were dying instead. There’s a world of difference between the past and progressive. Because it was true: dead would mean he should leave it to some other neighbor to come across the scene and deal with it all. The last thing Minghao needed was his name on record with the police in any capacity. But dying -- well, dying meant there could be a chance to be saved.

That notion, however faint or wishful it may have felt, was why the door slammed loudly against the wall when he threw it open. And thanks to that commotion, Minghao’s worries were quickly dispelled as you sat up immediately. He froze and stared into your eyes, widened with surprise at his sudden appearance. You were fine, he quickly realized, and his ears burned with embarrassment at how quickly he’d worried over a stranger.

“What are you doing lying around in the hallway?” he snapped after a few moments ticked by in silence. He’d been trying to emulate the way Seungcheol or Soonyoung could yell at simple passersby and intentional trespassers alike in order to keep it so the only ones around were those who were already part of Seventeen.

You smiled and apologized as if there had been no aggression in his tone at all. “I thought moving myself in would be easy, but I swear everything is two times heavier going upstairs,” you explained with a laugh. It seemed to come to you so easily, without an ounce of irony or edge.

He blamed that breezy laughter later for why he offered to help you finish moving your packed bags and belongings into the small apartment opposite his own.

Your studio was a flipped image of his own. The layout was essentially identical. Except where his kitchenette was on the right, yours stood to the left of the door. Your east-facing window mirrored his west-facing once. And, after you offered to make him tea as a means of thanking him for help, he noticed even your green kettle stood at the opposite side of the color wheel from the red sitting on his own stovetop.

“I’ve wanted to strike out on my own for a while,” you provided the information without his prompting. The two of you were sat on the floor surrounded by suitcases and cardboard boxes. The only things you bothered to unpack was your kettle, two mismatched mugs and a box of silver needle tea. “So I saved up, and now I’m here.” You glanced up at the ceiling with a look of wonder that would have been better suited for the Sistine Chapel than the dull, gray plaster overhead.

Minghao hardly registered that he was telling you about how he came to be living abroad until he was already halfway through the story. It caught him off guard to hear his own voice confessing to how lonely and claustrophobic this building had felt when he first moved in. He left out how he found a way out of that solitude, the part where he met Mingyu and Jun his first week here. How he hardly knew how infamous a gang Seventeen was until he was well on his way to being considered full-fledged member.

“But you’re doing better now, right?” you asked with such compassion that Minghao was glad he could honestly tell you yes. He’d made friends; no, he wasn’t so lonely anymore. He left out the how and who. It was easy to tell from your demeanor that you wouldn’t be impressed by those details.

“I am,” he confirmed simply. His tongue itched to offer you company should any similar troubles ever crawl under your skin. Somehow, in the slight panic that the realization of this set upon him, he ended up asking instead, “Are you alone in the city?” It took a great deal of self-control to keep from cringing at the words that came haphazardly past his lips. Of all things, sounding like a creep had been the least of his intentions.

“I grew up on the other side of the city, actually,” you responded with a smile that helped soothe his self-inflicted shame. “But you’re the only friend I have in… probably a fifteen-block radius from here.”

He was conflicted. There was a part of him that had been trained in repartee and harsh teasing with his fellow members; that side wanted to challenge you, ask just who the hell said the two of you were friends. The other part of him was too flattered by the sudden offer of amity to allow such cold words to be directed your way.

“Sorry I don’t have anything to welcome you to the neighborhood,” he said to avoid stumbling into some strange mix of the two.

“Don’t be! Helping me get everything up here is plenty welcome for me.”

A third, more worrisome voice, chimed in later that night as Minghao was lying in bed. It asked just how it was that you grew up here, that you knew how dangerous the city could be, and that you could be so open with a neighbor you’d only just met at the same time. It fretted over what traits that indicated in you, what vulnerabilities it exposed in you. But that night he dreamt of lingering in your apartment with your softness and the fragrance of white tea all the same.

The worst of what it could have indicated to Minghao was confirmed the next afternoon, when he ran into you in the first floor hallway of the building. You were unlocking your small, silver-doored mailbox just as he was coming down the stairs to go meet up with Soonyoung and Chan. You greeted him with a smile and a wave, and Minghao noticed the symbolic white ribbon embroidery with olive-green leaves tied neatly around your wrist. He hadn’t noticed it the day before. He doesn’t need to ask what it means.

It would be easier if you were repping some rival gangs colors, he thought to himself as he made his way through busy streets with his head down. At least you’d be in the life if that were the case. At least there may have a chance you’d find some appeal in the darkest parts of him.

But there was no such luck. Instead, you were part of that rising group of anti-gang protestors. Half the city (and certainly all the gangbangers) was uncertain what exactly they expected to accomplish. They made an awful lot of noise, though, gathering in public places with signs urging for people not to accept the way things have changed or shouting on about how peace just needed one chance to flourish. Seungcheol called them pests. Mingyu thought them harmless, even good for a laugh or two. Jeonghan and Jun theorized that the lot of them must be helping fund at least a few gang with whatever drugs they must be on.

Minghao, with a cap pulled low over his eyes as he only half-listens to the typical joking around of his fellow members, found himself caring for the first time about what might happen when one of the gangs get sick of starry-eyed activists telling them they need to give up their lifestyle.

“Hey! Earth to Hao!” Jun knocked his shoulder with an open palm, “Are you listening?”

“What?” he gave away that he clearly hadn’t, and both Jun and Chan groaned.

“We were asking,” Mingyu drew out the phrase to emphasize how little he cared for the spaced-out attitude Minghao had brought along that day, “if you got anywhere with that not-dead neighbor yet.”

“What about her?” he did his best to sound uninterested in this whole topic of conversation.

“Jun says you think she’s hot,” Chan prompted.

“I didn’t say that.” Minghao shot a frustrated look in Jun’s direction. It wasn’t much of a surprise the Jun had embellished last night’s story. It was just unlucky that Jun had decided to go in the direction of fuckable-damsel rather than any other option.

“Then why’d you nearly take your door off its hinges to check she was still breathing” Jun questioned, as if this were undeniable proof.

“My door is fine,” he said in a sigh, “And she’s not my type.”

The next time he saw you was in public, with everything far too close to colliding for his tastes.

He was on his way to meet up with a few other members to finish up the details of a deal Seungcheol was set on closing that night. Cutting through the park was meant to be a shortcut.

His pace slowed against his will when he spotted a whole gaggle of peace protesters in the center square. Minghao was in the middle of telling himself that he was absolutely not keeping an eye out for you when he spotted you.

