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deamstellarus · 5 years

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In Viata Asta (1)

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Summary: It was possible you’d been on your own for too long. Maybe all you needed were two boys from Brooklyn to help you find yourself again.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Uhm...some violence, language I guess?

Series Masterlist

A/N: So I started this fic last summer and I just got around to editing it, but I hope you guys like it. It starts in 2018, and we’re gonna ignore the main MCU plots after Age of Ultron (also Clint does have a secret fam but they’re his sister and nieces/nephews because it literally makes so much more sense). Definitely some canon-divergence. And I’m trying for a slow burn. Anyways... enjoy.

__________

You struggled in the dark, kicking your legs as hard as you could, trying to get close to the light you saw at the surface of the water. Your legs were useless, your body felt like lead, dragging you deeper into the abyss. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t reach the top. Just a little more…

Then you saw his face, his eyes wild. And his hand reached out toward you. You stretched for it, your fingers grazing his. He tightens his grip around yours, sending you that nervous smile he reserved for when you were in desperate situations and he wanted to reassure you. Even when it was all going to hell. You felt a tug upward, your body being pulled toward the surface.

Then there was a bullet hole in his forehead.

His hold on you was gone. His eyes frozen wide open.

You opened your mouth to scream…

You gasped awake, jolting up in bed. Panting, your hand flew to your chest. Your eyes darted around the cabin, confirming it was another nightmare. You squeezed your eyes closed. Ten, nine, eight, seven... an attempt to slow your heart rate. You shouldn’t be surprised at this point. You had the dreams often enough, your subconscious morphing the memory, each time more disturbing than before.

When you could take full breaths again, you flopped back onto your pillows, staring up at the stars that peaked between the leaves through the skylight. You wished they could stop making such a common appearance in your nightly routine. Your sleep schedule was shit, and if you were being honest, it had long since taken a toll on you.

Maybe your friends were right, a change of scenery might be just what you need.

__________

A creak sounded from the front porch. Your head snapped to the door. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for the local wildlife to make an appearance on your front steps, curious about the structure in the middle of their forest and sniffing for food. It was, however, unusual for creatures to come around in the middle of the night, they were more likely to come wandering through just before sunrise.

Your eyes slid to the digital clock on the small nightstand beside your bed. The time confirmed your theory, still a few hours until daybreak - far too early for anything other than trouble. Another groan from the wood boards of the porch and some shuffling had you leaping out of bed and reaching for the knife next to the clock -- one of several knives you kept around the cabin. Through the windows, you could vaguely make out a few shadowy figures in the obstructed moonlight.

With the smooth blade in your hand, you slowly crept down the stairs leading from the loft and toward the kitchen drawer that held a couple hand guns; your blade hand poised and ready to strike when the time called for it. Your eyes never left the door. Your fingertips had just brushed against the handle of the drawer when you heard the quiet snitch of the latch and the door creaked open.

You threw out of instinct.

A hand shot out, catching the knife by the handle. With the door wide open now, the silhouettes became more distinct. You counted three bodies, but you couldn’t be sure there weren’t more surrounding your cabin. You took a step forward with your gun now in hand, fully intending to strike, until a sliver of color caught your attention. You squinted. The dim light made it hard to see but you’d recognize that copper hair anywhere. In fuller light, you suspected you’d see her signature smirk.

“Is that any way to treat your friend, zvezdochka?” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Flicking on a light, you made your way to your old friend.

“Fuck Tash, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming by.” You pulled her into your arms for a much needed hug. She jerked beneath you upon contact. That wasn’t normal. You released her, searching her for injuries. She had a large gash in her abdomen, and while the bleeding had stopped for now, it would have to be fixed immediately.

“Yeah, it’s a long story, Blue. Sorry we didn’t give you a heads up.”

“I hate to be rude, but can we get out of the cold?” A voice said.

Just that quickly, you’d forgotten about the other two people in your company. A man with warm brown skin and a metal pack of some kind strapped to his back stood behind Natasha. Next to him was a man you’d seen on the news several times. The TV stations didn’t do the man justice. Captain America was in your cabin in the woods, and you were suddenly very aware just how little you were actually wearing at the moment. You tugged at the hem of the over-sized shirt you’d stolen from Clint months ago.

“Sorry! Please, come in.” You ushered them passed you and locked the door behind them.

“Guys, this is Blue. Blue, meet Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson,” Natasha said, setting your knife on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Sorry about intruding, ma'am.” Captain America was apologizing to you. That's sweet.

“Don't you worry your pretty little head about it.” That earned you a blush from the blonde. “And I'm far younger than you. 'Ma'am' is not necessary, Captain.”

“Steve. You can call me Steve.” The pink on his cheeks spread down his neck, and if he were to take his suit off, you were sure his chest would be sporting the same rosy hue.

“Fair enough. It’s nice to meet you both, and I would say it’s great to see you again, Tash, but it seems like it’s under… difficult circumstances.” Natasha waved you off.

“Minor shootout on a mountain. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Minor shootout, she says,” you scoffed. “You need to be more careful. Come on.” You grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to the kitchen. “There’s a bathroom through the door on the right, if you guys want to clean up,” you pointed behind you.

You could hear the shuffling of their feet as they dispersed through your home for the past year. You made Natasha sit on a stool by the overhang counter, while you rummaged around in a cabinet for your first aid kit. You peeled the top of her suit down and pulled up the tank top she wore underneath. The large gash looked uglier exposed in the light but nothing you couldn't work with for now. You soaked a cotton ball with alcohol and wiped the area clean as gently as you could. She hissed upon contact but didn’t say anything. You slid a bottle of whiskey to her before you pushed the tip of some surgical thread through a needle. She took a swig and you started to sew up the wound. You could feel her eyes on you. When you were done, you smoothed on antiseptic ointment and covered it with a bandage. It would have to do for now. You turned to put the kit away and washed your hands. She still hadn’t said anything to you. You sighed.

“I can practically hear you thinking, you know.”

“I see your aim hasn’t changed, zvezdochka.” Here it comes. It was only a matter of time. “You could be putting your skills to good use.”

“Natasha, khvatit. We’ve been over this. I’m not going back.”

You slid a cutting board from its place along the wall before gathering ingredients at random. You quickly diced an onion and minced a couple cloves of garlic, sautéing them in a saucepan on the stove, before pouring in a couple cans of crushed tomatoes. A bit of tomato paste, along with oregano, salt, pepper, and a couple of bay leaves, and you had your go-to sauce mostly done. You gave it a stir and covered it, bringing down the heat to a simmer when it showed signs of boiling. You glanced behind you when you hadn’t heard anything from Natasha. She looked frustrated, her brows furrowed, but held her tongue. You pulled the cork on a bottle of sweet moscato and poured her a glass, replacing the whiskey bottle in front of her.

“Look, it has nothing to do with you. You know I love you and I miss you and Clint. I actually just texted him yesterday but he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Yeah, he’s on an op in East Asia right now.” She paused. “You should see his hair, he uses more product now than ever.” Her tone was light, the previous topic dropped for now. You chuckled, Clint had always used heavy amounts of hair gel. You’d teased him endlessly about it once upon a time.

“Hey, can you go tell your friends there are some of Clint’s old shirts and maybe a few pairs of sweats that might fit in my dresser, if they want to change. This’ll be ready soon.”

“Sure.” You flinched at her closeness, not expecting her to be so close to you. She pecked your cheek and threw her arms around you, squeezing you as she would have before, had she not been freshly injured. She released you and sauntered out of your kitchen, leaving you to your thoughts. In another pot, you filled it with water, then set it on the stove to start heating it up.

Your mind wandered as you waited for the water to boil. You didn’t miss that Natasha hadn’t told you where the three of them had been on their mission. Nor why they’d been on a mountain in the first place. In all fairness, she didn’t have to, couldn’t if she were following S.H.I.E.L.D. rules.

But it did make you nervous. You doubt anyone would have followed them to your location in the middle of the thick wilderness in northern Washington. But then again, they had been near enough your location that Natasha thought your safe haven of a cabin was the best option. That unsettled you, but she wouldn’t have given up this location if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were going to have to keep a look out if there were unsavory people in the area.

The water started to boil, so you threw in a few dashes of olive oil and some salt. You felt the presence of someone behind you as you dumped the linguine into the bubbling water.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare, Captain.”

You peeked over your shoulder. You’d only just met him but making America’s Golden Boy blush was becoming your new favorite hobby. His face had been cleaned of dirt and the few cuts on his face were already healing. Must be that super soldier serum you’d read about. He was wearing an old white t-shirt that was definitely a size or two too small, and a pair of sweatpants that you were certain would show off his ass nicely if he turned around. And yet, he looked far more relaxed than he’d been when he first stumbled through your door.

“I, uh... thank you, for letting us crash here,” he stuttered. You gestured to the bar stool Natasha previously occupied and he sat down.

“It’s not a problem, Steve. Anything for the friends of Natasha and Clint.” You took the lid off the sauce. Steam billowed into your face as your stirred.

“How do you know them anyway?”

“Ah ah, that’s a story for another time, Mr. Rogers. Now, do you want cheese on your pasta?” He smiled and nodded. You handed him a slicer and a block of parmesan after you showed him how to make cheese curls.

By the time Natasha and Sam stepped into the kitchen, the two of you had just finished filling the bowls around the table.

“Mmm, something smells amazing,” Sam said. He, too, looked more comfortable out of his combat mission-wear. He landed heavily into the chair next to Steve at the table, a strong contrast to Natasha's elegant descent next to you.

“It should be. It’s one of my go-to recipes. I hope you like it.” You pushed a bowl in front of him. He all but inhaled the first few forkfuls, switching between moaning and taking in sharp breaths from the heat of the food.

“Girl, this is amazing.” You nodded your appreciation. To Natasha and Steve, he said, “Can we keep her?” Your cheeks warmed. Natasha smirked.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Her eyes were playful. She seemed much better from the last time you’d seen her around Christmas. Natasha and Clint had been brief in their visit, having stopped over long enough to bring you a few gifts-- a fuzzy blanket, thick socks, and a beautiful new knife-- before leaving abruptly for another mission they couldn’t miss. She had been tense then, frown lines gracing her face. Observing her now, there was a certain slack visible in her shoulders, and the creases in her forehead had given way to smile lines around her mouth instead, faint as they were. She was still beautiful as always though, still your pseudo big sister.

“Maybe I’ll come visit New York soon, Bird Man.” You bit back a laugh at his outrage at the nickname.

“Has she been talking to Barnes? Geeze, can’t catch a break,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, I don’t have a great filter sometimes. But you are the Falcon, right? It’s fitting.” You shrugged. “Suppose I can think of something else if I’m not being original enough for you.” Sam just rolled his eyes.

“This really is great, ma’- ah… Blue?” Steve’s comment came out like a question.

“Yeah, Clint’s nickname for me. Blue Moon, like the ice cream? I had blue hair when we met. I kept it up for a while and the nickname stuck. Everyone used to call me that.” You shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

Steve nodded. You finished your pasta and rinsed the bowl in the sink. “Anyway, I’m sure you guys are exhausted. There’s not a ton of room here, but a couple of you can take the back room, the bed should be big enough for two. And my loft is available, if you don’t mind a little climb, just watch your head. There are extra blankets and a couple pillows in the linen closet. Please make yourselves at home.”

“What about you?” Steve asked.

“Don’t you worry about me, Captain.” You knew you weren’t getting sleep any time soon, the small couch in front of the fireplace calling your name. “I’ll be just fine.”

__________

They didn’t fight you on it. Two hours later, Natasha and Sam were cuddled together in the bed in the back room. You found that interesting and made a mental note to bring it up with her later. Steve on the other hand was curled into your bed in the loft. The low ceiling made him look like even more of a giant within the small space, especially with your favorite plush blanket draped over him. From your place on the couch, you could see half his face behind the slotted railing of the loft. Even asleep, it seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least you could allow him this reprieve.

You tiptoed to the side door a few minutes later, a fresh mug of tea in your hand. You were careful not to wake Steve up as you slowly slid the door open, softly latching it behind you. You sat on one of the chairs on the deck, settling in for your morning routine. Clint had told you the reason he chose to build the cabin in its current location was for the view. He couldn’t have been more perfect in his choice. The cabin sat on the edge of a small lake in the middle of a thick forest that butted up against a range of mountains. You’d learned the best part of your nightly predicament was being awake to watch the sunrise over the water, the beams of light breaking through the gaps in the leaves of trees and the crevices of the mountains. The reflection of the morning sky colors in the ripples of the water were beautiful. It seemed this view was the only version of a body of water you appreciated, from a distance at least. You weren’t jumping in anytime soon.

