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closer-stars · 3 years

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Heart of Depth (2)

Member: Yeosang Genre: Action, Slice of Life, Fantasy, Fluff, a little tension. Genshin Inspired AU Word Count: ~12k Requested: Sort of yeah Content: Yeosang x MC development. More world building. Food stuff. A little bit of crime stuff, some history, some art info dump, some typical genshin shenanigans Note: this was done way before, I’m already 90% done with part 3 but I kinda got bored while focusing on IRL things that i decided to post this. Enjoy folks. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag list: @barsformars @miniyeo @jeongyunhoed @yeekies @yeotlny @frankenstein852 @shinyddeonghwa @prodbyteez @yeochikin @yeocult @harubirus

Part 1

It’s been a few weeks since Wooyoung finally met Yeosang. While Wooyoung was mostly impressed with his background, there were a lot of mixed feelings from your end. For starters, he doesn’t stop talking about Yeosang and his job to you.

“Listen, he’s loaded.” Wooyoung tells you back in your apartment. It’s not that you didn’t believe him, in fact you did. It’s just the way Wooyoung is processing the entire thing made it seem unrealistic. Since Wooyoung found out he works at one of the most popular art museums in the region, he’s been pestering you about it nonstop.

“Wooyoung, I’m not saying that I don’t believe you but really, with the clothes he wears and how he carries himself, it’s not unbelievable that he’d be rich…” You say as you make yourself a cup of instant coffee. To most, they’d be surprised with how you choose to make instant coffee when you know how to make other types of coffee with ease. It’s just more convenient and less work for your head. It won’t give you the same caffeine boost as the coffee you make in your work but it’ll do for now.

“And you didn’t tell me this because…?” He trails off, dumbfounded at how you were so nonchalant about this. Well, maybe nonchalant isn’t the right word but you were a little too unaffected about this. He has a feeling that there’s more to this man, he just can’t place what it is exactly. Wooyoung does find the guy trustworthy, but there’s still something beneath the surface and that’s what bothers him.

You raise your shoulders at his question. “I just.. Didn’t see any point in telling you? Like, Wooyoung let’s be real,” you say as you write down how much you’ve made today. “What’s him being rich got to do with us? He’s a good person yeah but at least his money keeps my shop afloat with his daily purchases. If he wants me to make bulk orders then I’ll gladly consider it.”

He had to give that to you, your business was doing great too, judging by the money on the table. But he can’t help it, there’s something about Yeosang that tells him he’s not as regular as he makes himself out to be. There’s only so much that research and studying can tell you but to be able to talk about history as if he’s been there to experience it firsthand? Sounds fishy. He drops the topic though, seeing how you’re starting to struggle with the money. “So slow.” Wooyoung teases as he gets the cash box from you, as he starts to flip through the bills.

You roll your eyes at his teasing, kicking his shin under the table. “Even if I was slow, you enjoy my food and drinks so either way, we’re even.” You shoot back. You count the stacks he makes on the table and do the basic math that your brain can comprehend. Despite how infuriating he can get, you have to admit he’s really someone you can depend on.

Something in Wooyoung’s head clicks when he realizes that this was your closing routine every night. “You’re closing up early today?.” He asks, looking up at you from the stacks of coins. “Yeah uh,” You stammer out. “I’m uh, meeting up with someone..” You mumble. Even to you, it feels unreal that you’re catching feelings for someone. Someone who honestly just feels way too out of your league. Yet, here he is, sharing the same interest towards you and he’s about to see you in two hours time.

The mention of the date makes Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirk upwards, a lopsided smile on his features growing. “Oh, with Yeosang?” He asks, crossing his arms across his chest. If he could take a photo of you sulking at him, he would for future blackmail purposes-- he’d also send it to Yeosang.

The mention of the man that has been making your heart race a little more than it should makes you hit his calf with the tip of your shoe. He doesn’t yelp so you coat the tips of your fingers with ice and tap the back of his neck, giving you the reaction you wanted. “Yes, it’s with him and please…” you already know what he was about to say, so you beat him to it. “I doubt it would blossom into something more..” Even to you, you don’t sound that convincing. You hope for something more but you know better.

At how flustered you look, he can’t help but chuckle lightly. It’s nice to see you show interest in someone in that light. Even if he’s still a little hesitant about Yeosang’s energy, he wants to trust your judgement. If anything happens, you know how to defend yourself. “I won’t push. You know what I’ll say anyways.” Once everything’s been accounted for, the two of you close up the shop for the night then head home.

The entire walk home, you let Wooyoung recount the conversation he had with Yeosang when they met. You wondered too how Yeosang and San found your best friend. The two of you were opposites but somehow it made sense. At one point, you kind of zone out of his stories, thinking of what to wear for tonight.

Wooyoung doesn’t really mind you zoning out. The two of you appreciate the alone time, you more than him sometimes. In a sense, it also helps Wooyoung to make sense of his thoughts when he thinks out loud.

The two of you arrive at your apartment and already you make a beeline to your room. You got roughly an hour to prepare now.

“Just wear something comfortable.” Yeosang reassures.

“Yeosang, comfortable can mean sweats or just jeans.” You point out, while you also had slacks, those were usually set aside for more formal stuff.

“Fine, not sweats.” He laughs softly only to stop at the look of mild panic in your face. “I promise, it’s nothing expensive.”

You mutter as you change out of your work clothes and into something more appropriate. You wiggle around your room, trying to find something appropriate and it’s a little unfortunate that you room has become a little messy from all the clothes you’ve been trying on. It took a little while to look presentable but you think you did well once you give yourself a once over on the mirror.

Wooyoung already barged into your room, already nagging you for taking so long. “You got less than an hour to get to your--- oh my god your room.” He says, his features dropping into one of horror as he takes in how your room looks.

“I’ll clean it up when I get back.” You beat him to it as you grabbed your bag. “What do you think?” You ask, shifting his attention from your room to you. His eyes scan your look closely then eyes your accessories. Without even saying anything else, he goes through the mess and picks up another bag.

“This goes better with your outfit.”

“Isn’t it a bit too big?”

“Who are you going on a date with tonight?”

“It’s not a date--”

“Who?”

You sigh. “Yeosang, so?”

“Use it. I’m telling you, that guy has a lot of money on him. You might bring home more things than expected.” He points out. “Also, make sure you wear your boots.” It made sense that Wooyoung would have more fashion sense than you. It just did.

“I’m not bringing him home!” You take the bag regardless and put your belongings in it.

He snorts at how you understood his words. “Not like that! I do trust you’d do it responsibly! But, that’s not my point. Just have fun okay?” He walks you towards the door. “If anything happens, call me.”

At his shift from insufferable to endearing, you decide to spoil him with a peck to his cheek. “I know. I brought a spare key also in case you get too tired from staying up.”

He scoffs at your words. “Go, have fun.”

---------

It was short sighted of you to forget to bring a jacket. The area Yeosang told you to meet him at was rather chilly especially at night. As you wait for him, you look around, the shops that lined up across you looked expensive. Did you bring enough money? Well you had a credit card but you only used it for emergencies. You doubt you could even buy one item from any of these shops. Maybe one day.

[ Yeosang to You ] Are you there?

[ You to Yeosang ] Yes! Are you here already? curious_ryan

You don’t know why you added an emoji to your message but you did. Once sent, you look around for the familiar black haired male.

[ Yeosang to You ] 2 minutes.

You lean against the wall, eyes still roaming around for the tall man. Truthfully, you wondered where he could be and what he was wearing since this was his idea after all. It’s up to what he wears that could decide if you wore too much or too little. You spot the raven-haired man from a few feet away; in a striped pull over and slacks as well. Though it looked just as casual as he said it would, his shoes seemed to make his outfit look more put together. You hope you looked okay. Once he gets a little closer, you wave your hand a bit to get his attention and it does.

“There you are.” He says softly, tipping his head politely to you. You take a few steps forward, greeting him warmly. It felt a little weird to meet him outside work but that’s the reason why the two of you are here.

“How was work?” You ask him, just like how you would back in your shop.

He gestures for you to walk with him, wherever it will be. “Same as per usual; scheduling field trips for high school students, collections from other countries and collectors coming in, restoring a few pieces and the like.” He returns with what you could assume was an exasperated sigh.

“It sounds like it was more than just the usual.” You point out as you look at the stores. “Where are we going exactly?”

“It’s the usual for me I suppose, maybe except for the field trips. Other than that, it’s routine for me.” You remember how he would talk about art restoration along with art collections coming in from foreign partners. It wasn’t an easy task for sure, maybe that’s why he didn’t mind staying for hours in the shop. “As for your question, there’s a small night market outside this mall. Nothing too flashy, just a lot of unique things that you might like as well.” You genuinely didn’t take him to be someone who would be into markets, based on his outfit that he feels your surprised gaze on him. “Is something wrong?” He asks. You shake your head at his concern.

“I just didn’t take you to be the type to like markets.” Well, for one, you know he’s rich and he’s wearing clothes that you can only assume are made to order. Two, even if you don’t really listen to Wooyoung’s insistent ‘He’s Rich and here’s Why’ tirades, you picked up a thing or two from it.

He takes no insult from your words and actually laughs behind a loose fist. “I’ve received those words a lot in the past. To be honest, it’s thanks to San and his lover that I’m more open to things now.” Back then, he was still in the dark about what the people like, intellectualizing everything to the point of disconnect. It took them having to explain things to him over and over until he understood things. “Though, old habits do die hard.” He continues, referring to his clothes. “But I have learned a lot.”

There’s something in his words that tells you there’s more. Your attention shifts to his clothes as he gestures to his pullover. You catch a glimpse of the brand name and in doing so, your heart drops. You know that name. An outfit there can cover two months worth of rent for your shop. Maybe even the bills.

That’s how the rest of the night goes: Yeosang showing you around the market, showing you various treats to the senses. There were various stalls that you fell for, buying a few of their products but you stopped yourself from over indulging in the purchases-- some merely out of impulse, some for the mere fact it just looked pretty. “Why don’t you buy it?” Yeosang asks as he catches you eyeing a small bottle of perfume.

“Hm?” You aren’t startled by his strange ability to slip in and out of your sight every so often now. This market has such a vast amount of products, that one would easily lose sight of their companions if they didn’t pay attention. Thankfully, he was tall enough for you to find him when needed. “Oh, well, I still have a bottle I use back at home. I don’t think I need another one just yet.” You shift your gaze to him, and you see he has bought quite a number of items. “Do you want to eat dinner already?”

“I was about to ask you. It is rather late.” He notes with a glance at his watch.

“Let’s go? I’m kind of hungry now as well.”

“Any preference?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold to which you don’t turn down.

“As long as it isn’t anything expensive.”

--------

Now why did this restaurant look expensive?

You were seated a little further inside the establishment. The seats were comfortable, privacy was assured and the music playing overhead wasn't Today’s Top 40. You were certain it was jazz. “I thought I said anything that isn’t expensive..” You say, unknowingly pouting at the man across you.

“Consider this as thanks.” He says simply, not even looking up from the menu. The in-house steak sounds lovely, especially at this time.

You look up from the menu, confused at his words. “For what?” You don’t remember what you did to result in such a lavish meal-- you don’t even remember what you ate for breakfast today. A small part of you wishes Wooyoung could be here too, he would’ve loved to try out the dishes here.

“Putting trust in me to be considered a good friend of yours.” Yeosang says, it’s only then that he looks up from his menu. “Have you decided on what to eat?” He shifts the conversation to you upon noticing the confusion still etched on your face.

“Uh, well. I’m not sure what I should order” Also known as, everything’s expensive but also they sound good. You were bouncing between the pasta, beef and the fish, unsure of which one would be better for you.

“Anything that you were eyeing?” He presses. Odd enough, he can tell when you’re holding your tongue now. While he doesn’t force you to say what’s really in your mind at times, you’re human, your body has limits as well. An empty stomach carries repercussions that would probably have Wooyoung on his head.

At his question, you tell him your options. He asks about your diet preferences and your appetite for the night until he finds a good dish for you for tonight. Once all that is over, the two of you are left alone once again. “So, my dear, what did you get in the market?” He asks you, leaning a little forward, hoping for a bit of a peek into what fancied your interests.

You look at the small bags that came with your purchases, wondering which one first to show him. “Oh I just got those small perfume bottles,” you start, pulling the box out of the bag. “It’s not much but it was such a lovely scent.” You start to gush over the purchase. It took you some time to decide on purchasing it, as it was your last purchase for the night.

He picks up the box, looking at the details of the perfume, noting all the things about it. Truthfully, he didn’t think you were into this but he’s up for surprises from you. Also, San’s into this brand as well, he didn’t think they made perfume bottles in such small sizes. He hands back the perfume to you, a pleasant hum leaving his curved lips. There’s always something for him to learn.

“What about you?” You ask him as you keep your purchase away. “What did you buy?”

Yeosang looks at the small bag he had by his side. He lets you bring it out of the bag. You peek inside first, confused to see a few envelopes of varying sizes. “What are these? Are you sure I can open these?” You ask, picking a small envelope, the length just roughly around the same as your hand. When you see him nod, you carefully pull up the flap. Being greeted by a strip of colored paper behind a cream colored paper confused you, so you carefully pull it out of its confines only to gasp at the quality.

It’s a watercolor painting. It looks like a flower, something you’ve never seen before. The color was soft against the cream paper yet it was so lively, as if you could tell how the petals could feel under your fingertips. He sees the shock on your face, smiling a little at the sight of how wide your eyes get. “They’re all paintings, you can look through whatever fancies your curiosity.” His words make you feel like a deer in the headlights.

“Where did you get these? I didn’t see an artist in the market…” You mumble in thought. You’d like to get one for your shop too. “What flower is this?” You ask Yeosang, holding up the painting you initially chose. Finding entertainment in watching how you look at art results in his eyes taking a while to adjust to the art in front of him.

“Ah this, it’s called a Névé Jewel. It’s rare to find them now but the artist, a good friend of mine in the market knows of the flower and managed to create this painting. No one else seemed to want it so I got it for myself along with a few other works.” He explains. “If you wish to have work made by him, I can easily arrange that should he leave the market after we’re done with dinner.” As he was about to continue his explanation, the food started to arrive. As you return his purchases, you check the time, it didn’t take as long as you would’ve thought. The flash of warm light from your phone catches his attention. Even at an angle, he can kind of depict what the photo is. “Apologies for the question but is that your family?”

After thanking the staff for serving your meals, you let him see your wallpaper, though you cover the image of a child you from his view. “Yeah, it’s an old photo of my parents, and I.”

“How are they now?” He asks, studying the photo like he would with artwork. The sunlight casting shadows over your mother’s hat, your father squinting through the glare, probably done at high noon. The wall definitely was a product of its time, bricks but covered over with a huge mural. He’s unsure if this was shot here or in another country, regardless, it’s evident it came from a much simpler time.

“Well…” There’s something in your voice that makes Yeosang quiet. The wistful tone is something he knows too well and not something he wants to bring at the first dinner with you. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked such a question.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we can change the subject.” He immediately adds after the gap. He gestures at your meal, not wanting it to go cold.

You shake your head at his concern. “It’s okay, it’s been roughly a decade now.” You explain as you pick up your utensils. “They’ve passed on now, it’s why I live with Wooyoung.” After your family’s passing, Wooyoung’s family took you in as one of theirs. It’s why you and Wooyoung can pass off as siblings now.

As he takes makes sure he gets a spoonful of the pasta, he smiles a little at your words. “If you didn’t tell me that the two of you weren’t related, I would’ve thought otherwise.” Yeosang’s voice takes on a teasing tone, a subtle attempt to bring back a smile of joy on your features.

You make a face, carrying no malice but rather fake annoyance. “Oh dear, that means he’s rubbed off on me.” You carefully cool off your meal before tasting it. It really was a good idea to bring a few extra in your wallet. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“Well,” He takes a moment or two to eat before continuing. “I suppose, just like you, they’ve passed on when I was younger. It’s been just San and I since then.” People he considered to be his family have passed on, or have retired from the outside world. Regardless, it has left him in a rather lonely state at times. While there are memories he is fond of, who else is there to share these memories?

The two of you share stories, at least the happier ones, about each other’s families. How it was your dad who instilled in you an affinity for art, your mom teaching you history a little more entertaining than your teachers did. Yeosang shares his stories as well, his brother being a reason for his inquisitive nature that eventually grew into his work. He also talks of how his older teacher taught him the tricks and trades of business. Despite living well off, it was really his siblings who had more or less raised him as his parents were often or rather always, working. Eventually the business of art rested on his shoulders, as he was the only one who had an interest in it. You wondered if he was aware of how much money the business gave him before he signed into this. Come to think of it, there’s only two families that have a hold on the art business. Surely he’s from one of them?

Come to think of it, you still don’t know his last name.

“Are you alright? Is the food okay?” He asks you after the stories have ended. That’s when you realized that you had spaced out in your thoughts in the middle of the meal. “Huh? Oh! Yes, i’m fine. Sorry I was thinking...” You continue to eat what’s left of your meal. “Because you said you took over the art business in the museum right? There’s only two families I can think of that has a hold on the art business industry here: Kang and Song.”

He chuckles lightheartedly, a little pleased to know that even until now his family is this impactful. “Ah, the Song. They’re a lovely bunch, the next in line is rather clumsy outside of formalities, it’s rather cute to see.” His comment makes you stare at him in disbelief. That leaves the option left is Kang. Kang Yeosang.

You’re eating with The Kang Yeosang.

The Kang family has been a pioneer in art restoration especially in works prior to the 1400s. Their own art collection were always pieces hard to find anywhere else-- either due to human’s hubris or due to nature, the way they’re able to keep them in pristine condition as much as possible. You don’t know how they’re able to find some of the artifacts, or how they have the rarest pieces but it’s one of the reasons why they’ve amassed such wealth. Curating in a popular museum, restoring old pieces, tours from not only students but also from diplomats, scholars while being funded to keep security at its peak by the government. It makes sense. It’s been a dream of yours to work in the National Museum and here you are, eating dinner with the owner of what could be more than 60% of the collection in the museum.

He watches the gears in your head click and the realization set in your eyes. He says nothing but flash a bright smile once he knows you know the answer. “I hope this doesn’t complicate our friendship.” He admits earnestly.

You reassure him, with much fervor that it doesn’t. It just makes you respect him a lot more. It’s not easy to keep a bit of a low profile and privacy yet he’s able to do so. Shit, Wooyoung’s right then, a mental note to make up for your lack of reaction and doubt was stored away. So the rest of the meal goes by with you asking Yeosang how it is to handle a museum, knowing how things have been lately.

He sighs a little, the recent rise in art theft has been the bane of his existence since day 1. The amount of artworks he had to keep from sticky fingers, the security of those works is where a good portion of his money goes. He fears the day more works end up in the wrong hands. “We do what we can. It’s not easy but we’ve upped the security in and out of the premises.” He reassures you. There’s comfort in meeting someone who loves art just as much as he and the staff outside of work. “Maybe in the near future, I can give you a private tour.” He casually passes his credit card to a staff member, as both of you are now finished with the meal.

If he was asking you on a date, it’s already a yes in your book.

“I’d like that.” You admit, unable to hide the excited grin on your lips. “Though, as thanks for the meal. If you want dessert, can I pay for it this time?” He didn’t give you enough time to react to the fact he had just paid for your meal. Might as well make up for it, somehow.

On the way to a dessert spot, the two of you decide to stop by the market in hopes of seeing his friend. “Oh hey!” Yeosang’s friend greets him upon realizing who’s right in front of him as he puts away some of his earnings from a recent sale.

“Hey Seonghwa, so my friend here discovered your works and wanted to see them so I brought them here.” The man next to you explains. You see some of his works on display, all of them were in various sizes, some bigger than the pieces Yeosang had bought. Yeosang catches the curious gaze of his friend on you then at him to which Yeosang shakes his head, not wanting to keep anyone's hopes up.

“They’re so pretty…” You say softly as you gaze at the larger pieces in awe. Seonghwa has created watercolor pieces of scenery, places you have yet to see, some look dreamlike. The smaller pieces are of various plant life, one of them looks similar to the flower piece you peeked at from Yeosang’s purchases earlier. “How much are the small works?”

Seonghwa looks at the general direction of your gaze. “The flowers are fifty thousand while the terrain’s at sixty thousand.” You weren’t so surprised at the prices but you had to pick one or the other.

Your lips press into a thin line in thought. “What do you think, Yeosang?” You ask. “I’m thinking of hanging one of them up in my shop.” Truthfully, the flowers would look good considering the plants you’ve cared for in your shop. The terrain on the other hand would stand out in all the good ways.

“Perhaps the floral one would suffice. It suits the ambiance of your shop as well.” Yeosang notes. You trust his judgement with this-- he handles a museum after all, and you fish out your wallet.

“That’s a lovely bracelet you got there.” Seonghwa gasps, awed by the beauty. He knows what that is, eyes flitting to the archon a little too quickly before shifting again to you. His words bring you flattery that you accept.

“It’s from my mom.” You simply explain, ears a little pink from the sudden attention on you. The blond male doesn’t miss your bashful ears that he chuckles lightly behind his hand and drops the topic.

“Your mother has quite an eye.” He simply says as he hands you your change. “Thank you for buying a work from me.” With that said, the two of you make your way to an ice cream parlor.

You let Yeosang look at the various flavors on display. “Before anything, I’m paying.” You remind him. It’s how determined you are to repay his kindness that produces a light laugh from him.

“Very well.” He returns his attention to the display, pondering on his options for the moment. “I’ll get the injeolmi and red bean in a cup. Two scoops please?” He asks. He stays by your side as you order, curious by the other flavors. If he remembers right, San loves the mint chocolate with the popping candy.

As you wait for your turn, your phone buzzes with a message.

[ Wooyoung to You ] How are you?

You smile at his worry.

[ You to Wooyoung ] Cheeky_ryan.emoji

[ You to Wooyoung ] One of these days, you need to go here with me. It’s so pretty here.

[ You to Wooyoung ] Also buying ice cream right now hehe.

You pay for your orders, and let Yeosang choose a spot to sit for the next hour or so. You put your purchases right next to you as your lips widen into a giddy smile. It’s been a while since you last had ice cream too.

“Oh yeah. Now that we’ve settled in a good spot in this shop.” He hands you the same envelope that had the terrain you were in turmoil over earlier. “Consider it a gift.” He reasons when he sees how you were about to turn down such an offer. A smile of triumph brightens his entire face when he sees you give in to his request. You look cute sulking at him when you know you can’t turn down his offers. “The thing Seonghwa noticed, he’s got a good eye for jewelry.” It took eons for him to have such specialized sight but it’s been an asset since he could remember. “It’s something your mother gave you, yes?”

You show him the bracelet from your seat. “It’s an ancestral piece,” You admit. It’s the most watered down way you can explain without showing too much of yourself to someone. Since their death, you’ve become a lot more private about your family life when it pertains to them, but when it comes to your family life with Wooyoung you can easily talk about it. Here’s the kicker though, why were you so willing to share things with him?

Honestly, you didn’t know the whole name of the bracelet. You only vaguely remember it being called Aurora so that stuck with you until now. At night, the pearl shines brighter, when you use your cryo vision for whatever reason, the light inside the pearl pulsates. In a well lit room like where you are, it looks like an average pearl. It was one of the things your mother told you to hold dear before seeing them for the last time.

The male senses your inability to remember clearly along with your discomfort. A part of him reprimands himself for letting his desire to know get the better of him. You are your own person. He has to remind himself of this over and over. “You don’t have to tell me everything, I do respect your privacy.” He says softly.

“Yeosang?” You ask. The tone makes him stiffen, worried for having hurt you in such a short span of time.

“Yes?”

You prod at your ice cream for a moment, trying to find the words. “I mean, considering how historical the museum is. Has there been times where artworks have been stolen?” It was a valid question, most museums you know through the years have attempted thievery one way or another. Some works never find their way back home; you wondered if the same has happened to his museum.

“Oh of course.” There’s a bit of relief in hearing you shift the conversation. A little bit of dread since this is a difficult thing to deal with. “Before I became the head, a group did an art heist. Around ten works were stolen, until now we don’t know where they are.”

This somehow surprises you. You know how tight the security is in that museum even without knowing Yeosang’s hand in the museum, the security there was rather strict too. “What?”

“Yes, a number of works that are considered rarities were stolen. Not a lot of people know that these artists did such works either.” Under the jurisdiction of his predecessor, they kept the frames of the missing works up, hoping that one day they’ll get them back. Yeosang knows otherwise at this point. “Truthfully speaking, I have my doubts they’ll return in one piece if at all.” Yeosang continues. “It’s been decades, if I remember right, since those works were stolen.” Artworks gone for decades usually end up in the same place one way or another. If they’re lucky, they know where it is. The only problem is revealing how they know and why they know, usually.

As he tells you about the works, you search them up on your phone. These are works centuries before you were born only to be stolen decades before your birth. Despite the time difference, the impact it left on the art world seems to be immense. It explains the growing levels of security in museums around the world, among many other things.

“How do you know of these artworks? I haven’t heard of them.”

“With the people I work with, I have to know information like this.” Well that makes sense but why does he talk of these works as if he’s seen them?

“But, it’s been...what.. Decades? Since it’s been seen, how is your memory that clear?” The way he describes it as you look at the painting on your phone, you pick up on details you would have missed but there’s something in his words that tells you something more.

He stares at you, sweat already forming at the back of his neck as he tries to come up with a logical excuse. “I have the records, also the internet gives us the nearest accurate rendering of the paintings.” He explains, gesturing to your phone screen that displays one of the mentioned works.

He’s got a point and you drop the topic. After a few more minutes of looking at the painting, you turn away from your phone, shifting your attention to your ice cream and to him.

“The Ninth Wave by Ivan Aivazovksy”

“Judith Beheading Holofornes by Artemisia.. I don’t know how to pronounce her last name..” It was a little embarrassing that you didn’t know how to pronounce these names but you couldn’t really help but love the work.

That was something he didn’t expect. He looks up the work you mentioned, along with the artist’s name, wanting to avoid possible confusion. “Ah, this work?” He asks, as he shows you his phone. At the sight of the work, you nod shyly but the spark in your eyes overpowers the bashful nature on your cheeks. He gives it a good look for a moment or two, studying what he can from such a small screen. The blood in the work’s dynamic, actively spurting out from the male’s neck while the women wrestle to keep him down to finish the act. The women don’t look disgusted by the action at all, rather they look determined. “Why so?” It’s uncommon but not rare, for people to like works that were rather morbid. He just didn’t take you to be someone to appreciate works like this.

You gnaw on your spoon for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Truthfully, you find it a little embarrassing to admit that this is your favorite work, not things like The Milkmaid by Vermeer or something more calming. “Uh, well,” you start off. “It’s not everyday really, that I see works made by women. Especially with the subject being someone who’s determined even in doing something morbid.” The reason behind the painting was just as violent, but could’ve been cathartic to the artist herself. To you, you want to do the same to those who have hurt you and your family. But hey, who would talk about that the first time they hang out right? “What about you?” You shift the topic almost immediately. “Why The Ninth Wave?”

Yeosang takes this moment to think for a moment or two, wondering what he should say. “Well,” he starts before scooping a small mouthful of the ice cream. “Seeing the ocean be so dynamic isn’t an everyday thing.” He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a moment before continuing. “People tend to forget that the ocean while giving, can take. We’re at its mercy, whether we like it or not. It’s a good reminder I suppose, that we’re not as invincible as we think we are.”

You look closer at the artwork. It’s a handful of men, clinging onto what looks like planks of wood as they face a wave that looks tamed. You wonder why it’s called the Ninth Wave, seeing that the painting was washed with soft pinks, warm bright yellows and various shades of blues and greens. It looks much more peaceful than the description Yeosang gave.

“A little ironic isn’t it?” He muses. A sheen of blue glowing softly in his eyes as he watches you study the painting with confusion. “You see, it’s an old sailing expression that means that another wave is coming. After the previous eight that were already big, the ninth one coming, much bigger than the last eight. The worst has yet to come but storm through it and then there will be peace.” He gestures to the faint wave just by the line of horizon. Indeed there’s still one more but the skies promise peace should they get through it.

You jolt in your chair when you see what time it is. You’re hoping Wooyoung’s already asleep back in the apartment. “I’m sorry, but I have to head home. It’s already late and I usually open the shop early.” You explain as you stand up. Yeosang looks at you with alarm as you nearly stumble from the rush.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“What?”