In the midst of the crowd, you were sat cross-legged next to some boy who was all soft-lines and smiles with a guitar in his lap. And you -- you looked like you’d been dropped in his path that day as some cruel reminder from fate of all the things he no longer was. You were laughing, eyes closed and shoulders loose in ease with silhouettes of leaves and branches across your skin from the sunlight streaming through the treetops above you. There were a couple flowers tucked into your hair and a girl in a pastel sundress leaning her head in your lap as she laughed along.

It made his stomach twist to think that with this gathering so nearby, Seventeen would still be meeting up in one of the parking lots to discuss how they’d try to make sure no one got killed during a hand-off of drugs.

He reasoned with himself that he was infatuated with some vague idea of you. Two weeks went by of seeing each other in passing. Every smile and insistence that he really ought to come back over for tea sometimes only made it harder for Minghao to convince himself that you weren’t as lovely as he imagined. He felt tenser when hanging around with the boys now; he preferred when they were inside anywhere rather than out in the open. He couldn’t imagine you would frequent any of the same places as a street gang. And it had taken no time at all for him to begin dreading when you might spot him with Seventeen and suddenly stop inviting him over. Even though he never accepted them, it would sting to stop being welcome any time, as you so often put it.

Minghao didn’t imagine you were the sort to go out. He pictured you tucking into bed at reasonable hours, sleeping through sirens and dreaming of pleasant things. Sitting on his fire escape near three in the morning one Saturday night, he found himself proven wrong.

Laughter announced your arrival around the corner. He closed his eyes, cursed himself for knowing it was you by the sound alone, and then searched out the sight of you.

You were walking backwards down the sidewalk, arm outstretched and hand linked with that same gentle looking guitarist from the park. Under the streetlamps, Minghao can see faint glimmers reflecting in your hair and stuck to your clothing. Traces of the same metallic confetti were spotted on the boy walking you home as well, but they don’t strike him as looking as ethereal as they did on you. You were going on excitedly about something that he couldn’t quite make out. A trail of sparkles fell from you with every emphatic gesture you made.

He told himself he should crawl back through his propped open window and put you out of his mind. Not a single muscle moved in response to the thought. (Except perhaps his poor heart beating out a protest, asking why he couldn’t relish in the sight of you just this once.)

The guitarist laughed loudly, the sound cutting through the chill that was coming with the end of summer just as yours had moments before. Minghao leaned forward, one shoulder pressing into the metal guard railing of the fire escape, as he watched the boy lift his hand and lead you into an impromptu twirl.

Your face tilted up as you spun, and he swore your eyes met with his for the fleeting moment you’d been looking in his direction.

Whether it was then or not, you confirmed you had spotted him sitting outside his window once you reached the front door of the building. First, you said goodbye to the guitarist. Then, when Minghao had thought you would unlock the door and start the trek up five flights of stairs, you tilted your head up once more and took a few steps off the sidewalk and into the empty street in order to get a better look at him.

“You’re up late!” you called in greeting.

“You’re out late,” he didn’t shout back as loud as you had, trusting the air to carry his voice well enough.

“Can I join you?” you proceeded to ask with no preamble. With no excuse than wanting to see him, Minghao noted with a smile that slipped too easily onto his lips.

“You’re gonna have to make it up the stairs first.”

“Now, just who do you think I am that I won’t make it?” It almost could have sounded like anger if not for your infectious grin.

“I’ll unlock my door then.”

He did. And not long after, you appeared inside his apartment and took his hand when he held it out to help you crawl out the window onto the fire escape with him. Closer now, he could see that there was glitter and bits of dried paint dotted on your clothes and skin.

“Were you up to some late night arts and crafts?” he asked as you settled in cross-legged next to him.

“Some of the time,” you admitted with a laugh, “We threw a… kinda love-in, I guess some people call it, at this old warehouse where some gang fight reportedly broke out about a month back.”

Minghao’s stomach flipped at the explanation. “We being… the whole anti-violence crowd you hang out with?” He knew the answer already,

You nodded happily and carried on, “It was amazing. It felt like everyone was just on this one wavelength. And, sometimes even I have trouble buying into the philosophy of, like… karmic cleansing, but it honestly felt like we’d slipped into an ideal world for a couple hours.”

An ideal world, Minghao understood, meant one where gangs hangouts were converted into places of dancing and painting and god only knew what else. One where gangs didn’t exist at all.

He thought of Jeonghan and Jun’s theory about the peace activists using drugs without meaning to. But your eyes were clear, your speech was normal, and there weren’t any signs of jitters from you at all. He was relieved at the same time he resented himself for even a passing suspicion of you using.

“You should have been there,” you said next, resting your chin on a knee pulled up to your chest.

“...Don’t really think it’d be my kind of scene.”

“You think the movement is silly?” You accused him without sounding anything more than amused. His mouth parted with the impulse to deny it, but he failed to summon any such words. “It’s okay if you do. You’re not the only one.”

“It’s a nice idea,” he fumbled for a way out of small pit of guilt he’d stumbled into, “But it’s also…”

“I know,” you chuckled out before Minghao could decide upon an adjective that would manage to be honest without coming across too harsh. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I’ve pretty much heard them all. It is idealist, and wishful, and it can look naive on the outside, and it --”

“It’s dangerous,” he cut in, and regret promptly began to boil up his throat when the smile disappeared from your face. “Did I find a new one?” he asked after too many seconds had passed for it to possibly be the tension breaker he desperately wished it could be.

“No. You just sound like my parents now.”

He flinched at the impact of your tone. Disappointed. Disheartened.

“I know it might be,” you spoke up once more, “But there’d be no point in it if it wasn’t. We wouldn’t need to be sharing our message if it wasn’t. The very fact that our city is dangerous is why we spend so much time shouting about love. You know? I don’t recognize my city in our crime rates. I don’t recognize our generation in the police blotters. And I won’t let the world look at us as say we were too scared to say anything about it.”

It was obviously the kind of thing you’d recited before, or that you were repeating back from hearing one of your friends say. But that did little to take away from the earnestness in your tone. Everything he’d heard when you’d likened his point to your parents had shifted, had warped into a desperate need to be heard and to be understood.

He wanted to talk you out of it. He wanted to shout, almost, about how little words will do once someone decides they want to do something to shut you up. And how that day will only come faster if your group keeps trying to make violent, disastrous places into things that glow and lift spirits.

Minghao couldn’t bring himself to do it. He feared giving himself away. He feared upsetting you.