You sipped your tea as the warm hues spilled over the horizon. The forest started to wake up, birds doing their morning calls and squirrels and rabbits scurrying over the forest floor. The breeze picked up a bit. It rustled the leaves and caused shallow waves in the water in front of you. Mornings were definitely your favorite, if only because they were always slow and peaceful here.

“That’s a gorgeous view.”

You whipped your head to the intruder. Steve leaned against the door frame. Orange and red tones lit up his face like a painting. He wore a small smile. He was beautiful in this light. You looked back to the lake.

“Yeah, it really is. Best part about this place. Sorry if I woke you up. I tried to be quiet.”

“Nah, it wasn’t you. Honestly, didn’t even hear a thing. It’s just my internal alarm clock. I’m used to getting up and running first thing with the sun, and believe it or not, I never get used to the different time zones.” You hummed and nodded.

“So when do you guys have to leave?”

“Tired of us already?” Steve teased.

“No.” Truthfully you weren’t. You were bracing yourself for when you’d be alone again. “Just trying to plan ahead. Maybe I’ll make something for you guys for the trip back.”

“Oh...” He was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “You could come back with us, you know. If Clint’s half as happy to see you as Nat was, it seems like it’d be a great reunion. Plus, you could meet the team.”

He had a point. You did miss Clint, and you had wanted to go back and visit New York again. You supposed meeting the famous Avengers would be interesting. If not daunting. But that would mean putting yourself in range of Fury and you weren't ready for that yet. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough.”

"Would you like a cup?" You raised your mug in his direction.

"I'm alright." His smile sparked made you feel the warmth you wished the sun would give off.

"Well have a seat at least. You're making me anxious."

He plopped into the chair beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His elbows propped on the arms of the wood lounger, his interlocked hands resting on his stomach. He flash you another small smile and looked out toward the water. You took a moment to really study him.

You weren't stupid- you were well-aware how much the media wanted Steve- no, Captain America- to be portrayed as flawless and perfect. And in every instance in which you'd seen him on a screen, he was. In person, the reality of what he must go through, not only as an Avenger, but as a national icon, is ever apparent. There’s a line in his forehead, as if it’s constantly creased, which is plausible. The fine lines around his eyes revealed his weariness, and at the rate you guessed he’s constantly in missions, it made sense.

"You know, it's rude to stare." Blue eyes flicked to yours.

"Yeah well, I don't have a lot of company." You took another sip of your tea, now definitely too cool for your liking. "But can you blame me? I'm in the presence of a celebrity."

A corner of his mouth tucked up.

"Yeah yeah."

"Still watching sunrises with blondes, I see?" Natasha's head poked out on the sliding door, Clint's old sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.

"Still too nosy for your own good, I see?" You quipped back. She grinned at you, looking younger than you've seen her in a while.

"Of course, zvezdochka." She winked. You sighed, standing up.

"I better get some coffee started and then I'll head into town if you all will be staying for a while. Not exactly equipped to feed superheroes."

"I can go with you." Steve got his feet, stretching his arms over head, the action lifted his shirt just enough to give you a glimpse of his well-toned abs. He practically towered over you.

"Erm, are you sure? It's over a half hour drive into town."

"Well, it wouldn't be right to let a dame like you do all the work while we're crashing with you unannounced " He sounded so genuine. It must be some of that 40′s charm and etiquette Natasha had told you about.

"If you're sure then."

__________

That's how you ended up driving down the winding roads together with trees and steep drop-offs on either side. Steve flipped through station after station of static on the radio before you took pity on him and switched on an indie rock CD.

"There aren't many radio stations out this far so it's hit or miss when we're close enough to catch anything."

He hummed, nodding along to the music, and watching the trees rush by. He had a far off look in eye. You let him be, content with the silent company for now. Who knew how long it's been since he's had time to just think without being needed.

You pulled up to the general store in the closest town almost forty minutes later. There weren't many cars in the lot, but there hardly ever were. You bit your tongue when you saw Steve had donned a discarded cap from the back seat. If he thought that would disguise him, he would be sorely mistaken. Or maybe not. To be fair, there weren't a lot of people in this town, and even less were likely to recognize him at first glance.

A couple teenagers stood behind the registers near the entrance, popping gum and flirting most likely, from the blush on the girl's face at least. You grabbed a cart, Steve following closely behind you. You passed an older woman in the produce section, tossing items in as you went by.

"Is pick up soon or should I get stuff for dinner too?" When there wasn't a response, you turned around. Steve was helping the woman grab the parsley off the top shelf. He was so genuinely nice, it was so easy to see him as the national icon you assumed most people learned about in school. You shook your head and continued down the aisles. He could catch up; it's not like there was too much area to cover if you got separated. You nodded at a man in a black jacket nearby when you made accidental eye contact, and made a beeline to the cereal aisle. The decision to treat yourself to sugary cereal was too great, especially since you had no self-control and it was always the first to run out at home. You reached for your favorite brand, going up on your toes to grab it off the top shelf. Before you could though, a hand settled on your lower back and Steve pulled the box from the shelf effortlessly.

He smirked, dangling the box in front of you.

"Thanks." You rolled your eyes, snatching the box from his grip. He chuckled behind you as you shuffled down the aisle.

"You looked like you were going to climb the shelves."

"I would have. I usually have to-" You stopped abruptly. Steve stumbled into you. The man at the end of the aisle was watching you. No, blatantly staring at you.

"Blue?"

You ignored him in favor of the man. The staring wouldn't have bothered you on a normal day; you don't come to town often so people tend to be nosy and keep an eye on the outsider. But the hair on the back of your neck was standing on end and you had a sinking feeling in your stomach that your casual day with new friends had come to an abrupt end.

"Blue?"

"How many people are near the exit?" You said in a quiet voice. Steve tensed beside you. He finally looked to where your attention was drawn to at the end of the aisle. "None at the moment."

"The old lady?" You murmured, backing up slowly when a second man, the one in the black jacket you had just passed, rounded the corner to stand next to the first man.

"Two lanes over by the soup." You were thankful his height gave him the advantage to see over the shelves.

"We're going to have to make a run for it if we want to keep the civilians safe. Creep and Creepier are definitely packing." You let go of the cart, reaching into your hoodie pocket for your car keys.

"On three, we make a break for it," Steve said. "One-"

"Three!" You turned on your heel and took off toward the entrance, Steve serving as a human shield behind you when a gunshot sounded. How you wish he'd brought his official one with him. The glass of the door shattered in front of you but you barreled through, holding your arms over your head for cover. Dodging bullets, your raced to your Jeep. You jumped in and shoved the key in the ignition, taking off before Steve even had the door closed.

"How did they recognize me so quickly?" Steve gasped. He turned around in his seat, eyes on the road behind us. You rolled your eyes.

"Right, because a baseball cap is going to disguise your six-foot-plus frame in a town of less than a hundred people. Sure." You glanced in the side mirrors. A grey SUV followed you. Raindrops crashed against the windshield. "Fucking great," you muttered to yourself. You needed a plan. Well you had a plan, but it was going to be more difficult than necessary if the clouds were any indication of the water they held. "Steve, the glove box."

He gave you a quizzical look but did as you asked and pulled out the gun you kept stashed there. He rolled down the window, rain pelted his face as he leaned out the window. He took aim and shot at the SUV. They swerved on the road, attempting to avoid the bullets but Steve was able to hit a tire and the SUV made a hard turn into a large tree.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. That much fuckery without substantial food in your system was definitely bringing your mood down. But you couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline that coursed through your veins.

"Romanoff," Steve spoke into his watch. "I've been made. We're on our way back now."

"Fuck," you breathed. "Can’t catch a break, huh Cap? That was obnox-"

You didn’t even see it coming. The hit to the passenger's side caused the car to flip and roll several times, eventually rolling you over the edge of the road and down a steep incline. You closed your eyes and braced against the handle grips on the door and the steering wheel. Every impact of metal to pavement and forest floor jarred your body.

Then the airbag deployed and the world shut off.

[Part 2]

A/N: Gonna try to post every Thursday or Friday, so fingers crossed I can actually stick to that schedule. Let me know what you think so far!

#Stucky x reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes #marvel fanfiction #In Viata Asta

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calliecat93 · 4 years

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Top 5 Things I Disliked About RWBY Volume 7

Well everyone, Volume 8 will soon be upon us. IDK about anyone else, but I’ve never been so anxious about a volume in the near seven years I’ve been watching this show. Not even V3 had me this nervous, and I knew by nature of it being a Tournament Arc that it was gonna be painful. But as we near the new volume, I want to reflect on the previous one. So I am bringing back my Likes/Dislikes posts… except this time I DON’T have to do twelve posts for six volumes in a week. Only gotta do one Volume for today and tomorrow. Phew!

While V6 remains my favorite volume,V7 was a very well done one and by far the best written thus far. It was honestly super hard to pick five things I didn’t like, and are all pretty minor honestly. Heck I expect V8 to address some of these since V7 was clearly the build-up. But I did manage to make a Top 5 Dislikes List. As always, this is just my personal opinion and you are free to disagree with me. Take everything here with a grain of salt. Anyways, that’s enough exposition. Let the countdown begin~!

#5. Too Many Characters/Lack of Focus

RWBY has a lot of characters. A lot, loooot of them. You can tell it’s an anime for that reason alone, haha. Volume 8 thought might be the winner in the amount of it’s cast. We have our main cast, which consists of nine characters already (ten if you count Ozpin and eleven if you count Maria), which is already a lot to keep up with. But in this volume we have Ironwood, Penny, Winter, the Ace-Ops, Pietro, Robyn and her Happy Huntresses, the Schnee Family, Watts, Tyrian, and the list goes on. And those are just the relevant ones.

To the show’s credit, the volume mostly handles the focus well. They make sure that ones like Ironwood and Penny get a proper amount of focus considering their importance in this volume specifically. They also do a lot to showcase characters like Robyn, Clover, and Marrow so that we understand what they’re like and care about them, which makes how things end up even sadder. That being said, it did cause some of cast I think to get the short end of the stick a bit. Characters like Maria and Jaune pretty much got barely anything, and Blake and Yang would have also been out of luck if not for their talk with Robyn in Chapter 7. Some of the Ace-Ops, like Elm and Vine, and the Happy Huntresses who aren’t Robyn also didn’t get a lot of focus and the latter especially only got bare minimum glimpses into their personalities. Even with characters I was happy with like Ruby, Weiss, Ren, and Nora I feel could have had more done with their arcs here (the latter two especially but we’ll get tot hat later) had there been less characters and/or more time.

This is Number 5 because not only is it a minor issue, but it’s kind of inevitable. Shows only get so much time and the characters we focused on needed that time. Ironwood’s downfall wouldn’t have been nearly as powerful if it weren’t center stage. It’s one of those hard choices where you want to see more, but the show just had other things that took priority for the sake of both production and the story. Ultimately, it was the right decision and at most just makes me wish there was more.

#4. Emotionally Draining

Again, minor. I wasn’t even sure if I should add this because really I think it’s more of a personal thing than anything. But I failed to come up with another option, so... gotta take what I can get.

As good as this volume was, it was a VERY emotionally draining one. It was probably the only time I was kind of happy when it was over because ie meant a chance to breathe until V8. There’s the whole political plot that hit way too close for comfort, Tyrian’s murder spree and Penny’s framing, Ironwood’s downfall, everything from the halfway point of Chapter 11 to the end. Heck eve the first two chapters, and even bits of 3 and 4, were super tense and on edge. We had plenty of light-hearted and fun moments in the beginning. But by Chapter 6, that came to an end (or I didn’t find funny, like JNR’s antics in Chapter 8, sorry guys) and it was V3 again, but somehow even more on-edge.

Like I said, this isn’t really a dislike and is on here because I couldn’t think up anything else. As I said, the writing was very strong and on-point. I was nervous, but I’m pretty sure that’s because the writers wanted the audience nervous. They wanted us to feel the tension and fear. hey wanted us to be as conflicted about everything as the characters that we were watching. It was effective too. But it did leave me relieved that it was all over. I didn’t watch V7 in full again until recently when I got my Blu-Ray copy to put into perspective how drained I had been. I was fine upon rewatch, but yeah... way to rise up my stress levels CRWBY!

#3. The Ren/Nora Conflict

This is related to the Number 5 section. I think we can all agree that Ren and Nora tend to get the short end of the stick compared to Jaune and the rest of the main cast. V4 was an improvement, but 5 and 6 returned them to minor supporting roles and even V4 did more for Ren than Nora imo, who to this day is imo the least developed of the main cast. But clearly they wanted to start changing that, and given Jaune more or less got closure last volume it seemed like an ideal time to give the two development, especially where their relationship is concerned.