“It’s late isn’t it? Going home alone isn’t safe, I’ll drive you home.”

--------

That’s how you ended up in his car, breezing through the wide streets as you direct him to where you live. “You don’t have the app?” You ask him as your eyes dart from building to building. You’ve been so used to using the trains and walking that you don’t really spend time looking up to see the bright signages and other restaurants. More things to explore in the future, perhaps.

“What app?” Yeosang asks as he weaves through corners and light traffic. You take that as a cue to explain to him that there’s this app that tells you where to go when traffic in the main roads are too heavy or when an accident has happened to be aware of and the like. All of this while you eat what’s left of your ice cream. Though you did have to explain as well that while you don’t see any use for the app, Wooyoung’s workmate, Yunho, uses it and it’s been helpful for him when he oversleeps.

Yeosang chortles at the reasoning. “Well, I might use that app then despite not being the type to oversleep.” He spots your apartment building, based on your descriptions earlier. “I suppose that is your place?” He looks around. This seems to be a few stops away from your coffee shop. The more he learns, he supposes.

You sent Wooyoung a quick text saying you’d be home in five minutes should he still be awake. “Yes! That’s the building, you can just drop me off here.” You say as you look out the window to make sure there weren't any cars coming so you could hop off.

“I’ll drive you there, just sit tight.” He reassures. The drive was smooth, stopping just by the entrance of the apartment complex with a pleasant smile. “At least I can tell San that I can still make a drive be pleasant.” At his words, you raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “Another story for another time, I’ll see you again soon I hope?” He asks.

“Of course.” You return as you hop off the car. “Stay safe please?” You ask, as you wave at him. He shoots you this smile, and it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat. Too much that you have to remind yourself that the two of you are just friends, that regretting not having given him a kiss is not very friend-like. You watch him drive off until you can’t see the car anymore, by then you head inside back to the safety of your own abode.

--------

He arrives home, his mind still replaying the way you looked so flustered before he left. You were lovely in his eyes, that much he can admit. He tosses the keys on to the table. His coat shrugged off and hung somewhere. Coming home to an empty apartment after being with company and bright lights is a little disorienting. Maybe he should really invest in softer lighting for his home. He switches the lights on, and heaves a tired sigh. It’s been a long day but it was a fun one. Should he consider having you and Wooyoung room with him here? Granted, he already has a room for San whenever he’s in the mood for company as well. It’s been a ritual for him as well to let his place become a haven for those who have been injured through out the years. Perhaps that’s another thought for another day.

As he prepares himself a cup of tea, he goes through the current happenings around him. It was a little alarming that reports of crime were shooting up, some of which bearing certain similarities that he hopes the officials catch soon. The crimes reported haven’t changed regardless of the presence of a god’s protection. He’ll also have to talk to the security in the museum to keep anything from being stolen.

This reminds him to check on any emails concerning the museum and their upcoming events. Most of them were updates of planned exhibitions with other museums outside the country, along with events in partnership with brands in the country. It was rather tiresome really, same routine with every museum, every shop, anything to keep the museum running in ethical ways. Though he wonders how the gardens in the museum are coming along, the seasons are slowly changing and this means that some plants will have to be changed in order to keep up with appearances and health.

His cup of tea was finally ready when he remembered to send you a message.

[ Yeosang to You ] Hey, I’m finally home. I had fun today :)

No less than five minutes did you manage to return the text.

[ You to Yeosang ] I’m glad, I had fun too~ Sleep well!

He finds himself smiling at your reply as he takes a sip. He had a feeling that tonight, he’ll be able to sleep well.

Unknown to him and the rest of the staff, a small bud was already growing.

--------

“I got a proposition for you.”

Whenever Wooyoung has those words come out of his mouth, you were sure it wasn’t a good idea. Regardless of the fear, you entertain his thoughts. “And what is it?” You ask, your focus on the ceramic mug that you dry in your hands.

“What if I work with you here?” You were thankful for your reflexes for not falling lax at such an offer. The idea of Wooyoung working with you was okay to put it nicely but there was an important question you had to raise.

“Why?” You ask him as you keep the clean mug away. It was a Wednesday, which meant business runs slow. This is also the reason as to why Wooyoung was in your shop and not at home catching up on sleep.

“For starters, you work alone.” He says, raising his pointer finger. “Two, you’re practically dating Yeosang by now.” He raises his middle finger and it takes all your will power to not freeze his fingers off his hand. “Three, I want to help you with your work.” You admit, he’s got a good heart but you still want to freeze his hand off.

“Do I have time to think about this?” You ask, keeping an eye on the students who seem to be preparing for a final just a few tables away from you.

“Well, yeah you do cause you pretty much call the shots in this place.” Wooyoung returns with a shrug. “It’s just an offer.” he reminds you. “Oh yeah, is Yeosang coming today?”

You eye him in confusion. “I hope so..? Why?”

“Hope so, huh.” He repeats, a smug grin on his lips.

At his teasings, you let a rush of icy wind brush past the back of his neck, cold enough that snowflakes appear when he touches the skin. “We’re not dating! And yes, i do hope he comes in today or at least I think he will?” He didn’t really send you any message that says he won’t be able to make it today so you were rather confused. Then again, he and Yeosang have started to become good friends as well. San, though impressed, was just as alarmed considering how mischievous Wooyoung could get.

“It’s nice to see Yeosang make friends outside his work. I’m glad you and Wooyoung came along.” San said as he watches Yeosang fall for Wooyoung’s jokes and tricks.

You on the other hand, were behind the counter, cleaning up the coffee machines. The high pitched laughter echoing in the room countered by embarrassed chuckles and feeble attempts to defend themselves. “You think so?” You ask.

San catches onto your light hearted sarcasm and giggles. “Yeah. Guess you can say, you kind of opened him up to a world beyond what he knew. He’s been insistent in learning trends.” He continues. “Oh and don’t tell him i told you but he also wants to learn how you make your coffee. He can never get it like you do. Don’t be surprised if he ends his work early just to ask you to teach him how to make coffee.”

By then the two of you knew it was Yeosang’s way of spending time with you whenever work allowed the two of you to do so.

“Not dating yet.” He takes the extra effort to emphasize the ‘yet’. “Kid, I’m telling you,” he continues, not paying any mind to the lasers that shoot out of your eyes due to being called a Kid. “The two of you are going to date sooner or later.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, San enters the premises. You stand up straight to welcome him just like any other customer but by now you also know his usual order. “Usual order?” You ask him, already ready to write his order on his cup.

He shoots the two of you a cheeky smile. “Yeah, for me and Yeosang.'' The cheeky smile turns a little bashful now as he eyes the treats on display. “Can I also get the lavender blueberry sponge cake, two slices, to go? Yeosang’s been stressed with meetings today.”

Hearing this, your eyebrows furrow in concern. “Would tea be better for him then?”

The male shakes his head. “Coffee might do him better for his work. If we got time to come by later, then yeah give him tea.” You and Wooyoung look at each other, slightly alarmed and worried for him but the explanation will come for another time.

“Sure thing. “ With the payments out of the way, San and Wooyoung catch up as you prepare his orders.

“Something up?” Wooyoung asks, rather worried to see San be this concerned for Yeosang and also look just as stressed.

San takes this moment to take a deep breath and deflate in his seat. “Some of the sponsors are being illogical along with some logistical problems for upcoming exhibitions so all of us are pressed for time and resources.” He runs his fingers through his hair, already tousled by the amount of times he’s been doing the same motion since this morning. “On top of that, a break in just happened near the museum so security measures have been heightened.” San says under his breath, not wanting anyone to overhear that statement.

Wooyoung looks at him in alarm, then looks at his phone for any updates on their area. He wonders if leaving you alone would be a good idea at this rate. “There’s nothing yet on social media..” He mutters, still concerned for you.

“The media’s on their way to cover the situation so give it around ten minutes.” San explains, by then you arrive at the table with his orders packed up for him to pick up and go.

“Tell Yeosang, I said hi?” You say as you watch the two of them, sensing the tension in the air. “Something wrong?”

San shakes his head for now. “Just the usual work stuff, thanks for the food, I have to get going now.” He picks up the bag and bids the two of you farewell. “I’ll send your regards as well.” He says before running out the door.

You glance at Wooyoung and he shows his phone to you. “Besides stressful work issues, a break in happened nearby so their stress hasn’t been anything nice.” You read through the news article: nothing valuable was taken but everything’s in disarray. Though the museum’s a little further down the road from the break in, and further away from your shop, you’re a little worried for your own shop’s security as well. You also know how protective Wooyoung is of you.

“Fine, you can work with me in this shop, your shift’s gonna depend on your availability as well since I know you have to create choreographies and teach them.” You state. He smiles a little too triumphantly this time, mostly due to the relief of knowing you’re safe and because he can keep you company as well. “This also means I have to teach you how to work these machines…” You note with a sigh, you were never confident in your teaching skills.

“Hey don’t lose faith in me. I pick up quickly, don’t I?” Wooyoung croons with a proud smile.

“Do you have a shift today in the studio?” You ask as you look through the cabinets.

“No why?” The answer to his question is an apron tossed in his direction.

“Good, I’m teaching you today then, get your butt over here,”

--------

The two of you crash onto the chairs after a long day of working. Wooyoung glances over at you as he rubs his sore muscles, wondering how you’re able to do this day in and day out, all alone. You don’t seem to be as fazed as he is, as all you do is stretch in your seat. “How do you do this on your own?” Wooyoung asks, now that it’s only the two of you in the shop.

“I have to.” You say simply. It’s rare for Wooyoung to hear you complain as well. This was something you wanted after all. The only complaints he hears from you are usually just muscle pain that he helps ease, and the occasional horror customer. Besides the occasional pet discussion, he never hears you complain over how hard your job is. Meanwhile, he always complains about his. Not that you minded them, some of them are rather valid. He was simply the type to externally process what happened before being able to move on.

He catches you often looking towards the door, in hopes of seeing Yeosang. “He hasn’t said anything yet huh?” He asks, a little sad for you as well. He knows how much you look forward to seeing him, even if you don’t say anything about it.

You shake your head, your phone’s been silent the entire day and with San’s explanation, it makes sense why he’d be busy. Maybe you can send him a message? But wouldn’t that disrupt his work?

“Just send it.” Wooyoung says, hanging his legs over the arm rest. Well, at least it’s not his shoes against the arm rest. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Were you that transparent in his eyes?

You shoot him a pout but take out your phone. You didn’t think he’d send you a message now.

[ Yeosang to You ] Still in the shop?

“He just messaged me, asking if I’m still in the shop.” You say, blinking at the message, slightly surprised.

“Well, you are so let him in.” Wooyoung says, eyeing the door. The mentioned guy was standing outside the shop, clearly exhausted from a long day. His words confuse you as you still gaze at the phone screen so he takes the honor to unlock the door to let the man in, then lock it once more. “Didn’t think you’d be able to drop by after what San told us.” Your friend notes, noting the loosened tie. He wonders just how much he had to go through today.

It’s only by the time the wind chimes chirp of someone’s entrance that you look up from your phone. The man responsible for the weird heart racing you’ve been getting is in front of you but instead of letting out your frustrations, you heave a sigh of relief to see him alive in one piece. “You’re lucky we haven’t closed the place for the day.”

“Not like they could until they saw you.” Your best friend cuts in much to Yeosang’s delight.

“I see Wooyoung’s now working for you?” Yeosang says, as he takes a seat on the stool next to your table. A soft groan slips from his lips as he finally feels peace after a tiring day.

“Do you want anything?” Wooyoung offers, as you watch the two of them banter in front of you. You let Wooyoung take the lead for his order this time, wanting to see just how much he has picked up today.

“Earl grey tea-- do you guys still have a vanilla macaron?” Yeosang throws back as he removes his blazer, folding it over his arms.

“Gotcha.” He says simply, already getting to work.

“It’s on me.” You tell him as you slip towards the stool across him. He takes the chance to hold your hand, holding it close to his lips.

“I apologize for the late arrival, my dear. Work was not merciful today.” He mumbles softly against your skin. “I was looking forward to seeing you today at a preferably earlier time.” His voice clearly carried the stress of unexpected problems that you wonder what else went wrong after San’s visit. Wooyoung comes back with his order, already pulling up another stool to listen to Yeosang’s woes. “I won’t stay too long today, it’s been a long day and I’m sure the two of you had a busy day.” It was a little worrisome to see him try to keep his stress to a minimum when it’s already clearly nearing the limits. You wonder how much he kept from you the past few weeks.

You don’t notice the look Wooyoung gives you at how intimate you and Yeosang look. Your eyes are on Yeosang the entire time, his free hand taking a sip of the tea, tension in his shoulders easing at the warmth of the tea spreads around him. “Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully.

He shakes his head. “For another time, I promise I will fill you in on them.” He says. He opens his eyes after a while, and it shocks you how vividly blue his eyes are. They weren’t the striking ice blue the foreigners have, rather it’s a deep blue. The blue that reminds you of how vast and deep the world you live in is, you don’t know why that came into your mind but it did. But, why does it feel so familiar? “Are the two of you done cleaning for today?” He asks all of a sudden. The two of you look around and the only thing left was to take out the trash.

“Just need to take the trash out then we’re done for the day.”

“How will the two of you head home?”

Wooyoung and you look at each other, surprised by the question. “Well, we just take the train.” His eyes darken just a bit and you want to ask Wooyoung so badly if you’re seeing things. He shakes his head.

“That won’t do. The two of you can ride with me on the way home tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” The two friends ask at the same time, much to Yeosang’s amusement.

“It’s late, though I trust and know that the two of you can protect yourselves.” He starts, gesturing at the visions the two of you carry. “But it is late, the recent crimes have been spiking. Let me pay back your kindness through this at least.” He wasn’t leaving any room to sway his decision so the two of you take his offer. This time you take the responsibility to throw out the trash, the two of them waiting for you by the door.

You wonder what has been going on nowadays for them to be this worried. Frankly, while you were touched by such concern, you were also frustrated. You know how to protect yourself with or without your vision. You’re not the same helpless child that saw the atrocities of this world. Busy in your thoughts, you don’t see a figure keeping an eye on you from a distance. Just as you look at their direction, it disappears. The familiar feeling of dread doesn’t leave, it lingers and it makes your skin crawl. Quietly, you coat your hands with a thin sheet of ice as you make your way back to the two.

“You okay?” Wooyoung asks, noticing how alert you’ve become. He sees the ice around your fists and already he’s on high alert, looking around. Yeosang too notices the frost forming around your skin and wonders what you have encountered.

“Let’s go.” He simply states, making sure that you were walking next to him and Wooyoung. The way your features became so cloudy was a concern but he’ll have to ask Wooyoung for more information for another day. What matters now is your safety.

--------

It’s only in the safety of his car that Wooyoung starts to freak out again over how loaded Yeosang is. Maintenance for this car model isn’t easily affordable, especially for its size. Did you understand anything of what Wooyoung has been talking about? Vaguely. Yet Yeosang manages to answer everything with ease that you wonder just how much he knows beyond art, and history.

On the other hand, The ice around your fists has melted into puddles at your feet. “Sorry for the mess..” You say under your breath. Yeosang doesn’t miss a beat about it, saying that they’re rubber so it’s nothing that can be easily cleaned. His tea was already finished by the time the three of you were near your apartment.

Honestly, if his work hadn’t let him off so late, he could’ve already asked the question already but he’ll have to wait until he arrives outside your apartment. “He knows where we live?” Wooyoung asks, realizing that you didn’t have to give him directions.

“Yeah, he brought me home after our hangout last time, so I just directed him.”

He takes pride in his clear memory, smiling to himself as he can already picture the bashful smile of yours as Wooyoung looks at the two of you incredulously. “So when are you guys going to be officially dating?”

The question causes your heart to race once more, despite your calm exterior. Yeosang as well, appears composed. Yet, the shock of Wooyoung’s honesty can be felt in the car. “Well.” Yeosang speaks up. “That depends on our dear, here, if they would be okay with it.” Just in time, the car slows down to a stop outside your apartment complex.

You face Yeosang, with your heart beating fast, your hands feel cold even without the frost. “I-I’d like that.” You manage to sputter out.

“Thank heavens.” Wooyoung exclaims, eyeing the two of you like the relief of an impatient sibling.

“Can I fancy you to a date soon?” Yeosang says as he unlocks the car, giving Wooyoung the chance to look away from such an exchange.

Ever the cheeky guy, he stays and waits for your answer.

“I’d like that.” You repeat softly, you couldn’t believe yourself for being able to speak up after such a shocking twist of events.

“Lovely, I’ll update you then.” Yeosang promises, waving the two of you a good night.

Wooyoung then hooks his arm around your shoulder as the two of you head back into the safety of your apartment. “About time, the two of you became a thing, he keeps asking me how to properly court you.” He says much to your flustered state.

Will you be able to sleep tonight?

--------

On the way home, Yeosang’s phone rings. It’s San.

“Hello? I’m driving. Can this wait?”

“Depends, are you at a red light or not?” San asks. When San’s voice goes that deep, it’s serious. He eyes the stop light.

“53 seconds.”

“The officials found a symbol on the break in. They don’t know what it is yet but gave us a copy in case we see it somewhere.”

49.

“What is it?” Already, Yeosang feels his blood rush to his ears.

“It’s a severed triquetra symbol.” San doesn’t have to say anything else anymore after that as Yeosang lets out a growl.

It seems they’ve returned. The question is why. “I’ll be home by 5 minutes. 20 seconds on the red light. I’ll call you.” WIth that he hangs up, in time for the red light to turn green. While people forget the events, he doesn’t.

It’s been so long since the Abyss has acted up. The last being a few thousand years back. The last few immortals like him and San remember their deeds. The Abyss was responsible for a battle he had to fight that wiped out a huge land mass in the region he now resides in.

The question that disturbs him: Who or what are they looking for? Because as far as his memory remembers, they stop at nothing to get what they want.

--------

A field.

This is the second time you’ve been here. Around you were plants that you don’t see everyday, in fact some of these look very odd to you. As you look around, hoping to make sense of this dream, you see someone dipping their feet into the clear water.

Just as you approach them, they stand up. It was hard to make out what gender they were: the clothes hang onto them like water slowly freezing, nor did they carry any feature that could separate a man from a woman. They smile at you, as if they’ve been expecting you this entire time. “It’s nice to see you.” They say, voice soft and calming.

“Apologies for not introducing myself, I’m Aos. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself known a little sooner.” They say. The apology doesn’t make any sense to you as you continue to gaze at them.

Despite them having introduced themselves to you, the name still doesn’t ring a bell. They don’t seem fazed at all to see your questioning eyes on them, in fact, they chuckle lightly at how confused you look. You manage to get a better look of their eyes and it reminds you of the sky when the sun is barely above the horizon. “What’s happening?” You manage to ask after getting yourself out of your trance.

“Nothing really. This is just me reaching out to you and giving you my blessing.” Again, the figure speaks in riddles. The last time they did was when Wooyoung’s family took you in, shortly after you were given your vision. You wonder what was going to happen this time.

The world around you loses its color for a split second and neither of you miss this slip up. “It seems that you’ll wake soon. I won’t make this any longer then, this might be our last meeting. Take care of yourself” The color around you fades into greys and whites, yet they don’t. The way they bid you farewell, reminds you too much of your mother and it makes your eyes hot.

“When you get the chance, tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

Before you could make some sort of sense, you feel someone shaking you awake. “Hey.” Wooyoung’s voice rouses you awake, and you don’t miss the concern in his voice. “You were crying in your sleep.” He states, seeing how dazed your eyes are as you try to look around, startled.

That’s when you notice that you were holding onto your bracelet while sleeping, and he was right. Your pillow felt damp with your tears. “Weird dream.” You groan out as you wake yourself up for another day.

Your phone flashes at 6:30AM, why did Wooyoung wake you up earlier than usual? It’s only then that you realize that it was raining once more. Couldn’t you get a few more minutes of shut eye after such a weird dream? The groggy feeling takes a little longer to shake off but you eventually get yourself out of bed.

--------

“What’s your plan today?” At least you are finally looking a little more presentable as you enter the living room.

“Choreography teaching for an idol group this morning until afternoon. I can close up the shop for you if you got plans today.” Wooyoung says, teasing you a little now that you’re more awake.

It’s not hard to miss out on what he insinuates with such that you roll your eyes at him. “It’s not today yet,” referring to your date, “but I need to visit a few shops to buy some ingredients and other stuff by 5PM.” You had plans of opening the shop a little later the following day, wanting to change the interiors even by just a bit. That and having to stay up later than usual to bake and experiment with new recipes was starting to catch up with you.

“Yeah I can take over by then. I’ll be at the shop by 4:30.” Wooyoung promises. He might have to be a little stricter today to get things finished quickly but the group he’s teaching today are quick learners. He can see so much potential in them too.

You flash a grateful smile as you eat. “Your overtime’s covered, I promise.” From this, Wooyoung hops around in glee. Of course, he was eyeing a new clothing line.

A glance at the time and you figured you should get moving. “I’ll see you later then. I need to start moving.” You say standing up from your seat.

“Lunch is by the counter!” He calls out from his seat as he watches you get your things and shoot out the door. With him now on his own, he lets out a sigh. He heard your mumblings earlier and those were the same words you muttered after you were gifted with your vision. Even when you looked put together for the day, there was still a hint of confusion in your eyes that you can’t quite hide from him. Whatever it is, he hopes things will turn out a little better this time.

--------

“Can we do three more runs after a five minute water break?” Wooyoung asks, sympathizing with the boys as they’re now drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. After the chorus of agreements, he lets the boys off for a few minutes and decides to check on you and Yeosang.

[ Wooyoung to You ] How’s work?

[ Wooyoung to Yeosang ] What’s up? Are you gonna drop by later?

It’s only Yeosang who manages to reply immediately.

[ Yeosang to Wooyoung ] There have been better days, but I will be alright. Yes I will be there later.

Seeing that you haven’t replied yet, he just chalks it up to rush hour. The boys enter the room and he puts his phone down. “Ready?” He asks just as he’s about to press play, he sees Yunho peeking into the studio. “Uh, give me a moment. Hyunjae, can you clean the choreo slowly while I’m gone? I’ll make it quick.” The male excuses himself to check on his peer, quietly leaving the studio. “What’s up?”

“Did their manager tell you of the changes to the schedule?” Yunho asks and by the way Wooyoung looks at him with wide eyes and that already tells him what he needs to know.

“Tomorrow or the day after will be the shooting day.” With such information being told to him, he panics a little, unsure if he has clothes that could fit a recording for this. He probably does but he’ll need your help assembling it.

“Okay, uh, forward the email to me and cc it to Popsicle.” Somehow the nickname doesn’t faze Yunho, already knowing well that he meant you. It’s not like there were a lot of cryo vision holders anyway. Yunho shoots him an okay signal and Wooyoung takes this as a sign to head back to his work. “Okay, let’s take it to the top? 3 runs at 100% energy then we can eat lunch.” He says as he enters the studio once more. The proposed plan instills a little bit of fear on the boys but he continues on. “No worries, there’ll be a break in between before going at it again.”

Beneath the calm demeanor he had for the boys right now, he was slightly panicking for his schedule in the next few days. He hopes you wouldn’t mind him being MIA for a day or two.

Wooyoung’s schedule has turned a little more hectic now thanks to the sudden update of the shooting. Not that he minds since at least he’s not at home whenever he’s not needed in the studio. If it means helping lessen the stress on you and keeping you safe then he doesn’t really mind it.

Though, he doesn’t know if you’ve been keeping an eye on the news lately. You still carry on with your day like normal. If he has a shift in the dance studio, he asks Yeosang or San to accompany you to the studio, no matter how many times you reassure that it’s okay for you to walk alone, either one of them is adamant about it.

He spares a glance at the clock as he watches the boys dance. The four hours will fly by quickly.

--------

“Yeosang, you might have to skip on meeting with them today.” Part 3

#yeosang fanfiction #my writings #ateez fanfiction #ateez scenarios #yeosang scenarios #yeosang x reader #ateez x reader

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i-like-5sos · 4 years

Text

No Idea [Malum Fic]

PAIRING: Calum Hood x Michael Clifford

WORD COUNT: 6428

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, and just some angst

SUMMARY: After moving across the country to escape the heartache that high school brings and to begin his first year at University, Michael finds himself face to face with the very person that caused his heartbreak: Calum Hood.

A/N: This was made specifically for Mandie for The Club Fic Gift Exchange ! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written any mxm BUT I’ve missed it and can’t wait to start writing more (if you have any suggestions on how to improve please send them my way, I’ll take all the help I can get).

Fifteen minutes late. I’m fifteen minutes late to my first class as a University student. Great.

I burst out through the doors of the residency building, almost crashing into some blonde girl who’s face leaves my memory as quickly as it entered, and run as fast as I can across the campus to The Arts building. Thankfully I listened to Mom’s advice and looked up a map of the school last night or I’d be fucked right now. Musical Theory. Monday, 8AM. Room 102: Arts Building. I check the room number on my schedule twice before taking a deep breath and opening the door to my classroom.

The door opens to the back of the room and multiple heads spin around to face me. I can feel my face getting hot as I try to disappear into myself and search for a place to sit down. As to be expected, almost every table in the room is full and there’s nowhere to sit… Unless I want to join one of the tables of three and converse in small talk with a group of people that obviously don’t want me to sit with them- and let’s be clear; I don’t want to do that.

I almost settle for a table with two girls seated at it, but then notice the table in the front of the room with only one person there. Thank god. I head toward the dark-haired boy at the table and quietly sit across from him. He doesn’t react as I sit down, his head buried in his folded arms on the table.

I would normally never be caught dead at the front of the room, but here I am, sitting so close to the professor that I can smell his cheap cologne, having to share a table with some random guy who is probably going to hate me for ruining his table of solitude.

As the class continues, I do my best to follow along with the PowerPoint slides on my screen while also trying to focus on what the professor is saying at the front of the room, but I can’t help but glance over to the brunette across from me every chance I get. His head hasn’t left his arms since I’ve sat down, and I’m pretty sure he’s asleep… Maybe I should wake him up. Maybe he’s dead. I begin to picture what would happen if my classmate had died sitting across from me. Would I have to talk to the police? Would I be a suspect? Am I obligated to go to his funeral and give a speech? What would I even say? What if-

“You will have two months to complete this project and it will be worth thirty percent of your final grade. Get to work.”

I turn to face the Professor, and I realize that I may have zoned out for the entire explanation of a project that’s worth almost a third of my final grade… awesome.

Letting out a sigh, I turn back to read through the notes on my screen and, of course, none of them have anything to do with a huge project. There is no way I am going to ask the professor to repeat everything he’d just said.

As my classmates begin to talk amongst themselves about the project that I know nothing about, I glance over to the boy across from me that may or may not be dead and decide that now’s a good a time as any to find out.

“Hey” I say quietly.

No response.

I repeat myself a little louder, “Hey… Uh, my name’s Michael.”

No response again.

“Dude, seriously?” I huff, before picking up my biggest textbook and dropping it onto the table.

It worked! His head shoots up and I notice the headphones in his ears. That explains a lot. I also notice that the boy I’ve been watching all morning sitting across from me is the same boy I’d spent the majority of my high school years watching from across the room. Calum Hood. I haven’t seen him since our high school graduation last June, but he looks about the same. Same dark hair, same brown eyes, same three moles on his cheek, same annoyed and confused look on his face- oh no wait that’s new.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He glares at me as he rips the headphones out of his ears.

“I thought you were dead or asleep or something.” I shrug before changing the topic, “I didn’t know you got accepted here.”

“Well, obviously I’m not dead, and if I was sleeping, that was a cruel way to get me to wake up... Remind me never to have you actually wake me up.” He places his headphones into his backpack before continuing. “And um, yeah, I was torn between a few different universities but settled on the one farthest from home… Looks like you did the same?”

I nod and chuckle softly. “Yeah. Fuck that place.”

“How pop punk of you.” He laughs, and it brings me back to being fifteen and pathetically swooning over that very sound, never being the one to have caused it. If only fifteen-year-old me could see me now.

Grounding myself, I quickly try to think of something that isn’t completely embarrassing, and remember the mysterious project that I know mothing about.

“So… did you catch anything the prof was saying about this project worth thirty percent of our grade… cause I might have zoned out the whole time...”