“Promise you’ll be careful,” he settled on as an alternative. This brought something new to your features. Your gaze softened, the spark of passion for your cause dimmed into something mindful and curious. Your hands fell to your sides and fingers grasped lightly at the metal frame holding the two of you. This time he was willing to bet from your reaction that he had managed to say something you hadn’t already heard too much.

“Okay,” you agreed, suddenly down to nothing more than a whisper, “I will.”

Such worry for you didn’t consume him again until three weeks later, when he trudged his way up the stairs of the apartment building with bruised knuckles and a split lip. For reasons Minghao could only imagine being torn up over, you were about to make your way downstairs when you spotted one another.

“What happened?” you fretted over him, hands coming to rest upon his shoulders before he could come up with any plan of escaping the situation. He looked like hell, he knew that much. Minor hell, by the standards of anyone in a gang. Probably full-fledged awful to someone as starry-eyed as you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tried to shrug you off, but you were set upon getting a more conclusive answer. “Please,” Minghao all but spat the word as he moved past you on the stairs.

“Minghao,” you followed him back up to the landing and down his direction of the hallway, “You can’t possibly show up like that and I think I won’t worry!”

“I’m telling you not to.” He squeezed his key in his sore palm, the metal teeth dug into his flesh painfully.

“That’s not gonna work.”

“I can’t tell you,” he growled the admission, turning on his heels to give you a soured look. He hoped, stupidly, that hurting you with distance and dishonesty would be better than the truth.

You didn’t stumble away or yell at him. You weren’t on the verge of tears. You nearly passed for calm if it weren’t for the hands clutched to your chest. The posture wasn’t entirely unlike that of prayer. “Then can’t I at least help you?” you entreated, and broke all his resolve to close you out.

“I’m keeping you from something,” Minghao complained vaguely on your behalf as you settled once more on to the side of the bathtub with him. At that point, you had already cleaned and wrapped the wounds on his hands. You’d dabbed gently at the blood around his mouth and now you were back from the kitchen with ice wrapped up in a hand towel.

“This is more important,” you reassured him as you pressed the cold pack to his bruised eye with a steadier hand than he anticipated. He dared to understand your words to mean he was more important.

He wanted to kiss you right then. He would have kissed you if it wouldn’t have stung his swollen lips. If it wouldn’t have forced the taste of iron onto your tongue.

Two nights later, Minghao finally accepted your long-standing offer to come over for tea again.

There was a world of difference between your apartment on the day he’d met and the one he walked into that afternoon. There wasn’t a corner he could look at that didn’t radiate with life. While you were occupied with the kettle, Minghao looked over all the photos, the knick-knacks and souvenirs, the saved ticket stubs and birthday cards the filled your apartment with your vibrancy.

Despite the rain that pattered against the window, he felt as warm as if he were standing in a room flooded with sunlight.

Minghao picked up wood-carved figurine of a swan he spotted sitting on your window sill. Once he turned it over in his hand, he saw faded marker reading simply ‘love always - CSY’. He set it down before he could be caught looking at it too intently. It wasn’t his intention to become an intruder.

“You must hate it in here,” you commented with a smile as you filled two mugs. Unlike the first time he’d sat across from you to drink tea, the cups matched this time.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, amusement trickling into his tone even if he was a bit taken aback by your sudden assumption.

“Well, your place is so minimalist in comparison. Be honest, do you think I’m a hoarder?” you joked, fingertips tapping lightly against the glass cupped delicately in your hands.

“It does kind of look like a thrift store might have blown up in here,” he conceded, smiling wider with each syllable. It seemed to delight you, judging from the way you laughed into the steam drifting up from your tea. “But it all fits together, doesn’t it?”

“Somehow or another,” you agreed, looking around at the crowded spaces of your apartment.

“I definitely see now why all your things were so heavy when you moved in.”

“I already have more than when I moved in.” This admission made Minghao raise his eyebrows in judgement and shake his head with a laugh. Honestly speaking, it didn’t surprise him as much as he acted like it did. For example, he could have guessed the old protest sign propped up on the wall beside your closet door wasn’t something you’d brought all the way across the city. (‘Compassion > Punishment’ it read in large, brightly painted words. Smaller text beneath it that clarified ‘accessible counseling for addicts.’ He wondered if Jeonghan and Jun had ever seen that message when they went scoffing past your group’s demonstration.)

“What are you gonna do when you move again?” he questioned. “You barely made it the first time.”

“Good thing I’m planning on sticking around for a while.” You shrugged.

“Ah, clearly that won’t be good! You’ll just keep collecting even more stuff you’ll eventually want to pack up!” He waved an accusatory hand around at the lovely variety of keepsakes surrounding him.

“Hey, that’s --!” you started as if offended, only to break into a clipped laugh. “That’s true but you don’t have to call me out on it!”

“If I don’t, who will?”

A look flickered across your face that nearly made Minghao regret that response. Not because it was one of anger, or annoyance, but because for a split second he saw your generally friendly countenance slip into something deeper. There was a fondness that he hadn’t been prepared to spot in the curve on your lips and the gleam in your eyes.

“You’re not gonna convince me to throw anything out, though. You realize that, right?” You took a guess as to what plots Minghao could have in mind while pointing out just how many sentimental things you kept around the house.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I can recognize a lost cause, thank you very much,” he replied with a teasing twitch to his smile. It would do better than saying he already felt he had no power over you; that he had no will to deny you anything that made you happy. You looked surprised by his comment for a moment, but the spark in your gaze was enough to assure him that you weren’t offended.

The rhythm of raindrops continued against the glass, but it was at this point in the afternoon that both of you noticed the way the room lightened suddenly, light coming through in a few distinct beams. You were the first to stand up, abandoning your tea in favor of going to the window to take in the changing weather. Minghao watched you for a moment before following suit, coming up beside you to see how some of the dark storm clouds were scattering. Even if they still emptied out over the city, they’d parted in enough places to let the sun peek through in places.

“Today turned out nice after all,” Minghao commented on the shift, one hand settled on the frame of your window. In his peripheral, he saw you nod.

“It wasn’t so bad to begin with,” you said after a moment, shoulder leaning into his side to accompany the lighthearted chuckle you gave.

He turned his head to look at you directly. Your gaze was already fixed upon him. He sighed out all hesitation at the sight of you so close. One of you must have been the first to lean forward, but Minghao could never quite recall which way it’d gone. Sometimes he remembered it as a swift rush of courage that sent him reeling towards you; other times it was you, in his mind’s eye, coming closer and looking like you were made of sunbeams yourself before you kissed him for the very first time.

Minghao felt officially that he was living a double life after that rainy afternoon.