While Nora was overall fine, Ren... not so much? They do a god job setting up the two’s conflict, albeit the cliché ‘girl compliments boy, boy ignores her as they’re in the middle of something else’ joke in Chapter 3 was dumb. But Chapter 6 made it clear that there was far more going on. Nora is pushing to help Mantle and in the following chapter we have her snap at Ironwood for forcing so much sacrifice on it, but not on Atlas itself. Ren however is closed off (more tha usual), focus more or less solely on the task, is clealry afraid of their uncertain battle against Salem, and even seems to side with Ironwood in Chapter 7. It’s the first major conflict between the two with Nora just trying to get Ren to talk to her. She even finally kisses him... and we all know what happens after that.

The main issue here is two things. One, we NEVER get any clarity on why Ren is acting so cold to Nora, the one person he was always open around (well... for him anyways). I mean I have a good idea why and I’m 99% sure that V8 is going to go into it, but without any clarity it just comes off as him being unfair to Nora who is just concerned for him. The other issue is there is no closure to 9it. We have the final chapter where Ren tries to fight Neo, but as she’s disguised as Nora it goes badly. The poor boy is tearful, snaps at Nora when she tries to calm him down, and it ends in the boy looking like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown. It’s heart-wrenching, but still ultimately leaves the conflict unresolved. Plus we had a pretty large gap between the Renora Kiss (Chapter 6) and that moment (Chapter 13) with some brief moments sprinkled in. Otherwise, Ren acted as we’d expect even with the goofy plan in Chapter 8 where he seemed unusually chill considering. So it just kinda feels like for a while they... forgot about it.

This is right in the middle because as I said, I expect Volume 8 to go more into this. They’ve outright said that if there was something we were confused by or felt didn’t go anywhere, Volume 8 was going to address. This was set-up, and it leaves me anxious to see how things will go with these two especially going off the brief lines we heard in the trailer. But it still sucked that we got no closure and didn’t go further into why Ren is acting like he is. I know I was unsure of how to feel when it was all over. But I guess we’ll see the final result soon enough.

#2. The Truth Revelations

If you were reading my Volume 7 reviews, you know that I REALLY did not like how Chapters 9 and 10 were done. Why? Because of the truth reveals. Now I now know why t was handled like it was, which actually saved it from being out at Number 1 on the list. But does that change me opinion of it? Nope.

First, I want to talk about how it more or less began. That being Blake and Yang revealing the Amity Project to Robyn in Chapter 7. While I DO like them taking matters into their own hands instead of being complacent, I STILL have major issues on how they didn’t talk to Ruby and Weiss about it. I’ve heard the arguments about it, but imo when we have Yang having major hang ups with lies and half-truths (it’s why she was enraged at Oz), her and Blake seeming to pull the same thing... doesn’t look good. There is zero on-screen indication that they let the other sin about it later, which had they done so then the group could have planned proper steps in helping the two sides which may have caused Ironwood to not jump off the slippery slope as badly. Will V8 mention this? IDK, but it does bother me and I would like it addressed especially concerning the themes of trust.

Then we get to Chapters 9 and 10, where my issues go into effect. Robyn drops the hostility and reveals her knowledge of the project, but wants to try and work with Ironwood. The heroes reveal everything to Ironwood and while understandably shocked, he otherwise takes Salem being unkillable well. Then the two leaders reveal this to Mantle, using Robyn’s Semblance to prove it, and... that makes the citizens okay. Yeah... even knowing what happens later I still have issues with this. Because even with that knowledge, there was NO GOOD REASON fo AY of this to go well.

Robyn may know why Ironwood was depleting Mantle resources, but it doesn’t change that he caused a LOT of damage to Mantle due to it. Ironwood, despite his expected reaction coming later, still took the Salem news far too well especially considering how on-edge of her he’d been at that point. The citizens of Mantle know about Salem, but not why ironwood was depleting resources. Plus it doesn’t change that he was a borderline tyrant towards them and he didn’t try explaining that part to them. The fact that THAT calmed them down so easily, even with Robyn’s presence, just came off as... too easy.

Which it was. All of this was an elaborate psyche out. We think that things are finally going well... then Chapter 11 happens, and it goes downhill from there. Can’t lie, they got me. Chapter 11 was a HUGE gut-punch for that reason. As such, I decided to put this at Number Two. But it’s only because of the psyche out. It was still done to make the shock effective and while it worked, it doesn’t change that it felt like things got downplayed far more than they should have. Still, it saved this form taking the top slot. So what DID make it? Well...

#1. Willow Guilting Weiss

For a character that only got one major appearance, Willow left one Hell of an impact. All we knew about her prior was an off-handed remark by Whitley in V4 that implied that she was an unhappy drunk. Here? We see exactly what Jaques has done to this poor woman. She’s a drunk, unhappy, and her expression just screams exhaustion and broken. She knows that she did nothing for her children once she broke, something Weiss makes very clear, but she does make some amends by giving Weiss her Scroll and the evidence needed to expose Jaques and Watts, She’s even relieved when We3iss confirms that she’s never returning for good. It’s a very powerful scene that in minutes makes Willow one of the saddest, sympathetic characters in the show.

I do have one huge problem, however. That’s when she leaves. She has one request for Weiss, and that’s for her to not forget about Whitley. While it’s been becoming more and more clear that Whitley is a scared kid who has been just as abused by Jaques as his sisters, he WAS still a cocky jerk to Weiss. He was never nice to her, and when he was it was for his own benefit. He had zero issue rubbing into Weiss her misfortune in V4 after the concert and how he’s the new heir. Of course Weiss wouldn’t like him and be justified in believing that he didn’t like her. When she points that out, this is Willow’s line:

Of course not. You left him here... with us.

Yeah, this really pissed me off and I think is a problem on the writer’s end. They want to have Weiss realize, like the audience is, that Whitley is like he is because unlike her and Winter, he can’t escape, has none of the abilities that they do, and is thus still a prisoner and under his father’s control.. He succumbed to it instead of fight or get away because that was all that he could do, and hating his sisters kept him in his father’s favor. It’s all very understandable and yes, having Weiss realize this and make an effort to try and help Whitley would show how much she’s changed and allow the Schnee Family to all break free form Jaques once and for all.

But the way the line is worded make it feel like Willow, and in turn the narrative, is gui9lting Weiss into not realizing this and not helping Whitley prior. Umm... no. Hell no. Weiss was under zero obligation to help her brother, who at the time portrayed himself as an egotistical snake to her. He rubbed his success in her face. he rubbed getting the title in her face. He was even trying to do so again in the very same chapter Willow was introduced. Weiss HAD to help herself. And unlike her, who as far as we know never hated Winter and the two always treated each other well, as far as we can tell Whitley never had that relationship with them and we don’t know if he ever tried. Jaques made sure that Whitley and his sisters would be divided, and Weiss shouldn’t feel guilty at all for not seeing this.

I get why some may get after Weiss and what Willow was trying to hint to her. We know that Whitley is a victim. We know that because he had no one, he became the way he is. He still has hope, but Weiss is the only one in any position to get him the help that he needs. I expect V8 to go into this, especially since Weis sis why Jaques is now in prison and took away the only figure that Whitley had (a HORIRBLE one, but still the only). However Weiss did what she could in her position, and doesn’t have the advantage of NOT being in the audience to everything. Do I expect her to realize all of this and try to get Whitley to as well? Yes, and it’ll be her character coming full-circle as well. But did she deserve to be guilted? Hell No. Don’t think it was intentional, but it still rubbed me the wrong way and I still don’t like that bit. Thus, it is the moment I dislike most in RWBY Volume 7.

Okay, that’s it for now. Tomorrow, I’ll post my Top 5 Likes. Which trust me, I got plenty of ‘em~! See you all then~!

#rwby #rwby reviews #rwby musings #callie reviews #top likes/dislikes

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yeetdam · 6 years

Text

stars after the rain ☾ yedam

genre – romance, soulmate au

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

wc – 8.3k

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parties fall under desperate times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe, maybe it’s not that bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your name.

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

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

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

“I’m Bang Yedam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

But you don't understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Trying sounds good."

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

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

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

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

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

"He sings?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you don’t mind me singing along?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yedam, seriously, what are you planning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine then, maybe next time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kim Doyoung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…” your voice trails off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gulps. “What?”

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trying sounds good.”

288 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

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Paper Hearts Chapter Four (Branjie) - meggie

A/N: Whew. This one was difficult. That being said, I have so many people to thank for being cheerleaders, hand-holders, and all-around the best group of people I could have asked for to help bring this chapter to life because it. took. a. village. Thank you @theartificialdane who was the first person to read this and tell me it was too dramatic (you were right). Thank you @pink-grapefruit-cafe for dutifully adding that unnecessary ‘h’ to my (correct American) spelling of yogurt and calling me out when my sentences get too long. Thank you @formercongressman for providing the feedback that I needed to tighten and polish and really get the chapter where I wanted it by encouraging me to delve into Brooke’s psyche. And thank you @mia-ugly for giving me a final read through and assuring me that it wasn’t utter garbage and worth actually putting out there.

I’ve added a TW for perfectionism and anxiety because we’re going pretty deep into Brooke’s inner monologue here and I can get in my own head when reading about those things that I struggle with every day. Erring on the side of caution seemed prudent.

Please let me know your thoughts, here or on my personal blog @artificialmeggie. My ask box is always open and I love chatting with you guys!

So here’s chapter four: in which Vanessa calls it like she sees it, Nina gives Brooke some advice, and Brooke learns to relax (a little). I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

Brooke Lynn spends Friday night in and out of fitful sleep, dreams punctuated with hot, heavy kisses that taste like peppermint and broken promises pressed against secluded bathroom doors. It’s the same dream every time—they’re kissing, groping, grasping each other, and then Vanessa pulls away and looks up at her with hurt in her dark eyes, and Brooke wakes, drenched in sweat with a knot of guilt fully formed in her gut.

She rises early on Saturday morning and (after a cigarette on the balcony, alone, again) stumbles into the bathroom to peer at herself in the mirror, ultimately becoming dismayed at the dark circles etched under her eyes. If she cared, she’d smear on some concealer before venturing downstairs for breakfast, but try as she might, she can’t make herself put on makeup on a day when she doesn’t have to be in drag. So she settles for tugging on her favorite white hoodie and grey beanie and heads downstairs just after seven hoping to beat the rest of the girls to an early breakfast.

She gets her wish. She’s first to the conference room and could have her pick of yogurt, fresh fruit, or muffins; but Brooke needs comfort today, after that hollow look in Vanessa’s eyes had haunted her dreams last night and left her gutted. Instead, she waits a few moments until a steaming chafing dish of oatmeal is brought out by a hotel employee. She spoons a good amount into a bowl and dresses it with a scoop of raisins and far more brown sugar than is healthy. It reminds her of being seven years old and sitting at the kitchen table with her mother on a Saturday morning. It’s comfortable.

Brooke watches as the brown sugar melts and then she stirs her breakfast lazily, relaxing into her chair at the table farthest from the lone production assistant in the room. The PA avoids eye contact, and Brooke is glad—she’s more than happy to forego small talk with the poor intern who drew the short straw and was assigned Saturday queen babysitting duty.

And then, just as Brooke’s oatmeal cools to an edible temperature, the conference room door swings open and in walks Vanessa; terry cloth shorts slung low on her hips, Adidas slides scuffing on the carpet, and red zippered jacket undone to her bellybutton exposing that perfectly toned, perfectly tanned chest that’s the exact color of the molten brown sugar in Brooke’s oatmeal.

Brooke wants to run her tongue over the curves and dips and swoops of that chest more than almost anything. She settles for scooping up a bite of oatmeal shot through with a ribbon of brown sugar. She turns the spoon over in her mouth and sucks every molecule of sweetness from it. Absentmindedly, she wonders if Vanjie’s skin tastes as sweet.

Across the empty room, Vanessa’s eyes meet hers, and Brooke finds it difficult to swallow. Then Vanjie sets her jaw and quirks up her nose and maybe (just maybe, or maybe Brooke imagines it) swings her hips a little more than is entirely necessary as she moves to the buffet table to help herself to a bowl of yogurt.

She takes her time scooping in sliced strawberries, whole blueberries, and granola, and it feels like two geological ages of sheer unadulterated torture for Brooke, who watches every motion carefully.

At this point, she’s practically licked her oatmeal bowl clean, imagining the curves of the white porcelain to be the swerves of Vanjie’s smooth back, the spoon to be her own hands, exploring every inch of Vanessa as thoroughly and completely as possible. Like she wants to. Like she longs to.