He looks confused for a moment, before directing his attention to his laptop.

“I can’t blame you for not paying attention. Five minutes into his lecture I stopped listening to him and started listing to my music instead. Figured I could just read the Power Point later tonight.” He types something before continuing, “I looked through the material on the class page before the lecture started and I think I saw something about a group project that was worth thirty percent… let me just… Okay yeah, here it is.” He turns his laptop to face me, pointing at the assignment on the screen and showing me how her got there.

I quickly follow his instructions to the page and begin reading about the assignment. It’s a group project for 2-3 people about how emotions and feelings are portrayed through song. We’re all supposed to draw an emotion from the professor -that explains why people keep getting up to talk to him- and write an essay about a song that has made us feel this way. Once we finish our essays, we’re supposed to go back to our partners and make a playlist of 25 songs that combines each the emotions we were individually assigned and talk about how easily these emotions can be portrayed in music. Seems simple enough… Except for the whole partner part.

I look up from my computer screen, and before I can talk myself out of it, I ask Calum if he’d like to partner up for the project. To my surprise, he agrees and before I know it, I’m looking down at the paper I had pulled out of the tin can on my professor’s desk. Longing. What kind of lame-ass emotion is longing? I sit back down at our table and show Calum my paper.

“Longing? That’s going to be so easy to write about! And it’ll go great with love. This is going to be a piece of cake.” He enthusiastically, typing away on his laptop.

“You got love? Are you kidding me? That’s such bullshit. Every song is about love… or sex… or drugs, and I don’t think sex or drugs are emotions… so like that’s not fair.” I look back at my small slip of paper, “How am I even supposed to write about longing?”

He breaks away from his typing long enough to look at me, “Longing is so easy to write about. Haven’t you ever wanted something you couldn’t have? Or missed someone or something like that?”

“I don’t know… maybe.” I pause for a moment, “I don’t know.”

He looks back to his screen and continues to type. “Okay, I looked up the word longing and it says here that ‘Longing is mainly a blend of the primary emotions of love or happiness and sadness or depression’. So there. You can focus on one of those four. It’s not that hard, Michael.”

Hearing Calum say my name takes me back for another brief moment. Even though we went to the same school for four years, I never really knew if he had known my name or not… we never really talked or hung out in the same crowds, so I figured it was safe to assume he didn’t even know I existed.

He shakes his head and looks at his screen again as I try to avoid the thoughts of how smooth my name rolled off his tongue that are currently running wild in my head, to focus on what he had said about the different ways longing could be portrayed and experienced.

Just as I begin to reflect on the last few years of my life for a moment that could stand out as ‘experiencing longing’, I’m interrupted by the sounds of my classmates packing up their belongings. I look to my left and notice Calum suddenly standing next to me.

“Here,” he says, handing me a sticky note with a phone number on it. “text me so we can meet up to work on the project.”

“I uh- thanks.” I stumble over my words as I take the paper from him and stick it to the inside of my laptop.

When I turn back to Calum, he’s already on his way to the door. I quickly pack up my books and pause for a moment to look at the sticky note before shutting my laptop, ignoring the heat on my face and the feeling in my stomach.

. . .

I feel like I may have stepped into an alternate dimension when I entered that classroom two weeks ago, because I’ve somehow found myself in the Calum Hood’s dorm room. By choice. His choice. Who would have thought?

To be honest, I’m kind of surprised at how easily we get along. We both have the same taste in music, the same sense of humor, and the same hobbies. Who knew we were so similar? Had we actually spoken to one another in high school, there would have been no stopping a friendship from forming.

Since texting him the day after our class, we’ve pretty much been inseparable. So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m hanging out with Calum in his dorm room… but I kind of am.

“Okay seriously, Calum. How do you already have four pages written out for your essay?” I ask, scrolling through the Word document open on his laptop.

“It’s like you said, love is easy to write about… You know what else is easy to write about?” He spins around on his desk chair, taking a break from his game to face me. “Longing. Have you even started your essay, or were you just planning on taking me down with you when you flunk out?”

I set the laptop down next to me on his bed. “The only one flunking out here is your team in Fifa.”

“That was a shit insult and you know it.”

“You’re a shit insult.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Mate, for real. Do you need help writing your part?”

“No. I told you, I’ll be fine. I just need some inspiration… Which is what I should have gotten from your essay but the whole damn thing is about your family. It is so boring! Where’s the drama? Weren’t you a ladies’ man in high school? Where’s that Calum?”

With his eyebrows raised he looks taken aback for a moment and bursts out laughing.

“Did you seriously just call fourteen-year-old me a ‘ladies’ man’?” He asks, making air quotes at the last part.

I shrug and he continues laughing.

“Okay fine, you have a point. But like... what even is longing?”

His laughter softens and he rolls his eyes, smiling at me.

“Do you need me to pull up the definition again?”

“Fuck off.” I huff.

“Okay, fine… What about like, leaving town to come here. Didn’t you miss your girlfriend? Or your friends? Or maybe your family?”

“Girlfriend?” I laugh loudly. There’s no way he’s serious right now… “No. Absolutely no girlfriend. As for my family? I honestly couldn’t be happier to be on my own and out of the house... Also, it’s kind of hard to miss your friends when facetime exists.” I lay back on his bed and prop myself up with my elbow. “What else ya got?”

“Okay lone wolf… what about uh… okay I’ve got it. What about longing for like… touch, or affection, or love, or… fucking I don’t know, food?”

“Yeah, cause I’ll definitely get an A writing my essay about craving a Big Mac. Maybe I can get extra credit if I bring one in.”

He glares at me and rolls his eyes again before shaking his head and turning around to focus his attention back to his game. I drop my head onto his pillow and sigh. Watching him play, my mind wanders as I being to think about his words. Touch. Affection. Love. My heart aches for the poor fifteen-year-old boy I once was, longing for those exact things for over a year and never getting them. I remember the emotional shut down I forced myself to do to move on from the brown-eyed boy that occupied my mind daily. I sigh deeply, taking in the musky scent of the room around me, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I finally know what I’ll be writing about.

. . .

“Are you sure you know where this party is? I’m pretty sure we’re lost.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they said it’s in this neighborhood… there should be a street coming up soon that starts with an S… or maybe it was a B. Whatever. We’ll start to see people on the street sooner or later and follow the noise to the right house.”

Calum and I continue to walk aimlessly down the suburban streets with houses that all look the same, in search for a party that I’m not even sure exists at this point.

“You’d think, for someone that probably went to every high school party, you’d know to write down an address when it’s given to you.” I grumble as my feet begin to ache.

“You know, you make a lot of assumptions about what I was like in high school. Weren’t you ever told not to assume?” He says, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“You’re really going to tell me that you never went to any parties in high school? I seriously doubt that.”

“Okay… Well, yeah I went to some parties. Didn’t everyone though?”

“What? No.” I scoff. “Dude, not everyone was invited to parties like Mr. Cool Guy over here.”

“Am I supposed to be Mr. Cool Guy? That’s a laugh.”

“Mate. Just admit it. You were one of the cool kids and you know it.” I bump my shoulder back against his.

“Was not.”

“You were to! Everyone knew who you were. Everyone wanted to either date you or be you. You can’t be that oblivious.” I kick a small pebble as we cross yet another unidentifiable street.

“Date me or be me huh? Did you want to be me?”

Fucking hell. Why am I still allowed to have the ability to speak without a filter?

“No.” I focus my gaze on the cracks in the sidewalk, making sure to avoid any possible eye contact.

It’s quiet for a moment as a car drives past us, filling the silence before Calum speaks again.

“Well, you obviously didn’t want to date me. So, your theory is clearly wrong.”

I walk beside him silently as I debate whether to admitting to the fact that I had the biggest crush on him for over a year when we were younger.

“See, I’m right.”

“I did though.” I choke out before I’m able to stop myself. Fuck.

“What?” He stops walking.

Well, this was fun while it lasted… I wonder if our professor will still let me join another group, seeing as Calum isn’t going to want to talk to me ever again.

May as well finish the job then.

“I did want to date you.” I confess softly as I stop in front of him, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“You’re not... gay though.”

I- What? He’s got to be kidding me right now. I’m pretty sure everyone in high school knew I was gay. Hell, I came out to my parents in the fifth grade.

“Are you fucking with me? Calum.” I finally gain the courage to meet my eyes with his and see him shaking his head. “I’m gay as fuck. Always have been.”

“No way. What about Jessica Hunter?”

We’re awkwardly standing in the middle of the sidewalk and I’m completely over-aware of the man walking his dog across the street as Calum continues to stare at me with a dumbstruck look on his face. Well, at least he hasn’t left yet.

“What about Jessica? She and I hang out from time to time and listen to music together. We’re friends.” Oh god. “Wait- are you thinking that her and I? Oh god. Never.” I shake my head to try and get that image out of it.

“No no... She was in love with you! The way she always talked about you, hung around you, and hung off you… You went to Prom together! You were the reason I never even had a chance with her. I spent so many hours thinking about you and why she chose you over me and I…” he tampers off and continues to look utterly confused.

Am I being Punked right now? There must be a hidden camera somewhere. This can’t be real.

“No Calum. Oh my god. Mate. Jessica and I were always together talking about you. She didn’t want me. She wanted you… We both did. We only went to Prom together cause she was still hung up on you and didn’t have the guts to ask you herself. Plus, you did that whole stag Prom thing with Timothy Anderson anyway.”

He continues to stand there, trying to piece together the story he had so wrongly created around himself.

“So… You’re gay.”

“Yup.”

“And you actually used to … like me?”

“Yup”

“And Jessica-“

“Never had a chance with me. Because I’m gay and she had the hots for you anyway… Are we all caught up? Can we please keep walking? I’m getting cold.”

“Man, did I have this whole thing wrong or what…” He shakes his head and starts walking again.

We continue heading to the party that totally doesn’t exist and get about half a block away from where we had previously stopped before Calum stops walking again.

“Dude! Seriously?” I sigh deeply and stop a few feet in front of him.

“You don’t uh… still have feeling for me or anything. Do you?”

“Yes Calum. I’m completely head over heels for you and plan to propose to you when we get to the party in front of everyone.” His mouth drops and I roll my eyes. “Fuck off. No. Cal, I don’t still have feelings for you. That was years ago. Now can we please keep walking? I’m going to fucking die of hypothermia.”

“Okay… you’re right. Sorry.” He mutters, clearly embarrassed and continues to walk again.

At least I’m not the only one that’s embarrassed.

We walk silently for a few minutes and I feel his fingertips brush against mine and my heart flutters softly. Shit.

. . .

“Are you even listening to me Mike?”

I look up from my phone to see Calum glaring at me. He burst into my dorm room about 45 minutes ago insisting we practice our presentation for the millionth time since he finished his essay. Of course, mine’s not finished yet, but at least I have something to write about now. But, without mine to practice, he’s just been reading his on a loop – I personally think he’s trying to annoy me to death. Jokes on him though, he’s got a nice voice.

“I can only hear your essay so many times before my brain starts to block it out to preserve my sanity.”

“You wouldn’t have to hear it so much if we had something else to practice… like, I don’t know- maybe your easy perhaps?”

How subtle. Ever since he finished his essay (overachiever much?), he’s been on my ass about mine. Even if I actually had it finished, there’s no way in Hell I’ll be letting him see this – let alone hear me read it out loud – until I have to.

“Dude. I’ve told you like eighty times now. I hate presenting stuff. I’m not doing it any more than I have to. Being in front of everyone, having them all stare at me- judging me? Fuck that. Once is enough. I don’t need you judging me too.”

“You honestly think I’m going to judge you? I don’t buy it. You’re Michael Clifford. You don’t give a shit about what other people think about you.”

I can’t help but laugh out loud. If only he knew.

“Well, when I’m putting myself out there in front of a whole room of people then yeah, I’m going to give a shit about what they think.”

“Putting yourself out there? Mate, it’s an essay. You sure you’re not just making up excuses to cover up the fact that you haven’t started writing it yet?”

Calum runs his finger through his hair, and I try not to stare. Why did he have to come to my school again, be in my class again, make my heart ache again. I feel like this time is worse. Being this close, not being able to touch him in the ways I want. Is this some horrible karma for complaining about longing? I shake my head at the joke that I call my love life and push past it like I always do.

“Maybe, but I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

He throws a pillow at me and tells me to shut up before beginning to read his presentation yet again.

. . .

As I approach Calum’s door, I look down at the folded mess of papers in my hands and decide to quickly shove them into my backpack to make sure he doesn’t try to take them and read my shitty essay beforehand.

I pull my bag off my back and drop to my knees to put the papers away. I finish zipping it up and throw it over my shoulder as I hear the door open in front of me. I look up and see an eye full of Calum’s junk. My eyes widen and I can feel my cheeks heat up as I quickly look away and stand up. I try not to look at his face and pray that my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

“At least buy me dinner first. Damn.” He laughs. The sound melts my worries away. Mostly.

“Fuck off. We’re going to be late.” I give him a shove and begin walking to the exit.

Walking with one another to our classes has become a part of our daily routine. Calum decided so about a month ago when he found out that I tripped and scrapped my elbow and knee open like a child while running to make it on time for one of my 8AM classes. So now he seems to think that I can’t manage walking to class by myself. I mean, I’m not complaining. I’ll take any time that I can get with him until inevitably ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had.

As we walk, Calum is -of course- rehearsing his presentation again. I sigh and think about the essay sitting in my bag and how he’s going to react to hearing it. Maybe he’ll just drop the class and ghost me. God that will hurt... Maybe I should just fake sick, or say I never finished my part of the project, or-

My spiraling thoughts are cut short by Calum opening the classroom door and I admit defeat. The two of us sit at our table still -sadly- located at the front of the room. As we sit down, I watch Calum pull out his papers and read them over as if he didn’t just prove that he’s got it memorized by reciting it on our walk over. I set up my laptop and shove my papers under it, quickly checking back to Calum to make sure he hasn’t noticed. I exhale softly and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before opening our Spotify playlist, preparing it for our presentation.

A dread-filed hour and a half passes as I listen to the other groups make their presentations and read through their playlists to try and distract myself.

“Group seven, you’re up.”

My blood goes cold and I feel like I can’t move. I feel Calum swiftly kick my shin under the table.

“That’s us. Get up.” He whispers

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to be back at home in my bed. I don’t want this. I don’t want to lose my friend. Why did I have to take this class? Why couldn’t I have been assigned anger. Why didn’t I just sit with those two girls that first day?

“Mike, it’ll be okay. I’ll be up there with you the whole time.” That’s half the problem, Calum.

I sigh deeply and open my eyes. They stay glued to the table as I pick up my laptop and the messy pile of papers underneath it. I walk slowly behind Calum to the front of the room and stop at the podium. I quickly plug my laptop into the screen behind us as he introduces the both of us to the class and begins to talk about the emotions we were assigned before launching into how they relate to one another and briefly talking about our playlist. I feel slightly reassured as he begins to recite the speech that I pretty much have memorized myself at this point. I allow myself to zone out to the sound of his voice as I wait for my cue.

“… and to me that is what love is to me. Family.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans again and pick up my papers with trembling hands. Closing my eyes again, I take another deep breath and open them once finished. Here goes everything.

“I- um- I’m Michael and I uh… I was assigned the emotion longing. When I first read the small paper and saw I had longing, I was confused and upset that my partner had such an easy emotion to talk about and I um… I had something as complex as longing…” I look over to Calum and he gives me a reassuring smile and my heart skips a beat. “Until he helped me realize that longing is pretty much the universal emotion. It branches into every emotion you can think of. It powers them and really brings the depth to them. Once I had realized this, the only issue I had was choosing which emotional experience to talk about. This itself seemed to be an impossible choice, so I’ve decided to talk about an experience that, like longing, incorporates every emotion. Heartbreak. My chosen song for this was No Idea by All Time Low. Song number…” I quickly look over at our playlist and count the sounds out to make sure I’m right before continuing, “seven on our playlist.”

I press play and I continue over the quiet music, telling the story of a young Michael who was in love with a boy that never knew he existed. A boy who broke his heart without ever even speaking to him. A boy who he was still desperately in love with, years later. A never-ending tale of longing.

Once the longest five minutes of my life had passed, I quickly unplug my laptop and hurry back to our table, avoiding eye contact with Calum the entire way back. I grab my books and shove them along with my laptop and essay into my bag. I damage my papers even more by doing so, but I could care less.

Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I leave the room as I hear Calum call out after me. There’s no way he’ll catch up to me. Besides, my Sound Tech class was cancelled today, so even if he does manage to catch up, I won’t be there.

I finally make it back to my room without encountering Calum and I toss my bag onto my chair and dive face first into my bed to wait out the impending consequences for ambushing my best friend in the middle of a room full of people. Why did I do that. Fuck me.

. . .

Calum had been planning a party over the last few weeks to celebrate us finishing our project. I had told him time and time again that ‘finishing a project’ is the lamest reason to throw a party. But yet, here I am, in my room surrounded by the pulsating beats of music blasting down the dorm hall.

I’ve managed to avoid Calum for the past four days since the most embarrassing moment of my life. He’s tried texting and calling me too many times to count, and he even showed up to my dorm room twice. I, of course, pretended to be asleep both times.

So, I know it has to be Calum banging repeatedly on my door, throwing off the steady beats of music.

“Mike, it’s Calum. Can I come in?” I hear him shout through the door over the music.

I get up and turn the light off before returning to my desk to continue trying to focus on the game on my computer and pretending I’m not here.

“Mate! I saw you turn your light off! Michael! Open the door!”

The banging persists and my head sinks lower and lower into my shoulders. Go away. Please. I don’t want to hurt. Not tonight. Please.

“I’m not leaving! Maybe I’ll just ask one of those art kids for a sculpting knife and cut your door down! HA! You couldn’t avoid me if I did that! You wouldn’t even have a door to lock!” He slurs half of his words and it’s becoming clear that he’s drunk, and drunk Calum doesn’t quit.

I drop my head onto the desk and breathe deeply for a minute, listening to him yell at me through the door, before getting up and walking over to the sound. I pause there for a moment and prepare for the worst.

As soon as I open the door, Calum falls backwards onto my floor. How in the Hell…

“What do you want Calum? I’m busy.”

He stumbles back to his feet, swaying softly while he regains his balance in the centre of my dark room.

“You’re busy? You’re busy. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me for a week? Cause you’re busy?! Fuck off Michael.”

I say nothing as I lean against my open door, waiting for him to get this over with, so I can shut it behind him and go back to my self-loathing.

“Answer me!”

Clearly the silent treatment isn’t working here. I glance at the hallway full of people, some who have begun to stare at the two of us. I grit my teeth and shut the door, letting the darkness engulf my room, leaving only the light of my computer screen allowing us to see one another as we stand together in the center of the room.

“What the Hell do you want me to say?!”

“Well for starters, how about you tell me why the fuck you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been-“

“Fuck off. You have, and you know it. Now tell me why.”

I shake my head and adjust my weight from foot to foot, shrugging to come up with an excuse.

“Oh. My. God. You’re impossible!” He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before I watch his posture soften. “Is this about what you said in your essay?”

I go stiff and remind myself to breathe.

“I knew it! At first, I didn’t think that was it, but it fucking was! Why are you avoiding me? Do you think I’m against your sexuality or some shit? Is that why you won’t talk to me? Cause that’s not true! You never even asked me about what I thought about it. About your feelings for me. How I would feel. About my feelings for- about your sexuality. Your sexuality, yeah... You just never asked me.” His face reddens at the last part, probably from lack of air after that speech.

I listen as he drunkenly rambles at me and try to think of something to say. How can he be right? He can’t be. I shouldn’t have to explain myself or my sexuality to him. Why would it matter what he thought about my sexuality?

“Your opinion of my sexuality isn’t needed Calum.” I say, shaking my head.

He sighs harshly and rubs his temples before stomping his foot. Did he actually just stop his foot? Is he five?

“Michael. That’s not what I’m saying! Listen to me! You’re so busy thinking about yourself and your feelings that you’re missing the bigger picture! You’re not the only person in this situation!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Calum. I’m so sorry my feelings were an inconvenience for you! You wanna talk about it? Let’s talk about it! Have my feelings for you ruined your college experience? Have my feelings for you kept you up every night? Have my feelings for you broken your heart?!”

He is silent for a moment before closing his eyes. His body sways softly as he runs his hands through his hair.

“No-” He sighs deeply before replying quietly, “your feelings for me didn’t do any of those things to me. Mine did.”

He opens his eyes and the light of the computer screen highlights the beautiful features of his skin as his words sink into mine.

I stand there with my jaw dropped, staring at the man in front of me. Did he just say… No. No. This is a sick joke. I feel a lump form in my throat begin to form.

“That’s not funny Calum.” I choke out softly.

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re straight.”

“I’m not! I’m Bisexual.” His cheeks redden softly in the pale blue light.

I stare at him in disbelief. He’s got to be drunk out of his mind to lie like this.

“You’re straight.” I repeat in an attempt to both reassure myself and convince him to stop the lies.

He runs his hands through his hair again and lets out an exasperated groan.

“Michael! Fuck! Why won’t you ever listen! I like you! I’ve been trying to tell you ever since you came out to me on the way to that shitty party. I only stopped myself cause you said you didn’t have feelings for me anymore. I’m bisexual Michael! Why do you think I went to Prom with Timothy?”

“That- that was just a stag thing…”

“I wasn’t ready to come out yet. Neither was he.”

He takes a step closer to me, making me overly aware of how small my dorm room actually is. I can smell his cologne and the alcohol -tequila? Yeah, tequila- wafting off him as the space between our bodies lessens.

“So, you’re… bisexual?”

The relief is visible as it washes over him. He smiles softly and takes another step towards me.

“And you… uh… you like me?”

“You wanna talk about it?” He whispers as his eyes drop to my lips.

“Calum, I-”

Before I can finish whatever stupid thing I was going to say, I feel his hands grab my face and his lips crash into mine. I close my eyes and return the kiss. My hands find their way into his hair as he pushes his body against mine. His hand leaves my cheek and finds its way up the back of my shirt, pulling my body impossibly closer to his.

This is more than I’ve ever dreamt of. Calum Hood. Calum Hood kissing me. His hair is softer than I could have ever imagined. I can taste the tequila on his tongue as it slips ever so slightly in between my lips and I suddenly remember how drunk he is. It takes every part of me to pull away and break the kiss.

“Calum. You’re drunk. I can’t.”

“I can.” He steps towards me with a slightly needy expression in his eyes.

“Calum.” I repeat sternly and step away, my back pressing against the door.

He lets out a defeated sigh as he turns around and walks over to the drawer where I keep my snacks.

“Do you have any bread?”

“I- uh… what?... Maybe, why?”

“I want to sober up so you’ll kiss me again.”

I laugh softly and walk over to help him look.

. . .

I wake up to the feeling of something heavy laying across my face. As I open my eyes and adjust my sights to the room around me, I realize the heavy thing on my face is actually Calum’s arm. The events of last night come back to me like a hurricane. Calum arriving at my dorm room drunk, Calum coming out to me as bisexual and confessing his feelings for me… Calum kissing me, and finally, Calum falling asleep beside me while waiting to sober up… I would say it was a dream, but I now have a red, arm-shaped mark on my face to prove otherwise.

I peel his arm off my head and his eyes shoot open, making me jump a little. I watch as he looks around the room and stops once his eyes meet mine. He smiles sweetly at me.

“Hi.” He says, his voice deep and raspy from just waking up.

“Hey there.” I whisper back.

“Guess what.”

“What.”

He smirks at me as his hand finds its way to my cheek and his body shifts towards mine.

“I think I’m finally sober.”

I exhale as my body relaxes from the tension and worry I didn’t realize I had about last night. I chew on my bottom lip as I wait for him to do something.

His eyes explore my face before slowing down at my lips just as they did last night. He blinks slowly and as his eyes open, I find them looking into mine again. He smiles softly as he closes them once more and leans forward, connecting his lips to mine. His pillowy lips kiss mine softly for the best minute of my life, and when he pulls away, he takes my breath with him. I am utterly awestruck by his beauty and the feeling of his lips on mine.

“How about you and I go on to dinner later and get to know the real us? No more assumptions and no more secrets.”

I nod and smile widely.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I agree as he grins before kissing me again.

#malum #the club gift exchange #for mandie #malum fic rec #soft malum #calum x michael #malum fic #malum one shot #5sos fic #5sos one shot #writings #mine

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kvngjoong · 5 years

Text

she was a rainbow [three - seo changbin]

→ seo changbin x f!you, university!au, in which changbin discovers that his feelings aren’t as easy to understand as he first may have thought → 7.4k+, it’s fluff. all fluff and cute things, with a last minute confession

part 3 of 3

“Do you remember when I got mad at you about the project?”

“Mhm.” Changbin was busy eating his noodles and didn’t pick up on the signs you were showing him. He tries to make a joke, since when he looks up you look a little sad. It was just the downturned lips and sparkly eyes. Glassy. Changbin means glassy. “You told me that you wouldn’t talk to me again.”

You hum, facing the table for a little longer than usual. “I was a bitch ‘cause my boyfriend and I broke up.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Changbin replies honestly. He should have expected it. You both hadn’t know each other that long then, and you already had broken up with your boyfriend? It surprises him. It angers him that someone hadn’t appreciated you enough to love you.

“Hwang Hyunjin?” His name burns some hatred into Changbin. That asshole? Yeah, everyone know who Hyunjin was. He didn’t realise you two dated, and he would have warned against it if he did know, even though you both weren’t that close. “Yeah, I should have realised that was going to end up that way.”

Changbin has a pick of everyone he wants.

Realistically, it’s always been the same for the Korean boy. He’s rich, he’s handsome and like hell does he know it. Ever since high school when girls would flock around him to see whether he really was that flawless in real life (he was, for the record) and if his hair really did stand to be the most beautiful style on the grounds. His spoiled ways proved to be too much for people to handle and they quickly disregarded him leaving the best option for him being to move abroad and act like he never even knew the streets of the various other countries he lived in.

He used people and he didn’t care, and that never really changed. Sure, he had two good friends. The first was a boy named Chan who usually would be found in the music production rooms with his headphones on, creating new songs like the genius kid he is. Chan is from Australia and didn’t have any other friends. Seeing him as, for lack of a better description, weak, Changbin managed to make friends with Chan but then realised he truly did value the friendship he had. Then there was Jisung, the first year student who had helped Changbin out in the music department when he first started. Changbin, in his own way, admired Jisung for carrying on his passion for music despite studying International Business. Another rich kid that Changbin emphasised with too much.

But Changbin realised in university he can’t be the person he used to be. There’s no cliques like in high school, the majority of people are just genuinely interested in studying and he often looks stupid when he expects the girls to come flocking in the clubs. His pearly white smile and equally white trainers don’t attract the attention he wants.

Not that he doesn’t get any. Changbin might not have the same charm as before but girls do love him. They love his persona and how if you hang around with him you automatically get the reputation of dating a rich kid who had a lot of money to spend which his parents sent him every week. Girls used him, actually. They used him for the reputation like he used to use them for the same thing.

It drives someone to loneliness, actually.

Changbin sits alone in lectures now. He used to sit in the middle with girls either side, sometimes not paying attention but often having a girl or two chatting about a possible date and another on the phone sending him photos he shouldn’t have been looking at in the middle of a lecture.

He walks into his class on international markets, his least favourite unit this year, expecting the back row of the lecture theatre to be completely empty like always. He pulls out one earphone, analysing the girl sat in the middle of the back row with an emotionless face; reading a book, studying each word, lost in the fantasy world which is created from it.

Changbin frowns. He takes a seat two places down and uses the seat to his left to keep his bag on so he can easily pull out his phone later to concentrate on something other than his lecturer who is the quietest, but most lovely Chinese lady to exist. The act manages to catch your attention as you don’t expect it. Your eyes meet Changbin’s and he feels like he’s frozen for a second.

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing your book shut. Changbin is stuck looking at you so forgets to check what you’re reading. He hopes it’s worthwhile. “Do you want me to move up?”

Changbin shakes his head. He brings his fingers back through his freshly washed hair as he clears his throat and looks away. “It’s fine. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

When Changbin didn’t spend his Saturday nights watching anime and checking snapchat to see if there was a party he could jump in on, he would have took this as an opportunity to continue speaking to you. Right now he looks back towards the front of the lecture hall and scratches his ear as he sighs. He doesn’t care, if he’s honest.