He’d already been omitting parts of his life from you, and from his fellow members. It hadn’t felt nearly as risky when you were just the neighbor he was carelessly besotted with. It was different now that he would knock on your apartment door without even going into his own first when he came home at the end of the day. There was far more on the line now that he kissed you on a regular basis.

An evening came when the two of you stumbled down the hall between your doors, kissing all the way. The clumsily, mobile makeout motivated solely by the fact that Minghao had condoms in his bedside drawer where you didn’t. Everything he hadn’t yet mentioned weighed heaviest on his mind that night, as he laid with you in the dark with your head resting on his chest.

“They’re getting to be a bother,” Jihoon commented on the peace activists in the middle of smokey basement one night. “They flooded the place we were gonna have a drop the other night and scared off the dealer.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan agreed with no shortage of irritation, “It was one thing when they were just shouting about loving neighbors but they’re actually getting in the way now.”

“I heard they got one of NCT’s runners arrested, actually,” Chan offered, only to met with some doubtful jeers. “No, really!”

These kinds of conversations were becoming more common. Minghao was always quiet during them, but he listened attentively.

One day it came: one member pointing out how the activists were far from subtle in their planning. How easy it’d to show up at one of their events. How effective it might be to make a few things painfully clear to the lot of them. How it was beginning to feel necessary to draw a line and ensure each one knew where it was. At this point, Seungcheol pointed out, there were practically a gang unto themselves; with colors and a signature item wrapped around their wrists or arms.

He placed his hopes in the fact that it would still be a low to go after people who outright refused violence, who claimed they wouldn’t take up arms even if they were staring down a gun. There would be no pride or glory in beating any one of them. But pure resentment, Minghao knew with a sinking feeling in his gut, could outweigh these things.

These concerns were almost forgotten the day they came to fruition. He’d been hanging out with a handful of the members like in the early days, before even Minghao himself had realized the extent of what being part of Seventeen meant. There was laughter, and ease, and it was difficult to imagine every feeling betrayal or resentment towards any one of them. The casualness with which his friends brought up crashing a demonstration happening that even crushed him.

He didn’t manage to think of a reason he could give them for why he wasn’t going. Blind urgency made him slip away at the first chance he got.

He needed you to be home. He needed the chance to save you from being there when everything went to hell. He couldn’t let you go. He had to tell you the truth, he thought at first. But then he imagined the truth might drive your good-natured heart over to the demonstration all the faster.

He pounded on your door five times in succession, barely restraining himself from shouting out your name in desperation. As soon as the door opened, he took you into his arms and kissed you fiercely. There was a squeak of surprise that was muffled against his lips. You took a few steps backwards and he mirrored your steps, mouth still heavy on yours with each footfall.

“Minghao,” you panted as you finally broke free, “what--?”

“I love you,” he spilled over with feeling; it was the first time he’d told you that. And the only answer you could manage in that instant was to cup his face and kiss him all over again. He pulled you as close as he could.

Using a route he’d memorized by now, Minghao guided your linked forms over to your bedside. His hands roamed from your shoulders and base of your neck to trail down your spine and splay across your hips. His fingers dug small, desperate circles into the fabric of your clothing and dotted kisses along your cheek. “Tell me it’s okay,” he requested, voice low and dripping in unfettered emotion.

You said his name twice over with your fingers half-tangled in his hair. There was a pause between the repetitions, like you were searching out something important that you needed to tell him. He worried you wanted to tell him you didn’t have time for this right now. That you would insist that there was a gathering you couldn’t miss. He pressed himself closer, knocking the back of your knees into the edge of your mattress in the process.

“Please.” If there’d been any other sound in the room, or perhaps even anywhere else in the building, you likely would have missed the single-worded plea that slipped past Minghao’s lips. His mouth hovered over the skin behind your ear, his nose pressed into your hair. While his hands didn’t relent, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you again without some kind of encouragement from you.

“I love you too,” you managed to say through a thrumming heartbeat and a familiar rush that came with having Minghao only a few layers of fabric away from you. “It’s okay.”

He had the opposite reaction he’d anticipated at the words. His grip on your hips slipped and he felt himself take a half-step backwards to get a better look at you. Your hands moved down, resting on the front of his shirt instead as a result of his sudden retreat.

“I mean it,” he reiterated, needing you to understand that this wasn’t just a haze of lust compelling him to say heedless things.

“I do, too.”

He was relieved to be looking at you face on when you said it that time, even if indirectly. You were no good at concealing things when it came to your expressions. Deception wasn’t in your wheelhouse to begin with, but sincerity seemed to be your eyes’ only option. He murmured your name as if it were an epiphany, and then he came back to being just as close as before.

You led him down, pulling gently at his shirt as you let yourself sink to your mattress. His head dipped into the crook of your neck as he pressed his lips gradually to every bit of flesh you exposed to him with the slow unbuttoning of your blouse. He was in no rush, happy to linger and backtrack to spots he’d already left damp with open-mouthed kisses.

Once you’d made it to the last button, he helped you in gathering the loose materials and pulling it from your form altogether. The rest of your garments followed shortly after, shirts and pants and undergarments all pooled into one careless pile on the floor beside your bed.

Minghao took his time ensuring no inch of you went untouched. Your soft fingertips sent chills and fire alike across his skin. It didn’t have to be your first time together for this to be the one that truly sent him over the edge. He sought out your lips as if you were his source for oxygen, refusing to move at any pace that would make kissing you all the while any harder.

Everything overwhelmed him at once. He came with repeated stammerings of your name in a groan. It was followed swiftly by a break of breath that got caught in his throat. Your hands came up to his shoulders, your voice turning worried at the sound of his sudden sob. Minghao buried his head into the space on the pillow beside your head, unsure how to explain why he was suddenly crying.

“Talk to me,” you urged him, your arms wrapping tighter around him as he chest pressed into yours with another heave of teas.

“I love you,” he repeated once more. No matter how he racked his brain, this was the only reason he could name for this vulnerable display. You shifted beneath him and kissed his temple gently.

“It’s alright” you whispered against his ear, “Right? You’re okay, Minghao?”

He nodded, and prayed some corner of his mind was memorizing this sensation. Wrapped in your arms, surrounded by your sheets with nothing but your caring voice in his ear. The only term he could think of to summarize it was bliss.

The air had calmed in your apartment. Quiet conversation peppered the otherwise wordless cuddling. The two of you were still tangled up in the sheets when your phone rang a while later.

“Don’t answer it,” he asked of you, arms around your waist and lips brushing against your bare shoulders.

“I have to; they’re probably mad enough I didn’t show up without any warning beforehand,” you told him, confirming his fear that it was a fellow peace protester on your caller ID.