She’s pretty much ruined any shot she had at that, she supposes.

Then Vanessa sits in the chair directly across from Brooke Lynn and spends another long moment stirring her yogurt together, and Brooke wonders if maybe she still has a chance.

Brooke watches her eat, but neither one of them speaks. She knows they’re both too stubborn for their own damn good.

Finally, Brooke grows too uncomfortable with the silence, so she sets her bowl on the table and clears her throat. “Sleep well?”

Vanessa shrugs. “All right. Coulda been better. I don’t like it when people get pissed off at me for no reason.” And she narrows her eyes pointedly and just stares.

“I’m not… Jesus.” Brooke sighs and squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Fuck, Vanj, I'm not mad at you.”

Vanjie tuts and takes a bite of yogurt. “Care to explain what last night in the van was then? Or do you got a habit of making out with people in bathrooms and then ghosting ‘em?”

“Granted, I did not handle that well,” Brooke says slowly. “I get in my head, okay? I’m… Look, I thought maybe A’keria saw something, and I kind of freaked.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “A’keria didn’t see shit.” Then she reaches across the table and takes Brooke’s hand in her own. “And even if she did, so what? You gotta relax, mami.”

“You don’t care if the girls know that we’re… What are we doing exactly?”

Vanjie shrugs. “We’re… getting to know each other.”

“Getting to know each other…” Brooke repeats it slowly and turns the phrase over in her head because she’s never done this before. She’s had one-night stands and friends-with-benefits, but there’s never been anyone to Get To Know. Never been anyone she’s wanted to get to know quite like she wants to know Vanjie.

It scares her. Not that she’s afraid of feelings, really, but she’s level-headed and goal-oriented and this was definitely not in The Plan when she started auditioning for drag race two years ago. So she’s afraid of feelings in this setting because how is she supposed to concentrate on presenting her perfect Drag Race package when Hurricane Vanessa is swirling around her?

But how do you brace for a category five storm?

“Yeah, okay,” Brooke says slowly. “We’re getting to know each other…”

Vanessa smiles at her. “Maybe we could start with boy names. I’m Jose, by the way.”

“Brock,” Brooke says softly, shaking the hand that Vanjie has offered. It feels different, more intimate now that she’s been formally introduced to the boy behind the drag.

“Brock…” Vanessa repeats quietly, almost testing the name, trying it out to see how it rolls off her tongue. Brooke heaves a sigh of relief when she smiles. “Yeah, it fits.”

And Brooke is blushing, the fire that ignited between them when their lips collided last night is back in full force, burning her from the inside out, so she smiles and ducks her head and hopes she doesn’t look like an idiot. She never wants to look stupid; she’s worked for years to curate this careful image of perfection, but she’s especially concerned with how Vanessa perceives her.

“Well. We have all day off today,” Vanessa says. Having finished her breakfast, she pushes herself up from the table and stretches her arms above her head, exposing another two inches of flat, taut stomach that peeks out over the waistband of her shorts.

Brooke’s mouth practically waters, yearns for that molten brown sugar skin beneath her fingers, lips, tongue.

“If you wanna come get to know me a little better in my room feel free to come by,” Vanjie continues. “But wait ‘til after lunch. I gotta take a nap.”

Brooke laughs. “Didn’t you just wake up?”

“I wanted to talk to you before the rest of the girls came down.”

“How did you know I’d be down here?”

“Our beds share a wall,” she says with a wink. “And you snore like a fucking moose.” Vanessa struts around behind her, wraps her arms around her neck, and presses a kiss into her temple. “See you later, mami.”

*****

Brooke’s working on her third cup of coffee when Nina finally makes it into the conference room for breakfast.

“Good morning!” she sing-songs as she slides into the chair two down from Brooke. “How are you?”

Brooke shrugs a little and flashes a tight-lipped grin before she takes another sip from her mug, but Nina’s eyes narrow.

“You have a secret.”

“What?”

“I know you, Hytes.” Nina reaches for the salt and pepper shaker and generously seasons her scrambled eggs. “I’ve known you for literally your entire drag career and your face right now? It screams ‘I’ve got a secret.’ So what’s the tea?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Nina,” Brooke asserts, trying her best to keep her wits about her. Nina is awfully convincing when she wants something, and if Brooke is being honest with herself, she values her friend’s opinion.

“Okay. That’s fine.” Nina takes a bite of her eggs and watches Brooke Lynn with an amused expression. “But I’m going to find out. Because I always find out. So you might as well just tell me what it is.”

And Brooke crumbles because Nina is right—she has known her for her entire career and they’re friends. She trusts Nina implicitly and she needs reassurance. So Brooke sucks in a deep breath.

“I think I kind of have a crush on Jose.” She says it quickly because as soon as the words leave her lips, she knows how it sounds: so, so very junior high that she expects Nina to laugh in her face, and really, would she deserve anything less?

“Oh.” It’s almost worse that Nina’s eyes grow wide and her mouth falls open a little, specks of egg on her tongue, and she says, “Who’s Jose?”

And Brooke feels the blood rush even deeper into her cheeks. She must be a dark shade of purple because the room is suddenly extremely hot, boiling almost (why is she drinking hot coffee in June?), and she wants nothing more than for a hole to open right underneath her and swallow her completely. This is junior high school all over again, and she is being teased for being too feminine.

“Vanessa,” she says weakly, then clears her throat. “Vanjie?”

“Oh,” Nina says again. And then, “Ohh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Nina stabs at her eggs. “Umm. Does Jose feel the same way?”

“I mean…” Brooke shrugs and picks at a spot of superglue still stuck to her thumbnail. “We kissed in the bathroom after the runway last night.”

“So… Yes?” Nina smiles at her, but Brooke shrugs again. “Listen, Brooke, I think if someone’s swapping spit with you, they’re interested.”

“We’re getting to know each other.” When she says it to someone else, the phrase takes on a different feeling. It’s not as tangible or solid. She doesn’t know how to feel about it. Then she remembers Vanjie’s arms around her neck, her lips against her temple, the smell of her cologne that’s always a little too strong… And those are tangible things.

“Oh my god, Drag Race’s first romance,” Nina says, sighing dramatically and placing a hand over her heart. “Please tell me I get to be the flower gay when you guys get married.”

Brooke groans and drains her coffee mug.

*****

It’s a little after two when Vanessa comes looking for Brooke.

Three sharp raps on her door and Brooke answers, expecting Nina or Plastique or even Ra’jah, but instead it’s Vanjie, hip popped to the side, lips quirked up in a smirk.

“I said after lunch, ho.” She pushes past Brooke into the room without being invited in. Not that she needs an invitation. Brooke supposes she always has one.

“Yeah, I lost track of time,” Brooke lies. She hadn’t. She had one hundred percent chickened out of going over to Vanessa’s room because Nina’s comment about them being Drag Race’s first romance had, honestly, pushed her back into her head. Not that it’s difficult to do, but she had been counting on Nina for reassurance. “I was stoning and… You know how into stoning you can get… Time just flies…”

Vanessa grins knowingly, and Brooke knows she’s caught because her room smells nothing like the tell-tale fumes of E6000, and there aren’t any stray rhinestones anywhere. Her room is practically spotless (with the exception of a towel slung across the chair), but Vanjie says nothing about the obvious lie.

“So, I should tell you something…” Vanjie says, clasping her hands together and spinning around to face Brooke. “Promise you won’t get mad.”

Brooke narrows her eyes. “I hesitantly promise I won’t get mad. But I’m Canadian, so it would really be more like kind of annoyed and not so much mad.”

“Well, anyway.” Vanjie bites her lip. “I kind of told Silky that we maybe had a little something going on. Actually what I said was, ‘Brooke Lynn is trade. I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating cookies.’ If you know what I’m saying…”

Brooke is so relieved because she knows she should warn Vanjie that Nina is aware of their situation as well, and now she doesn’t have to broach the subject herself. Vanessa has provided her the perfect transition. She’s choosing to ignore the bed comment for now. For her own sanity.

She clears her throat. “That’s funny… Because I told Nina that I had a little bit of a crush on you.”

She might imagine it, but Brooke would swear that Vanjie blushes before she laughs uproariously and says, “A crush? Are you fourteen, Mary?”

Brooke just shrugs. “Look, I don’t know how this whole thing works—”

But suddenly she can’t speak anymore because Vanessa’s lips are on hers and her arms are around Brooke’s neck, and they’re kissing so softly that she forgets what she was even saying because the only thing that matters is the heat and static between them.

And it’s different this time because there’s only them, just her and Vanjie. No cameras, no other queens with prying eyes, no PAs waiting outside the bathroom to escort them back to the Werk Room where they’ll be watched and recorded and lorded over until they’re driven back to the hotel and locked in their rooms. So Brooke breathes and relaxes into Vanessa and the warm pressure of her mouth as it moves rhythmically against hers.

Then Vanessa pulls away and looks up at her with big sparkling eyes, and Brooke knows she’s done for. This isn’t just a junior high school crush. She could develop feelings for Vanessa.

Brooke loves her mom and her siblings and her cats deeply and unabashedly because she knows they’re stuck with her. She has spent years telling herself that she could get by on a life of hookups because feelings are messy and only led to heartbreak and disaster.

She’s always been so focused, there’s just never been time to make a connection.

And here she is, in the middle of the biggest competition of her life, and Vanessa dropped into her lap.

So how do you brace for a category five storm?

You hold on and hope for the best.

“Is this okay?” Vanjie asks her as she blinks rapid-fire. Nervous energy, she drips with it. “That I’m here? That I just really wanted to kiss you again so I did it?”

Hurricane Vanessa makes landfall and wipes out all of Brooke Lynn Hytes’s carefully constructed barriers.

“Okay. Of course it’s okay.” Brooke breathes and anchors her hands on Vanessa’s hips. It’s all they’ve wanted for the few days—no barriers, no restrictions. “I really wanted to kiss you again, too, but I thought maybe after the van last night that it would be weird.”

“You think too much,” Vanessa says softly, pulling gently on the string of Brooke’s hoodie. “You wanna kiss me again? Stop talking and do it. Step up, bitch.”

So Brooke Lynn obliges, and it’s all fire between them as their mouths meld together once again. She still tastes like mint and strawberries and the smallest hint of spice that Brooke was convinced is just Vanjie but now recognizes as brown sugar. She smiles against Vanessa’s mouth.

Brooke can’t stifle the moan when Vanjie rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and tugs gently, so Brooke dives deeper.

She could kiss Vanessa forever, Brooke thinks as they stumble backwards onto the unmade bed, because it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

It feels like breathing.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #canon compliant #paper hearts #tw anxiety #tw perfectionism #concrit welcome #submission #meggie #s11 #on set fic

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cancelledhq · 5 years

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OOC.

Basics.

Prometheus Productions has announced its first ever dare event titled “Your Choice,” where all dares are submitted by the public for contracts to follow through on. What all characters are unaware of (and are anxious to find out) are the dares themselves! None of them will be revealed to them until the moment they are dared to do them, where they will be left with a choice to complete it and earn points or decline it and lose points.

However!

You (as a player) will know these dares in advance!

As stated previously, the severity of the dares are listed within 4 levels. As a player, if you would like to participate, you must fill out this form (located here) with the highest level you as a mun feel comfortable playing with your character. In character, the dares are “randomly” selected, meaning they will have no control over what dare is given to them. Of course, Cora or others may hand-select certain dares for certain contracts or even behind the scenes members. You are more than welcome to have your character speculate.

When signing up for a level, you also inherit all dares from the levels beneath it. For example, if you choose level 3, you will not see any dares from level 4 but all those from Levels 1-3 will be at your disposal.

The Set Up.

There will be groups of three (2 contracts and 1 BTS character) participating in the event. The BTS character is referred to as the Sponsor. The job of the Sponsor is to read out the dare, choose which contract it belongs to, and then determine whether or not the contracts have completed their dares.

Each group will be put into an escape room setup. When the groups have been announced, you (as players) may choose one of seven escape room settings to have your characters trapped in (this detail will be released later). Like all escape rooms, the main objective is to escape from it, as it is the only way the dares will stop appearing in the room.

Dares cannot be ignored. If the Sponsor is incapable of doing their job properly, there will be repercussions before the Sponsor is replaced by Ms. Samson herself. This is something all of your characters will be warned about.

Each dare is worth a set amount of points. If the dare is completed, your character gains those points. If they decline it or fail, your character loses those points. Mathematically, it is possible for your character to be cancelled within the game.

If your character declines a dare, their opponent (the fellow contract in the room) is allowed to steal it from them for the chance to earn the points. Declining will not make them lose the points, but failing to complete the dare once it is accepted will. Choose carefully.