“This is the lecture on international markets, right?” you ask him. Changbin doesn’t look back to you, as he really does not care all too much for what you’re saying, and instead continues looking forward and planning on what game he’ll be beating Jisung at this evening. “I’m new and I guess… everything has been kinda messed up for me so far. I never end up in the right place.”

Changbin hums, nodding quietly again. “Yeah, it is.”

“Okay,” you answer, smile on your lips. You seem to ignore his blatant lack of interest which surprises Changbin a little. He pulls the disinterested card on girls and usually they beg for his attention and make it known that they’re not happy which how he’s treating them.

You, on the other hand, don’t even bat an eyelid.

That’s the thing which surprises him the most, especially since his cold and unattentive personality would usually have a girl angry at him for not trying too much with them, or have them rolling their eyes and vowing never to speak with him again.

He spends far too much of the lecture watching you concentrate on the topic being taught from the corner of his eye, your face burnt into his memory whether he wants it or not. Primarily he would have hoped at some point you’d have noticed his gaze shifting your way every so often, but when you don’t acknowledge him until you’re asking him politely to move out of your way so you can get to your next class, Changbin decides that he’s not going to let you bother his thoughts again.

Except he does let it bother him, a little too much if he’s honest.

It’s easy to shake you from his mind each time he stares at a blank wall or zones out from Jisung speaking with him about something he doesn’t care all that much for. It’s not so easy when you force your actual presence into his space a few days later at his seminar for International Trade later that week.

You sit beside him at the back, which again was usually a row he sat in on his own, but don’t pay too much attention to him since you were busy texting someone and didn’t notice him in the corner.

At least he thought that, since you didn’t even look in his direction until the teacher had everyone talking for a reason Changbin didn’t know - since he was busy on Instagram (trying to find your profile, for science of course).

“Hey,” you say, turning to him and catching his attention. He panics a little, eyes wide as he locks his phone and places it face down just in case you saw him searching through group followers to find anyone who resembled you. “I saw you in the lecture on international markets.”

Changbin finds your way of speaking with him a little unusual. You remind him ever so slightly of Jisung. Forward, but friendly, and somewhat good intentions. “Yeah, that was me.”

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Great,” Changbin replies. He may have come across as more rude than he intended to be, though he wanted to make it less obvious he had been waiting for your name this entire time. Pretty, he thinks, and it suits you. He panics, again, and tries to recover himself in possibly the worst way possible, “do you need something?”

“We need to work in pairs for the project on trade policies. I was wondering if you wanted to work together?” you ask.

Damn, he had hoped for more than that.

“Oh. Right.” Changbin’s quota for smiling had already been filled up since Chan slipped in the kitchen this morning when he dropped his milk everywhere. He might have been able to give a little more happiness if you asked him for more than just uni work. Well, saying that, you wanted to spend some time with him so you must have liked him in some shape or form. “Sure. We can work together.”

Changbin responds to your smile with his own tiny one which he spares for you from the bottom of his heart. He regrets it when he realises you probably just sat with him because you remembered him and didn’t know anyone else, but he notices there are quite a few empty seats around the room that you could have sat in should you want to make some other friends.

So he takes it as a win, even if you did probably enjoy the familiar aspect of having Changbin around you. Oh well. His ego will take it the other way until he’s ready to accept he’s lonelier than ever and anyone is better company than Jisung at this point. No offence to Jisung, he was just going through a… phase.

“I’m Changbin, by the way.”

Giving you his name goes a long way to creating a relationship between the two of you, since you exchange numbers pretty soon after and Changbin walks home with a less blank than usual look on his face. When he gets home he lingers in the living room for longer than usual and even Chan asks him what’s made him so happy.

He could have been happier if it didn’t take you two days to actually ask text him. Sure, he could have texted first, but didn’t want to overstep a boundary you might have wanted to keep. He could message you but you knew what the project was about and he would have probably cleared his schedule for you anyway, so he waits patiently for you to come to him.

Maybe to restore that mindset that people wanted him, or maybe because he was nervous. The latter was pretty much impossible.

Providing that Changbin’s (pretty much) squeak when he sees you’ve finally text him after all this time.

You: Are you free tonight? Changbin: Yeah You: Okay, do you want to go to the library? We can meet there and work on the research? Changbin: It would be easier if you came to me. I’ll send you my address.

Changbin’s parents were always apprehensive about him giving out his address, hence why he went elsewhere for parties and avoided having people back here. He asked Chan and Jisung to live with him with a pretty cheap rent for the company of having them around, and so far they were the only ones he had ever actively asked to be at his.

This was a different story, however. He trusted you enough to give you an address that his parents specifically wanted on the downlow (they didn’t want anyone to take advantage of Changbin’s wealth, and you didn’t seem like the type to do that). The first one ever. Changbin was really firsts with you already.

It brings butterflies to his stomach, almost as many as when two minutes later he realises his room is a mess and he does his best to tidy everything in the twenty minutes he probably has before you arrive, if you lived where he suspected you did.

He was just about right - nineteen minutes after he started cleaning and making sure his washing was (less than neatly) placed in his washing bin, you’re knocking at his front door and he’s running out of his room begging that no one else heard the door and opens it for him.

Lest be it that Jisung or Chan caught wind of him inviting you here; Changbin would never hear the end of it.

Changbin, slightly out of breath from mad-pace cleaning and running at full speed to get the door, forgets the smile he promised himself he’d give you, instead staring blankly at you and letting you walk in. To his surprise, you ignore a greeting too and walk inside, looking around the room at the barely covered walls (apart from the mirror Jisung took pictures in, and a shelf for Chan’s books). “Your place is… Nice.”

“Yeah, nice,” Changbin replies, clearing his throat as he shuts the door. He’s usually so talkative, what is about you that stops him from being able to form coherent sentences? Changbin isn’t sure. He stumbles over some more words as he follows you in staring down everything he jointly owned. “It’s uh… let’s do some work in my room. My friends will only cause problems if we’re in here.”

You nod, walking after him as he leads you to his room on the back at the right. He shuts the door behind the two of you, weary that Jisung would be able to hear your voice and come to inspect all that was going on.

Changbin watches as you sit on his floor, beside his desk, leaving the chair open for him. Not wanting to be a dick, he sits opposite to you and copies your stance in the hopes you won’t feel awkward being in a new environment. Changbin will learn that one of the things he loves about you is that you never seemed to be bothered by things like that.

He’s busy watching you log into your laptop, so your voice catches him by surprise. “I was actually looking into some studies yesterday so we can use that as a starting point. Unless you want to start over, and we take a different approach?”

“You already did some work, so you clearly know what you’re doing.” Changbin likes that you’re smart, too. He reveals in the fact you’re not just there for him because of his money, or because he can music,or even because you thought he was cute. You’re there for work and he respects that. “Just let me know what you need doing and I’ll help.”

He respects it to the degree that he can, anyway, since he didn’t particularly like doing the work and also felt bad when you sat there and did absolutely everything on the project whilst he just admired your pretty eyelashes and soft lips and… That’s for another day.

He sees you a few nights of the week, and somehow he manages to avoid both Chan and Jisung the entire time. It’s for your sake more than his, the pair of them were both on the get Changbin a girlfriend bandwagon and it annoyed the shit out of him.

Which is why he panics when he knows that Chan and Jisung are going to be at home and you’re most likely going to see them.

“Can I come over today?”

“That’s forward. Why?” Changbin asks, surprised by your presence directly next to him in the lecture hall. You usually left at least one seat between the two of you, but given your panicked voice, you were trying to cozy up to him for a reason he already knew the answer to.

Maybe he’s acting like this because part of him really just wants you to ask to come over so you can both spend time together without the underpinning task of your joint project. Yeah, Changbin hopes that you see more to him than just work.

Judging from your deadpan look, that is not the case. “For the project. It’s due soon and we’ve barely done anything.”

“Because it’s not that deep.” Changbin replies, shrugging as he returns to his notepad and writes the date in the top left corner. “If we fail, we fail. They’ll pass us anyway because if they fail us they look bad on rankings. Why bother?”

You don’t react to his words. Changbin should try a different approach to get some emotion from you, and the right emotion at that. “So we can get a good grade.”

“That’s not important to me. I don’t even wanna be in that class,” Changbin tells you.

“But I do, and I want to do well. So please, Changbin, just put a bit of effort in for me? I won’t bother you after this project, I won’t even talk to you, just help me get a good grade and it’s done. We won’t work together again.”

Ouch.

That hurt Changbin more than it was meant to, or at least more than he should have allowed it to. He sits in silence the rest of the lecture, checking on you every so often out of the corner of his eye, though not bothering to distract you from your work any more than he already had.

Part of him thinks that he should have stopped you before you left the lecture hall to apologise, but unfortunately for him his mind doesn’t work that quickly and he’s not sure how to make it up to you straight away.

He’s not even sure why he’s so bothered. You don’t mean that much time him, you’re just his partner for a university project and you probably won’t speak to him again afterwards.

Except he hoped you did speak to him afterwards, and he hoped you saw a friendship like he did, because it’s not often that Changbin has someone on his mind so much.

He didn’t want to sound like a stalker or anything. He wasn’t going to follow you around, he wasn’t going to make sure you were the only person he was talking to (since he was pretty sure you had your own group of friends which included one of Chan’s other friends, Felix), but he couldn’t help but wonder what you were up to at different times, or if you were thinking about him too.

God, it was like you were a drug he caught wind of and now he’s hooked to.

Which is why, the next day, he shows up at the library where he knows you’ll be (since you were always there on that day at that time, according to your snapchat), with the intention to apologise to you in a way that only Changbin can do.

It takes a while to find you, but when he does, he’s glad you’re on your own because he had a feeling that Felix boy had a thing for you given that he posts about you all the time and looks at you with massive heart eyes that Changbin wasn’t particularly in the mood for.

“Hey,” he says, sitting on the opposite side of the booth to you.

“Changbin?” You ask, raising a brow at him. You were clearly surprised to see him, too. Given his slight smile in your direction, you warm to the possibility of a conversation to him and pull out your earphones, abandoning the work you had in front of you. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Changbin finds himself at a loss for what to actually say to you. On one hand, he could say sorry, but that doesn’t really mean anything unless he’s actually showing you that he’s sorry. He should invite you over, he should ask you to do something with him, he should offer to finish the project for you, he should--

“Do you need something?” you ask, cutting off his thoughts before they got too much for him.

“Oh, yeah. I do, actually.” Changbin clears his throat, leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together. He can make it genuine, because for you he is genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry about before. I was an asshole to you for no reason. You want to do well and so should I. So, you can spend the weekend at mine and we can finish the whole project then, and do it well. I cleared my schedule.”

His apology works like a charm, actually.

Probably because he was genuine towards you, and you could see that. He stays with you for a little bit but leaves eventually, heart a little warmer and blood free from any emotion he didn’t want (ie animosity). His walk home is filled with ideas for what you can both do together, since he didn’t intend to have this project take up the entire weekend, and he settles for getting you to play video games with him and actually asking you for your social media so it’s acceptable for you to follow him on everything.

Having you around fills him with this emotion he couldn’t quite process (ie, not animosity, but something more like adulation) and it does strike him exactly like the strongest drug he could have ever purchased. One right at the bottom of the black market, with a selling price of well over what he could have ever afford.

The difference with an actual drug? The effects were permanent. So maybe you were like therapy for a blackened and closed heart.

“I’m so tired,” you say, laying on his floor with your eyes shut.

He hides his silent chuckle at your form and his pout because he can’t stroke your hair like his gut told him to. Is that what you do in a relationship? Likely so. He wasn’t entirely sure, but that’s what they do on Jisung’s dramas. “I literally just got us pizza.”

“I know, but I’m still tired,” you reply, opening your eyes and looking straight to him, “we can just get up early and work on this tomorrow.”

Changbin shakes his head at your suggestion, gesturing over to your laptop that now has a black screen since you haven’t touched it in roughly… forty minutes. “No, I don’t get up early. We’re finishing this tonight. We just need three more paragraphs and we are done.”

You don’t concur. Changbin looks down to his keyboard, attempting to finish his sentence, though he feels your eyes on him and is compelled to look back to you and see what you need. Just like a relationship.

“What?” Changbin asks, studying your pout like he’s never seen one before. Well, he has, but mostly because he was rejecting a girl who didn’t care all too much for him. “Why are you doing that?”

When he brings up your pouting, you stop and return to an emotionless stare. After a few moments of unbroken eye contact, you sit up and push the chair from your face adjusting your sleeves. “Let’s just take a break then okay?”

“A break?” Changbin repeats, one brow slightly raised. He couldn’t dream of saying no to you again, since last time he hurt your feelings and he wasn’t ready to do that again. He likes talking to you. You’re interesting, and you make him feel like he is too. Whatever feelings you have towards him, it’s most definitely mutual. “Okay, we’ll take a break. For five minutes.”

“Tell me more about you, Changbin.”

“What do you want to know?” Changbin replies, noticing how quick you jump on the opportunity to ask him something person. Did you can about him? It would seem to be that way. No one really wants to know about him. He didn’t even want to talk about him, either.

But for you, he’ll say everything.

“Anything. Everything. Tell me your life story. That will get my mind working again so we finish this and have tomorrow to do whatever we want,” you return.

Changbin assumes you’ve forgotten the whole not talking after the project is over, and he’s happier than he’d want to admit about it.

That’s almost a turning point in your relationship. Almost because it changes again, all thanks to him, but that marked the two of you actually being friends, and Changbin likes that more than he would care to admit, too.

And friendship for him is more than he could have ever thought to ask for.

He thought that he say Chan and Jisung a lot, but compared to you it was nothing. The nights he would spend on his own were suddenly filled with your presence and he actually enjoyed being around other people for once, in the nicest way. There was something about his mostly extroverted but potentially introverted persona that meant he enjoyed the loneliness in the slightest way.

Except now, he didn’t at all.

He’d invite you over whenever he could, make sure that he had you around him when you were able to. Though your days were reserved for your other friends, which did include Felix and his friends, you spend your evenings with Changbin doing both work and friend things.

He enjoyed both, much to his surprise, but it was probably because he enjoyed the way you told him about business things much more than his teachers. Did he ever mention he loved how smart you were? Because he does, so much.

He also loves that you’re so effortlessly his best friend, in every way that you can be.

“No, Changbin,” you say, pushing his hands away from you. He acts surprised by your defiance, not giving up on having you play like you had agreed. You, however, continue your protests with a “stop it. Don’t make me say it again.”

“You started it! I’m sorry you’re a major pussy and can’t play horror games. We said we would take turns!”

“It’s not funny!” You look away from him with a pout, the very one he’s grown so fond of over the time he’s know you, and face the door. Hearing Chan and Jisung chanting at the TV over some football game that was on, probably wasn’t the best thing for the situation. “Your friends probably think I’m stupid. I screamed loud.”

“Wanna bet?” Changbin asks, challenging your words in the best way he knows how.

Because you haven’t actually met the double team of Christopher ‘Chan’ Bang and Han Jisung, and Changbin knows that people aren’t usually that easy to adapt to their friend’s other friends.

If you’re easy to warm up to them, then Changbin knows you’re going to be easy for him to get on well with in the future. Who knows, maybe he can extend his relationship with you and you can be more than friends? That’s on him though, since he’s sure you don’t actually have any feelings towards him and he’s going to respect that until he’s one hundred per cent sure that confessing you is the most appropriate thing to do.

So Changbin drags you out to his friends, despite your very basic protests, planting you straight in front of the TV and making sure to deal with Chan and Jisung’s eye rolls and complaints that they were interrupting whatever team was playing.

“Chan, Jisung. Do you think she’s stupid?” Changbin asks, his dominance in their friendship clear from how he approaches them. He looks between them, then to you, switching between the two until he gets the answer he’s looking for.

“Stupid?” Chan repeats, looking over to you. He shakes his head, careless to what Changbin’s actually intentions were here. “No, you were playing Outlast, weren’t you?”

Jisung, on the other hand, has the full intentions to make sure that Changbin regrets ever trying to impress you with his friends. The youngest has a smirk as he directs his comments at both of you, but mostly you. “Hyung, you were screaming louder than her, you’re the pussy.”

Honestly, Changbin didn’t know someone’s laugh could brighten his entire day.

But that’s normal right?

To want to make you laugh every day, to listen to it on reply, to have to you laughing at something he said (so that you’re laughing because of him)?

He’s not sure, maybe he’s got a delusional idea of what is right and what is wrong in his head. Either way, Changbin vows that your friendship will be good and you’ll enjoy every minute of it that you’re in it with him.

And that means that you’ll be doing everything with him, whether you like it or not.

Changbin hopes you do like it, though. He can’t keep wondering whether you will, so he decides one day when you’re both walking to class together that he should check. “Let’s do more stuff together.”

“More stuff?” you repeat, looking up to him questioningly. He nods, though you’re still not buying. “You literally leave the house for lectures and that’s it.”

“But you like doing stuff, so I’ll do it with you,” Changbin says, hoping to convince you with a little bit of affection.

That works well, too.

Changbin went from not being able to talk to you, struggling to know what to reply to you, and being as awkward as he ever could be around a person, to silently begging for you to want to spend more time with him.

And do you? Well, Changbin would wait for you to answer that. At first he thinks not, since you don’t approach him with anything, but when you spot him at the cafeteria in one of the business buildings, and you run after him with a wide smile, he changes his mind a little.

Skip the formalities, a greeting from you is a form of therapy within itself.

“There’s this thing.”

Changbin hums, looking to you as you both approach the elevator to go to your class on the third floor. “Right. This thing.”

“Can you come with me?” you ask, surprising him a little. He doesn’t frown, his eyes just widen a little. You must have noticed because you’re quick to try and convince him. “It won’t take up too much of your evening. I don’t want to go on my own.”

Oh, you must want him to come if you're convincing him.

“I don’t even know what it is you want me to come to,” Changbin returns, shrugging.

“It’s just a… poetry, thing.” Changbin thinks it’s cute, though keeps his look placid to make sure you’re not quick to read him. He worries, given that you’re basically an empath, you’ll catch onto the fact that his feelings are becoming a bit too prominent for him to control. “Boring, I know. I’ll make it up to you, but you might enjoy it. Who knows.”

He didn’t need to enjoy it to go along; Changbin was going to seize an opportunity to spend some time with you on your invitation again.

Since your presence was the drug he couldn’t kick from his system as of yet, or a therapy session he paid above and beyond for, and a poetry session with you was a strange way of getting a high, or help, he needed.

To imagine you each time they spoke of a starry sky, a roaring fire, even a firework that explodes in the sky, he would have paid a lot for that anyway.

And he got it for free.

Spending time with you was something Changbin would have given a lot up for. As it turns out, you liked it too, since you let him walk you home and even invited him in (politely asking him not to judge your place since you weren’t rich and student loans didn’t provide that much to an international student anyway). No, nothing happened, as much as anyone may have thought it did.

Changbin didn’t have the intentions to do something with you, and maybe you felt the same. He didn’t notice you didn’t have any pictures of you with any guys at home, or their clothes in your room, so maybe he did have a chance.

That was a weight off his shoulders, at the very least. You probably didn’t have a boyfriend, and he was moving more in that direction now.

“Hey,” Changbin says, distracting you for the lecturer at the front. You look over to him, since you both sit directly next to each other now, and nod for him to continue. “Are you free, later?”

You nod again. “All day, why?”

“Do you want to do something together?”

“Sure,” you return, bringing some relief to Changbin’s heart that was beating at about 200 miles an hour. He lets his cheeks twitch a little, but never does actually smile at you. You keep your voice down but still keep your interest at hand, “what do you have in mind?”

Changbin shrugs, passing his phone across the desk to you, since he had a film already opened that he thought would be cute to see with you. A horror movie, at that, but it was up his alley and yours too. “This movie came out recently and if you wanted to, we can see it together?”

It’s a terrifying three seconds waiting for you to answer. “I’d like that.”

So seeing a movie becomes your weekly thing together, alongside the things you already do. You really do end up spending every night with him, the bonus being that you also get along well with Jisung and Chan too, and the four of you somehow form a friendship that Changbin would never have been able to foresee in the past.

You were once someone he sat a few seats from in a lecture, and now you’re standing in his kitchen playing hot potato with a sponge that Jisung had used to mop up (quite a bit of) soy sauce from the side that he spilt. Given that Chan and Jisung had been throwing at each other, and then Jisung involved you, it was a given Changbin was going to get involved to.

“Hey Changbin,” you shout, the boy looking up to you with wide eyes as he leaves the bathroom, still drying his hands on his jeans, “think fast.”

Changbin’s heart is heavy because you remembered to include him, of course he very much enjoys your thoughts going straight to him, so he doesn’t get much time to react to a soy sauce soaked sponge launched directly at his chest. “Hey!”

“I said think fast!”

Chasing you into his bedroom is one way to get a girl in there, even if it’s because you know he works out and if threw that back at you, you would probably lose a rib because of the sheer force. Not that he would actually do that - he throws it back to Chan who looks at the two of you like you are a resident married couple.

No that you have to know that. “Get back here!”

Yeah, his bedroom. You have a lot of memories there. From getting to know him in there, and finally understanding what goes on in his deep, dark mind, all the way to watching horror movies together and eventually sleeping in his bed together.

On your demand that is. You think Changbin has it in him to ask if you want to stay over? The poor boy could barely get out 4 words about his feelings, yet alone ask you something like sleep in my bed or even just stay over, and he would stay on the couch.

“Your bed is so comfortable.” Your words, like always, catch him off guard. He was working on a song with both Jisung and Chan, and he had the lucky job of producing the final product. “Let me sleep here.”

Changbin avoids having another internal meltdown and deals with this by not actually dealing with it at all. He nods, noticing that you’re pretty comfortable already. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, slightly questioning his response. Did you expect him to say yes? Probably not. Changbin gave you the impression he liked his personal space. Luckily he knew he would be pretty boring tonight and would be up to the early hours of the morning, so letting you sleep meant he could get on with the song without the recurring thought of you. “I bet girls ask you to do this all the time.”

“Sure,” Changbin answers. You weren’t wrong, they used to, but he hadn’t even spoken to another girl since… you came into his life.

He has all of about ten minutes of actual music time before he realises you’re already asleep, tucked away in the corner of his bed under the black blanket he usually didn’t use because it got to hot.

You’re cute when you sleep. Changbin can’t help the warm feeling that spreads over him as he admires you from the other side of the room, smiling to himself as he tries his very best to get on with the song he wanted to.

He does have to stop a few times to look back at you, check you were okay and we’re too cold (or too hot, for that matter), but he finishes what he wanted to around 4am and practically collapses in the bed beside you without even considering whether he should have slept on the floor instead.

His eyes were too heavy and mind clouded by music to even consider that you were nothing but his friend and the few inches of space between the two of you was easily filled if one of you moved.

If both of you moved, well… it would mean you ended up with your head on his shoulder, his arm around you and resting on your waist.

“Sorry,” you say softly, lifting your body when you realise what position you’re in. Changbin was an active participant in that too, but you probably didn’t realise. It will forever remain a mystery which one of you initiated the (kind of) cuddling. “I didn’t mean to…”

Changbin shakes his head, pulling you back down to where you were before when he sees the numbers 07 on his clock at the end of his bed. He’s too tired to notice you place your arm over his chest, and he’s practically sleeping again when he mumbles to you that he’s okay with it. “It’s fine. I didn’t say anything.”

That’s practically where your relationship starts to change. Not that you both confessed your feelings to one another when you woke up later, but there was a definite shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

Things continue as normal, with a hint of a romantic feeling between the two of you, though neither of you address it. Changbin’s content with where you both are, even if he realises that he does get jealous of you and Felix, you and whoever isn’t him, because he most definitely has feelings towards you which reflect that of a boyfriend.

A boyfriend you already had, mind you.

“Do you remember when I got mad at you about the project?”

You hum, facing the table for a little longer than usual. “I was a bitch ‘cause my boyfriend and I broke up.”

Of course Changbin reports this information back to Jisung (and Chan, since he was there) since the youngest had been the first to realise that Changbin was, you know, in love with you.

Even before Changbin. That little asshole figured it all from the silence of his own bedroom. Is it weird that he was listening through the walls to figure out just how his hyung felt towards the pretty girl who kept coming over. Then he shared it with Chan, who also had his suspicions, but kept it quiet.

“He said he didn’t love her,” Jisung retells a tale he heard from one of his other friends who knew Hyunjin from some society, Woojin. “What a dick.”

“You should tell her how you feel,” Chan interjects, seeing an opportunity for things to be made better.

Changbin, however, does not see things the same way. It’s probably his fear for the situation, a genuine worry that anyone who loves another has when it comes to confessing. “What if it makes things worse?”

“No, it won’t,” Jisung states, taking a bite from his apple.

“You sound sure.”

Jisung nods at Changbin’s words, finishing his bite before talking. The youngest, like most of the youngest in friendship groups, sees himself as a bit of a prodigy in relationships. Didn’t Changbin write the love songs? He did. Jisung nods again before confirming. “‘Cause I’m right.”

Changbin hopes Jisung’s right, too.

He’s a nervous wreck the entire day he plans to tell you how he feels.

Probably the fear of rejection, no matter how much Jisung told him that he wouldn’t be rejected. He asked to meet you at 1pm and he shows up twenty minutes early, expecting to be alone, but sees you sitting at the able you both claimed as your own in the cafe near to uni.

He panics briefly, walking away with his head hung low, though stops himself and walks back to you when he remembers that he’s doing this for more than just his own state of mind.

It’s so that you know not everyone is like Hwang Hyunjin, and you can have someone love you.

“Can we talk?” Changbin says, stopping beside the table with wide eyes.

“About what?” You look up to him and frown at his expression. Though you gesture of the seat opposite to you, Changbin takes a few moments to actually sit down. He’s surprised you already bought him coffee, and it’s exactly how he likes it too. “You’re the second person today who looks like they’re going to pass out on me. Seriously, are you okay, Changbin?”

“I’m fine,” Changbin answers.

The coffee is hot and burns his tongue a little. He tries his best not to react, staring at you with the most affection he can actually process. It’s for the best to tell you, and it won’t change things drastically. If you wanted to reject him, you wouldn’t have returned some of his signals. Whatever they were. Jisung was convinced they were there.

Fuck it. Changbin places his hands flat on the table when he realises that he needs to just say it rather than keep it as a thought in his mind.“I needed to admit to you that… I’ve seen you differently, recently.”

“Differently?”

You were clearly both on different wavelengths.

“I think I love you.”

“Love me?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was love but then I was thinking more about it and I realised that every time I’m with you, it’s like the sun has a single beam that is shining right down on me and I literally just want to stare at you and listen to you laugh and watch you smile because you are the very definition of what makes me happy and it’s hard for me to explain because I know how much you doubt yourself and you will never see yourself the way that I see you, but… I do love you, and there’s nothing in this world that I could want more than showing you that.”

Changbin could put that in a love song.

He’s breath is a little shaky as you look back at him without an answer. He doesn’t particularly need one, lest it be for you to admit that you do actually feel the same way towards him. He stops thinking about it, like he should have a long time ago, and asks you what he’s wanted to since you slept in his arms and you laughed at his jokes and you showed an interest in him that no one else ever had.

“So please, for the sake of my own sanity, will you be my girlfriend and let me show you the love that no one else has?”

He’s sure that no matter what answer you give to him, he’ll always love you anyway.

For you were the one that showed him what it’s like to have a different perspective on life, too.

You didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, but it was the same vice versa. The very definition for happiness in your own personal dictionary always had his name written down in it. Seo Changbin, the one who could love you back.

The song that never leaves your memory.

The key to a lock that was never opened before.

Saying no wasn’t an option.

You were a rainbow, and Changbin had been waiting for you the entire storm.

#changbin reactions #changbin smut #changbin scenarios #changbin imagine #stray kids smut #stray kids reaction #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids

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akaluan · 4 years

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I have so many questions for the new soulmate au, which I love! The rights and exceptions and whatnot outlined in the treaties and laws which Erich and Tanya refer to - what are they, in a basic overview, and how long have they been a thing legally? Can Erich get in contact with his wife and tell her what's going on or give her a warning of the Reapers without Kisuke catching wind of it? Where's Kisuke's timeline right now, how did he find Erich? And what does a plum tree mean here?

*laughs* Yeah, I saw your comment and was planning on making a post about it, so now’s as good a time as any i suppose.

