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ivy-kissobryos · 4 years ago

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Thai Folk Magic

Below are some analysis of folk spells from Thailand, along with the theories of how magic works. All quotes are from "Monks and Magic: Revisiting a Classic Study of Religious Ceremonies in Thailand" by Barend Jan Terwiel. First, we will discuss love spells. Totally recommend the book to anyone interested. Everything that I read so far seem very accurate to what I experienced growing up.

Love Magic

One man reputedly won his wife by drawing a simple magical diagram, one of the category of the yan napaṭhamaṃ, while thinking intensively of the woman he wished to marry and saying the appropriate khatha. He waited seven days for the magic to take effect and, when approaching her, he noticed that she was more favourably inclined towards him. Yan napaṭhamaṃ means literally: ‘The first, or foremost letter N diagram’. The letter N occurs frequently in Thai mystical drawings, probably because it may be regarded as an extreme abbreviation of the expression namo buddhāya, hail to the Buddha.

The idea of drawing holy symbols in order to bring about an outcome is something common among many cultures, both eastern and western (like in Catholic folk magic where the cross is drawn for protection and to invoke the higher powers). I just find this intriguing because I keep seeing the symbol of the yan napaṭhamaṃ pretty much everywhere in Thailand, both painted on the ceiling of a taxi, on top of doorways or in front of windows. Good to finally find out what it means.

Another method to ensure the love of a woman, also reported by Textor, is to sit close by her while smoking a cigarette. The man should draw smoke deep into his lungs and, whilst softly saying the right spell, blow out the smoke so that it envelops her. A much stronger method consists of scooping up some earth with the big toe of the right foot, taking the earth in the right hand and rubbing it on the top of the head, whilst invoking the goddess of the earth, Mother Thorani (ธรณี), to assist in the acquisition of a bride.

The last two examples reveal that, as the magical practices become more strong and persuasive, less attractive material is used. It is not pleasant to be enveloped in smoke, and rubbing earth over one’s head is an action no Thai will perform lightly. The earth is often associated with pollution because it can be the recipient of human waste and animal droppings. Moreover, scooping up a bit of earth with the foot must be regarded as an abnormal, ‘inverted’ activity. The feet are the parts of the body that are held in lowest regard, and reaching for something with the foot is regarded in Thailand as the epitome of bad manners.

It is said among men that prostitutes use a similar magic. Reputedly a prostitute sprinkles some water that contains vaginal excretion at the doorposts and above the door of the house where she lives. A man walking near the door may suddenly be irresistibly drawn over the threshold. If he is wearing his string of amulets he should quickly take it off and give it to a friend in safe keeping before entering the house.

The quotes above is interesting in that the concept of holiness and unholiness (or pollution) is used to compel someone, with love/compulsion being viewed as a dirty thing.

When a woman is convinced that her husband gives cause for jealousy she may make a potion or a powder that contains some of her vaginal excretion. If a man consumes some food that contains this potion or powder, he reputedly loses interest in all other women and devotes his complete attention to the woman from whose secretions the mixture was made. A woman who resorts to these means should take care to practise this kind of magic in secret; if the man finds out that his food has been treated in such a manner, he would be very angry indeed, for her vaginal excretion will surely have destroyed the power of many of his tattoos and amulets and rendered him vulnerable.

Here, bodily fluids are used. This is like in various folk magic where menstrual blood is dropped into the food of someone in order to compel them to be attracted to you. What is more intriguing is the notion that something unclean like vaginal excretion could be used to render magical tattoos and amulets useless. Extrapolating from that, I believe that if one wishes to desecrate something, one could sprinkle water mixed with vaginal excretions onto it.

He reports that, if a woman fears that her husband has been treated with the vaginal excretion of another woman, she should obtain water from the bottom of three or seven taxi boats, and some moss from around the sanctuary of a monastery, or from the boundary stones of a bot. If her husband eats food containing a mixture of these materials, his previously alienated affection is restored. The substances chosen to counter the effects of aggressive love magic of another woman are obviously considered magically powerful in their own right [...] Water from the bottom of taxi boats must be seen as polluted and aggressive: it is where the wood starts rotting, the stagnant water has often an unpleasant smell, and it may contain particles of dirt from the feet of countless passengers. Moss that grows on the sanctuary of a monastery appears more ambiguously charged. On the one hand, it can usually be found on ground level, and may have been dirtied by the many dogs that roam the premises. On the other hand, a small amount of the beneficial power that is continually generated in the building itself may have permeated as far as the mossy outside. It seems, however, that the aggressive aspects prevail for the moss is reported to be one of the ingredients of a magically highly potent substance used to kill enemies.