All characters are aware that the Sponsor has the option of completing ONE dare for a contract at their sole discretion. If the Sponsor is successful, the contract still gains the points, but if they fail, the contract will still lose the points.

Details.

Because of Cora’s spiritual beliefs, all dares are inspired and also delivered by means of the Major Arcana cards. This is to say that each dare is printed on the back of one of the cards from the Major Arcana deck. How they enter the escape room is up to you. If you are interested in seeing the exact deck that your characters will be exposed to, you’re more than welcome to see them here.

All groups will be televised live and be available for viewing on Prometheus’ streaming app. Viewership will be keenly watched, which is an important factor for the main reason that if there is a decline in ratings, Prometheus will throw in various twists to excite the audience. (You may read about potential twists below, but you are more than welcome to add your own.) When the groups are announced, you will also see at what time slot they are given (i.e. 5pm, 10am, etc.)

When writing your event thread, there is no minimum or maximum requirement in terms of post length or amount of posts to be eligible for your points. Go at your own pace.

Dares.

Level 1 (Dumb shit. For the lolz. Mild sexual conduct.)

Tarot Cards within this level: The Fool, The Magician, The Star, The Sun

During the rest of the event, you must use the phrase "just sayin'" to end every time you speak. | 20 points | The Fool

Dress like a cat | 20 points | The Sun

Imitate someone in the room | 20 points | The Magician

Show us your most recent texts | 20 points | The Magician

Dance to Tik Tok by Kesha | 20 points | The Sun

During the entire event, your new name is Pepe Sylvia, and you will only answer to it. | 25 points | The Sun

Prank call Russell Torrance | 30 points | The Fool

Make out with someone blindfolded, you don’t know who it is | 35 points | The Star

Lick the feet of someone in the room | 40 points | The Magician

Give someone in the room a lap dance | 40 points | The Star

Be naked for the rest of the event | 50 points | The Sun

Competition Dares (only one wins. Only one loses.)

Eat the most ice cream without stopping | 50 points | The Sun

Take the longest drink from a tequila bottle | 60 points | The Fool

Level 2 (Personal humiliation. Makes the person feel uncomfortable. Mild/Medium psychological. Medium/High Sexual Conduct.)

Tarot Cards: The High Priestess, Justice, The Emperor, The Lovers

Say that you hate your father and that you hope he dies 3 times. If he is already dead, say that you hate him and that you're glad that he’s dead. | 50 points | The Emperor

Reveal your psych evaluation. (psych eval example listed here). | 50 points | Justice

Reveal the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. | 50 points | Justice

Eat part of a ghost pepper. | 60 points | The Emperor

Eat a tablespoon of soap | 60 points | The Emperor

Drink a tequila shot with literal strands of dog hair in it | 60 points | The Emperor

Be on the phone with someone you love. Tell them you don’t love them. Make them believe it. | 70 points | The Lovers

Raise your heartbeat to 130 beats per minute | 70 points | The High Priestess

Make someone in the room take nude photos of you to be posted | 70 points | The Lovers

Wear a ball gag while your competition smacks you | 70 points | The Emperor

Become blind (how is up to you, for how long is up to your Sponsor) | 70 points | The High Priestess

Bring someone in the room to orgasm | 75 points | The Lovers

Be injected with truth serum | 80 points | The High Priestess

Wear ankle cuffs until you find a way to get out of them. Your sponsor doesn’t have the key. | 80 points | The Emperor

Find a way to lose 1 pound | 80 points | The Emperor

Read a portion of your most recent script while sitting on a vibrator | 80 points | The Lovers

Competition Dares (only one wins. Only one loses.)

Make your competition cry first | 80 points | The High Priestess

A game of too hot. First person to touch the other beyond kissing loses. | 90 points | The Lovers

Level 3 (Mild/Medium physical harm. Disgusting ventures. Strongly psychological.)

Tarot Cards: The Chariot, The Hermit, The Hanged Man

Eat the boogers and plaque of a person of your choice | 90 points | The Chariot

Shave your head | 100 points | The Hermit

Eat rotting meat | 120 points | The Chariot

Drink a full glass of absinthe. | 120 points | The Chariot

Get punched by everyone in the room | 130 points | The Chariot

Dissect the manikin that looks like you | 130 points

Drink the blood of your competition. How you get it is up to you. | 140 points | The Hanged Man

Burn your hands. | 140 points | The Chariot

Have ear pieces that utter violent thoughts, volume will vary the more you succeed to ignore them | 140 points | The Hermit

Play the knife game for a whole minute | 140 points | The Chariot

Meet the devil. (This dare will be psychological in nature, as the room will fill with a sulfur smell, the lights will go out, and you will be forced to approach a silhouette of the devil. Feel free to embellish and add your own ending, whether it was a harmless doll or something more sinister.) | 150 points | The Hermit

Walk across a padded beam propped up above a rug of broken glass and broken razors | 160 points | The Chariot

Be injected by a numbing agent to one of your limbs. Be careful on the dosage to avoid full paralysis! | 170 points | The Hanged Man

Be tazed | 170 points | The Chariot

“Save them” is all the card says before a sniper laser on both competition and sponsor are shown. Up to you on how to save them. | 170 points | The Hermit

Eat five frozen feeder mice | 175 points | The Chariot

Wear someone else’s skin | 180 points | The Hermit

Competition Dares (only one wins. Only one loses.)

Keep up with the spinning room. The first to fall completely loses. (thanks to the special effects department, the room could spin ala Inception or simply have the appearance that it’s spinning thanks to computer screens or the like.) | 180 points | The Chariot

Shock your opponent the most. You each will find a shock collar, but you are only given a combined total of 51 shocks to use between you. Make them count. | 200 points | The Hanged Man

Level 4 (Death. Malicious intent. Severe bodily harm.)

Tarot Cards: Strength, The Wheel of Fortune, Death, The Devil, The Tower, The Empress

Figure out the organs. (all types of various and very real organs will be presented to the room. You must identify them all by either touch or taste.) | 220 points | Strength

Skin the last thing that died in the room. All skin must be removed. | 275 points | Strength

Help give birth, by letting maggots lay their eggs in you. | 300 points | The Empress

Break a body part. | 320 points | The Tower

Do drugs. Unmarked syringes. Choose wisely. | 350 points | The Devil

Balance on a long, sharp razor and if you fall you fall on rock salt. | 350 points | Strength

Suspend yourself with hooks pierced into the skin on your back | 350 points | Strength

Kill a wild animal. (the animal is your choice but will be viciously released into the room.) | 400 points | The Tower

Shoot your competition (whether the gun is in a Russian roulette style or fully loaded is up to you) | 400 points | The Wheel of Fortune

Come close to succeeding in suicide. If you cross over, everyone in the room dies with you. | 450 points | Death

Perform a cancellation (the room will reveal a contract with 0 points that has been waiting for their cancellation) | 500 points | Death

Competition Dares (only one wins. Only one loses.)

Get as close to a running saw blade as possible. | 300 points | Strength

“Drink me.” Everyone in the room is knocked out by a drink. They are aware that it will make them pass out. When they awake, all participants notice that there are little cuts in their forearms and they’re tasked with finding something within one of them (not necessarily meaning in their own body, willing them to cut into the competition.) It is a 50/50 chance the answer is purely metaphorical or if there is physically something planted in their arm. Your choice. | 400 points | The Wheel of Fortune

!!!All Levels are subject to one wild card named The Hierophant. The card is intentionally blank. The Sponsor creates the dare and the points amount up to 300 points.!!!

Twists.

As stated before, Prometheus will manipulate the escape room to drive more viewers in if they find it is needed. The following twists are possible:

Fire being started

Shaking of the set like an earthquake or a nuclear explosion

Gas filling the space

Loud music

Total blackness

Heat

Cold

Flies/Bees/Insects

Rain

Wind

A person touches something and it breaks immediately (small explosions from the special effects dept.)

A timer is randomly set off, counting down, but counting down to what? Something innocuous like a pre-recorded video message of Cora saying that fate only has the best intentions for them.

#rp #roleplay #original rp #lsrp #cancelled.event #OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER #edited

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shinneth · 5 years

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6, 1, 7, 5 and 10 for the fic writer meme!

OKAY. Finally got free from the distractions. Let’s see how well I can answer these.

6. Share one of your weaknesses

Oh, I have a good amount of those. I would say my tl;dr curse (I don’t think I’ve EVER written a fic below four-figures, and very rarely does it end up 5k or lower), but I know there’s many out there who’d tell me that’s definitely a strength and that they’d love to be able to churn out six-figure epics in their sleep like I do. So let’s go with a more objective weakness.

I have the redundancy curse. I have this really, really really really really really really really bad habit of somehow reiterating a statement twice within the same sentence. Or at the very least, my verbiage will get repeated more times than it should within the same sentence (enough to the point where the sentence sounds very awkward when you read it out loud). This almost always happens because I’ll establish something at the beginning of my sentence, somehow forget about it midway through, and think I need to add it to the end.

I can’t tell you how many times I fall into that trap. Only through rereading my progress to get back into the groove to continue a chapter is when I’ll really have an opportunity to catch these slip-ups. Since I’ve never used betas and I’m pretty much fine finishing everything in one draft and all that. It’s astounding how many of these errors I’ll catch, really. And despite that, a few will always end up slipping through in the final product anyway!

It’s a very annoying quirk that I’d love to fix, but again, it almost always happens right under my nose. No matter how conscious I try to be about this sort of thing, it’ll pop up when I least expect it. So really, all I can do is just try and catch as many as I can after I’ve written my stuff down, but before I finalize my piece.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I think the name of the game here is Adaptation Expansion. I focus on a character (or a small group of characters) that I feel

A) Didn’t get as much canon development as they deserved

B) Might have gotten a decently good amount of focus, but I’m seeing many unsolved mysteries/curiosities around said character(s) and many possible routes to explore any headcanons that are raging inside of me.

Or the headcanon itself is just really nagging at me, so I make a whole story dedicated to it.

In your typical Shin fic, the more Shin likes you, the more you should be afraid. Outside of having a wildly creative sadistic streak, my best ideas are usually best suited to my favorite characters, and I happen to be very big on the Earn Your Happy Ending trope. Certain series I feel kind of gave their characters a good conclusion a little too easily, and so I’ve made it my life’s mission to erase any doubt in my readers’ minds about whether or not the characters truly paid their dues to get their reward at the end.

So of course, you add that with the sadism, and that means you’re very likely to get a fic that at least somewhat leans on the dramatic end. I think the vast majority of my Fanfiction.net stories are listed under “Drama”, now that I think about it. But really, drama’s what you go with when you wanna raise the stakes to crazy-high levels. It won’t be melodramatic 100% of the time, nor will it be grimdark or consummately edgy; I do make a point to add some witty humor and even fluff if it’s appropriate. But Shin fics are all about letting you see the kind of hell certain characters could be going through in canon and thankfully aren’t - yet you’re also seeing those same characters achieve a level of greatness canon would have never permitted because they put their all into reaching their goal.

That’s about the gist of it: trying to outdo canon at its own game, giving justice I feel my favorites are due, but only after I put them through the seven circles of hell.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Hm, okay. When it comes to pride, I’m typically very reserved in that regard. However, I was very proud of how This is Who I Am Chapter 5 turned out. I had an idea well before writing it about how I wanted to do a twist on the Mirror Match trope with Steven and Peridot - basically, forcing their light sides to fight off the dark sides of each other, rather than themselves. The more accurate terminology for what I actually pulled off was an inversion of Opponent Switch.

I was very happy how I managed to execute this plot, since so much of it was rigged in the dark sides’ favor and almost insured that only Steven or Peridot would come out of this alive; not both. When it came to Light Steven meeting Dark Peridot, I finally had the opportunity to properly write for Pre-Series Peridot, who I established earlier was a bit of an opportunistic sociopath. I was eager for the chance to make my version of Socio-Peri a legit unsettling psychopath and boy did I revel in it. So, without further ado:

Steven desperately tried to find any trace of hope remaining in this situation. "E-Even if you and him are just the worst things about us made into people, like you said, you are still part of Peridot, 5XG! You're linked, me and the other Steven are linked… and you two shouldn't want to shatter your loved ones, either!"

5XG found herself legitimately enjoying this; savoring Steven's agony and dwindling optimism. It had been far too long since she was able to relish in the pain of another; especially when it resulted in her getting rewarded for it.