So!

a) Soulmate treaties/laws

They’ve been in effect for a couple centuries now in their current form (i mean, with revisions/addendum etc), but societies have had various versions of them off and on for... most of civilization.

Current form, however, involves a couple basic things that Tanya and Erich have alluded to:

1) Soulmates cannot be kept from each other against their will

(Tanya is very UGH about this one because it means that Kisuke showing up in the MIDDLE OF THEIR CAMP during war is perfectly legal and any attempt to prohibit that can be claimed as “soulmate interference” which could get her into deep trouble. It’s MEANT to be a Romeo/Juliet clause, so that people who have a soulmate across some divide -- family conflict, nations in a cold war, etc -- have a legal right to meet each other)

(It does NOT technically permit actions like sabotage/stealing/etc, and anyone caught using this clause to perpetrate damage to their soulmate’s group falls into a murky grey area because Oh No, What If They Were Doing It At Their Soulmate’s Urging, What If There’s Some Cause. But a lot of the time both soulmates just get in huge trouble and are prosecuted as a unit.)

2) Soulmates who are from ideologically incompatible groups or from groups that have traditionally been prosecutor/prosecuted are not forced to be together.

(IE: Reaper/Quincy style situations or similar.)

2a) Soulmates who fall under this clause can be kept apart without repercussions so long as there’s evidence that one or both sides is having a detrimental effect on the other.

(Tanya’s using ‘Erich was scared out of his wits and going for his gun’ as her justification. It’ll fly. Just. But also she’s not ENTIRELY using this clause, she’s using the next one. Though this was absolutely the clause she was using when she chased Kisuke off.)

2b) Soulmates who fall under this clause have a right to a 3rd party being present at all times to monitor interactions.

(It’s the enforced chaperone clause, wheee! And absolutely what Tanya’s using right now.)

2c) Soulmates who fall under this clause have a right to repudiate their soulmate without repercussions.

(I mean. In practice. In theory there’s your standard “well couldn’t you have worked it out? You were soulmates!” response from a portion of society, but generally there’s a lot less judgment of repudiation via this clause than repudiation without this clause.)

(Tanya is partially incorrect in her statement that Erich’s justified in repudiating Kisuke right now, though. Because there tends to need to be records/evidence/etc that’s admissible in court for this to fly and uuhhhh... There Really Isn’t.)

3) Soulmates have rights and privileges equal to married couples no matter their gender or actual relationship or how MANY soulmates are in the group

(It’s ASSUMED that everyone with a soulmate will be in a Standard Sexual Relationship at some point and then... no one really Questions It to find out. It’s an annoying assumption but it DOES give everyone blanket rights!)

(Multi-soulmates have been a thing as long as civilization has, so in this universe, same-sex and multi-pairing groups are just as “correct” as one man-one woman. You have your religious wingnuts of course who think that people with soulmates that doesn’t meet Their Religious Standard are going to go burn in hell, but it’s not as common or widespread.)

---

There are absolutely more but those are the only ones I’ve really given thought to bc they’re the only one’s that “matter” right now.

Also, regarding multi-soulmates, the statistics are approximately like this:

0 soulmate: 10%

1 soulmate: 50%

2 soulmate: 25%

3 soulmate: 10%

4+ soulmate: 5%

Give or take.

b) Can Erich get in contact with his wife and tell her what's going on or give her a warning of the Reapers without Kisuke catching wind of it?

I mean, kinda? He’s limited by the situation he’s in right now, of course -- he’s on one of the borders, basically in guerrilla warfare mode, and supplies/ability to send mail is VERY limited and radio contact has to be kept to a minimum and is usually restricted to military information only.

Soulmates CAN communicate in a limited fashion through the marks themselves, but only emotions. So Alexis sensed his fear but not what he was afraid of. As far as she knows, he just had another brush with death, not found out that their second soulmate is a Reaper.

Communication with Alexis is going to have to wait until certain events occur or until I decide that she’s had enough and she’s invoking soulmate law 1 and checking in on her husband despite the active combat zone.

(No one can tell her no, after all =) )

c) Where's Kisuke's timeline right now, how did he find Erich?

Kisuke is like.. 3 to 5 years after the exile from Soul Society. He’s semi-recovered from the stress and found a balance for the crushing depression, and now he wants something that’s HIS and thus his trip to Find His Soulmates.

Soulmates can tell limited direction-to-soulmate if they concentrate hard enough (and are in the same world), but it’s sorta like playing a world-level game of Hot And Cold. Kisuke, who has all the time in the world and the stubbornness to match, can dedicate the sort of time to this that Erich cannot.

(Also, sharing powers through soulmarks is limited to spiritual powers AND helps to ‘light up’ a direction because the person being pulled from can feel the direction of pull. From Erich’s moment of panic to the time Kisuke found him that night, Kisuke was basically hunting for an entire day even though he was already ‘close by’.)

d) And what does a plum tree mean here?

Syyymboliiiism

Okay but serious answer:

Kisuke - Plum Tree: (Genius, Keep your promise, fidelity) + (Protective charm against evil)

Flowers: (Perseverance, hope)

(Tanya, being formerly Japanese, reads the ‘protective charm’ meaning into the plum tree whereas Erich doesn’t because he doesn’t know about it. Both meaning sets are correct, however)

Alexis - Oak: (Hospitality, Bravery, Humanity)

Erich - Walnut: (Intelligence, stratagem)

e) And a question you didn’t ask: Akitsushima Dominion?

Sometimes I forget people don’t live in the Tanya the Evil Wiki or roll around in it’s lore like I do.

It’s the in-world name for Japan.

Also, Kisuke IS speaking Japanese, and Tanya outed herself as knowing Japanese though Erich hasn’t had time to mentally process that little fact yet. Erich knows Japanese because he was a diplomat-ish-y person at one point I believe (I forget his exact position but he went to foreign countries before the war broke out) and he’s a big believer in knowing foreign languages because it can give him an advantage.

#soulmate au #meta #erich von rerugen #urahara kisuke #alexis von rerugen #tanya von degurechaff #phoenixwithahoardoflibraries #replies

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occasionalmagicandcurses · 4 years

Text

its been about 10 years

But I’m back. I did therapy for a year and honestly all it got me was agitated. I remember the days of yore when I would sit on my tumblr home page, refreshing constantly and making new friends through whatever current horrible experience I could put to words in my life at the time. Whether it was the milso shit I was on (he was a cheater, and I was just a girlfriend), or the love for pokemon or anime, I always made a friend. I’m still friends with so many of them to this day. I’d skip whatever homework I had to do and meticulously pick at the code for my theme, calling to the days even further back of myspace and (dare I say it...) xanga. I learned about my internet etiquette through here. I paid way too much attention to the rules and regulations, even dipping my toes in some internet drama. I was an early witness to the birth of “cancel culture.” It was here that I developed my dreams and material aspirations for the future.

And 10 years has flown by. I’ve got two degrees, a staggering amount of debt, a few more earth shattering relationships, and 1 cross country move to show for it.

They say that no matter where you go, you are there. Whoever they are, they’re right. And it is draining to have to carry myself around everywhere. I can never seem to be completely upright. My anxiety says “gnaw on your fingers until they bleed” or “buy one more pair of shoes” or “shake your leg until even your dog looks at you funny” in an attempt to mitigate some of the pressure in my jaw. My depression follows up with the gambit of “you have no self control” or “no one will want you” or “just hold off on eating, it’s not going to do anything for you.”

I turned 30 years old 3 weeks. Feels the same as 29, except now 40 is 10 years around the corner, instead of 11. None the less terrifying or grim. I have an awful spending problem, undoubtedly an overcorrection from my poverty-stricken childhood. Ever seen cheese that doesn’t melt? I learned how to count from the monopoly money-esque appearance of food stamps. My mom would make it a game. I found it fun until we started having to leave baskets of food at the register because something was wrong.

Trauma, its delicious, I swear. We bounced from home to home, changing schools by the semester and allowing my brain to continue to develop on its fucked up axis. I struggled to make friends and struggled even harder to want to try. I knew it would all blow up anyway. I told the most elaborate lies to hide my home life. I’d say my grandmother was a doctor, and I’d hide that I couldn’t afford breakfast at school by saying I was trying to lose weight, or not have a full stomach for band practice later in the day.

I got on the overcompensation train pretty early. I finally got tired of my mom’s repetitive failures and walked out of the door at 17. I never lived with my mom again. I never want to be like her. To be 53 and living paycheck to paycheck with two kids I never wanted and still can’t parent correctly? Count me out.

I burned through college and graduate school. I have a career I am pretty kickass at. I love what I do.

I decided to change directions (and time zones) about 3 months ago. When I say I was bored, I was b o r e d. Professionally, I felt stuck. I had a job I was good at, but didn’t want to move up in. It was lacking the spark that made me love my field to begin with. I was living in a city I’d been in for the past 20 years. I was a year past the breakup from a relationship that literally and mentally broke me in two. Absolutely devastated me. I sometimes cry for that life on occasion. It was pure misery and happiness that I don’t think I’ll ever experience again. I still feel I’m not worthy of one or the other. There’s always a price. Both, or it isn’t real. Comparison (and infidelity) were the thieves there. My unbridled anger too.

I packed up my car and my dogs and took the mom that told me she would have had a great military career if it weren’t for me and drove halfway across the country. I flew her back home a week later, and not a minute sooner. Being in close quarters with her always stews a rage that turns me into not the daughter that’s pushed for 25 years for her to be a mom, but the daughter that hates the mother she never had. I drove the entire trip and never really could quantify why I wanted her to come, except to say it might have been a latch ditch effort of the little girl that wanted a parent. I could have done it by myself, and I probably should have.

Getting away has been amazing. I haven’t worked in almost a month and this was the break I didn’t know I needed. I saved up some, but obviously not enough, and now I get to pay the piper in a few weeks. I’m doing stupid things like riding my tax refund and the bonus for the job that I over performed at for 3 years to pull me through. I already got another job but good lord the background check has been sucking the life out of me. I am not a murderer, but I guess they need to figure that out for themselves. I’m slightly nervous for this job. My family and friends think I’m working now, but I am enjoying doing whatever the fuck I want. I blew off the job I got that motivated me to come out here because of the lack of money and transparency.

Then I made the absolute mistake of swiping on tinder. I’m not sure what I get out of doing it, aside from fleeting attention from guys who like to talk about their sex drive, but I did it anyway. I’m not ready for a relationship, and I know it. So I’m forcing it with this guy who works too much and looks 10 years older than he actually is because of it. He smells nice though. I sold him to my gf’s as “he’s great!” and he is. Just not for me. I’ve only had sex with him once because I’m honestly not all that attracted to him. His fingers are chubby, but he’s not fat. I don’t like how he touches me, and I wish he was more dominant. Not in a “smack me around” type of way, but a “hey I wanna do this thing and I’m gonna show you and not really leave it to discussion” kinda way. He could make a great friend, so I’m probably going to go ahead and nip that sooner rather than later.

I think I want attention, but I don’t. I honestly just want to mind my business and start the process of fixing all of my fucking problems. And actually finish.

#30something #life #help #thoughts #broke #failure #starting #fresh start #new start #thirty years old #thirty #aging #time #california #texas #success #fail #new #trying again #depression #anxiety

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zer0comma · 5 years

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just wanna show my appreciation for gorillaz and my gratitude for them because they opened my eyes and ears to new different forms of art and genres of music. it's kinda long but ive been feeling a lot of love for damon and jamie recently so i had to write it down. before discovering them i never really cared about animated music videos. and even tho i draw, and i did enjoy watching them, i never really appreciated the hard work that was put into making them and just considered them as short cartoons that were made to catch your attention or some sort of a replacement when the artists weren't creative enough to film their own music videos (very stupid of me, i know. i was dumb and judgemental). it wasn't until i was 16 that i started to become more curious about the whole process of making animated videos and that started mainly because of gorillaz. for some reason i have always felt attracted to their music videos even tho i wasn't really into their music back then (i did enjoy some of their hits like clint eastwood, feel good inc and dare, but being the dumb and judgemental edgy, grunge lover teen that i was 3 years ago, i didn't allow myself to enjoy them). i remember reading the comments and seeing fans mention the characters and i was very intrigued by that. eventually, in april 2018, i decided to give them another shot. i was just getting out of my grungy and edgy phase even tho i still hated on anything that was released after the 90s. i kept listening to their singles and i was just blown away by the animation. how smooth and original and creative it was. how much it fitted the music even tho the storyline and the music weren't that connected. i was just fascinated and it was after listening to rhinestone eyes and looking at the storyboard that i started to realize that this band was very special, and the more i learned about them the more i started to appreciate all the time and energy and money and passion and love and devotion that have been put into this project. i started looking at a lot of pictures of the official art and i loved it a lot. it was so absurd at times, but also very unique and original and fun and lively. and what made me more interested was watching the bananaz documentary and seeing jamie hewlett work behind the scenes, and listening to the interviews that the animated band members did. i really, really liked how each character is different from the other and how interesting and unique and funny they were. reading rise of the ogre made me even more attached to them. it was during that time that my appreciation for animation started to grow. i started paying attention to all the small details that make animated videos so damn special. i started to appreciate it as a tool for entertainement and a tool for self expression. it was seriously a huge turning point for me, and i started watching a lot of different animated movies and most of the time they manage to blow me away. now let's talk about the music! i can never thank this band enough for making me get out of my comfort zone and give other music genres a listen. as i said, i was really into grunge (ironically, it was one of the main reasons why blur never made it in the us at the early 90s, but now im huge britpop fan), and i had this very wrong idea that rap music was bad, that pop music was trash, that keyboards and synths and electronic music in general didn't deserve a lot of praise because it wasn't played with loud electric guitars (im literally facepalming at my own stupidity rn, i was a very cringy 15 yo). i literally did not listen to anything else except nirvana for almost 2 years. discovering gorillaz (and later blur) completely changed my persepctive on music. it literally changed my life. i'm not even exaggerating. the year i discovered gorillaz, 2018, was the worst year of my entire life so far. and if it wasn't for the artists that i discovered thanks to gorillaz and the artists i finally allowed myself to enjoy after gorillaz changed the way i listen to music (like the strokes!), i would have done a lot of dark shit. anyway, back to gorillaz. at the beginning, i wasn't really into the songs that had rap features on them. i didn't like plastic beach that much because it was heavily influenced by electronic music. i didn't even listen to humanz. i was very selective when i was listening to their music at the beginning. but then i tried to push myself to give them another chance. i decided to listen to demon days without skipping a single song. i read a little bit about the record and what it was supposed to mean to put myself in the context of the album and i listened. my 1st listen didn't do much for me. it was during my 2nd listen however that i felt like my third eye just opened. i tried to pay attention to the lyrics, to put myself in the mood of the album, and that's when i started to understand the message the album was trying to convey and i started to emotionally connect to the music. i started to realize the importance of each of the guest artists. how honest the rap on dirt harry felt. how scary and powerful de la soul sounded on feel good inc. how smooth mf doom sounded on november has come. it was a wonderful moment. that's when i started to accept the fact that ITS OKAY to listen to anything that wasn't 90s noise rock. eventually the rest of their songs started growing on me and i found myself introduced to a lot of artists ive never heard of before. i'm currently listening to de la soul and i'm still mad at myself for not giving this kind of music a chance. last week i started listening to fatoumata diawara's discography after hearing her for the 1st time on désolé and i'm just blow away by how great she was. her music makes me emotional and ive been only listening for a week. also this may sound embarrassing, but being an african girl myself, a tunisian girl from north africa to be exact, i never learned to appreciate the music of my own country until last year, and it's basically because of damon albarn and his interest in african music. i know that having a white man encourage you to embrace your own culture is weird, but the main reasons why i decided to listen to our music again were as i mentioned before, damon's love for african music and my willingness to listen to different genres and styles thanks to gorillaz. i just want to thank damon and jamie and everyone who's been involved with the project. i know that the band has been facing some small issues related to the storyline and the consistency of their music but that doesn't stop them for continuing to be an inspiration not only for me but for hundreds of thousands of people over the globe. i'm just very grateful for their existence and i wish them nothing but the best because they truly changed my life for the better.

#i am emotional #i always am when im talking about music #but today is kinda exceptional #i love them so much it's insane #i kinda stopped following them for a while but now im back and my love for them is even bigger #which inspired me write this #gorillaz #damon albarn #mp #my thoughts

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chiimmchiimm · 5 years

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❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒 ❞

CHAPTERS “ 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair). 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 3 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: dirty language, proposals, mood swings, spectacular bodies, muscles, biceps, problems, future friends?

Mrs. Smith had caught a viral illness and they had closed the library. I had soon received the order to change my daily tasks. Although I never get used to the thick dust of books, I always enjoy silence. The isolation provided by that modest place helped me improve my mental state. Now instead, I was going to my new homework along with Dallas. It turns out that his co-worker has suffered a mishap and has broken his wrist, although everyone knows that it has not been an accident. Silly peccary if I said that the director is not aware of the constant fights that are generated between the dams. The woman simply manages to administer the jail because of course, after all, that a fight ends with a woman in the hospital was none of her business.

"It's easy, all you have to do is pick up towels and put them in the big bucket here."Your directions make me look away at the cart full of dizzy towels. He wrinkled his nose when a sweat thief rises through my nostrils. Hadn't he said it? Now my job is to collect everything that men leave on the gym floor. When the smell is unbearable, I plug my nose to prevent my poor stability from going through people's dirt. Dallas rolls his eyes for my drama."The nose is a wise mechanism, in the end you will get used to it and if not, then steal a clamp from the laundry area."

"Why do we have to pick up what they throw on the floor?" Isn't it easier for everyone to pick up their own?

Dallas ignores my comment, shrugs and points the other end of the gym with his arm.

"Take care of that part." I feel a bit of annoyance in his order, although he has been with incredible mood swings I decide not to light his fuse and nod to avoid getting to argue in a public place. I don't take two steps when his scream stops me. "If you avoid touching them much better!"

And how am I supposed to catch them except with the mind?

The first towel I pick up is projected at my feet, I bent down to get it and then I realize that it has been a bad idea.

A huge hand patted my right buttock with so much need that I was just pushed forward. The slap reaches my ears and my eyes close when an itchy nothing starts to prick the area. The towel slips from my fingers and falls. I get right immediately. A man much taller than me collides with my shoulder as he passes by my side, his infernal laugh betrays him. I begin to expel imaginary smoke through my ears when he turns around and gives me a flying kiss as he walks backwards. I am so obnoxious that I am sure that if I try to hit him I would end up being the beaten. I was never good at self defense, and as you can deduce melee fight either. He looked away at one of the many empty punching bags. Forgetting my main task, I approach and the first thing that comes to mind is to punch him. The sack does not move, however, my knuckles end up bumping painfully against the hard surface, he pulled his hand away as I open it and close it. An impatient growl comes out of my lips as I shake my wrist. I am so pathetic that my attack of rage has turned against me. And if that wasn't enough, now I have a mark on the butt and the knuckles in live meat.

"You gave it wrong." A hoarse voice sounds behind my back. While moving my wrist intensely to reduce the pain, I turn around. I open my eyes nervously while my chest is agitated it rises when I hyperventilate. Thirteen boasts in front of me as he crosses his arms. He is naked from the waist up. Your clavicle bone catches my attention when it is marked under your skin. The tanned skin shines with sweat, small droplets coming down her face wetting a couple of strands. A naughty drop goes down her slender neck to her abs, then disappears into her gray sports pants. Swallow saliva His gaze is so intense that my mouth opens involuntarily due to the dryness inside. I don't know how long I've been admiring the perfection of his body but it doesn't seem to bother him. Coming out of my mental fantasy, I dazedly remember what he has told me.

"How does it happen?" I ask confused. Together the eyebrows while my nose wrinkles to complement my gesture of absolute novice. Thirteen snorts slowly through his mouth, I think I'm hallucinating because for a moment I think I see the shadow of a smile. I take steps back when he approaches me. My back crashes into the sack, when the wet wet my clothes disgusted me.

Thirteen places the bag in its initial position, then takes a quick look with a raised eyebrow.

"I did not believe you a woman of violence, gongjunim." Her tone deepens so much that it can be confused perfectly with a snore. A snore too sensual. Stretch your hand to reach the hook of the bag with the roof. His arm passes inches from my eyes delighting me with strong muscles, he has some tattoos decorating his skin. The damn heart on his wrist that brought such bad memories has not stopped attracting my attention. Even though he has more like that crown on his ring finger or that phrase in an old language on his rib. It was as surreal as that well-formed limb ended up joining another place with sweet resemblance to the touch as was his shoulder. The bag moves violently to the sides when it rises high. He catches it in his big venous hands so he stops swinging.

"Anger is a feeling that everyone has, Thirteen." I don't know what moment I felt confident to speak, but without a doubt, my daring plays a blush on my cheeks when his deer eyes watch me with a special shine

“Who has bothered you so much that you decide to pay your frustrations with a punching bag?” He says the words with a flash of amusement. However, there is some warning in the way his shoulders tense. I can't figure out if he really wants me to tell him my reasons or it has simply been a rhetorical question that I haven't seen coming. I had not seen him for a week. Well, actually it was he who didn't see me. This ambiguous situation was turning my head, I was a witness when I saw him change the hall because he didn't want to cross me. He even got to the point of depriving himself of his hours outdoors so as not to see me. And now here I was, with such a relaxed attitude that I was surprised, wondering and engaging in what was probably our longest conversation.

"I don't understand you." Confusion dominates my tone. My eyes wander restlessly on the floor in search of lucidity but everything stays in a spoiled attempt."You told me to stay away and here you are. And for a demon, what does gonjunim mean?”

"Gongjunim" he repeated.

I rolled my eyes in response.

"How sea!"

"Hit him."

“What?” Confused by his change of subject, he frowned. Thirteen offers me the punching bag with a slight push. Under my eyes to the red knuckles and then scrap his offer. However, his effort does not cease and with a I tap the sack with my elbow, it hits my stomach, I raise an eyebrow, I know it's waiting for me to react, but the only thing I can think of is to slap the skin bag.

"You have to hit him with the middle of your fist." It interferes through blind security. Take my hand and place it at the height of your abdomen. I follow the quiet movement of his fingers when they make an impromptu fist. To avoid further mistake proceed to spread circular caresses around the area of my fingers. Intense chills slip through the entire length of my arm. His cold gem compared to my hot skin was an explosion of mixture that my body did not let go. I was being cute. I never thought I lived to see him in that facet, I was so focused on his work that I didn't notice the stunned look that my narrowed eyes were reflecting. Without waiting for it, he struck my fist against the sack. Shock when it hits the surface. He let go of my hand letting it go down. I was surprised, it hadn't hurt.

"How do you know that trick?"

I took my head off my hand to direct it towards the sack. Although I had not moved because of the lightness of my attack. Analyze better the marks that were all over your skin. Traces of glorious strokes that would leave his name printed forever. I had been so despised that at no time had I realized that the place I had hit had been the yellow zone. With little experience, that was the softest one, the one reserved for newbies who initially did not want to break their hands. Thirteen should have put it to my disposal when he raised the sack. If you paid attention to the dashed lines, the red zone and much higher, the black one, were so far away that not even a million jumps would come. Why had he done it? Whenever he has hurt, he has done it. Is it that he doesn't want to do it anymore?

Putting aside any unanswered questions, I dare to look askance. I just give him a complete look when I see him distracted while he analyzes the bag too focused. The hair covers my eyes, countless impulses suffocate my fingers when thoughts come from combing the facts behind. It seemed to me if your hair will look as soft as imagined.

"Let's say life teaches you many things." - He inhales, drops a melancholic sigh as he clicks his tongue. He seems too lost in a storm of painful memories. He wasn't sure if he added anything or just didn't open his mouth, he didn't want to change his mood either.His words were mixed with something I could not decipher. His phrase could be understood in two different fibers by the apparent ambiguity that his gesture showed, however, the neutral tone could only mean one thing and it was not pleasant. "Do you want to learn to fight?"

His laughing change leaves me on the site.

"Me?" He points me confused. Then I deny incredulous. "But I am a disaster."

"I was too when I haven't yet ..." but he closes his mouth so quickly that his words stay in the air. "I can teach you the basics."

Now, it's my turn to get lost in the scratchy texture of the sack. If I was excited he left speechless. It does not look like him, rather it seems a child who dies because I am a game. But he is not a good person and much less, he could have the innocence of a child.

"Sure, so I owe you a favor later, right?" "I am consciously aware that half of the men have put their exercise routine aside to look at us." Thirteen frowns when he occupies a face of irritability on his face. Find another one to suck your friends' dicks.I don't need your help, Thirteen.”

I try to turn around but his hand closes around my wrist and turns me sharply towards him.

"You should control that effusive character you have and learn to listen before drawing your own shit conclusions." He growls, seems altered as he wrinkles his nose in my direction. His sharp jaw is raised. His eyes open with exaggeration. "I do not deny that the system favors is not useful. However, what I had in mind for you was completely different from the last time."

"I won't be your sex toy."

"What?" Squeaky, in a funny air that relaxes his features in a matter of seconds. My cheeks turn red from my thinking out loud. I close my eyes in shame, but I open them again immediately when a melodious laugh enters my ears. I can clearly see the way in which their corners are stretched to form a smile, the way in which their teeth shine is so particular that I cannot look away. He has the smile of a bunny. "Dallas told me you were good with numbers." What I was going to propose at the beginning is that you help me with the bets.

"I don't want to participate in your illegal scams to increase my sentence to nine years."

"Think about it." Humming. "You could make money, it's not a bad plan."

“Illegal money?” He snorted gracefully.

"Wasn't it you who embezzled two million dollars to the state?"

"I don't ... You know what? I don't care what you think. I try to get away but his hitch prevents me. Could you please let go? "

"Think about it." Repeat, raise an eyebrow and release me. To my surprise it has not sounded like an order but as an advice that I should keep in mind. I turn around and continue on my way to the towel lost on the floor. This time I make sure I don't show too much before bending down to pick it up.

In strides too steep I walk through the area of my module. I look like a train too agitated by all the imaginary smoke that comes out of my ears. Finally, it was my turn to collect all the towels on my own because Dallas had left early for strange reasons. For the sake of my self-control I hope for your sake that I won't catch her sleeping because if so, may God have mercy of what I will do to him. A sweaty man climbs up my nose, I have to grab a few moments to the ladder so as not to fall collapsed. Men really have a serious hygiene problem.

He turned the corner to my cell when he hit a squalid body.

"Be careful, fool." Someone reprimands me from a distance. I lift my head from the ground and then I recognize her.

"What are you doing here?" I bring out a grunt full of warning to the pale girl with black hair, also known as "the Shanghai puppy dog." I don't have to ask him about his evil partner because he appears right after. He looks me up and down apparently thinking it wasn't worth it.

"Come on, Ginger." We've already finished.

The pale girl aka the curve girl, nods accepting his orders.

They advance through the extensible corridor.

"What were you doing in my cell?"

Shanghai turns to see me when he hears my voice.

"This is not just your cell, little doll."

Confused, I walk slowly. Dallas is sitting on the bed with her eyes lost. Playing with her restless fingers while hiding her neck between her shoulders.

"Did he tell you anything?" My question seems to scare her because she flinches. My curiosity increases when I hear the sound of his saliva falling down his throat. "That Asian is a psycho who looks to bother you just because you're my friend."

"Blair." My name comes out trembling from his lips, too carefully. I stop cursing when I perceive the shaking of his body, he's really scared. Apart from the fact that he called me for my man and not for that stupid nickname, I decide to sit by his side to give him my emotional support. "I think I'm in trouble ..."

"Tell me something new, go." I comment with a comic wrapped in a dramatic snort. However, his paleness does not change to liveliness, which scares me even more.

"I asked Shanghai a favor a while ago and now I don't know how to give it back."

His confession causes him to open his eyes overwhelmed by panic.

"What have you done what?" But as you can think of ...— I close my mouth as I perceive how his mood is constantly deteriorating. It is not a time for discussions that you do not need. "What favor have you done?" I get his silence in response. "Lucy."

Straining a hand under the pillow, take out an envelope. You leave it at my disposal, your suggestion is so obvious that I decide to find out its content myself. I open it. What my eyes see is so shocking that I blink a few times to verify its reality. I put my hand and take out the predictor that, as indicated, is positive.

"I'm pregnant."

My lips peel off, remaining inert for the news.