He stayed lying on his side on your bed as you sat up and pressed your phone to your ear. The cheerfulness in your voice as you greeted your friend on the other end of the line disappeared quickly as you listened to her response.

“What? Slow down,” you said, panic already creeping into your tone, “What happened?” Minghao squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to imagine what information must be coming through now. “Where are you now?” you asked, standing up from the bed and beginning to search out clean clothes even with only one hand free. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No, no -- stay there. No, I promise. I’m not letting you leave there alone. Just give me… twenty minutes? Is that okay?” You drummed your fingers nervously against your dresser as you listened to the response. “Of course it’s fine. I’m gonna be there for you, okay? Just hang in there a little longer.”

You didn’t stop getting ready to leave the whole time your shaken voice tried to summarize what had happened to Minghao. Your friend had called from the police station, where she had just been giving a statement on exactly how a nonviolent demonstration had gone to hell.

By gang standards, the damage was minimal. Mostly bruises, with a few broken bones that had sent two or three peace protesters to the hospital for casts and splints.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” you told Minghao when he reached out for your hand. All he wanted was to comfort you. Or maybe to seek forgiveness even if you weren’t mad at him yet.

“You should take this off,” he suggested, one finger hooking through the slack of the white ribbon tied around your wrist. “I don’t like the thought of you going out there with a target painted on your back.”

“It’s not,” you tried to argue, shaking your head with your bottom lip caught between your teeth in distress.

“If they’ve decided it’s okay to come after those involved in the anti-gang protests--” And it took more effort than he’d anticipated to say they rather than we, “-- then it is now.”

This convinced you. And knowing you’d left the ribbon on your bedside table was the only relief he had for the rest of the day.

There was no place he felt certain of himself after that. It tore at his heart to be away from you, worrying that you could end up with even minor injuries. It troubled him all the more to picture those he considered brothers as the ones who would inflict them. But guilt clawed too often at his throat when he was with you now.

A number of instances passed where Minghao began to think of ways to come clean to you. Usually, it was in the moments when you were frowning at your phone screen or quietly agonizing over things he couldn’t bring himself to ask you explain.

Two feeble reasons let him sleep beside you all the same. The truth would only hurt you more. He could do more to keep you safe by keeping his own affiliation from you.

But his choice in the matter of honesty was ripped away from Minghao one afternoon in a matter of minutes, with hours that passed before he found out himself.

Nevertheless, he knew something was wrong as soon as he reached the stop of the stairs that evening. When he turned to head down the hallway to his apartment’s locked door, he saw you sitting on the floor in front of it. Your eyes were closed, head leaning back against the poorly painted wood. Smears of makeup on your cheeks gave away that you had been crying.

Minghao rushed to close the distance, immediately crouching in front of you to ask what was wrong. He asked who hurt you with his gaze scanning desperately over your form without seeing any signs of injury.

Too many moments tick by with you remaining silent in the face of his anxious questions. “Please be honest with me,” you stated after a moment, opening bloodshot eyes to meet his at last. He nodded with only the desire to help you blaring in the front of his mind.

“You’re with them, aren’t you? You’re part of…” You failed to finish the rephrasing, but he could see it all in the mistrust and heartbreak that colored your expression. He crumpled forward, forehead nearly touching your shoes. This was not enough to satisfy your hurt. “Tell me. Minghao, tell me yourself!” Your voice cracked over the demand, and he knew that you were crying all over again.

“How did you find out?” he asked lieu of giving you the concrete confession that you sought. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head to look at you. He felt he could barely move an inch, as though his bones were suddenly made of thousand-ton stones.

Your crying kept you from being able to answer right away. It was difficult to endure your weeping when he knew he was the cause of it all. “Two of them were looking for you. All I heard was pounding on the door and people calling your name,” you managed to tell him once your sobs began to settle, “They both had Seventeen’s colors on anyway but they said plenty to make it clear who they’re with when I asked why they were looking for you.”

Frantically, he looked back over his day to try to figure out when he’d been apart from both you and them. To try to deduce who must have come to drag him out of his apartment, and to figure out from that alone how bad whatever you’d heard had been. But focus escaped him and shattered every coherent train of thought he started. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He asked the only thing that mattered in the end. “Please, tell me that you--”

“I’m fine.” They were difficult words to believe when they wavered with the remnants of tears. He saw your feet move first, shuffling away and pressing back into the door behind you as you stood up shakily. He lifted his head to look up at you desperately. “Let me go,” you said breathily. It must have been that eye contact alone was holding you in place.

He heard your door slam. He could swear he heard your crying continue from down the hall, despite two closed doors in between you.

Minghao stayed away from the apartment as much as he could in the days that followed. The thought of casually running into you was practically devastating. He didn’t need to be told that you were hurt or that you needed space. As aware of that as he was already, he also needed it just as much.

He didn’t offer any reasons to his friends why suddenly he was back into patterns of staying out all night and crashing at their various places more and more frequently. In particular, Mingyu didn’t seem to need any justification for it all. As small hours crept up and exhaustion slipped onto Minghao’s face, Mingyu would shoot him a sympathetic look and suggest they go get a few hours of sleep in.

He saw you in public once in the two weeks that came. From behind a police barrier set up to ensure the safety of the protestors, you made eye contact with him while you were in the middle of echoing back a chant about eliminating violence to the young woman shouting with a turned-over recycling bin as her podium. Your mouth stilled when he didn’t avert his eyes.

A voice chimed in inside his head, telling him harshly that he ought to turn and go as quickly as possible. This was as bad as any other imagined run-in he’d been working so hard to avoid, if not worse. Something in your gaze kept him glued to the spot all the same. With the distance, it was difficult for him to make out exactly what it was he was seeing in your steady eyes. Beyond the obvious hurt, and the surprise at seeing him in this context, there was something more that made his tongue go dry and his throat close up.

A girl by your side placed a hand on your shoulder and drew you out from your dazed stare. He watched you shake your head and give an unconvincing smile. Before she could start scanning the crowd for the cause of your changed demeanor, Minghao turned sharply on his heels and ducked his head as he began to walk away.

Four more days came and went before he heard your voice again. Just as your eyes had done, it froze him in place when it came drifting through his door.

It had started with a knock on his door some time after the sun had already sunk beyond the horizon. He’d gotten up to answer it only to stop with his hand on the doorknob when he heard you call his name from the other side.

“Don’t open the door,” you instructed. You sounded closer than even a moment before, and he imagined you leaning against the door. “Just tell me if you’re there.”