"If you're attempting to argue that we don't have a single iota of contempt for one another, I suggest you spare us any more of your unacceptable stupidity by jumping off this platform and descend into the abyss where you belong," she said in a sharp tone. "You'll recall I absolutely despised you for quite some time before my weaker self got the better of me. Past-tense or not, it is a fact you cannot deny. Therefore, it is part of me. Consider it as valid as the fact that, regardless of tense and however I changed over time, I am and always will be a murderer."

"NO!"

Steven was completely shaken up, now driven to tears and cowering away from the Peridot who was his adversary long before becoming his soulmate.

"Please, don't!" he urged. "I've forgiven her already! I-I never hated her for–"

"You hate murderers," 5XG stated in a calm, neutral, but very firm tone that was sharp enough to cut Steven off. "Anyone who takes the life of another, you hate on principle. The cause or circumstance is of no concern to you and never has been."

Steven swore his blood ran freezing cold for a moment after taking in those words. He was stunned to the point of being unable to rebuke any of this.

"The Bismuth told me how events played out when you first met her," 5XG added, readily rubbing salt into the wound. "After knowing by this point how the Diamond Authority were responsible for committing multiple acts of global genocide, how this very planet was on that list, and were prone to shattering members of their own court on a misdemeanor or even on a whim. You were aware of all of this."

Steven squinted his eyes, trying his best to shut away any more tears. He tried to turn away from 5XG; his entire body was shivering while his hands balled up into fists. "P-Please, stop…"

"Yet you admonished the Bismuth for daring to create weapons made for wiping out an enemy with lethal force; legitimate ways to justifiably defend yourself against an enemy you know would not hesitate to take your life if they had an opening. You stood there, and you actually labeled her as one who is completely indistinguishable from White, Blue, or Yellow Diamond," 5XG continued; of course she wouldn't honor his request. "A loyal ally of your maternal unit whose focus was always on doing her best to defend her friends and loved ones, who only fought when forced to by the Homeworld gems… to her face, you belittled her convictions and you said there was no difference between her and the maniacal, genocidal dictators that you yourself were defending against along with your loved ones – just as the Bismuth herself. I honestly don't blame her for trying to kill you that day. You should have died."

5. Share one of your strengths.

Phew... this one’s a little awkward for me. I know one thing I’m objectively good at is writing insanely long shit that is at least good enough to compel people to lose sleep or pull all-nighters as they strive to finish it. I can at least safely say that because nearly every goddamn reviewer I’ve ever had has gone out of their way to mention this. Even if they don’t review, if I ever have a chance to talk to them personally, they’re normally gonna let me know they sacrificed many hours of sleep because of me :P

But really, I’m consistently praised for expanding on characters or concepts that canon either could have touched on more or barely touched at all. Some people have gained newfound appreciation for characters they didn’t care about or even hated because of my portrayals, and that’s pretty damn empowering to hear. I’ll often get remarks along the lines of me taking a character and “really making them my own” - in a positive way. Sometimes I have plot twists that are complete and utter batshit on paper, but then I’ll get commended for making it completely believable to the point where readers tell me they wish it was actually canon.

So, that’s enough of a strength, I would say. I can reach really far and still make an AU story sound like it could have easily fit in canon even if my ideas are ones the staff won’t touch with a 10-mile pole.

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

rsilgjdgkljdgsjgahhahhhh, that’s not as easy a question as you might think! Every story has given me a hurdle or two.

I think by default, I’m gonna say it’s Peri-dise: The Capitalist Anarchy. Because while I put my own spin on it and added a lot of things to make a proper story out of it, Peridot’s little Citystate session was almost exactly to the letter like a certain one by GrayStillPlays. So a lot of the heavy lifting was already done for me in that regard. Still made sure to add plenty to it just to ensure it wasn’t SOLELY just a retelling of that video with some name changes.

And that takes care of my first big ask! Hopefully those were satisfactory answers. I’ll... TRY and get to another before I pass out. Really wasn’t fair of CN to drop this leak on the same day I’d have to contend with 3 hours of Monday Night RAW...

#answered asks #nobynaga #meme #fanfiction #writing

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ninascreams-blog · 5 years

Text

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Subgrade is definitely the earth beneath the patio structure. If this is simply not skillfully well prepared, You will find a high prospect that the concrete will crack mainly because it settles. Guantee that the subgrade soil is ready in order that it offers adequate, organization guidance and will likely not move or wash away.

Whilst pavers can give you a realistic impervious floor to enhance drainage, pavers provide zero structural integrity when put in in excess of regular aggregate bases. What I suggest by that may be that a 6" or 12" paver or brick can not bridge just one imperfection or a little bit eroded substrate (foundation). In my 30+ yrs of concrete design to hundreds on numerous installations, the only real time I have at any time found an Architect specify pavers for a significant driveway software, experienced a CONCRETE slab specified to assist it! Yup, they required the structural integrity to originate from concrete, as well as the pavers to make the Visible impact they desired.

You don't want to use it thick and you do not need any puddles. If you obtain a puddle just wipe it by using a rag to thin that region.

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Another thing that affected me when we decided to pave our stone push. Concrete is taken into account a long term framework and so would up my tax price in my individual spot. We went with asphalt at minimum amount four inch foundation in excess of rolled stone.

Standard labor to setup stamped concrete driveways with favorable internet site situations. Structure driveway height and slope. Flippantly grade and take away unfastened soil. Set kinds and reinforcing.

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docholligay · 6 years

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Prompt: Rin, the day after the final duel

Sorry, this was going to be a shitpost and then it wasn’t. 2,100 words and mostly my feelings original character do not steal ahahahah.

The world had snapped back. She couldn’t explain it any other way. It was as if reality had been stretched and stretched and stretched, a tight rubber band almost to its breaking point, and then suddenly released. Loose. Free. At one time, Rin might have said that such a thing would be relaxing, that she could not quite define why everything in her life, in the school, felt so tense, but it clearly was, and she was looking for relief.

Instead, she felt the world’s elastic contract, and was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea as she stood next her tea kettle, waiting for it to boil. She bent over and took a deep, slow breath, trying to bring herself back to calm.

“Rin?” Ayaka’s voice was soft and worried as she sat at their little table in the corner of their tiny apartment, the pancakes and salted salmon laid out on the table in front of her. She liked them to start their day together. Rin liked it too. It was nice. “Are you alright?”

Rin shook her head briefly, but then brought herself back to standing and nodded, her still-wet brown hair flicking drops down onto her glasses. The nausea rose again.

“Think I just need ginger tea this morning.” She gave a sideways smile to Ayaka. “Maybe you got me pregnant.”

Ayaka gave a huff of a laugh, but relaxed and turned back to her crossword and her salmon.

The beep of the tea kettle signaled its rolling boil, and Rin’s mind exploded. There she was, in front of the classroom, again and again and again. There was arguing, and a stage, somewhere, that she knew and she didn’t know, and there she was, watching Maya and Claudine take the leads again and again, and they blended together, faster and faster, a carousel gone wild, the horses no longer seen and the music of it louder and louder. She felt the vomit rise in her throat.

“Rin?”

We will all do Starlight! Her mind screamed.

The world went black. She felt herself fall deeper, deeper, into the darkness and the heat, and though she couldn’t open her eyes, she saw the bright red words, “I Am Reborn” written across the blackness of the sky, and felt the strong thump as she hit the floor.

There was the scrape of a chair against the floor, the tumble of someone next to her.

“Rin!!”

She felt Ayaka’s hand on her neck, and then nothing at all.

That was eight months ago. The official diagnosis had been, effectively, ‘we don’t know but she seems fine,’ a diagnosis which had given Ayaka no small amount of rage and disbelief, but which, as the months passed and nothing else seemed to arise, she seemed willing to accept, even if she looked at Rin with a careful eye even now.

The world had come back to itself, and after a few days at home, Rin had come back to school to find Hikari Kagura standing in her office, waiting, a look of sad resignation on her face. Yoshiko, who sat across from her in the office, either didn’t notice Hikari or didn’t seem to care, and Rin bit her tongue.

It wouldn’t be the first time she and Yoshiko had argued about the way to treat students.

“I hope you are feeling better, Miss.” Hikari said seriously, flat a look of disconnect on her face as she neatly folded her hands in front of her.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about…” Rin walked over to her desk and sat down.“What’s the matter? You all fighting over rooming again?”

Rin was more or less used to the general problems that plagued Seisho after hours, and she was more or less happy to be the one to take care of them. Sometimes the other teachers didn’t seem to remember what it was like to be that age, in such a pressure cooker, and, Rin felt, they didn’t give them enough in the way of quiet empathy. Sometimes it was just enough to listen.

A sudden flash of realization came to her that Hikari might want to talk about something that she didn’t care to discuss in front of Yoshiko, and was about to stand up against and suggest they go sit outside, when Hikari had presented her with a piece of paper.

“I am withdrawing from Seisho. Everything should be in order.”

There was no hesitation, no room for argument, as she gave Rin the papers. Rin glanced over them, that same strange feeling coming over her.

“Kagura, I–did something happen? I’m still a little foggy, but I’m sure we can–”

But Hikari was already heading for the door, and turned only to look at Rin one last time.

“Thank you for everything, Miss.”

Karen had been just as confused, and had wasted no time grilling Rin in the most polite way she could manage. Rin didn’t have the words to tell her that she didn’t understand either, that she had seen plenty of girls drop out of Seisho but she had never seen anything quite like this, and that there was something she felt was happening, something she could almost remember, but every time she touched it, that nausea ran through her, and she could hear the music again, so loud. Like something was trying to keep her out.

“I must have looked like I didn’t care,” Rin had said that night, lounging on the couch in a pair of loose pajama pants and her undershirt as Ayaka embroidered an edge on a costume she was working on, her dark hair softly curling against her shoulders, “But I just…I don’t know either, Ayaka. I know I got handed paperwork and she left. No forwarding.”

“It isn’t really your problem, Rini.” She did not look up from her dress.

She’d forgotten she had managed to get sick at the least convenient time for her love, who was knee deep in final measurements and embellishments for her show, and Ayaka had not brought it up. It was sometimes a shock to Rin, still, how beautiful she was, how talented she was, and that one day backstage, in a show she had perhaps fifteen lines in, Ayaka had looked up at her while she hemmed her pants and given the most radiant smile Rin had ever seen. That she had loved Rin, who never really made it on the stage, was a miracle and a mystery.

None of this, of course, made Ayaka even the slightest bit right.

“It IS my problem, though!” Rin sat up and leaned toward Ayaka. “I have never had a kid just LEAVE like that, there’s usually something,” she tugged at her hair and flung her hand into the air, “and I can’t figure out what it is. I’ve asked around, and it’s making me, and the girls–”

“You should lie down.” Ayaka said brusquely, eyeing her seriously.

Rin closed her eyes and shook her head. It was like she wasn’t even listening. “Oh my god, stop babying me,” she huffed, “I’m an adult, and I’m fine, and–”

“Rin Miyamoto,” She set down the dress in her lap and looked at Rin fully, her voice firm as stone, “You do not remember what I remember, in the kitchen. You did not have to watch yourself crumple to the floor, and you did not have to call your name, over and over, to no response. I have been with you for seven years. Seven. If something happened to you, I’m not sure what, or where I would–”

There was a small crack in the stone of her voice, and Rin’s eyes softened. It was easy to think of Ayaka as unshakable. Part of what Rin loved about her so much was her strength and her fierceness, the way she dominated a room even with her small stature and flowing dresses. She was like an empress everywhere she went, but she could be hurt, and looking her now, her eyes gently misting with tears, Rin realized that she had frightened Ayaka. That she wasn’t the only one struggling to find footing with the events of the past week.

“–You are the softest part of my heart,” Ayaka did not look away, and Rin felt her own eyes begin to water, “I need you.”

Rin took her hand and squeezed it softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled over at her. “I’ll take care of myself. I won’t push it, I promise,” she put her hand on her chest and laughed, “I promise to remember I’m an old woman with limitations and responsibilities to Princess Ayaka.”

Ayak laughed and squeezed back. “Queen Ayaka, thank you.”

Eight months ago, huh? It seems shorter. It seems longer. HIkari came back, and that was good, right?

That was two months ago. Two months ago, in Rin’s office with no explanation but some paperwork, but with a bright smile on her face, hand in hand with Karen. No explanation but that she was ready to enter the doors again, and the world seemed to move to allow her to be the lead with Karen. They were wonderful. Excellent. The girls fell into place around them, and Rin was surprised that Maya and Claudine seemed so at peace with playing the supports to a girl who had never shown much drive and a usurper from London.

And she felt that touch again, that something had happened, the nausea and the spinning and something just beyond her reach.

She hadn’t told Ayaka.