"It's complicated to get this kind of thing in here."

“Why didn't you go to the doctor?” My question seems to cause him an inhuman discomfort because he frowns.

"Because I don't want anyone to know."

"But what kind of selfishness is that, Lucy? Jimin has the right to know you're pregnant."

"Lower your voice!" His reprimand leaves me frozen. His childish attitude is showing me how immature he is in this type of situation. I don't understand why he reacts like that. It's an act too simple, you just have to tell him the truth. "No one can find out about this, Blair. Much less Jimin. Please ..."

"But he is the father ..."

"Please," he implores, clasp his hands as he falls to his knees before me. She is so desperate that she no longer cares that some wandering dams stare.

"How much do you owe him?"

Lucy lifts her head from the ground, the brightness of hope is more noticeable than before but fear still dominates.

"More than we could put together in two days." He lowers his tone when melancholy clashes with his reality. I close my eyes, inhale in a deep scream because I know I'm going to regret this.

"I know where you can get money."

✞

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watchingminecraftyansim · 5 years

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Post 1, Episode 1: The First Step On Our Journey

Hi, I’m Isabelle, or Spar-kie on Tumblr and Twitter, and I’ve decided to watch through all of the Minecraft Yandere Simulator Roleplay series by Samgladiator on YouTube, but you knew that already, and I feel like the first post here should serve as an introduction of sorts, not just to me, but to the important characters in the series, as well as talking about the first episode.

First there’s me, but there’s not much to say about me, I’m a trans gal who makes poor decisions, if you wanna know more about me I have personal stuff you can follow. As for the series, it is based loosely off of Yandere Simulator, to the point that one would think that it was just put in the title to get more views, and if I had to venture a guess the scenery was built by Grian of Wynncraft and Craftedmovie fame and more recently, Hermitcraft, as he later appears in the series as a third protagonist, along with our two main protagonists, Samgladiator and Taurtis. Sam and Taurtis are two students at an unnamed highschool In Japan, Sam wears a bunny hood in addition to his school uniform, where Taurtis wears headphones and suspenders, and his face is almost exactly :| . In these episodes Sam is the more sane out of him and Taurtis, although they are both fairly normal, with the exception of Taurtis saying “don’t worry, they’ll never catch me” when Sam says there’s reports of a serial killer on the TV. Taurtis is also the more outgoing and social of the two, with him managing to make more people like him via the amazing technique of insulting less people than Sam, and also generally being more socially competent, but we’ll talk about that in the episode summary proper. Speaking of which…

The Episode starts off with Sam and Taurtis waking up and getting ready for their first day at school, it’s implied that they’ve gone to this school before with it being their 2nd year, but they know none of their classmates or teachers, so you can pass your own judgement on that, and on their way they meet JtsTheStar, or as I will be referring to him from here on out, Jay. Jay hits it off really well with Taurtis and Sam and they walk to the convenience store near the school before school starts, here Taurtis buys himself some Mountain Dew and Doritos, a lunch of Gamers. Then Sam and Taurtis spot a GameCube (or GameCrab, if you wanna use the terminology the shopkeeper used.) and Taurtis exchanges his IPhone and Sam’s doritos for it, even though Taurtis has like 8 bags of doritos. The shopkeeper is also a crab man, this isn’t relevant to anything, I just thought it was worth mentioning. This also is where we meet another major character, KawaiiInvader, a girl, but get this crazy thing, she has a beard, and Taurtis and Sam treat this with respect and… nah I’m fucking with you, they make fun of her, some things in this series have aged like a fine milk.

After trading Sam’s lunch for a GameCube and making him get a carrot so he doesn’t starve, they finally make it to class, and we are introduced to one of the only two people who work at this school, professor Gareth who is the teacher for everything except P.E., or to put it in his words “maths to science, and why my wife left me”, and when he asks for questions after his introduction Taurtis not only asks for his wife’s name but also if she’s single, you read that right, Taurtis wants to get with Gareth’s wife, and then Gareth threatens him with detention, and then Gareth starts everyone’s favorite activity of someone has to go up and introduce themselves to the class and calls on Taurtis. Taurtis pretty much only gets to say his name and that he’s friends with Sam before they go back and forth about how Taurtis is doing a good job at his introduction. Then the bell rings and they have to go to lunch, which starts at 11 for them, which is pretty early, that’s like only an hour after McDonalds stops their breakfast menu, but this could just be the fact that my school makes me wait until one to get lunch, but enough about me. They sit with Jay at lunch and see another Jay, JtsTheDane, or JtsTheExchangeStudent, whom I will be calling Exchange Student Jay, who has a scar across his eye, leading to Sam and Taurtis to wonder how he got it, with Sam daring Taurtis to ask him how he got it. Exchange Student Jay says that he was surrounded by wolves who tried to kill him in his home country, which he proceeded to kill and skin with his teeth. Personally I feel like this, and Exchange Student Jay as a whole, is dope as hell and he should be the protagonist of the series, Sam and Taurtis find this weird and quickly run away, with Exchange Student Jay insisting that he’s a nice guy as they run away. After they rush back to where they were sitting before they notice Sookie, one of the girls, staring at them, Sam being the smoothest motherfucker in existence, confidently walks over to her, makes a weird scream noise, throws a carrot at her, and runs out of the cafeteria, still making the weird screaming noise. Smooth. Unsurprisingly this got the attention of the other students and Sookie just gave Taurtis the carrot instead, probably so he could give it back to Sam. Shortly after that it’s time for P.E., and I didn’t find a good spot to mention this but throughout the entire lunch block Professor Gareth had been spying on Taurtis rather conspicuously.

Finally we head to P.E. with the only other staff member at this school, RowanArtifex, the stereotypical drill sergeant like gym teacher. Now before we continue, I wanna talk about the gym uniforms in this series, the boys get shorts and the girls look like they’re only wearing the shirt which goes only barely low enough to cover their no no zone, which, given the fact that these are high schoolers, is not good, and is very creepy. What’s also creepy is Rowan typing “mmmmmm” in the chat while watching the students stretch and do jumping jacks. I don’t have anything witty to say in response to that, that’s just weird. Rowan also bullies his students, specifically calling out Sam for being a wimp, and punching his students a couple of times. No wonder this school has like two teachers, they can’t afford more with all of the fucking lawsuits they must get. Rowan then has the class do an obstacle course, which Sam only manages to do once, and Taurtis isn’t able to do before the bell rings signalling the end of the school day. Now, there’s a bath in the boy’s locker room, and assumedly the girls, but we don’t see inside there. So everyone has to share a bath in their clothes after they get done with working out, and as if to make a bad situation worse gym teacher Rowan comes into the bath with the boys. Sam says he’s gonna talk to the counselor about this and Rowan punches him for that. We also learn that Exchange Student Jay is originally from Norway, which I’m calling bullshit on as his username is JtsTheDane, Dane as in someone from Denmark, I would assume. After we get done with Gym teacher Rowan’s lawsuit building against him Exchange Student Jay asks Sam and Taurtis if they want to hunt deer with him now that school is over for the day, which they decline because they are massive wusses weirded out by this proposition and are going to play their GameCube instead and offer for him to join them in that, to which he declines. When walking home Sam overhears some of the girls talking about how weird he acted and asking Sookie if she knew him, so he tries to face away to hear what they’re saying without them seeing him, which doesn’t work when your main identifying characteristic is a bunny hood that you never take off. They recognize him and he runs home, screaming, with Taurtis in toe. When he gets home Sookie and the girls actually followed them home and sookie asks Taurtis to give Sam some carrots that she was going to give him, while some of the other girls insult him, making Sam sad and the episode ends. Normally at this point I would go on to summarize episode 2, but Episode 1 is roughly twice as long as a normal episode, combined with the fact that this is the first post and I had to add some extra stuff on top of it, making this an already very long post. So, see you next week where we take a look at episodes 2 and 3.

#samgladiator

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Not Your (soul)Mate {7/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Hey, hi, hello! So as you can see, we have a chapter count, which means I’m finished writing the story (except for some edits I need to make in the final chapters), so I may post a little more often! I really appreciate the enthusiasm you guys have for this story, and I promise there’s going to be a payoff! 😉

Chapter 7 & 8 cover one day, and, well, that should tell you that something big may be happening soon!

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her always incredible artwork, and her all-around support💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @lifeinahole27 @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark@cssns

-/-

Sitting down on the bench on the balcony of his apartment, Killian props his feet up on the railing, crossing his right ankle over his left, and takes a long swing of his bottle of beer, letting the liquid trail down his throat while the rain pounds down around him, coating the edge of everything in a thin sheen of water. He’s thankful for the covering that he has to shield himself from it all because he loves watching storms happen from outside, getting to feel the thunder tremble through the air and hear the rain water mix in with the depths of the ocean as waves crash onto the shoreline and darken the sand. It’s weirdly soothing. The weather never gets bad enough up here for storms to make him nervous, for him to have to take shelter, so with the soothing sounds of the ocean roaring, he takes a few moments to relax and not feel any tenseness in his shoulders.

Summer has fully come into effect in Storybrooke, the sun heating up and the tourists rolling in with the summer storms, and he’s in the midst of most of his days being spent giving sailing lessons or simply taking families out sailing because he and Liam can’t seem to find anyone who is competent enough to work for them and not drink on the job or nearly cause a crash. He knew that this would be a part of his job when they decided on adding it as a service. He enjoys it, really, but it’s been especially busy for the last week of June and the first three days of July. Everything in the office seems to calm down as the peak of summer hits, so the lessons and community engagement are really for supplemental income and to keep their company name relevant.

Right now he could go for a little irrelevance.

It’s mostly because he’s got a sunburn on his shoulders that hurts when he stretches the wrong way and that makes him agitated because he almost religiously applied sunscreen to protect himself and his skin for all of the time that he spends outside. And he’s tired, so damn tired that he could fall asleep in this uncomfortable chair with the cushion that kind of hurts his ass.

Next week he’s buying new patio furniture, and he’s making Will and Robin haul it up here since the only reason he has this uncomfortable chair is because Roland broke his last one when he decided to jump up and down on it. And Will can help because he has to owe Killian at least five favors by now. Will always owes him something.

Really, he still feels like he owes him for that set-up with Emma, which Will fully admitted to being a set-up last week. It was a bit of vindication even if he already knew that.

But he likes watching the storm, watching the ocean and the people who have taken it upon themselves to wander in the rain to get dinner when it would be so much easier to simply order in like he’s doing. Delivery from Granny’s is by far the most genius business decision that woman has ever come up with even if it’s always a toss up between whether it’s going to be Felix or Ruby delivering the food. Either way, it’s unlikely that he’s not going to be missing a fry or two. They tend to snack on the way here.

Every system has its flaws.

His doorbell rings, speak of the devil, and he swings his feet to the ground to stand, sliding open his glass door and walking into his apartment and the few feet through the kitchen to the front door. His place isn’t that big, but it’s enough for him to have nearly everything but the bedroom and the bathroom in one area. The view of the ocean is worth it.

Looking through the peephole, he sees Ruby standing outside with a red hood from her raincoat perched atop her head, and he unlatches the locks and swings the door open, a smile already on his face from how put out Ruby looks.

“Hello, lass.”

“I hate you for making me come outside during this weather,” she mumbles, shoving his food in his hand so that he grabs onto the paper bag. “Seriously. Don’t you know how to cook?”

“Not as well as your grandmother.” He hooks the bag on his wrist and digs into his back pocket for his wallet, opening it and thumbing through the bills. “It still $12.58?”

“And a tip if you want to thank me for my great service.”

He smiles to himself and pulls out a twenty, handing it over to Ruby. “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure. You coming to the Nolans’ house tomorrow?”

“Is the British man coming to a party to celebrate America’s independence from my home country?”

She pops her lips. “Yep.”

“Aye,” he laughs in response, shaking his head, “I am. I’ve been here for nearly half a decade, and your holidays are my holidays. Plus, I hear Dave grills a mean steak.”

He doesn’t know the Nolans that well despite most of his friends spending time with them, but he feels comfortable enough to go to the party with his brother, Elsa, and their kids. Their first year here they felt so odd not celebrating the holidays that everyone else was celebrating, but in the three years since then, they’ve really embraced it all. Luis and Luca definitely helped with that because all of their school friends celebrated Independence Day and Thanksgiving (bloody hell does he love Thanksgiving), and they’ve integrated themselves into the town ever since. Storybrooke feels like his home as much as Brighton did, and after the initial culture shock of moving countries and time zones to set up their business after retiring from the Navy and needing a change of pace, he enjoys all of the little charming traditions.

That first year he’d still been so heartbroken over Milah and her leaving that the fourth of July fireworks could have gone off in his apartment, and he wouldn’t have cared.

It’s...different now.

“He does. See you tomorrow, Jones. Wear your best patriotic gear.”

“I’ll wear my Queen Elizabeth costume. I’ve simply got to find my purse and my corgi.”

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “There’s a little surprise in your order, by the way.”

At that, she turns around and walks away while he shakes his head from side to side and closes his front door, locking it and turning to place his take out bag on his kitchen counter.

He opens his bag to grab his container of lasagna only to see a white napkin with black markings written across it. He guesses that’s the surprise.

In case you spill your lasagna.

PS: You’re going to have to imagine if my underwear matches because that is something you’re never going to see.

Your Secret Not Admirer

He chuckles under his breath at Emma’s note. He knows that’s who it’s from because it echoes his note from after he watched her spill her water on herself at Granny’s. He knew he was being a little cheeky last week when he’d left her the napkin teasing her about spilling her drink and about her wildly mismatched socks (he’s thinking it must be a thing for her to not take the effort to keep pairs of matching socks together) and implying that she did the same with her undergarments, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass it up. He didn’t see her after that, not for the entire week except for the one time he saw her across the street from the office while talking to Marcus, so he figured that he’d kind of pissed her off.

It’s a fine line talking to Emma Swan, whether it be risking it by actual conversation or by text. Sometimes he can flirt with no problem, sometimes she even flirts back, but other times he knows that he hits a sore spot that he needs to step back from. She’s a bit of a mystery to him, and she intrigues him. He wants to know more about her, to know her, and about half of the time he kind of thinks that maybe she wants to get to know him too. He knows that she’s against the whole soulmate thing, that she thinks this whole arousal thing between them is idiotic (it is even if he thinks it could have some rather pleasant results), but he’s sure that she can’t deny that they have some kind of connection.

Oh he knows that she would, but deep down, she has to feel it too.

To feel it past the physical attraction that they obviously both have for each other, weird aroused by each other’s voices thing or not.

Or maybe they’ll live a life of sending teasing notes and text messages and riling each other up whenever they’re in the same place and then not doing anything about it.

They’re both entirely too good at that even if his feelings of arousal and desire don’t feel quite as intense as they did on that first day. The day out on the boat had been bad, but he thinks a part of it was driven by how little Emma was wearing.

God, she’s stunning. Sometimes he still can’t believe that.

No matter, though, this is his life, and as confusing as it is, he’s having a damn good time having this little tete-e-tete with Emma.

He’s got to figure out how he’s going to respond to this note. But first, he’s going to eat this lasagna because his stomach is rolling nearly as much as the storm outside is.

Priorities.

-/-

“Uncle Killian,” Luca screams when he pulls up to his brother’s house the next afternoon, stopping before he gets to the driveway so that he doesn’t drive over Luca’s chalk drawing. It looks like she’s been out here for at least an hour drawing some kind of mythical forest, and he couldn’t mess that up after all of her hard work out in the sunshine. “Look what I drew.”

“That’s beautiful, love,” he smiles, closing his jeep’s door and jogging over to her, sweeping her off of the ground and into his arms as she giggles. She’s almost too big for him to hold her like this, but not yet. He’s going to kill his back to hold his niece, but he doesn’t care. He loves her too much to. “Do you want to tell me all about it?”

“Nah,” she sighs, tilting her head back as her legs swing, the girl practically a dead weight. “I’m not finished, so I can’t tell you about it because it’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yep.”

“And you can’t even tell your favorite uncle in the world?”

“Mommy said I can’t have a favorite uncle because it’s not fair to Uncle Kris.”

He snickers at that, knowing that she loves him more than she loves Kris, but that’s mostly because Kris still lives in England with Anna and not down the road like he does. And maybe it’s because he knows that he’s a hell of an uncle. Lifting Luca a little higher in his arms, he lugs her through the yard and up the front steps of Liam’s porch. Elsa has gone a little crazy with the gardening lately, and there are flowers blooming along the railing and pathway that seem to bring a lot of life to the brick home.

But not as much life as Luca and Luis bring.

“Hello,” he bellows as he walks into the house, tossing Luca over his shoulder so that she’s hanging upside down, giggles still rolling through her body. “I have found this interesting little creature outside, and I think that someone needs to come and capture her.”

“I’ll do it,” Luis yells, running to him from the living room and practically taking him down with the force of his hug.

“Hmm, I don’t think you’re big enough.”

“I am too.”

“I’m taller than you, Luis.”

“Only by a little.”

“Three whole inches.”

“Two and a half.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, ruffling the blonde curls on Luis’s head, “Luis is definitely big enough to help me lug Luca inside because he knows the most important information of all.”

“And what’s that?”

“Where is your mummy?”

His shoulder starts to ache so he puts Luca on the ground and plops himself down on the living room couch, making sure that he hasn’t gotten anything onto the cream material or onto their rug. Liam and Elsa have two eight-year-olds, but they somehow manage to keep everything inexplicably clean, especially since Liam isn’t as much of a neat freak as he used to be. Personally he thinks this entire house screams Elsa with its shades of blue and white with little bohemian touches everywhere. Honestly, it kind of reminds him of Emma and Belle’s apartment but with furniture that was definitely bought in a set and not found at different stores.

“She is putting her makeup on,” Luis tells him as he sits next to him on the couch and goes back to playing whatever video game he’s obsessed with this week. “And Papa is making a cake for the party.”

“That sounds good.”

“It’s not chocolate, so I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch and tilting his head to see Elsa coming down the stairs, her steps so light that he almost doesn’t hear them, “I think all cakes are good cakes.”

“Amen. My children are simply picky.”

“We are not,” the twins protest together, both of their mouths flattening into frowns.

“You are,” Elsa insists, stepping behind him on the couch and leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Have you guys been torturing your uncle?”

“They have been almost perfectly behaved, but I would like a piece of this cake to make up for it.”

“Nobody gets the cake until we are at the party,” Liam shouts from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation.

Elsa pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I have a cookie that you can eat to tide you over.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“And me?” Luca asks.

“Of course.”

He watches Luis play his game, which is apparently a Lego’s video game that he had no idea existed, for about twenty minutes before Liam announces that his cake is finished and that they can make their way to the Nolans’ house. He really should have driven himself, but he didn’t want to be the guy who was creepily sitting in his car outside of their house while he waited for Liam’s family to show up. Usually he’d march on in to whoever’s house it was, but not really knowing the owners has kind of kept him from that. Plus, he wanted to spend a little time with his niece and nephew because he knows that they’ll run off as soon as they get into the yard.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive out to the Nolans’ farm since they live on the outskirts of town, and by the time they get there, there are already cars parked all down the street, lining the gravel road almost as much as the trees are. It’s as beautiful out here as it was the last time he was briefly here for some kind of Christmas party, and he wonders just how David and Mary Margaret seem to host the entire town for a holiday each year.

The moment they’re out of the car, just like he expected, Luca and Luis run off to a group of children that are climbing on the treehouse and swing set, leaving he, Liam, and Elsa in their dust. He remembers what it was like to be that young and free in everything, even after his father abandoned him, and the thought of that has him reaching up around his neck to toy with the chain that holds his mother’s ring. His parents’ marriage wasn’t a good one, but the ring was his mum’s and is a memory of hers that he likes to keep resting over his heart.

When they walk in the door to the farmhouse, not bothering to knock, it’s a mess of people, everyone practically packed in like sardines. He nearly knocks Tink over when he’s trying to get past the staircase and into the kitchen so that he can place Liam’s cake in there. He doesn’t even know how he ended up with it in his hands, but he somehow did.

“What’s that?” Will questions, nearly making him jump out of his skin from surprise.

“Some kind of coffee cake Liam made. I’ve been told I can’t have any until we all eat dessert.”

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“It is.” He places the container down and leans back against the wooden cabinets, the cool marble digging into his waist just above his jeans. “Where’s Belle?”

“What? You don’t want to talk to me, so you ask where my girlfriend is? I thought we were mates.”

“Nah, I’m just in it for Belle. She has access to every book I’d ever need.”

“So does Amazon.”

He rolls his eyes and taps his nails against the countertop. “But no, seriously, I wanted to talk to Belle about a field trip idea for next month since she’s still looking for some for the summer programs.”

Will nods his head toward the window. “She’s outside with Emma talking to Mary Margaret and David as they grill the burgers. They must have spent a fortune buying the meat. I can’t imagine so many people in one place.”

“Me either,” he mumbles, twisting his head to look out the window to see the grill situated at the end of the patio, Mary Margaret standing at it with Emma and Belle next to her. Damn, Emma has on the same jean shorts that she had on when they went out on the water, and he doesn’t think he’s going to survive those again, not if she acts the same. Not even if she doesn’t. He’ll probably have to avoid her at all costs tonight. He can tell that Mary Margaret is the one talking, the way she’s swinging the spatula around pretty obvious, but he knows that Emma isn’t saying anything because he can’t hear her voice. He’s close enough to her to be able to hear her voice, right? That’s how this thing works. “Especially because that big head of yours takes up so much space.”

Will lets out a low whistle. “You have spent too much time with Rob if those are the kinds of jokes you’re making.”

“He makes a mean dad joke.”

“That he does. And, for your information, if there’s any part of me that’s big enough to be taking up too much space in this house, it bloody well isn’t my head.”

He doesn’t want to laugh at that, but he does, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes as he tries to keep from laughing out loud. Sometimes he swears that his humor is that of a teenager, even if he teases Will about that very thing.

“Where’d you get the drink?”

“They have a cooler of water and beer outside, but I know that Mary Margaret has some lemonade in the fridge and that David has whiskey in the pantry.”

He’d really rather have the beer, but he doesn’t want to be near Emma. It’s far too early in the day for him to be sporting an erection, especially when he doesn’t feel comfortable relieving himself in someone else’s home. He’d done it at Ariel’s, but that was a one-time thing. It’s not happening again. The thrill of almost being caught isn’t really there when he’s a gross man masturbating. That just...it’s wrong.

And he got caught the last time.

Damn, that was awkward and embarrassing, and he has no idea how he’s been able to look Emma in the eyes without melting into the ground or something. Probably because they had a few more pressing issues to deal with that day, and it’s hopefully almost forgotten.

He knows it’ll never be fully forgotten.

Changing the weight on his feet, he turns to the side and opens the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, freshly cut lemons floating at the top, and pours himself some into a disposable cup, quickly writing his name on it with the marker that was left on the counter. He’s about to put the cap back on the marker when he sees the stack of napkins at the same time that he hears the faintest echo of Emma’s laugh. Scribbling down a note, he decides that maybe it isn’t too early for him to have to suffer from hearing Emma talk. And maybe avoiding her all day isn’t the best plan.

It’s certainly not what he really wants.

“Where are you going?” Will yells as he opens up the sliding door to their backyard.

“Use some common sense and guess.”

“Asshole.”

He doesn’t even blink at that as he strides across the yard, waving to the few people who wave to him, before he’s standing next to Emma and wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that his hand holding the napkin dangles down onto her biceps. Her feels her tense for a moment, all of her guards obviously going up, before her shoulders relax a bit.

Huh. Not what he was expecting.

“Hi, Killian,” Mary Margaret greets, a bright, cheery smile on her face. “It’s so nice of you to be able to make it.”

Emma groans, something he thinks only he hears, and he pulls her a little closer to his side. He will never get over how undeniably fun it is to bother her. “It’s nice of you to have us all here. I don’t think there could be a more gracious host in Storybrooke.”

He watches as Belle’s eyes roll at that before she takes a sip of her water. “Don’t let Killian charm you too much. He’s full of it.”

“Oh, love, don’t be jealous that I haven’t complimented you yet. I was getting around to it.”

“You spend too much time with Will.”

It’s funny how conversations with two different people still end up being similar.

“And what does that say about you?”

“That I am not as influenced by others as you are.”

“This is true,” he sighs, jumping a little when he feels Emma pinch his side under his button down. He was waiting for some kind of retaliation for her since he’s very obviously invading her personal space and talking to annoy her and drive her mad, not that anyone but the two of them knows that. “You are an unshakable force, my dear Belle. So do you need any help with anything, Mary Margaret?”

“You’re a guest. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Oh come on, lass, I’m sure there’s something you need help with. Emma and I would be happy to assist you.”

Emma pinches his side again, this time the force another to actually cause him a little pain, and he slides his hand down from her shoulder and deftly puts the napkin in her back pocket. He fully expects her to punch him and knock his teeth out, but he thinks he manages to give it to her without her noticing too much. Maybe she’s too on edge to even notice.

“Oh, well,” Mary Margaret says, taking a few of the burgers off the grill and placing them on the tray, “if you two could get all of the side dishes from the kitchen and set them up on the tables out here, that would be great.”

“It’s not a problem, milady. Come on, Swan.”

He steps to the side and starts making his way back to the house. He doesn’t check to see if Emma is following him. He doesn’t need to because as soon as he gets back inside and into the little alcove between the back door and the kitchen, Emma shoves him and slaps at his chest.

“What the hell is wrong to you?”

“Whatever could you be talking about?”

Her eyes roll in what he believes is her signature move around him now, and he has to suppress his smile at how red her cheeks are and how much of a scowl her lips have formed into. “You’re a jackass. I was in the middle of a conversation, and you come out there and wrap your arm around me and then start talking because you know what happens when you do that!”

Gooseflesh rises on his arms, and he tries to regulate his breathing as Emma keeps talking. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it has the potential to get worse.

“And what the hell did you put in my pocket?” she huffs, reaching behind her and pulling out the napkin. “‘You’re right. I wouldn’t know what kind of underwear you wore because the only time I’ve ever seen down your shirt you weren’t wearing any.’ You’re ridiculous.”

“Never claimed I wasn’t.” He bends down and whispers in her ear, making sure to get close enough that his lips brush skin. “For the reference, mine have a delightful blue and white striped pattern today.”

“J-just get the damn side dishes,” she stutters, her voice visibly catching.

“As you wish.”

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

102 notes · View notes

larriefails · 5 years

Text

28 is not a Larry number - a masterpost

Since @theystudyrainbows has decided to put all the Larrie delusions on this number in one handy masterpost, why not debunk it all in one go?

Even the introduction is a mess. The 28 is not “a One Direction fandom mystery” at all. It’s Louis’ jersey number that he was assigned at Doncaster Rovers and that he has since then adopted. But then again, Liam’s kidney and the Belfast canceled concert are not mysteries either

How decent of you to say that some of these are coincidences, considering literally all of the following is bullshit

The fact that “too many people to name” contributed to write this drivel makes my heart ache

Harry has no connection to the number 28 whatsoever

The problem with you attempting numerology is that there are only 9 possible digits (as the addition of two numbers can never be zero). So, you clown yourselves because it leads to this

Eleanor was born on July 16th 1992:

7+1+6+1+9+9+2 = 35

3+5 = 8

Oh no!

But also, Zayn was born on January 13th 1992:

1+1+3+1+9+9+2 = 26

2+6 = 8

(: Ya see how that’s just not good?

Not only that, but also, as I said, Harry has no connection to the number 28, but for shits and giggles

Kendall Jenner was born on November 3rd 1995:

1+1+3+1+9+9+5 = 29

2+9 = 11

1+1 = 2

So.. basically this is worthless information that you pulled out of your ass. Or I could easily claim that 28 is an Elounor or a Hendall number

You also use this method to count Harry and Louis’ X Factor numbers, but as we’ve established, there are only 9 options, the odds are stacked for this coincidence

How is that 28? That’s 82.. A completely different number. In the UK the date is written day/month/year. So the “same gig” was the 8th day of the 2nd month. 82. It’s very funny that, since you’re Italian and live in the UK (both countries that use the day/month/year system) you’ve written every date so far that way, but now that you want to say this other random date is connected to 28, you switched to month/day/year.

Also, where is the year in this equation? We’ve been using the entire date so far, but now we’re only focusing on the day and month? (and switching order?) That seems very convenient. Almost like, if you try hard enough, any date can add up to 28 in some way?