The choice of staying quiet occurred to him. If he did, there was a good chance you’d just walk away. Whatever you had to say, he wouldn’t have to find out what part of him it would break to hear. The option of opening the door came to mind as well. He could see you again, closer than he had at that last demonstration. Maybe he’d be able to catch whatever it was in your look that had been keeping him up at night.

“I’m here,” he replied, only just loud enough to be carried through the barrier between the two of you.

Thirty seconds passed before you began, “I need you to know, Minghao.” With those few words, he was already biting into the inside of his cheek, berating himself for letting hope flicker to life in his guy.

Whatever it was you wanted to tell him, you struggled to bring yourself to say it. There was an excruciating pause of silence after the preamble. His fingers shifted their loose hold on the doorknob, falling away with the thought that perhaps you’d lost the courage to speak to him already.

“What is it?” he swallowed thickly after asking, his voice giving away his fear that you’d already walked away more so than his words did.

“I still love you,” you said at last, softer than you’d spoken before. Minghao pressed his forehead to the door, disbelief and guilt coming over him in waves that were stronger than any sense of relief that small phrase could have brought him. “I don’t know what to do with it,” you continued a few beats later, “But it’s still yours. So I… I just have to tell you that.”

“Can’t I see you?” The desire tumbled out his mouth before he could second think it. No answer came beyond a small thump on the other side, leaving him to wonder what part of you had just slumped into the door. “I always meant it,” he added, voice strained with nerves he’d never quite felt when he’d referenced his love for you before.

He just barely made out the sound of his name being whispered tenderly through the door. It pushed the need to see to you to the very top of his list. His hand twisted quickly around the handle, and he only stepped as far away from the door as he absolutely had to in order to open it. The sudden movement sent you off balance, half your weight having been leaning into the door from one shoulder. You nearly crashed into him as you came unwittingly into his apartment.

Neither of you made any move to get rid of the sudden proximity. Your hands find his first, tentative and cold fingers lacing into his hold without a word.

“I wasn’t gonna do this,” you admitted with only a hair's width between the two of you. It’s a bad idea, he read in your worried lines of your face. He gave a few centimeters of a nod. He understood well enough how impossible a situation this was.

“Should I let you go?” It would tear his heart out all over again, but he would comply if you told him it was what you wanted. But you shook your head in refusal and grazed your lips against his own.

Neither of you sought a solution that night. The yearning you both had felt in the absence of each other came spilling out in breathy, half-said words. Effortlessly, the two of you sunk blindly into the pool of sheets on his bed. Minghao watched you move over him with adoration and the need to rediscover all you burning at his fingertips.

You pulled at his clothing, interrupted several times over when he’d guide your frantic hands to his lips to kiss them gently. There were no apologetic words that could possibly express as much repentance and care as the way he held you. His hands moved with cautious appreciation, his gaze always gauging if you were still sure this was what you wanted. Every slow kiss you gave him in return sent pulses of comfort through his whole entire being.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked in a whisper when the morning light was finally pushing through his half-closed curtains. He kept his arms around you and confessed he didn’t know.

“It can’t work like this,” you put it into the simplest terms you could find.

“I know,” he agreed, sorry eyes scanning over your face. “I can’t just leave them.”

“I know,” you echoed his own sentiment, your fingers tracing a pensive, senseless pattern against the skin of his chest. “They’re why you’re okay, aren’t they?” It’s more insight than he’d expected from you. But for all the shouting you did against gangs, it turned out you weren’t blind to the hows and whys of what let them flourish.

At the same time, it was more complicated than that. They were his friends, the closest he’d had in his entire life, but walking away wasn’t something they would let him do without consequences. Especially not if they traced the cause of it back to you. He did his best to make these conflicting thoughts clear to you.

“We could go,” you proposed later. The two of you had still yet to get up from his bed at the time. “We could get away from here.”

Wouldn’t that just be running away from your problems? This thought was closely followed by quiet realization that your leaving could be something else entirely. You’d be removing yourself from a cause you’d poured so much of yourself into.

“This is your home,” he reminded you softly, “You don’t really want to leave it behind.”

“But,” and you sat up some as you began, looking at him earnestly, “Isn’t this what I’ve been trying to convince people of for so long?” Love over violence. Life over hate. He could hardly remember which way that chant went.

After a day spent closed up together in his apartment, it was that evening that the two of you packed a bag each and made your way hand-in-hand to the station. A map was scanned for somewhere miles and miles away. One way tickets were bought, and hours were spent in a quiet serenity sat beside each other in a train car.

It was raining in the town where the two of you got off. Standing on the platform with your hair dampening and a smile on your face, Minghao found himself thinking back to your abandoned apartments, to all the belongings left behind that would gather dust before the landlord would realize that two tenants had disappeared.

“Hey,” he pulled you a bit closer to him, “You’ll tell me if you ever regret this all, won’t you?”

“Do you?” you questioned in return, concern coming into your eyes quick enough to make him nearly regret saying it to begin with.

“Not at all.” He kissed for good measure, pressing sincerity to your tongue. So long as you didn’t feel trapped by the impulse choice you’d made together, Minghao couldn’t imagine regret ever finding him for this.

Even if the two of you had come here with hardly any plan at.

(The only plan there was, he realized while laying beside you in a quiet motel room that night, was the same as one that had been on a banner you’d once waved in the middle of an idealistic crowd. Give love a chance.

So he did.)

#seventeen scenarios #xu minghao scenarios #minghao scenarios #the8 scenarios #seventeen imagines

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lilwaynelighterflick-blog · 8 years