Standing backstage at the production of Starlight, the one Nana had presented to the class with a new ending which was received with delight by the girls, Rin had to smile. It didn’t really matter if this had been a strange year, and if her nausea only flared up occasionally, and she hadn’t fainted at all, then there wasn’t much to worry about. The girls all seemed happy and content, and the show was better than it had ever been before. Rin had a new suit in soft grey windowpane check that Ayaka had lovingly made her for the premiere, blue vest tucked beneath it. She looked rather handsome, she thought.

Things could keep going on like this, as far as Rin was concerned. If she could get another class out the door, ready to face the world and full of hope and optimism, she’d be happy enough. She didn’t wish for much else for herself. Maybe she’d campaign the school board again that they should have an alternate uniform, she was getting tired of seeing poor little Futaba in a skirt.

Another wave passed over her, the lights on the stage, even standing in the back, too bright, and she gripped onto a piece of scenery tucked away backstage to steady herself.

But things can’t stay this way, a far away voice whispered, audiences get bored when things are too bright. Light means nothing without shadow, and the shadow must come to the stage. You understand.

I understand. She’d heard that voice before. The world became a carousel again, and Rin could not, would not, refused to look away, just kept pressing deeper and deeper on the thought until she felt it break through.

The giraffe. The duels. The never-ending lust for brilliance that kept the girls slaving at the stage.

Rin looked back to the stage, where the girls where draped across the stairs, Karen greeting her Flora with tender and expressive eyes. They were all so young. They were all so happy. The giraffe had let them believe it could stay this way.

Her girls. This wouldn’t be the first of her girls he’d tangled with. He preyed on those fresh buds, barely bloomed and so sweet. He never came for those who bore the scars of the stage, those who had seen what it was to rise and fall and who were ready to not only parry but also block a blow.

Rin Miyamoto, who never made it on the stage, who was only a teacher and who would never have a big apartment in a nice neighborhood, who loved her job and her girls and her life with her love, was tired of it.

She rushed out of the backstage, the hold it had had on her all these months finally broken, and stormed toward the space where that elevator would be. Where she knew it must be.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Let’s see how tough he is facing an adult.” She growled as she sped down the hallway, already feeling the sword form in her hand.

“I’ll take care of myself. I won’t push it, I promise,”

“You’re gonna get the hell out of my school.” She shook her head angrily, the cape beginning to drape across her back. “You’re not going to touch any more of my girls.”

“I promise to remember I’m an old woman with limitations and responsibilities to Princess Ayaka.”

She slammed her hand down on the button, and felt the ground begin to shake.

“I’m sorry, Ayaka.”

The floor dropped, and the lights came up.

#Doc watches Revue Starlight #sorry this is so me on my shit ahaha #seolh #Wholesome angel Rin

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nottooldforthisship · 6 years

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*CHEF fics*

- Learning to Eat by @mbpgku : Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?! Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY) (38k, M)

- Every Good Boy Deserves Cookies , by @stunning-stylinson : “Y-yeah?” Louis asks breathlessly, “And then?“Harry giggles and moves his bum back to meet Louis. “Add the vanilla and crack the eggs, beating it all in with salt,” Harry says.Or where Harry is a chef who teaches a class and Louis swears it’s only Harry’s bossiness that turns him on, not the recipe for cookies and Harry likes being praised. (8.5k, E)

- Feels Like Coming Home , by @phd-mama: The last thing Harry Styles expects when he’s hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that’s exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn’t heard one word from Louis, and he’s moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he’s a chef, isn’t easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he’d left turn out to be not so easily forgotten. This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives. (60k, E)

- Before We Evaporate , by crimsontheory : Louis Tomlinson; executive chef and owner of his own five star restaurant, been voted one of the top chefs in London, and has won several awards for his work in the kitchen. He’s always dreamed of being on Chopped, but never believed it would actually happen. Until it does. Now that he’s officially made it onto the show, there’s one tall, curly haired distraction that might just ruin everything for him.Or the kinda sorta enemies to lovers Chopped AU with far more smut than necessary. (37k, E)

- Fool's Gold , by @freetheankles : Or the Arnacoeur AU in which Harry is scheduled to be married to Liam in 10 days and Harry’s mother hires Louis and his team to break them up. (55k, E)

- Check Please by zedi : Louis has a shit date. Harry offers to cover the bill. They maybe fall in love. (2k, NR)

*BAKER fics*

- Relief next to me , by @haydolce : AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more. (333k, E)

- leave it to the breeze , by @hattalove : or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people’s business. also featuring liam as louis’s best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur. (81k, E)

- shine by @lourrynavy ; Louis is an actor who needs to get away from the real world. He does the only thing that he can and runs away, finding himself in a small town where he happens upon Harry. What Louis doesn’t expect is to somehow fall in love and end up having to face what he was running from all along. (40k, M)

- Tis the Season for…Love? , by @afangirlfantasy: Prompt: Harry seems to have it all: A successful career as a pastry chef, a Victorian home in London, and a dedicated boyfriend who he's been with for years. One day he stops by his boyfriend's apartment to surprise him and finds out that he's not so dedicated to Harry after all. Shocked and too depressed to celebrate, he decides to skip Christmas and on a whim leaves on a plane to New York. In New York he meets Louis… Or...Louis might just be what Harry's needed all along. (27k, M)

- Flour and Chocolate by teaandtumblr : Then he approached the display cabinet. And the foreboding slammed into him. Because every product had letters next to it. Letters. GF, DF, V, O, VGN. What. The. Fuck? Lifting his eyes to the chalkboard menu spread across the back wall Louis felt physically ill. ‘Gluten-free’, ‘organic’, ‘vegan’, ‘paleo’, ‘dair-…’ Wait, what the fuck was a paleo? He had entered some hipster-trash establishment and it was more than time to get out. OR Louis is a single dad and Harry works at the newly opened bakery down the street.(145k, M)

- Float Down Like Autumn Leaves (Stay Now) , by @getmesometacos : The AU in which Louis has a 6 year old daughter with a costume emergency that puts her school’s annual Halloween party at risk, Halloween decorated cupcakes are hard to find and tall men look absolutely ridiculously cute in giant vegetables costumes. Co-starring Harry, who makes really good food for the kids. Featuring Niall, who works in a bakery but has a part time job as a babysitter. And as much as he doesn’t believe in love at first (or second) sight, Louis is really infatuated and really wouldn’t mind seeing Harry again.(16k, M)

- we’re still going, eight in the morning , by @nooelgallagher and @yoursongonmyheart : Harry washes his hands quickly before grabbing his phone. His screen lights up to 3 notifications.DJTommo is now following you!@DJTommo mentioned you in a tweet!Direct Message from @DJTommo!Harry yelps, throwing his phone to Niall who just barely catches it.Niall looks down at the phone, seeing first the tweet, then the DM. He tosses the phone back to Harry, who nearly drops it. “What are ya doing, mate! Answer him!”Harry thinks for a moment about what he wants to say. This is his chance to actually talk to Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson messaged him directly. He can say anything he wants. He begins typing, his fingers shaky.Niall comes over to stand next to Harry and peers down, looking to see what he wrote. When he does, he lets out a groan….Or, the one where Harry owns a bakery, Louis is a radio DJ, and Niall and Liam roll their eyes at their incessant flirting. (31k, E)

- taste on my tongue , by @bethaboolou : Louis Tomlinson, second place winner on TXF four years ago, is looking to reinvent his career. Harry Styles is a baker who is desperate for a bakery of his own.Louis doesn’t bake. Or cook. Or know how to use an oven.Take Louis. Take Harry. Add in a heaping cup of sexual tension. Another cup of delicious (and not so delicious) food. A smidgen of competitive spirit. A dash of hopes and dreams. And you get Kitchen Wars, a TV show that promises to be the must-watch event of the fall. (77k, E)

- come away with me , by @suspendrs: Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter’s life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help. (80k, NR)

- Whether Clouds or Clear Skies , by @onewasturning : “You, young Harold, are a baker among curry houses and vintage clothing stores,” Louis says, and it forces a bark of surprised laughter out of Harry. “I’m a— sorry, what?” “Harry,” Louis says, “last night I had an experience bordering on profound.” “You’re making it sound like you did something sexual with my muffin,” Harry says. Or, Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather. (25k, E)

- Every Story Ever Told , by @all-these-larrythings : Becoming a best-selling author isn’t as difficult as Louis would have guessed. It seems all you need these days is the perfect blend of alcohol induced philosophy, complete disregard for one’s dignity, a live blog about how fucked love is, and a bored publisher interested enough to offer him a deal. (54k, NR)

- Skin New, Hands True, My Hands All Over You , by PearlyDewdrops : Harry designs wedding cakes, so of course meeting blissfully happy couples every day is part of his job description. Unfortunately, it’s caused Harry to perpetually hope each new day is the one he’ll find love, too. That is, until Harry realises everything he’s ever wanted is right under his nose in the shape of his best friend, Louis. But predictably, Harry only comes to this epiphany when Louis starts seeing someone else. And this is not a John Hughes movie as far as Harry is aware. Everyone else is pretty sure, though. Featuring a heavy dose of pining, copious amounts of alcohol, drunk dialing that results in a situation reminiscent of Rachel Green’s, a ginger cat that likes to interrupt intimate moments, and a Halloween party that changes everything. (44k, E)

* RESTAURANT OWNER fics*

- all the lights are full of colour, by @infinitelymint : So, fast-forwarding eight years from the day Harry met Louis, he is now a twenty-seven year old owner of one of the most up-and-coming eating establishments on the London restaurant scene, father of two wonderful boys and… separated from his husband. Now, that last part definitely was never a part of the original plan. Or, Harry and Louis are separated, but for the sake of their two sons, they choose to spend Christmas together. It may just lead to a Christmas miracle. (26k, E)

- You'll Hear Me Calling for You , by pinky_heaven19 : OR the one where Harry is an Alpha and Louis has a problem with it - until he doesn't. (42k, E)

- Let's Go Get Away , by @letsjustsee : Or, a fluffy AU in which Louis owns a restaurant that's next door to Harry's shop, and Louis is completely unaware how smitten he really is. (7k, NR)

* FOOD BLOGGING fics*

- 'Til I Tasted You , by @icanhazzalou : Louis is Harry Styles' biggest fan. It doesn't matter that Harry is famous for being a food blogger and Louis can't cook to save his life.At least, until Harry offers to give Louis a cooking lesson. Then it matters just a teensy bit. (14k, E)

#mine #fic rec #my fic rec #I probably missed a lot of them #in the chef part #anyway #here you go anon :)

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albionscastle · 6 years

Text

First Impressions Part 9

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been in a dreadful funk since getting back from Scotland and I haven’t written hardly at all. But I was putting up the tree and thought of a scene which turned into this.

This chapter doesn’t really further the story much but gives an insight into what Lizzie and Jack are thinking.

MASTERLIST AND PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

FIRST IMPRESSIONS PART 9 - SNOW DAY

LIZZIE

Winter had officially arrived, several weeks early in fact. Lizzie sat in her window watching the children walking to school, bundled in their coats and scarves, happily throwing snowballs at one another. Shop owners were salting and shovelling the sidewalks while the trucks came along to give the same treatment to the roads. The first decent snow of the season the week before Thanksgiving was almost unheard of. Since Lizzie had been in high school it had only snowed before Christmas maybe three times. Up at 6am she’d already shovelled the sidewalk outside the theatre, the landlord was far too old to be having to worry about it and if she was honest she enjoyed the simple labor of it.

What she didn’t like, however, was driving in the snow, especially in or around Chicago. She’d admittedly been called a crazy driver more than once but she had nothing on the idiots who came out in the bad weather. It was far safer for her and everyone else for her to just, not. The museum had already been informed that she wouldn’t be back until March, and honestly Lizzie was looking forward to taking the time off to explore some online classes, anything to pad her resume. Today, though, she was free just to relax and watch the flakes fall while she nursed her tea.

A ping from her phone distracted her, no-one usually texted her at 7am unless it was an emergency, or they wanted her to work.

Brad: Hey Red! It’s snowing!

Lizzie rolled her eyes. In the weeks since Charlie’s birthday, the weird feeling she’d had about Brad had almost vanished and she’d engaged with him a lot more. Though she had yet to take him up on his offers of dinner, she had allowed him to sit beside her at the movies once or twice. For his part, Brad had eased off while still making his attraction clear. Lizzie couldn’t understand why she was so reticent about getting involved with him. On paper he was a hell of a catch - gorgeous, charming, successful, friendly and fun. Brad Wickham ticked a lot of boxes, except two. Attraction and trust.