November 17th 2011, Louis and Eleanor’s anniversary: 11+17=28! Oh no! DRATS! It’s still an Elounor number!

And now we’re just ignoring the month and only focusing on the day. And not only that, but ignoring half the time they were there (the 27th) to only focus on the 28th. That is, once again, very convenient

But continuing with your own ridiculous logic. We know that Louis and Eleanor went to V Fest together in 2011, because Eleanor said so on twitter when Sugarscape wondered if the “brown haired girl” holding hands with Louis at V Fest was her

V Fest was on August 20th and 21st 2011. What do you know? 20+8 = 28! Damn... this is getting suspicious. Louis!!! Did you get the 28 for Eleanor? :)

This is a whole ass facepalm. I’m going to link the video here just so it’s verifiable how unhinged y’all are

youtube

He literally turns for 1 millisecond, and is looking in the general area of his right because that’s where everyone else in the band is standing. The fact that y’all still do this shit is so embarrassing for your life and your soul

But why don’t you tell the truth? That y’all decided their anniversary was the 28th and then created this completely impossible to prove “receipt”? How is it proof of anything if it came AFTER y’all had decided the 28 was their anniversary? Your circular logic knows no bounds

Harry has not used the 28 number AT ALL. Louis hasn’t used the 28 as his jersey number “often,” he started using it in 2013 when it was assigned to him by the Doncaster Rovers when he was signed as a semi professional player

This is from goal.com, one of the most important sources of soccer information in the world X

The article is from September 2013 and John Ryan, the chairman of the Rovers, explains that 28 was HIS number, that HE used for a match. Soccer players have assigned numbers throughout the season, and the number 28 had been retired from the line up after John Ryan used it in 2003. He decided to bring it back to give it to Louis. And Louis was signed as a soccer player professionally with that number. That’s why it’s important to him, you bag of nonsense. This was his life long dream in the club he loved. He probably spent hours and hours daydreaming about being signed professionally to play soccer and when he finally accomplished that, it was with the number 28, so of course it’s gonna be important to him!

Find ONE INSTANCE of Louis using the number 28 before the summer of 2013. ONE. You won’t! The tattoo came after that, him wearing it on his jerseys came after that. According to Larrie Lore Harry and Louis started dating in 2011 (apparently September 28th 2011, go figure), but for two full years neither of them did anything related to the number 28 whatsoever!

Why didn’t Louis wear the 28 in his first charity match in 2012?

The fact that he wore 17, which is his and Eleanor’s anniversary. LMAO can you say ouch? Furthermore, Louis didn’t CHOOSE the 28, it was ASSIGNED to him because it was the symbolic number the chairman had used back in 2003. It was a retired number that no player had used for 10 years, and they decided to give it to him as a gesture. Man, that would be a HUGE coincidence if out of 40 something available numbers in a soccer line up, Louis had wanted exactly the one that was retired and meant a whole lot for the chairman, instead of the chairman offering it to Louis, like LOGIC says. Another HUGE coincidence that he had not bothered with the 28 at all up until that point and then started having it everywhere. But I thought Larries hated those?

After this you list all the times Louis has used the 28, which there are a lot, but all come after 2013, I don’t want to add more pointless screenshots here. Doncaster Rovers jersey (from 2013 on), dodgeball jersey (2015), in ears (2015), tattoo (2015), BTY music video (2017), LTHQ’s first IG username (2017), his playlist (2018/2019)

How is that... 28? That’s 90028. And this isn’t a date, where you can just pick the number apart as you wish. This is a zip code for a secret show the Rolling Stones played in LA in 2015

Not only that, but Harry (and this is hilariously tragic for you) was ACTUALLY AT THE GIG! THAT’S WHY HE POSTED THE PHOTO!

Posting the screenshot with the date so you can see. May 21st 2015. Article by the LA Times X

This is Harry at the actual gig with Mick Jagger you absolute MORON X

And this is Harry wearing a Rolling Stones shirt the day after the gig because he’s that much of a fanboy

Y’all the second hand embarrassment is K I L L I N G me. CRYING TEARS OF BLOOD OVER THE FACT THAT THIS WAS WRITTEN IN ACTUAL SERIOUSNESS

Why is “professional” in scare quotes?? I can’t believe that you just added 1+2+3+4+5+6+7. Oh my god. I can’t believe I have to say this but *whispers* those are consecutive numbers. They just used consecutive numbers... And why would Harry’s HQ account managed by the team that’s “oppressing them” use a secret code with their beloved 28? How does that make ANY sense?

The article is wrong. He wore TWENTY-SEVEN Gucci suits. I can’t believe that’s a sentence I just typed, but alas

1- Basel, 2- Copenhagen, 3- Hamburg, 4- Milan, 5- Bologna, 6- London I, 7- Hong Kong, 8- Bangkok, 9- Rio de Janeiro, 10- Mexico City I and II (same suit), 11- Houston, 12- Fort Lauderdale 13- Nashville, 14- Hershey, 15- Philadelphia, 16- Toronto, 17- MSG I, 18- DC, 19- Detroit, 20- Indianapolis, 21- Chicago, 22-St. Paul, 23- Denver, 24- Seattle, 25- San Jose, 26- LA I, 27- LA II

In 60 concerts, he also wore Charles Jeffrey 4 times, Saint Laurent 3 times, Palomo Spain 2 times, a custom kilt, Harris Reed 5 times, Clavin Klein 6 times, Alexander McQueen 7 times, Givenchy 4 times. Just so you don’t think I’m purposefully missing out on a suit to make it 27. The article probably counted Mexico’s suit twice. But it’s not 28 suits, it’s 27. The Mexico suit was the same both nights

I would love to know how this would be relevant to Larry or how this would mean the number 28 is important to Harry. Does he have OCD? I don’t get it

Here we have another round of “I will MAKE IT FIT 28 IF IT KILLS ME!”

Let’s see the different tactics that you used

Adding day and month

Taking only the day

Adding day month and year. Except you left out the 2 in 2017. Because otherwise it wouldn't add up. I can’t deal with thisodnadmsla

Harry performed track 2, meaning, his lead single that he was still promoting, Sign of the Times, and 8 Ever since NEW YORK because... he was performing in... New York...

Only the day. Wow, you actually repeated tactics once!

Adding two completely different dates together, that have absolutely no correlation. How are Sweet Creature, Harry’s promo single, and the music video for a different single, related in any way? What? Why not Kiwi’s music video? Why not Two Ghosts music video? Why not the release of either of those singles to radio? Can you make it any more obvious that you’re just pulling this completely out of your ass?

You repeat tactics again, except it’s the most ridiculous tactic of adding all the numbers in the date except the 2 of the year and it’s for “Harry posted link to Twitter to Sign of the Times music video PREVIEW.” Oh my god

And now you’re counting days between two dates, because that’s not unhinged. I’m guessing you mean the April 14th not 24th, but that also wasn’t the date? It was the 13th? It depends on the time zone you were in?

For someone who, according to you, plans with such precise care to match to 28, he didn’t wait until it would be 28 days for everyone. It’s not even because it was tweeted at midnight UK since this is like 3/4 AM UK time. In fact, it wasn’t midnight anywhere relevant (or anywhere, in general since it was at .54 minutes). So not only is this ridiculous, it’s also incorrect

1. That’s not a fan, that’s his cousin, but Larries know barely anything about Harry if it can’t involve Larry so I’m not surprised you don’t know

2. Imagine him asking “please, make the password add to 28“ to his staff. I have tears in my eyes picturing it

3. I CAN’T BREATHE. Y’all are BLIND on top of INCREDIBLY STUPID. That’s THE DATE

That’s his Hamburg concert, which you can tell because of his suit, which was on MARCH 25TH 2018 (he posted the pictures the day after)

AKA 250332018 which is what the password says

You not only confused an 8 with a 9, but also created numbers out of thin air because of a pixel smudge and failed to realize it was the FUCKING DATE. WHICH DOESN’T EVEN ADD TO 28! 2+5+3+2+1+8= 21

This is perhaps the most ridiculous thing written in this post, which is already one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever read. Can you imagine Harry counting to 28 in his head in the middle of the concert? I can’t y’all, this is too much. You’re A GROWN WOMAN. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I also found it incredibly suspicious that you didn’t outright link the video which you do throughout the post, and turns out it is because he didn’t pause for 28 seconds (what is this fucking sentence?)

youtube

He stops playing and singing at 2.40. Then speaks until 2.43. Then the “pause” which is just him trying to get the audience to stop screaming until 3.07 when he says (I can’t really make it out) “now you” or something like that. And then he says “for your eyes...” and lets the audience sing at 3.09. Literally none of these timestamps add to 28 and he had no way of counting to 28 since he was silencing people the entire time. And just like when he switched “I have love you since we were 18″ to “I have loved you since I was 16″ hitting his own chest, or when he said he fell in love to What Makes You Beautiful, you missed the entire point of this bit, which is Harry’s LOVE FOR HIS FANS

He has loved us since he was 16, he fell in love to us to What Makes you Beautiful, and he was letting us sing that part of the song every concert. He “paused” to shush the nonsensical screams, then he would give the audience the cue and let them sing. Several times he dedicated the song to specific fans in the audience, people with cancer, little kids, a fan that had neck surgery. By making it about Larry, you stripped it from its actual meaning and Harry’s love for his fans. But you always do shit like that

Regardless, he didn’t pause for 28 seconds. Wrong

And you end the post with the most anticlimactic possible tone

Here’s the video

youtube

Harry is talking about anniversaries because he’s reading a sign from the audience... about.. anniversaries

Y’all are the definition of clowns. All that fuss for the 28 and THIS is your proof?

#harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry is real #larry #larry stylinson #harry #louis #theystudyrainbows #larrie fails

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thehivemindwrites · 5 years

Text

A Series of Disconnected Thoughts, Cast into the Void in No Particular Order

1. I’ve been finding myself thinking more and more about Kill Six Billion Demons recently. Not just because it’s absolutely gorgeous artwork and Moebius-meets-prog-metal stylings are extremely my shit (KSBD is responsible for adding Gojira to my rotation of workout music, and that alone has me in its debt), but because I can really appreciate a main character who is a walking disaster coming to some kind of enlightenment through a combination of getting her ass handed to her repeatedly, making questionable decisions, and basically just deciding to struggle forwards because I don’t know, what the fuck else is there to do? It’s hardly original (see: basically any shounen about The Power of Friendship and Not Giving Up) but damn if the presentation of it in this particular case isn’t particularly delightful. Plus it gave us the image of a giant hulking demon wearing a jacket that says KILL BOSS and that’s rad.The creator of KSBD is also co-creator, as it happens, of the newly released Lancer TTRPG, which I backed on Kickstarter and will, one day, get a rad fucking hardcover copy of (but for now I’m reading through the pdf and swearing oaths that one day I will play it). Anyway, as someone who also got where he is through a series of questionable decisions and getting his ass handed to him by life in general (oh, and an enormous amount of luck), I can relate. Plus the phrase “Reach heaven through violence,” while kind of terrible on the surface, feels good to shout at yourself while you’re off for a run.

2. Part of this whole exercise thing - a side-effect of it, if you wanna call it that - is that generally I feel better about myself like in general. I’ve mentioned that before. What it doesn’t do, of course, is magically mean that I’m now 100% good and not still dogged by a persistent sense of self-loathing that I’ve just had to accept will never really go away. Like for example: I’ve lost 35 kg since starting this whole gym thing, except you might remember the goal was 40. I still haven’t hit that goal, and frankly I’ve spent the last like three months bouncing around the same like, 3 kg zone because I’ve been traveling a lot and that basically fucks up my workout and eating routine. It’s frustrating, and it sure does let the part of me that knows deep down that I’m a fat fucker and always will be no matter what I do run wild from time to time. Which is, I’m coming to understand, just gonna always be there. This stuff doesn’t go away! Ever!

Which doesn’t mean it’s right, even a little. You tune it out and throw yourself into battle with it over and over again. You get bloodied and broken and claw back and then you get bloodied and broken some more. Insert that gif from Princess Bride of Westly saying LIFE IS PAIN, HIGHNESS here. Thing is, there’s something about the struggle that’s nice. I am not sure how motivated I’d be to do anything if part of it wasn’t motivated by the desire to prove my dumb brain wrong about, uh, me. If I wasn’t fighting the various little demons that plague me every so often, I doubt I’d be so well-adjusted. I certainly wouldn’t be mentally healthy. None of this makes sense as I read it back, of course - it sounds like I’m saying “boy it’s nice to be miserable,” which isn’t true. Being miserable sucks shit! I don’t recommend it! But it is nice to see misery coming and punch it in the face (metaphorically speaking). Sometimes I think the thing that makes me go to the gym and work so hard (this sounds like I’m bragging, but I can assure you I’m not - “work so hard” means “not collapse and fall off the elliptical after five minutes because oh god I don’t want to be here”) is out of some desire for self-annihilation through pushing myself past my physical limits. Reach heaven through violence (see, I told you it sounded cool).

3. The world has gotten really fucking bad for a lot of people, and I don’t know that it will get better for them any time soon. In fact, given the latest talk from the ol’ UN Climate Change report, it’s gonna get even worse. I would very much prefer that were not the case! It’s motivation enough to get out and vote and shit, at least for me - and as someone who is, you know, ridiculously privileged, that’s the absolute least I can do. Which is why I try to do more, mostly involving donating money to causes that seem like they’re able to cause the sort of trouble that needs to be caused. Or just use expertise to protect the people I don’t know how to protect, because I’m a lot of things, and one of them happens to be smart enough to know that I don’t know shit. So I make sure people that do know shit have the money they need. Pretty straightforward, I think.

The other thing I try to do, because giving money isn’t really something I think about much at all (I’m stupidly fucking fortunate to have a job that pays well, remember), is occasionally go out and actually be present at protests and the like - there are a lot of climate protests and they’re all a good time. Occasionally it’s worth overcoming one’s intense social anxiety to do so. Lord knows it’s significantly less of a risk for me to be out shouting at cops than most.

4. She-Ra might be one of the best shows out there. There’s something nice about a show that both does and does not present a simple world. Yes, the Horde is bad. Like, objectively bad! They do a lot of looting and subjugating and are generally just deeply not chill people.On the other hand, the people who make up the Horde are still people, and I have a lot of time for a show that can manage to humanize its Big Bad Villain whilst still making it very clear they are still, you know, not good. It’s messy, and complicated, and sad, because sometimes you have to fight people you used to be friends with! Sometimes you have to make the call that hey, we can’t be friends anymore, because I can’t support the things you’re doing anymore. I’ve made that call before - I bet everyone has, at some point (if you haven’t, I’m sure you’ll have to eventually). Fortunately for me, it’s never been that difficult of a choice, if only because the people I had to go against weren’t people I’d known for very long.

Anyway, that’s part of it - you gotta just cut people out sometimes. There’s more to it though, because the other thing the show believes is that everyone - even the real shitty people - can change. It doesn’t mean everything’s forgiven, and it doesn’t erase all the bad shit, but they can still change. It’s worth changing, even if it isn’t a cure-all.

So yeah, I like She-Ra a lot. It’s also just well-written, and funny, and it’s a real good time to see a bunch of diverse characters running around having adventures and being fuckin’ rad. Plus, they’ve shown an incredible willingness to completely change the stakes from season to season - the end of season four in particular is the equivalent of detonating all the things you thought were important. It pulls a bait and switch so ruthless that I might have applauded if I wasn’t so self-conscious about making noise that my neighbors might hear. The combination of season 3 and 4 was a masterclass on raising the stakes and then explaining that actually, you were playing for stakes even higher than you could’ve thought possible. Oh, and the people you thought you could trust were just using you, and hey, what if we got rid of the thing that you’ve more or less defined yourself by for the entire show? Good luck in season five, motherfucker! I’m a fan, is what I’m saying.

6. Work on Vanquisher 2103 continues apace. I mentioned this before, but we’re doing a once-a-month schedule while the holidays and work beat my ass into the ground, and as it turns out I really enjoy taking a full month to write a chapter. It’s a comically slow pace, but it’s working for me and hopefully the fact that the chapters have tended to be a little longer (and allowed me to expand on ideas a little more, and do a little more research here and there) makes it worth the longer wait. I’d like this thing to be good! There’s a part of my brain, again, that will always insist that nobody reads this and it’s bad and I’m fucking up, constantly - that point, at least, is probably accurate. I am writing characters who in theory have life experiences that are very much Not Mine, which involves a lot of reading things from people who would know better than I do. It’s nerve-wracking, and the only thing I am bone-deep certain of is that I’ll fuck up and hopefully y’all will forgive me for fucking up when that happens. I’ll keep reading and refining and eventually maybe it’ll be okay. Hopefully, anyway.

7. I went to Ireland and guys, Ireland is bullshit. I am offended by its gorgeous cliff-sides and open grasslands and heart-rending beauty. The immense friendliness of the people I met and the fact that you can’t sit in a pub without hearing some dude play a jaunty reel on a tin whistle or accordion or something is a personal insult. I was Arthur Dent angrily demanding to know why this bloody fish is so good the whole time.

I cultivated an immense drinking habit while there. I was also approached by a random German tourist who somehow clocked that I could speak German and we shouted about socialism for an hour auf Deutsch. I met some woman from Louisiana and we ended up having drinks a couple nights in a row to talk about traveling in general and Germany in particular, because her ex-husband is German. There were some Swedish retirees who were both very pleased by their country’s social safety net and also depressingly sour about the fact that refugees got cheap dental care - we might have had some harsh words exchanged before more drinks helped smooth over our frank discussion of differing viewpoints. I had to explain American health care to some people from the UK who were surprisingly gung-ho about the idea of privatized medicine until they talked to me (one of them talked about how the UK used to be an Empire and could be again in such a way that made me want to throw things. We did not talk for very long because I couldn’t fuckin’ handle it). These were strangers that I willingly engaged, because I was having an adventure, and I guarantee none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been going to the gym and committed to the idea of proving the voice in my head that tells me I’m an awkward mess that nobody would ever want to talk to in their life wrong (also, let’s be honest, if I hadn’t had several pints of cider at the time).

By the end of the trip if I heard one more pub singer’s version of Whisky in the Jar though, that I was gonna produce my pistol and fucking shoot myself in the head.

Go to Ireland if you can. If you live there, fuck you how dare you live somewhere that rad.

8. I didn’t have an eighth thing but I’m committed to this “each thing is numbered” bit which means that even the end of this thing has to follow the trope. This is the end of the post where I say “okay bye I’ll be back the next time I get the urge to throw a bunch of highly unpolished ideas out.”

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lostinfic · 6 years

Text

The Raven and the Goldfinch | 1

Part 1 of 3 | Ao3

Summary: In turn-of-the-century London, the famous illusionist, Peter Vincent, must use his skills to reclaim the love of his life, a woman he thought was lost to him. Now that he’s given a second chance, he won’t lose her again, not even when supernatural forces get in the way.

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, Victorian Era AU, movie AU (The Illusionist), supernatural elements

Rating: mature

Word count: 5k

Ship: Peter Vincent (Fright Night) x Jenny (Spirit Trap).

Why this pairing? Peter Vincent witnessed his parents get killed by a vampire, but lived in denial of this until reality caught up with him in the movie. Jenny’s mother was a medium, but Jenny refused to believe it (just like her father, who left because of it) until she experienced her own encounter with ghosts in the movie. I think this similarity between their personal stories is interesting and a good starting point for a ship. And that’s all you need to know about these characters.

A/N: @ktrosesworld prompted: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hrmm Vamp!Rose with a HEA ... umm umm ... is that a stake in your pants or are you just pleased to see me ;) ... or wherever you muse decides to take you with smutty Peter Vincent.

So many things about that prompt were out of my comfort zone, but I really wanted to write it for KT who is always so lovely and supportive. So, I stretched that prompt as far as it would go, but I promise there shall be smut, a HEA, and that quote, but I tried writing it with Rose, and it wasn’t working.

≒

The Sunday Herald, 31 October 1895

A NIGHT OF MYSTERY.

Some Curious Facts Concerning All Hallow Eve.

The Night When Maidens Try to Find Out Who Will Wed Them— A Curious Circumstance— Tricks Played.

From its first origination, Hallow eve has been invested with a peculiarly mystic character. It is an almost universal superstition that supernatural influences then have unusual power— that devils, witches and fairies are abroad, that all spirits are free to roam through space, and that the spiritual element in all living humanity can be detached from corporeal restraint and made to road its own future or to reveal to others what fate may have in store for them.

As there is nothing in the Church celebration of the ensuing day of All Saint's to justify these singular ideas and customs associated with Hallow eve, and none of them are of a religious character, we may justly regard them as relics of pagan times.

In all ages and countries, Hallow eve has been deemed, as it still is, the occasion par excellence for devilling the answer to that momentous question which absorbs so large a share of the thoughts of romantic young men and maidens, "who is to marry whom?" The means employed to gain this much desired information are as quaint and curious as they are numerous and varied.

Water, nuts and apples bear a prominent port in the spells and charms of Hallow eve. A quaint old book of charms, published in Edinburgh in 1070, entitled: "Old Father Time's Bundle of Faggots Newly Bound Up," declares that an infallible means of getting a view of your future husband or wife is to go to bed on Hallow eve with a glass of water, in which a small sliver of wood has been placed, standing on a table by your bedside. In the night you will dream of falling from a bridge into a river and of being rescued by your future wife or husband, whom you will see as distinctly as though viewed with waking eyes.

≑

Jennie hated All Hallow eve, but she loved a good party.

She crossed the reception room to refill her glass of wine. Her black silk cape, shaped like bat wings, floated behind her. She pulled the hood over her blond curls, hoping to escape Lady Rothermere’s attention. But no such luck.

“Iphigenia, dear, I believe it’s your turn to play.”

Thankfully, no one at this gathering, in London, knew of Jennie’s mother’s reputation or else they might have asked her to perform the same divination. Tonight, the guests’ interest in the permeability between worlds resided in predicting one’s luck in love rather than honoring Pagan gods of old.

Still Jennie could not entirely enjoy the festivities for it reminded her too much of her mother’s lunacy. A terrible illness of the mind had afflicted the poor baroness until her death, she would hear voices and see strange things to which she lent some mystic signification. The superstitions surrounding October 31st used to worsen her symptoms, and those who believed she had a supernatural power would flock to Featherstone Hall. They only increased her suffering, and caused Jennie to flee her own home for the night.

Jennie’s plan for Lady Rothermere’s party was simple: avoid anything to do with spirits except the alcoholic kind. But peer pressure threw a wrench in that plan.

Jennie’s friends thrust an apple and a knife in her hands with excited giggles. The game involved going alone in a dark room in which there was only a mirror and a candle, then trying to peel an apple all in one piece. If successful, one’s true love’s face would appear in the mirror.

“Why does she have to go? She’s already betrothed,” a girl pointed out, but the other ones were already pushing Jennie towards the door.

Her friends shut the door behind her. Despite the candle flame, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to darkness. She sat on the floor in front of the small mirror propped against the wall, and started peeling the apple. The peel curled around her hand like a scarlet ribbon. Although, she didn’t believe in these silly games, she still applied herself to the task.

It would be a relief to see Richard’s face in the mirror, so that, despite her doubts and reluctance, she would know accepting his proposal would end happily. He was a decent man, willing to overlook shameful things about her family to acquire her father’s lands. And his fortune wasn’t uninteresting.

But in her heart of heart, she knew whose face she wished to see, a face she had not gazed upon in twelve years.

Moving to the underside of the apple was the most treacherous part, especially in the dark. Almost there. She cut off the last inch of the peel with too much pressure, and the blade hit the pad of her thumb. It sliced through her skin. A crimson drop rose to the surface.

The mirror shimmered.

Jennie held her breath and looked closer. It was only fog on the glass. She wiped it with her sleeve, but it stayed there. The fog moved, like smoke from a pipe, it unfurled along the edges of the mirror in a rough oval shape. Then it started to clear from two points in the center, leaving two holes in the fog, like hollowed out eyes. Blood drained from her face as the smoke gathered in an increasingly precise shape. The shape of a skull.

≑

The master of ceremonies introduced Peter Vincent to the crowd gather in the Sofia Theater, in the Bulgarian capital. The illusionist waited for a few seconds, letting the anticipation rise in the public. Once the chatter died down, he walked swiftly through the curtains. Fog rolled under his leather frock coat as he crossed to the stage apron in long strides. He wore a pair of black gloves which he removed and tossed into the air above the spectators, where they turned into a pair of ravens.

He bowed dramatically to the applause, then addressed the crowd in Bulgarian (a local friend had translated his text, though Peter was familiar enough with Slavic languages to understand most of the words).

“I thought we might begin this evening with a discussion of the Great Beyond. All of the greatest religions speak of the soul's endurance beyond the end of life. So, what then does it mean... to die? Tonight is a special night. A night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is lifted. Let us see, if we can cross this barrier between realms and call forth some spirits.”

An assistant rolled a small table onto the stage. A paisley cloth covered it, and a crystal ball sat upon it, larger than normal to allow the audience a better view.

Peter stretched his long hands above the sphere, with each flourish of fingers, mist rose inside the crystal. The spectators had yet to be impressed, most squinted at the ball and exchanged comments, but Peter’s focus didn’t waver. The mist inside became more opaque, then turned from white to gray, to lilac and deepened to purple. Suddenly, the crystal cracked, a sharp pop of glass followed by gasps. The glass was cleaved and the fissure grew in a fractal pattern with that slow, spine-chilling creak. Pressure grew inside the ball, the smoke pressed against the edges. Everyone held their breaths, bodies tense, anticipating the explosion. The crystal ball shattered, and all the fog rushed out of it taking on ghostly forms that grew high above the stage. Three pairs of red eyes appeared, and then Peter was knocked off the stage.

He fell.

And he fell.

A never-ending descent. He landed under a bed, years earlier, knees to his chest, hands clapped over his mouth to keep his breathing and sobs silent. He heard his parents’ screams and that horrible gurgling noise. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

Then it stopped. They stopped kicking and screaming. His mother’s arm fell limply off the bed. The murderer stopped drinking and smacked his lips.

The boy cracked open an eye. Blood dripped along the bedframe, thick and scarlet. Drip. Drip. A drop morphed into a raven and it perched on the headboard. The black bird turned to the child and spoke in a young girl’s voice. “Make us disappear.”

Peter woke up with a gasp.

“Are you quite all right, old sport?” asked his manager, Ingwer, sat next to him.

“Yes. Of course,” Peter replied though his heart still hammered in his chest. “That lass after the show tired me out, that’s all.”

He winked at Ingwer, who didn’t seem convinced, he twirled the end of his sandy mustache, looking Peter over. Peter turned away from his manager and towards the train window. It was night so it only returned his own reflection, blurry and immaterial, gossamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to dream about a performance going wrong: a defective prop, a mocking audience or being stark naked on stage (though that often turned into a wonderful dream). But it had never morphed into a flashback to the night his parents died.

Peter reached inside his jacket for his good luck charm, a raven carved out of ebony, flat like a coin and not much thicker. Absentmindedly, he manipulated the object. He turned it between his knuckles, from thumb to pinkie and back, then made it disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. The wood was smooth from years of use, the varnish long gone. It soothed him.

Not long after his parents’ death, a travelling showman had stopped in his hometown in Northern England. He’d performed a few magic tricks in exchange for a hot meat and ale, and like any eight year-old boy, Peter had been fascinated. The old magician had pulled a wooden raven from behind Peter’s ears. He’d hidden it between his palms, said a phrase in latin then blown on his hands, and a bird had flown out.

“Nothing is what it seems,” he’d said.

And Peter had thought, if one’s senses can be deceived so easily, then perhaps he had not really seen a monster that night, in his parents’ bedroom.

Sensing the child’s sadness, the old magician had patiently taught him a few tricks. And Peter had never stopped after that.

“We’ll be crossing into Serbia soon,” Ingwer said.

“That’s two nights in Belgrade, then Sarajevo?”

“Yes. Then Sarajevo, Budapest, Vienna, Innsbruck, Venice, Berne and Paris.”

“I want to go to London.”

Though he’d uttered the words casually, like a mere technicality, his manager’s pale eyebrows rose.

“Erm, well, I have some contacts there, maybe we can arrange something for December or January…”

“No, I want to go now.”

“You haven’t set foot there in over ten years. Always refused offers. Why the sudden urge?”