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Criminal Minds se12 ep9

I watch a lot of Cinemasins 0:11 I bet it's a black guy 0:20 Kachow! 1:00 This better not be a Rossi episode 1:17 fuck 1:58 They showed the unsubs face. Must be a simulation. 1:59 Guns are used for personal crimes and botched robberies, not serial murders. 2:30 I knew it 2:57 she's too eager to be correct. 3:31 I watched 11 seasons of this show in 1 month. You can't get nothing past me. 3:46 Is that Pooch? From The Game? 4:45 The Womb Raider 5:07 If it *is* Pooch, it's a damn shame. 5:14 It's free liqour, shut up and take it. 5:28 She's pretty 5:43 I remember 6:05 blah blah blah 6:25 Unknown Caller = Yates 6:30 I am a boss 7:07 Oh shit 7:18 This whole, catching escaped convicts shit is boring. 7:26 I love the intro 7:53 Eight is too much 7:55 Was the loss of Hotch/Thomas Gibson so bad that they had to bring back an old character AND add two more? Ans: Yes! 8:12 CLEARLY! 8:20 Yes, it is Pooch Hall from The Game. It is also a disgrace. 9:00 Payback 9:39 He's a monster, Rossi end of story. 10:46 Probably using a burner phone. 11:52 What she means is, Prentiss was worried about you. I still can't believe PRENTISS is in charge. 11:58 I should be a writer on this show. It's so predictable. 12:45 It's the same bs every time. All she wants is for you to catch the sicko that killed her daughter. 13:06 The answer is no. 13:15 She found a man, who was probably Yates. 14:13 DO NOT SHOW HER THE PICTURE, YOU SICK BASTARD! 14:30 Heeeeeere's Johnny 14:46 So was Jody 14:55 I miss Spence 15:28 He probably liked Jody or he probably wants to be normal for a bit 15:50 He's looking for another victim, stupid 16:04 *Dj Khaled voice* Another one 16:15 Where you at Penelope? 17:17 She looks a little young for his normal vics 17:35 ...so close....yet so far 18:03 Damn it, Yates 8:13 Say he didn't profile ONE more fucking time JJ. I fucking dare you 19: 14 Yes bitch, fight. 19:15 🎶I had the time of my life...and i owe it all to you🎶 19:48 He's probably dying 19:51 OH MY GOD! he's going on spree 20:32 Cancer? 20:36 I am so damn good. 20:48 Oh great, a big inconspicous van *eye roll* 20:49 I'm going to start driving a huge murdery van around and when the police pull me over, instead of dead bodies, they'll find art supplies and pizza boxes. 21:50 Probably his daughter. Who was played by the chick from 22 Jump Street. 22:41 She's your boss now. Put some Respeck on her name. 22:57 Rossi the barely Italian Reject. 23:23 You're a prostitute, isn't there a word on the street to not get into big creepy black vans? 23:55 She might live...they're giving her lines. 26:01 I can imagine the talk with his agent. Pooch: I was the star of a hit BET show! I am not some guest star with a total of 10 mins of screen time! Agent: Isn't your rent due? Pooch: .....It's not about that! It's about my dignity! Agent: They'll pay you 5,000. Pooch: I'll take it. 26:36 I watch Criminal Minds 26:51 que the relaxing cooking show music 27:26 Imaginary Yates is gonna be in that chair. 29:27 Do all old Harvard coots have a fondness for cigars? 29:39 Oh they will lift it 32:01 Why do I find this funny? 32:25 .......His backyard? 35:02 Y'ALL DON'T FUCK WITH ME! 35:42 Sucide by cop is how this Psycho is gone die. 36:39 I should call my mom 37:13 So so pretty 37:42 stupse 38:07 He's gonna catch up with him after class. 38:11 Bitch, I said don't fuck with me. 38:44 You a punk 40:28 Magestic speech and magestic music 41:26 I hope Pooch isn't his real name.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #pooch #dontmesswithme #i am so lonely #why did i do this

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meisteralready · 7 years

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A Supermarket at 45 rpm

1982. Reagan was still just an actor in the white house, my hometown baseball team would win the World Series, and I was turning nine years old. We didn’t have cable, my Mom and I lived in an apartment in Fenton, Mo, St. Louis County. South of the city. That summer was awesome. I think it was sunny everyday. I went camping for a whole weekend for the first time with someone other than my family. I also kissed a girl for the first time. It was on a trampoline late one afternoon in Eddie Weber’s backyard. That summer, I bought my first record as well, a 45 rpm.

All summer long, we kept hearing the same song, at the pool, in movie theater parking lots, at the field house where we would go or sno-cones after soccer practice. It started off weird, the song did, with what sounded like someone hitting empty coke bottles. The guy singing had a strange accent. It was a rock song, but it had a lotta flute in it and no, it wasn’t Jethro Tull, In the lyrics, he talked about vegemite sandwiches. I found out the name of the song was “Down Under” and the name of the band was Men At Work.

I remember being in the car with my Mom and the song came on. I quickly asked her to turn it up, which caught her attention, for this was not something I did on the reg. She chuckled at various references in the song especially “where the beer would flow and men would chunder", which I only found recently meant to puke. Mom stated, halfway in the song, “I think these guys are from Austraila”, and when the famous vegemite line was uttered, she laughed, “Oh, yeah, they’re Aussies,” adding, “your father and I knew a lot of blokes like that.”

I didn’t quite know what that meant, but she beamed with pride. My Dad and Mom, when they were first married, lived in Sydney for a few months, then Melbourne, before having to come home because my grandfather got sick and Mom found out that she was pregnant. It was hard for them to leave Australia, they were a young couple in the prime of their lives, living abroad in a friendly country (Well, friendly at least to white people at that time, aside from how they treated aborigines), and they seemed to be deeply, madly in love.

Their photo albums from that time were like highlight reels for happiness with pictures that made it seem like they’re living in heaven on earth. After they moved back, Grandpa did die and grief-stricken, Mom miscarried. Three years later, I was born, but they were miserable together and eventually got divorced. Yet Australia, was this gem of their time together and, even today, the greatest times of their lives.

Back in 1982, The DJ on the radio in the car confirmed that, indeed, Men At Work were from Australia and that they were HUUUUGEEE there. Now at that time, the only other band I knew that was from Australia was AC/DC and I was told by John Hrdlicka, my next door neighbor with the most christian mother i had ever met, that AC/DC actually meant After Christ, Devil Comes. My cousin Kathy had an album of theirs with Angus displaying his devil horns, so that, in essence, confirmed it. To a eight year old, Satan was some heavy shit.

A week or so later, Mom and I went to Schnuck’s, our neighborhood grocery store. This was the early 80s, we didn’t go out a whole lot, and going to the supermarket was a BFD. A Big Fucking Deal. Sometimes we’d see a friend of mine from school or Mom would flirt with the store manager to get double coupons on a week where there wasn’t double coupons. And Mom usually let me get something, like candy or a comic book or the like. But this time it was different.

Mom, by now six years divorced, still beautiful, and very liberated, was talking it up in the meat aisle with a guy wearing a wide-open, chest-hair-filled polyester shirt. I didn’t know him and it didn’t seem like anybody else did as well. They displayed all the signs of attraction between two people, something that, years later, I would come to recognize. He would lean in to her to tell a joke, my Mom would lilt in her laugh and shift her hips side-to-side. I didn’t even know if the jokes were good, and, being nine, kicked at the rollers on the shopping cart, and was generally, loudly bored. After an elongated “MoooOOOoooM,” she turned to me, quickly dug into her purse and handed me four bucks.