The truth was - she just didn’t think of him in that way. If he brushed her hand or touched her she felt nothing. Literally nothing, it just wasn’t there for her and no amount of trying had changed that. There was also the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she just couldn’t trust him. Whether it was because he was just too perfect, or her own personal fears, she just couldn’t tell, but it was there.

It didn’t stop her from enjoying his friendship though.

Lizzie: Your powers of perception are second to none. I never would have guessed.

Brad: Ha ha, there’s talk they may cancel filming today.

Lizzie: It’s barely a dusting! And wouldn’t that just put production behind? Brad: Nah, we only have a few days of filming left and today is just us lowly bit part actors lol

He was right, Lizzie realised suddenly. Even Tom had mentioned more than once that the whole thing would be done by Thanksgiving, which was only seven days away. She made a mental note to ask Maya what plans her and Tom had made.

Lizzie: I forgot you will all be out of our hair this week.

Brad: Well our mutual ‘friend’ will be, me, I might stick around for a while.

Don’t.

She didn't’;t even realise that she’d said the word out loud the thought was so sudden. But Lizzie knew without a doubt that deep down she didn’t want Brad to stay in town once production finished.

Lizzie: trust me, there’s NOTHING here in the winter. Just ice and assholes, other than that, nothing happens.

There was no text for a while and Lizzie hoped that she’d gotten the message across diplomatically enough. She knew damn well what he meant when he talked about staying and she didn’t want to give him false hope.

Brad: Subject change, are you going to the wrap party?

Lizzie: Half the city was invited so yes. What about you?

Brad: Well it's sure to be awkward but I’m determined to. After all, Jack’s the one who should be ashamed, not me. If he doesn’t want to see me there he can leave and hide in his hotel room.

Lizzie: Now that would make the night perfect lol

Brad: Gotta go, we just got called. TTYL

The wrap party had been a bone of contention for Lizzie since the invitations arrived. Her mother and Lydia were over the moon, naturally, but when Lizzie had suggested she stay home with Ben she had been vetoed across the board. Reluctantly she’d had to agree to go, even though she wanted to avoid a great many of the people who would be there.

Still, maybe the night would be bearable with Brad and Charlie there. Maybe.

As expected, the snow had eased off by mid-morning and would be melted away by late afternoon. Maya had arrived at lunch, arms stacked with books and looking all flustered.

“Can I study here? If I go home Mom is just going to distract me and I’ll get nothing done, I’m behind already.”

Lizzie couldn’t say no to Maya, even if her presence meant that her planned day of solitude had gone out the window. Leaving her sister with her law books spread out all over the dining table, Lizzie had pottered around cleaning the apartment and hauling the Christmas boxes down from the storage room. Chloe was strict about the tree not going up until December and Colin had never allowed one. This year she was going to have it her way, Christmas was her favorite time of year.

It was dark by five and finally Maya shut her books.

“I’m done. All caught up, thanks Lizzie.”

“No probs, are you hungry?”

“Famished, I should get home for dinner.”

“I’ll rustle something up, stay and relax for a while.”

Lizzie could see Maya’s forehead wrinkle nd she knew what was bothering her.

“You have plans with Tom?”

“Just dinner with him and Jack.” Maya looked guilty.

Taking a deep breath, Lizzie made the decision.

“Invite them here.”

The thankful look on Maya’s face was worth any irritation that Lizzie felt at the prospect of Jack being in her apartment. Besides there were just a days left and she was, as always, willing to put up with anything if it meant Maya’s happiness.

Lizzie busied herself in the kitchen, making sure she was busy when the men in question arrived. She could hear their voices, the difference between their accents always so clear. Despite herself, she enjoyed the burrs and lilts when Jack spoke and loathed that she actually found his voice quite comforting.

“Could ye use a hand?”

Speak of the devil and he’ll pop his head into your kitchen.

“I’m actually good.” Lizzie didn’t even look up from chopping the carrots.

“Are ye sure? I think those two want some time alone, if ye ken?”

You could have stayed home, she thought bitterly.

“Fine, can you chop these for me?” she sighed.

“What are makin?” he took the knife from her hand and got to work.

“A coconut curry, nothing special.”

“Sounds better than McDonalds again.”

Lizzie couldn’t help but snicker. Whiting wasn’t known as a hub for the discerning diner, and their McDonald's even had a Facebook page declaring it the worst in existence. For good reason.

“You’re gambling with your life eating at that shithole.”

“Take it up wi’ the young’un, he’s go a stomach made o cast iron.”

“And apparently the taste to go with it if he willingly eats that crap to begin with.”

“Well, to be fair, the lad’s no had a lot of experience past uni, and ye know how tha goes.”

“I remember. I existed on a diet of ramen, takeout and toast. Oh and chocolate, naturally.”

“Naturally.” he chuckled, sliding the veggies into the skillet at Lizzie’s beckoning.

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence as the meal came together. Jack seemed able to anticipate her needs and they worked together like a well-oiled machine.

“It’s almost ready, let me check the rice.”

Lizzie lifted the lid on the pot and held her hand out for a fork. Jack handed one to her, fingers sliding over hers as he placed it in her palm. The jolt that hit her made her catch her breath, hand shaking as she gripped the utensil. The last time he’d touched her this hadn’t happened, but she’d been upset and his touch had been comforting in the face of Colin.

This. This was trouble.

Lizzie waited until Jack went to set the table before she let out her breath, her hand still tingling and her body far too warm for comfort.

What the fuck had just happened? JACK

His hand was twitching, literally twitching as he flexed his fingers. He’d seen Elizabeth take a deep breath and he knew that she felt it too. The attraction that simmered was white hot and coursing through his veins and it was all he could do to slow his breathing. Jack barely even paid attention to what he was doing, his mind wandering to far more interesting thoughts.

Stop it! He muttered to himself before his body betrayed his thoughts.

Jack forced himself to calm down before going back into the kitchen. Elizabeth had her back to him as she transferred food to serving dishes. He took a moment to appreciate her, even all covered up she was a treat. For a brief moment he allowed himself to imagine walking up behind her, lifting her braid so he could press his lips to her neck. In his mind she leaned back into him with a smile as his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her as he whispered in her ear.

“Can you get the others?”

His bubble burst and reality came into sharp focus as he called out to Tom and Maya, taking a serving dish from the counter. He gave himself credit for rallying well during dinner, telling stories from different sets that had the women howling with laughter. There were moments he noticed that Elizabeth would have her brows furrowed in confusion, and he definitely noticed her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Bolstered, he not only dragged Tom to make sure they did the cleaning up, but he also broached the subject of the Christmas boxes in the corner.

“Lizzie always was gung ho about getting Christmas up and moving.” Maya laughed. “Mom would never even let her look at tinsel until December.”

“I’m all fer decorating early ma’self.” Jack shrugged, noting Elizabeth’s surprise. “There’s summan magical about Christmas an I think the longer ye can experience it each year the better.”

He didn’t add that he hadn’t decorated his flat since Lisa buggered off and even then it had been all her, designed purely to be shown off and with no warmth or charm. There had been no magic to it.

“Lizzie! Why don’t we do it now?” Tom suddenly piped up with excitement.

Good boy, Jack thought as he murmured his agreement to the idea.

“Well I guess we could.” she seemed uncertain at first but he could see the excitement brimming in her eyes.

That was all it took. Within minutes the boxes had been dragged into the center of the room and the corner emptied.

“I prefer real trees,” Elizabeth sighed she cut open the huge box containing the tree. “But I couldn’t justify the expense when I already had this.”

As it was, her fake tree was impressively real-looking, and large. Jack could see that it had been packed away for quite some time as even the scent packets in with it had lost their smell. It was a lovely tree but in the back of his mind all he could think was that he deserved the real thing.

Maya lit pine-scented candles, while Tom turned on a Christmas playlist. Jack helped Elizabeth piece the tree together, pulling and fluffing the branches until it looked perfect. For the next hour or so, lights and tinsel were hung, and box after box of baubles opened. Many were the typical colorful glass balls, glittering stars, pretty but impersonal. The last couple of boxes were different. He watched the sisters as they lifted each one out, some hand made and some old and well loved. There was even a box of ornaments that were nothing but Star Wars, Marvel, Disney, a wonderland of pop culture. Jack’s personal favorite was a Darth Vader in an ugly sweater who spoke about presents and Sithmas every time someone moved past him.

“When did you get all these, Lizzie?” Maya was hanging a golden Snitch beside a sparkly Merida.

Tom was unboxing a Captain America and jack was playing with a shark that played the Jaws theme.

“I’ve just bought them at sale over the years, Mom never wanted them on the tree and Colin…” Jack watched her visibly gather herself. “He wasn’t big on Christmas.”

It occured to Jack that this might well be the first time Elizabeth had her own tree, in her own home, and he wasn’t sure how it was making him feel. Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts he handed her the shark, watching her while she hung it. After it all was done and the boxes carted back to storage, Jack stood back looking at what they’d done.. The tree was a hodge podge, with no apparent style or theme and he had to admit he thought it was perfect. The result was warm, inviting and somehow uniquely Elizabeth. This apartment wasn’t designed to please anyone but her and it worked, in the fact that one felt so much at home here.

His flat in London was pathetically sterile, had been even during the time he shared it with Lisa. She’d been all for the ultra modern, with white everything and the place had looked like a damn photoshoot. He’d been afraid to even sit on the fucking couch. In the year that she’d been gone the only thing he’d done with the place was buy a couch and a tv, most of the time that was where he slept too. If he was with a woman it had always been at her place or a hotel, somewhere that he could make a quick, discrete exit. There had been no morning afters, no desire to have a woman in his space.

Until now.

Elizabeth would hate his place, he knew by looking at her jewelled throws and little knick knacks, and he’d be embarrassed to take her there. But here, he could see something more than taking her to bed and sneaking out while she was asleep. He could see snuggling on the couch as a movie played, he could see cooking together again.

He could see a future and it scared him to death.

It wasn’t possible, least of all with her and all of this had to be some weird side-effect of being in close quarters to the woman he wanted to shag and couldn’t. There was no future with a woman who lived in a different country and whose whole family belonged on some trashy American talk show. Not to mention that he was never ever going to put himself in that position again. He could never allow himself to be blindsided and betrayed again - especially when the woman in question was already friendly with Wick.

While the others dug into dessert, Jack excused himself to the bathroom, finding that he needed a few moments to be alone with his thoughts. Strolling down the hallway he ran his fingers along the wall, taking in the gallery of photos. Most were of Elizabeth and her family or friends. He chuckled to himself at one of her and Charlie as young teens, skinny and awkward looking, their teeth in braces. Further along, closer to her bedroom door were two framed documents. With some surprise he realised they were diplomas, from Northwestern University. Somehow he’d known in the back of his mind that she’d been to school, something he’d overheard maybe. He hadn’t considered a place like Northwestern, or that ‘gone to school’ meant a Masters degree in History.

He was honestly taken aback. What on earth was she doing working in a bakery with a masters degree? Jack couldn’t wrap his head around it, or around why the hell he cared so much what she did or didn’t do with her life. Splashing his face with water in the bathroom, Jack tried to shake some sense into himself. With a resigned sigh he instead gave into curiosity and opened the bathroom cabinet, all the while telling himself that he was a despicable human being.

“What on earth?” he murmured aloud as he took in the row of prescription bottles on the shelf.

His brow furrowed as he read the labels; Hydroxyzine, Lexapro, Amitriptyline, Naproxen - that one, he knew was for pain. The others though, he had no idea what they were but it didn’t bode well. Whatever was wrong with Elizabeth, she did a good job of hiding it, he’d certainly seen no signs of illness or weakness.

“That was a nice night, even you have to admit Jack.” Tom remarked later as they walked back to the hotel.

“Aye it was. Say, do ye know if Elizabeth is sick or summan?”

“She looked fine to me, a bit tired maybe.”

Jack just shrugged, surely if it were something like say, cancer, Maya would have mentioned something to Tom. Whatever it was it apparently wasn’t bad enough to cause anyone any real concern.

Again, why did he even fucking care?

Short answer, he didn’t. The woman had gotten under his skin, yes but for no reason other than him being horny, wanting to scratch the itch. Anything else was simply sentimentality, maybe a touch of loneliness.

“Nuthun, jus thought she seemed a bit, off, probably jus tried like ye said.”

“Awe how sweet of you to care you big softie.” Tom laughed, despite the dark look that Jack shot him.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” Jack muttered, shoving Tom good-naturedly.

As much as Jack hated to admit it, Tom had a point. He did care, despite his better judgement and every argument against it. He cared. Very much.

And he was miserable.

#jack x reader #jack lowden fic #jack lowden #jack lowden blurb #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden x reader #pride and prejudice au #dont know why im tagging this since tumblr is being a bitch about links

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