“I’m homesick,” he lied.

≑

London Daily News, 20 November 1895

PETER VINCENT’S FRIGHTFUL ENTERTAINMENTS

Egyptian Hall, London.

Saturday and Monday evenings. Doors open at 7:30; commences at 8 o’clock. Carriages at 10.

For the first time in England: Peter Vincent in his Extraordinary Sorcelleries or Creatures of the Night.

Peter Vincent’s astounding feats in natural magic are based on principles not within the power of any other Artist in the World, and declared by the Press to be of so singular a nature as to be past all human conception, and that in an age and country less enlightened, they would inevitably have appeared supernatural. Mr. Vincent who, alone, unaided by confederates, and without all ordinary apparatus, deceives the eye, amazes, bewilders, and baffles the keenest observers, will display his truly miraculous acquirements in Prestidigitation, which surpass everything hitherto presented to the Public, in fact exhibiting powers that seem impossible to be achieved by human agency.

With regard to the moral bearing of the performance, it is only necessary to intimate that the Very Rev. Dean Stanley, in his sermon preached the act as it demonstrates the power of our Lord over Evil.

The Proprietor feels justified in calling attention to the fact that no expense has been spared in this production. Endorsed by the entire Press as being most mystical, mirthful and marvelous.

≑

“And for my last feat, I need a volunteer,” Peter declared.

Spectators avoided eye-contact with him and shook their heads until a young man raised his hand. He walked from his seat to the stage with a smirk. A little shit who thought it was all a trick; Peter loved to scare them.

The illusionist uncovered a tall mirror and placed the young man in front of it.

“What is your name, Sir?”

“Walter Gardiner.”

“Mr. Gardiner, if you would be so kind as to inspect this mirror and assure our dear spectators tonight that it is not tricked.”

Walter walked around the mirror, inspecting its gilded frame and knocking on the back.

“Now, do you see your reflection in this mirror, Mr. Gardiner?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” He waved at himself.

“And do you also see our esteemed audience behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you see me too in the mirror?” Peter placed himself behind the young man.

“Indeed, I do.”

With the help of an assistant, Peter turned the mirror around as well as Walter so that he had his back to the stage curtains, with the mirror between him and the crowd.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror, Mr. Gardiner, and let me know if anything in the reflection changes.”

“Righty-o.”

Peter pulled on heavy silken ropes, and the green velvet curtains behind Walter parted.

Loud gasps rippled through the theater. In the third row, a woman fainted.

Walter laughed uneasily. “I don’t see the curtains anymore,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Behind you!” shouted someone from the balcony.

On the stage, three young women, all dark hair and pale blue skin, wearing only nightgowns had been revealed. They snarled at Walter, displaying long canines. Their shackles clanked as they lunged forward.

Mr. Gardiner scurried off the stage, and nearly broke his neck in the stairs.

"Back, spawn of Satan!" Peter shouted, brandishing a crucifix.

The three vampires retreated with loud hisses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my vampiresses!”

The audience applauded with some restraint.

“It is well-known by the Slavs that certain dead persons possess the power of returning by night to molest the living, to suck their blood, and by such refreshment to continue their own terrestrial existence, at the expense of their victims. These creatures do not have a reflection in a mirror.

But the worst part remains to be told: this faculty proves contagious; and those who have been sucked by a vampire, feel themselves condemned to become vampires, in their turn.

I saved these poor girls from the power of their sire in a remote corner of Transylvania. Animal blood furnishes them with the means of subsistence.”

Spectators flinched and covered their mouths.

“Thanks to my powers, and the power of the Christ, I can control these creatures of the night and make an example out of them. A cautionary tale. So you might recognize them and not fall prey yourselves.”

Peter stretched his arms and hands towards the three wild women, his face scrunched up with effort.

“Thou shall rise from the dead.”

A vein throbbed on his forehead. As he raised his arms, the three women slowly lifted off the floor and levitated high above the stage.

≑

As soon as he exited the stage, Peter collapsed. He didn’t even have the strength to remove the wig that scratched his scalp.

As usual, Ingwer ran up to him with a flask of whiskey and a cool, damp cloth.

In the theater, spectators were still applauding and talking loudly. Peter let their appreciation wash over him as he recovered from the exhausting performance.

The theater’s director came up to him and announced the Earl of Westmorland was here and wished to speak with him.

“Give me a minute,” Peter said.

“The Earl will not wait that long.”

With Ingwer’s help, Peter rose to his feet. They both knew the approval of the aristocracy could open many doors and make him a rich man.

A group of people awaited him in the salon, the Earl at the center. He held his head high perhaps to compensate for his small stature. Generous sideburns covered part of his cheeks down to his jaw.

“Your lordship, may I introduce Peter Vincent, the Illusionist?”

“Fascinating demonstration,” the Earl said.

“Thank you. It’s not easy keeping these lasses under control.”

The Earl chuckled, but it wasn’t genuine.

“It stimulated a great debate amongst us.” He gestured at his entourage. “Rainier here thinks you have supernatural powers? Do you claim supernatural powers?”

“Well, I can certainly do things on stage that mere mortals can’t.”

“Then you won’t mind a question or two. You needn’t divulge anything I cannot guess.”

“Shoot.”

“Mr. Gardiner was in league with you. Or there were lights in the mirror frame perhaps and angled mirrors.”

“I’m sure there are illusionists who would do it that way.”

“I think I understand it all. Except the gloves turning into ravens at the beginning. Where did they go?”

“Right here.” Peter pulled his gloves out of his pockets, much to the amusement of the Earl’s entourage. “Maybe you will understand it next time. Another viewing?”

“You must come to St. James’s Park. We'll gather our best minds next time. You'll really have a challenge then. What do you think, Iphigenia, dear?”

The Earl turned to a woman sitting a little farther in the room.

When he saw her, Peter forgot to breathe. Those plump, pink cheeks, and that gorgeous mouth, but her golden eyes had lost their mischievous glint.

Jennie.

Peter’s heart swelled with hope.

She was a woman now, and what a woman. The low neck and short sleeves of her elaborate green dress, showed off skin so creamy and fair he wanted to dip a spoon in it-- actually, to hell with a spoon, he would lick it.

He kissed the back of her gloved hand more slowly than decency allowed. He didn’t miss the way her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.

She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she didn’t recognize him.

The Earl put a proprietary arm around her, and Jennie smiled sweetly at him. Peter’s heart plummeted.

“I shall like to see these creatures of the night for myself,” the Earl said.

“Another time, perhaps. If you will forgive, I must see to it that they cannot escape... And I need to go look for my birds.”

He held Jennie’s gaze for a moment, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but her face betrayed nothing. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands.

Peter returned to his hotel. He discarded his wig and fake beard and loosened his neck tie. Only one thing would do to deal with this: la fée verte. He poured an inch of absinthe into a crystal stemmed glass and placed a slotted spoon across the rim with a sugar cube over it. He liked the ritual— at least for the first glass or two, then it was straight from the bottle— like a magic trick, positioning precisely each piece, then as he trickled cold water over the sugar, the liquid turned cloudy unlike his mind. Absinthe produced such a sharp sort of drunkenness, and his memories became that much more vivid: the green, dry scent of sawdust in his father’s workshop, the ribbed smoothness of a grosgrain ribbon between his finger, her laughter in bursts of light.

≑

The first time they met, they were only children. Her straw bonnet hung crookedly over her messy blond curls, and blue ribbons floated beside her cheek. She introduced herself as Jennie, but he knew who she was: Iphigenia Goldfinch, daughter of the Baron. Her father owned most of the hamlet where they lived, a remote corner of Northumberland, between the Scottish border and the North sea. Peter worked for him. He was but a farm boy, having to earn his own living now that he was an orphan. Other children never spoke to him, they thought him a bit odd, and the circumstances of his parents’ death didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him flip the wooden raven between his fingers.

“I’m looking for my bird,” he replied. “Do you think it’s in the bushes?”

Jennie followed him to the edge of the forest. Peter picked a small purple flower.

“Perhaps it made its nest amongst the petals.”

“What are you talking about?”

He struck a match and lit the flower. With a flourish of his hand, it vanished in a puff of smoke, and was replaced by a black feather. Her hand flew to her chest, followed by delighted laughter. He decided then and there to make her smile and laugh as much as possible.

They became inseparable. Jennie would bring him food and blankets, and whatever material he needed for his latest magic trick. She dreamt of becoming an actress, so they would put on elaborate performances. As they grew older, their act became more and more complex, lengthy skits with scenarios, costumes, decors and monologues heavily borrowed from Shakespeare. Sometimes for an audience, but more often for their own entertainment. She never asked for the secret behind his tricks, and sometimes he wouldn’t have known how to explain, cards floated in the air, handkerchiefs vanished and wilted flowers bloomed anew.

The other peasants warned him to stay away from her. “If the Baron finds out…” they said. But neither of Jennie’s parents seemed to care. Her father was never home, always in London, allegedly on business. The baroness preferred the company of ghosts. Even at a young age, Peter wondered which was worse: that one’s parents had died or that they didn’t care about their child. They were both orphans in their own way.

And so, Jennie and Peter sheltered each other from the harsh and confusing realities of adulthood. They surrounded themselves with magic and forgot all the rest.

As Peter grew older, he began to understand what he’d been warned against. What they said he would want but couldn’t have.

When she turned thirteen, her father hired a chaperone, and they had to find creative ways of meeting. An abandoned hut in the forest became their refuge after the chaperone had dozed off for the night.

For his fifteenth birthday, she gave him his first kiss, and he promised they would always be together.

For her fifteenth birthday, the baron came back to Featherstone Hall and announced his intention to take his daughter away to London. That night, Jennie ran to him with her jewels wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“We have to go!”

She was always more courageous than him. He hesitated for too long. Her father’s men came after them. They hid in their secret hut, huddled together in the cold night, as dogs sniffed and barked around.

“Make us disappear,” she begged. “Please, Peter, make us disappear.”

He tried.

He failed.

He waited for her.

But she never came back from London, and so, without an anchor, Peter drifted away.

≑

An insistent knock at his hotel door woke Peter up. His head hurt from too much absinthe. He’d slept the morning away. On the doorstep, he found a simple, handwritten note: “Meet me”.

He quickly washed the smudged eyeliner off his face and changed out of last night’s clothes before heading out where a coach awaited.

The cold november wind whipped the tail of his coat about and he held down his hat as he stepped inside the carriage. It was empty.

The carriage drove around for fifteen minutes, Peter rubbed up and down his arms, looking out the window for clues of his anonymous caller. He dearly hoped the message was from Jennie, but it wasn’t rare for some married women to seek him out after a show. His act thrilled them, reminded them that life was too short for a boring husband.

They reached a busy thoroughfare. Peter huffed impatiently at being stuck in traffic. Suddenly, the carriage door opened and someone slipped in directly from the coach beside his. A woman in a garnet-red dress, a veil concealed her face. Peter put a foot up on the bench, sprawling with a cocky smile, a reflex in female company.

When she lifted the veil, he recognized Jennie. Though the carriage was in motion, she had yet to sit. The feather on her hat wobbled and brushed against the ceiling.

“Are you Peter McHoolihee of Northumberland?”

“The one and only.”

She inspected him with narrowed eyes.

“It really is me, Jennie,” he assured her.

She sat on the bench opposite him.

“No one has called me that in ages,” she said.

She didn’t look as happy as he expected her to be. Staring down at her hands, she fidgeted with her wedding ring. The size of the gemstones was an unwelcome reminder of all the things Peter couldn’t buy her despite his fame.

“How long have you been back in England?” she asked.

“Three days.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I’d been gone long enough. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Although she’d learned to mask her emotions better, he recognized that slightly puckered forehead that belied her words.

“So, you’re Peter Vincent now.”

“And you’re a countess.”

“Only since last week.”

“I’m too late, then.”

“Twelve years too late. At least your magic tricks have improved.”

There was a bitterness to her tone he matched in his reply.

“So have your acting skills.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you must have done something to make an Earl want to marry below his station.”

“Must you be so unpleasant?”

“Must you be married?”

They outstared each other. The carriage creaked and horseshoes beat the gravel path, filling the silence. Jennie broke the staring first and looked out the window.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked after a long moment. “I wrote to everyone in Featherstone for news of you, but you had left without a trace. I tried to find you.”

“So did I. I went to London.”

“You did?” Her face broke into a grin.

Since their first kiss, he’d learned how to seduce women, but now, one smile from her and he was a fumbling teenager again. His palms were clammy, and he couldn’t think of a single smart thing to say. Just like the courageous but naive seventeen year-old lad he had once been, the one who set out for London with only the clothes on his back and a literal ace up his sleeve.

But the city was much larger than he’d anticipated, and the sight of rich gentlemen-- the kind she may be presented to-- discouraged him. He found work on a cargo ship sailing to Denmark; if he traveled the world, educated himself and became rich, then he might be worthy of her. He roamed the Continent, taking odd jobs and performing magic tricks. But as he journeyed East, he started hearing legends of blood-sucking creatures, and his purpose evolved.

In Poland, he met Emily de Laszowska Gerard, a writer and literary critique. Scottish by birth, she took a liking to Peter and his skills, and hired him to work in her home. Her library contained many a book about myths and legends that they read together. When her husband, a Polish chevalier, twenty years her senior, was stationed in Transylvania, Peter followed them. Still officially a member of staff, but in fact, he and Emily researched the local vampire lore. She even published a book about Transylvanian superstitions the next year. She was the first person, after Jennie, to whom Peter revealed what he had seen kill his parents. She was also the first person, after Jennie, to kiss him. She was older than him by six years and taught him how to give a woman pleasure. They enjoyed each other’s company, but he didn’t love Emily as he had Jennie. Eventually, her husband found out about the affair and kicked him out. Armed with a new confidence and knowledge on two equally mysterious creatures— vampires and women— he started his life as Peter Vincent.

He didn’t confess his insecurities and affairs to Jennie, only summed up that he hadn’t found her in London and then started travelling.

“No wonder you could not find me in London. Father hired this dreadful tutor, and locked me up for hours with her so she might teach me everything a lady should know.”

“So he might offer you to the highest bidder?”

She didn’t deny the allegation, but amended, “He wanted a better life for me, better than I had with Mother. But I did not want it.”

“I’m sure you managed to sneak out every once in a while.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and his stomach swooped. Even if she spoke like a proper lady, in his presence her northern accent and idioms resurfaced. And he laughed, still incredulous that the baron’s daughter was so bold, and that she even deigned talk to him. Him, a peasant boy. It felt like they had never been apart. As he spoke, he lost his cocky façade, and Jennie leaned towards him, elbows on knees.

“I never escaped very far. Not as far as you did.”

“I crossed the continent. I saw Russia and the Ottoman Empire. Always searching… I learned about myths and the origins of faith and fear in men.”

“And vampires?”

“I saw what looked like the victims of vampires: illnesses that medicine has yet to explain, and corpses that decomposed in odd ways, but no real vampire. I must have imagined it all. It became inspiration for my show.”

He switched seat to be next to her, his legs pressed against hers, but she didn’t move. Head cocked to one side, she openly studied him. He didn’t feel unrecognized by her anymore. Her honey-brown eyes warmed him more than the autumn sun shining on his stubbled cheek.

“All that wandering, did you ever find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“In some measure. But something was always missing.” He brought her hands to his lips, holding her gaze, and turned on the charm.

Jennie chuckled softly. “I see you learned about more than folklore.”

“Shall I demonstrate?”

He scooted closer to her, Jennie instinctively leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially.

“You may.”

He ran his hands up, from her wrists to her shoulders, and rested them on her neck. His thumb brushed her jaw, and her lips parted. He had dreamt of those lips. He kissed her as slowly as his weak restraints allowed. He needed her to think about this kiss for days and weeks to come. He needed her to blush every time she was with her husband, and take pleasure in tasting the memory on her lips. He kissed her deeply, adoringly, and feeling her melt against him was his reward.

Too soon, the carriage stopped.

“I have to go,” she said.

Peter caught her arm to stop her, though his grip was light, she winced as if he’d hurt her which alarmed him.

“Rough honeymoon?”

“My husband is… mercurial.”

“Run away with me. I’m rich now.”

“You think that ever mattered to me?” She swiped his fringe to the side and kissed his forehead, but the gesture was too forlorn for him to enjoy. “I wish I could-- there’s so much to explain... Richard would hunt us down.”

“Jennie…”

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“When can I see you again?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.”

And she vanished into the street crowd.

≑

Part 2

#Teninch Fic #ktrosesworld #Peter Vincent #peter vincent x jenny #I start feeling queasy when I don't post fic for a while #I hope you guys will like this despite the unusual pairing #Lostinfic writes stuff #autumn prompts #Raven & Goldfinch #the raven and the goldfinch

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metalandmagi · 6 years

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August Media Madness

Well, August may have sucked for me personally, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t keep track of all the media I consumed this month! And spoiler alert, I watched a lot of movies involving adorable talking bears. Although, I have a feeling that as soon as the fall television premieres start, I’ll be watching a lot less movies.

July’s media

Movies!

Dear Evan Hansen

Thank you bootlegs. This isn’t a movie, but I didn’t want to make a separate category for plays when I’ve only seen one this month. Anyway, if you haven’t heard of it, Dear Evan Hansen involves an incredibly anxious teenage boy who is tasked by his therapist to write motivational letters to himself. Unfortunately, Connor Murphy, an angsty boy who goes to Evan’s school sees one of the letters, takes it, and promptly decides to kill himself, with the letter still on his person. Everyone ends up thinking he and Evan were friends and that this letter was a suicide note that Connor wrote to Evan...and a beautiful fake gay relationship friendship was born. Call me basic as hell, but I’ve watched this show twice now, and listened to the soundtrack more times than I can count, and it’s turning into my favorite musical. There are so many important messages in it, and it takes you on a roller coaster of emotions. Every character does good and bad things, and no one is blameless or innocent...except maybe Zoe Murphy. If anything just listen to the soundtrack. 10/10

Night on the Galactic Railroad

Cats...on a mystical train...This seems like the kind of movie they would show you in film school. Very dull plot and characters with the themes being the main takeaway. What even is the plot of this movie? Darker, grittier, furry version of the Polar Express? Incredibly boring slightly more religious version of Over the Garden Wall? I just kept watching it because the main character looks like a cat version of Kagayama Tobio in middle school...cat-gayama. 4/10

Paddington

An adorable bear from South America travels to London and gets into all sorts of trouble with an English family. It’s very charming and sweet, and the aesthetic in this movie is on point, like Wes Anderson directed a children’s movie. This is one of those movies you hear about where everyone loves it, and you think it can’t possibly be that good, but then you watch it and you were wrong! So wrong! 10/10

Paddington 2

Naturally. This time an adorable South American bear goes to prison, and his family tries to clear his name. Again, A+ aesthetic and imagery, but I think I preferred the plot of the first movie a little more because everyone was all together. 9/10

Christopher Robin

Do you like Winnie the Pooh? Do you like jaded adults finding happiness in their lives again? Do you think the movie Hook had a good premise but was extremely long and kinda boring and could have been a better movie with a little tweaking? Well this is the movie for you! Christopher Robin has grown into an overworked adult, and his old friend Winnie the Pooh inadvertently helps him reconnect with his wife and daughter (and also his inner child) just by being the sweet, clumsy, dry humored bear we all know and love. I was so skeptical of this movie at first, and I was absolutely blown away by how funny and meaningful it was. 100/10

The Road to El Dorado

Two lovable Spanish con men named Miguel and Tulio are accidentally swept away on a journey to the fabled city of El Dorado, where everything is made of gold. Once they reach the city, the locals believe they’re gods due to an (un)fortunate series of coincidences, and the con men try to keep up the charade with the help of the best character in the movie, Chel (who I’m pretty sure caused an entire generation of lesbians’ sexual awakening). This is one of my favorite animated movies of all time and one of the reasons I wish Dreamworks would go back to their 2D animation days, where the visuals and music were just as stunning as 3D movies are now. This movie is a classic, and I desperately want a sequel! 10/10

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

When Lara Jean thinks it’s a good idea to write 5 secret love letters to 5 boys that she’s had crushes on over the years, everything is fine until her little sister mails the letters to all the boys (because even a 6th grader knows Lara Jean is lonely and emotionally stunted as fuck). This is a Netflix original movie that was adapted from the book by Jenny Han...which I haven’t read, but now I really want to. Overall, this was super cute, but I wasn’t really crazy about the boys. They weren’t horrible people or anything, and they never pressured Lara Jean or made fun of her for being “innocent”, but they were just kind of bland. I’m much more interested in the other boys we didn’t see in the movie! But the family relationships were so heartfelt, Lara Jean’s fashion sense is AMAZING, and the acting/casting was awesome. 8/10

Summer Wars

I...don’t even know how to describe the plot of this one. A teenage boy named Kenji goes on a country holiday and pretends to date an acquaintance of his in order to impress her enormous family...but it’s really about an AI that becomes sentient and wants to mess up the world through this universal internet program called OZ that’s kind of like a mashup of Facebook and Second Life...but actually no it’s about family sticking together and using a Japanese card game to save the world…but apparently it’s got the same plot as the Digimon movie because they’re both directed by Mamoru Hosoda. Yeah...

Guys, I have a confession to make...this has always been my favorite Mamoru Hosoda movie. Everyone falls all over themselves saying Wolf Children is the best Mamoru Hosoda movie, and that’s great for them but it doesn’t even come in second for me. Summer Wars means a lot more to me personally because I come from a big extended family, and when I first saw this movie, I was blown away by how accurate the family dynamic was. There are so many characters, but everyone has their own personality. Not to mention the music makes the summer atmosphere so on point. And I’m not going to lie...I bawled like a fucking baby the first time I saw this movie. So anyway, I like Summer Wars more than Wolf Children, thanks for coming to my TED talk. 10/10

Atlantis: The Lost Empire

Unappreciated researcher Milo Thatch goes on an expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis.

Okay, there are two kinds of Disney fans in this world: Treasure Planet fans, and Atlantis fans. And I will support Treasure Planet as the best underrated vaguely steampunk inspired Disney movie until you can pry my 15 year old dvd copy away from my cold dead hands. But Atlantis is pretty good too. I could write essays comparing the two and why both of them should be successful but weren’t. My main problem with it is that the characters are great, but I feel like we don’t see enough of them, and as a kid a lot of the humor went by so fast that I completely missed it. Also the glowing eyes and spirits taking over the Atlantian princess’s body freaked me the fuck out as a child. NEVERTHELESS! This really is a great movie, with extremely well developed lore and well designed characters that chills me to this day. 8/10

Deadpool 2

The merc with a mouth is back, and man there’s so much going on in this movie I won’t even try to explain the plot. I literally had to go back and add this in because I was so into this movie when I was watching it that I forgot to write it down! Even though I really liked this sequel, I think I liked the first one better, just based on how much I laughed. There was so much going on plot wise, but it really seemed to work for this movie. There were also a lot of great new characters (Domino is my favorite character of the franchise now), but since there was so much stuff going on, a lot of jokes and plot lines were sort of hit and miss. Anyway, I’m sure everyone’s seen this one by now but just in case, I highly recommend it. 9/10

Books!

The Adventure Zone Graphic Novel: Here There be Gerblins by Clint McElroy (technically all the McElboys) and Carey Pietsch

Yeah yeah, for anyone who doesn’t know I’m Adventure Zone trash okay. TAZ is a DnD podcast where 3 brothers and their father create one of the most famous campaigns in history involving three idiot adventurers going on a quest to find a missing person and getting sucked into a much larger grand plan to protect the world. This graphic novel is a visualization of the first arc. I don’t even really like Here There be Gerblins all that much, and yet here I am. Oh well, the art was amazing, and of course I already knew the story. But it was kind of hilarious to see the name changes they had to make to some of the characters and places. I was a little disappointed that the ending was so rushed, and we don’t really spend time around the moon base before The Director is in our face changing the Lunar Interlude parts but whatever. 10 dead gerblins/10

The Darkest Minds by Alexandra Bracken

When a disease that only affects children kills off nearly all the kids on the planet, the survivors are left with supernatural powers and are taken away to concentration camps in order to “protect” the public. I’ve been wanting to read this for a long time, and since the movie just came out I thought it was the perfect time. This is one of those books that some people adore and some people hate. I thought it was just okay. For everything that I didn’t like, there was something to make up for it. Personally, I felt that Bracken focused on the wrong part of the story. Everything takes place years after this disease has come, and I think it would have been more interesting to see everything from the children’s points of view when this disease was first starting. I would focus on each different character as a child and how they wound up in their respective camps. Oh well, there’s way too many pros and cons that I could delve into, but you like the YA dystopian genre then I say go for it. I didn’t like it enough to read the other two books (not yet anyway). 7/10

TV Shows!

Camp Camp

You know how there are summer camps that specialize in science, or acting, or space, or whatever? Yeah Camp Camp is about a summer camp that throws literally everything you can think of into one summer camp. If you don’t believe me, just listen to the theme song. Seriously though this is one of the best shows I’ve watched all year, but boy howdy this is not one for young children. It’s like Gravity Falls and Rick and Morty had a baby! Anyway, the characters are both surprising and hilarious. David the camp counselor (voiced by Miles Luna) is genuinely likable when you think he’d be the most annoying person on the planet, and the kids are so accurate it’s scary. Also Yuri Lowenthal is in it. And Griffin McElroy has a recurring role where he plays A GHOST! I’ve never been into Rooster Teeth stuff, but they have a winner with this one. 10/10

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

After her husband leaves her, Midge Maisel gets super drunk, goes on stage, and gives a hilarious rant about her relationship at a small comedy/talent club and somehow gets sucked into becoming a rising comedian as a woman in the 1950s. It’s good. Great acting pretty funny, but Midge and her agent/manager Susie are the only likable characters. Everyone else just kind of...sucks 8/10

Voltron Season 7 (spoilers)

Okay, I know everyone had mixed feelings about this season, but I did come out liking a lot of it. It had a lot of flaws (I really thought it would be Shiro’s season, and man was I wrong), but this is the sort of thing we can’t really judge until the last episode of the series is finished. I like to think of the positives: the action was amazing as usual, HUNK IS GETTING MORE AND MORE DEVELOPMENT EVERY SEASON, I refuse to believe the team introduced Adam just to have him killed off immediately so he’s still alive in my mind, we get to see everyone’s reunions with their families, the lost in space episode was cool, and say what you want about the game show episode, but I loved it! There were a lot of good things so it was easier for me to look past the...not so great aspects of the season. 7/10

Galavant

A musical comedy mini series involving a renowned medieval hero named Galavant on a quest to rescue his ex girlfriend from her “evil” husband King Richard. But maybe she doesn’t want to be rescued. Well, that’s just the first season. It’s best to go in knowing as little as possible. I remember liking it when it first came out, and it’s still pretty cute...but sometimes I feel like it’s trying too hard. A lot of the music isn’t really...memorable, but the characters are likable so it’s still worth the watch. 8/10

Disenchantment

Speaking of medieval comedies...Princess Bean doesn’t want to get married, mystical elf Elfo doesn’t want to live in an enchanted forest where everyone is happy all the time, and Bean’s personal demon Luci just wants to watch people suffer. Honestly, I wasn’t very into this show at first, but something compelled me to just keep watching, and by the end I was totally into it! This is one of those shows where you think there isn’t going to be a plot, but then the last few episodes come up and smack you in the face! 7.5/10

Round Planet

A documentary parody...mockumentary...satire...That’s really not a great way to describe it. It’s a nature documentary with funny commentary. I like nature shots and animals so I liked it, but there’s a lot of tangents and running jokes and British references that sometimes don’t land. Oh well, if you like unconventional documentaries, just watch it. 8/10

Honorable Mentions

DnDnD: I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this podcast before, but there’s a DnD podcast made by Practical Folks (aka the Drunk Disney youtube channel). It’s pretty good! I want an Adventure Zone crossover now!

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild: Every time I think I’m out, it pulls me back in. I finally got the DLC and spent most of this month playing this freaking game AGAIN!

The Heathers soundtrack: I finally listened to the Heathers musical soundtrack...and I didn’t love it. There are some good songs in it, but overall I’m unimpressed. And I never could really get into the plot, I’ve always thought it was really weird and over dramatic.

Legendary by Stephanie Garber: I’m about halfway through this book, which is the second in the Caraval series. And it’s pretty good! More on that next month.

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