FOUR BUCKS. That was pretty incredible. Outside of Christmas cards or birthdays, it was the most money I had ever held in my hand. I was dumbfounded. “What do I do with this?” I asked. Mom, never breaking her gaze from her Meat Market Adonis shooed me away with a “whatever you want.” I walked away amazed and let them continue their budding romance next to the pork steaks. I had to get one more meat joke in.

The supermarket was now, a whole new world to me. I was willy wonka and this was my chocolate factory, everything seemed at my disposal. WHAT TO BUY WITH ALL MY RICHES? I went to the comic books - nothing new there, I had all the latest editions that were on the shelf. I looked at the candy and nothing was overly biting me - I believe I had one of those sno-cones only an hour or so earlier. I went closer to the liquor aisle, no, i was pre-pubescent wino. Near the liqour, Schnucks was trying out something new, something I had never seen before outside the local Sam Goody - a section for 45 rpm records.

Now, in the history of vinyl, these were the waning years of the record single. Tape and later CD singles would be the 7 inches’ demise, falling to an all-time sales low in 1985. And supermarkets, being the dinosaurs of change, added a 45 record section in the last dying breaths of the medium. It is though, historic to me for it was where I bought my first record, next to a guy buying a fifth of Seagram’s Gin and Similac.

I looked through the two rows of singles - Hurts So Good by John No-One-Had-Yet-Heard-of Mellencap Cougar, Abracadabra by Steve Miller Band which did not reach out and grab me, and many, many copies of Always On My Mind by Willie Nelson, which I almost bought because Willie looked like a space cowboy on the cover wearing a silver jacket, changing out his regular red bandana for some teal blue sari-looking one, all the while with weird sand dunes in the back that made him look like he was one Mars. He probably picked the album cover while stoned. Who I am kidding, everything done by Willie Nelson was done while he was stoned. Shit, if I could do that, damn right, I would. But all of us can’t be Willie Nelson. I think. What was I talking about?

Right, the record. So, I’m flipping through the singles and come across Men At Work. I knew I like the song and I distinctly remember the price tag reading $3.30. Right in my wheelhouse. So I walk up to the register and put in on the conveyor belt, and right as it was getting zapped by the mysterious green light that under the glass plate that somehow knew all the prices of everything everywhere, the cashier asked me if I was interested day-old roses that were on sale for a quarter a piece. She listlessly waved her hand toward it in such a way that I still have hope today that she finally found a job that fulfills her. Feeling rich and proud of my very unlike-eight year old purchase, I think I literally said, “Throw it on my tab.” My flirt with the cashier didn’t go as well as did the older gentleman with my mother. She sighed and I was immediately embarrassed, my only wish was to be back in the meat aisle.

I turned, defeated, to find my Mom. She and Mr.-70s-held-over were near the front of the store by the half-priced store-brand cereals that were on the endcap. I sauntered over with the rose hidden behind my back. Mom was tearing what I guess was her phone number on a piece of paper from a pad in her checkbook. This pad, usually used only for to-do lists, now included romantic encounters. As she handed it to this poor-man’s-Chuck-Barris, I pretended to be interested in a box of knock-off fruity pebbles, which I think they were called Fruit Rocks. He swaggered away and i presented my Mom with the rose. She smiled so brightly. I can still feel that kiss she gave me on my forehead.

I don’t know if that guy, who I will now always call Fruit Rocks, ever did get a hold of Mom, but what I do remember is getting home and Mom happily loading up that single on the record player. you see, I was not able to touch the hi-fi for at least another two years. The first time was when I bought my first long-playing record, which Prince’s Purple Rain, but that’s a whole other story.

That night, though, I had Mom play Side A of that 45 over and over. “Down Under” definitely brought the Thunder, which, coincidentially, is now the name of an Australian all-male stripper revue. Mom & I danced and laughed at each other for hours. I never got the drug references in the song, of which there are many, for example, “Lyin’ in a den in Bombay. With a slack jaw, and not much to say”? Really? You do the math.

OPIUM.

Dancing the night away back then with Mom is a great memory. I HATED the B-side of the record, though. I can’t even remember the name of it. It was pure crap. Some song that I have erased from my memory. I detested it so much that I got a steak knife and intentionally scratched “I HATE THIS” into the grooves. I mean, I could do it, right? It was mine. I BOUGHT it. Over the next couple months, I lost interest in the 45 and eventually, lost track of the record.

Fast forward to 2009. My Mom, after a long and truly courageous battle with an illness, passes. Yet, she lived long enough to see her only grandchild born, something she always wanted. My daughter Evangeline, who adored her. Evie looks just like Mom, and is just as funny as she was, just as kind, and is just as beautiful.

It took me a long time to go through Mom’s stuff. It sat for years. In 2015, I began. God forbid anything ever happened to me, my kid wouldn’t know what any of this stuff was. I catalogued things, wrote a bit about each box I would go through, made little quicktime movies. It helped a lot. Tremendously cathartic. One night last summer with Evangeline visiting, I open up a box marked “silverware”. It was in my Mom’s handwriting, which was always beautiful, the way all Mom’s seem to write.

Inside was no cutlery at all, instead, loose odds and ends and on top was something small, flat and wrapped in bubblewrap. I opened it. It was that old Men at Work forty-five, one side still scratched to hell with the price tag reading $3.30 staring me dead in the eye. I had never mentioned it before, in all conversations I ever had with Mom, even as an adult, that this was my first record. But she knew. She protected it. She cared.

I began to weep, softly. Evie, a little alarmed, stopped playing with her toys on the floor, came over and hugged me. She asked me what was wrong. Kinda just like what Mom would do. I told her this very story. She cried a bit as well. Eve was only two when my Mom died. She has fleeting memories. She said that she missed “Meemaw”, what she could recollect of her. She said she was sad because she could not remember her voice. We, regrettably, neglected to take many videos of her and Mom.

After a bit, Eve reached into the box and pulled out a small package. It was a rubber banded manila envelope of cassette tapes. it was marked “Austraila”, again in Virginia Meister’s expert penmanship. These were taped audio letters, sent back and forth, from Mom & Dad to each of their parents in America, while they lived abroad. One side would be of my parents’ adventures in Oz, with the other being the whole family relaying stories of back home.

Evie and I sat the rest of that night and listened to them while flipping through the treasured photo albums. She remembered her grandmother’s voice and for the first time in my life, I heard the voice of my grandfather whom I had never met.

And we played that Men At Work 45. And we danced and we laughed at each other. But we only spun “Down Under”, never that B-Side, because that other song? That was pure crap.

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