For clarifications, a "bot" as referred to in the quote above translates roughly to temple. Again, the concept of sympathetic magic is used, dirtiness contrasted with holiness. Now let's discuss where magic comes from within this belief system.

Origins of Magic

In order to make a pressed or printed image, commonly known as phra phim (พระ พิมพ์), a monk needs, apart from the mould, a recipe, the proper ingredients, and considerable knowledge of spells, the sacred script and magical drawings. Historians will be sad to hear that one of the common ingredients of phra phim is the ash obtained from burning the oldest handwritten sacred books of the monastery [...] The amulets derive their protective power partly from the association with powerful things. The phra phim are made from sacred ingredients.

Phra phim is a type of flat, printed amulet. Amulets are sacred because something within them is sacred. The idea of burning holy texts to add power to a spell or enchantment is also similar to other forms of folk magic, such as in Catholic folk magic where psalms may be written and burnt and their ashes be used for protection or other purposes. However, as will be explained below, consecration is needed to make the amulets functioning.

In general, the inherent quality of the amulets is considered insufficient to ensure protection to the person who wears them. Apart from being made from auspicious material and depicting powerful symbols, the amulets usually ought to be sacralized. This sacralization can take many forms. The most elementary sacralization ritual, called pluksek (ปลุกเสก), can be observed, for example, when a monk gives a small Buddha image to a layman. Taking the image in both hands, the monk brings it close to his mouth and murmurs a short Pali formula. While uttering the final syllable of the spell, the monk may blow sharply upon this Buddha image. Some monks prefer to draw a simple yan over the amulet with the index finger of the right hand or with a pencil while saying the Pali words.

I used to translate "pluksek” as consecration, but here I can see why sacralization also makes sense. The way breath is used to imbue powers in an object is also a universal thing that is present in many forms of magic.

Another thing that is of note is that magic isn't simply sympathetic, but also based upon the concept of proximity and contagion.

The closer to the seat of magical power, the stronger is the influence of that force. Any object of the appropriate shape that is exposed to a strong dose of magical power will become a secondary seat of the force. This has been amply demonstrated in the rituals surrounding amulets [...] This is why the bundles of such objects are placed near a monk who is preaching, why the begging bowl of an ordinand contains them, and why bowls of water stand near the monks who complete their pavāraṇā ceremony. The principle is apparent in the rituals designed to sacralize amulets as well as those where a bowl of water is charged.

Placing water near a monk speaking holy words makes the water somewhat more holy than it was before. But, magic isn't just man-made. It's all around us, a part of the natural world.

It has been shown that, in addition to the protective power that emanates from people who utter sacred words or who meditate, there are ambiguous forces in the animated world, forces that may protect, but that could also be harmful. Examples of the ambiguous powers are the gods, the spirits of the ancestors, the anthropomorphic and theriomorphic powers that live in nature and are the legendary original owners of the environment, and guardian spirits.

There is no sharp division between physical powers of nature and magical power. The earth, which possesses the capacity to make plants grow and thrive, is sometimes seen in the shape of a beautiful female, Mae Thorani. Under the earth is the domain of the chief of the Nak, a serpent-like shape with the face of a dragon. The wind, the river, a tree, a house, and the monastery, each of these is connected with one or more unseen powers, conceived of in anthropomorphic form, and each of these unseen powers has its specific likes and dislikes. A farmer learns to attract their attention with candles, incense, and flowers, and develops skills in addressing and pleasing them. Nature has provided men with unexpected seats of power. For example, a termite hill may acquire a reputation for bringing luck; or when lightning strikes a building, the scorched plaster is regarded as magically powerful. A lump of resin that shows the shape of a Buddha is sacred, and a big stone that is dragged up from the river brings prosperity when laid in the rice-storage hut.

Death and the Afterlife

Now, I wish to discuss something less about magic and more about religion.

In the mouth a coin is placed, which the soul of the dead person needs in order to pay the fare to cross the underworld river, guarded by Phra Ketkaew Culamani, (เก็จแก้วจุฬมณี) or ‘Lord Bright Gem Jewel’. Probably this is Yama, the Hindu god who presides over the dead and who is described as ‘with a glittering form, a crown on his head’. This is followed by the ritual of tra sang (ตราสัง), ‘binding the corpse’. The undertaker uses a piece of white unspun cotton thread to bind the neck, feet and hands whilst saying the Pali formula: ‘Putto gīve, dhano pade, bhariya hatthe’. This is interpreted as a spell with which to free a person from the three strongest ties in this world: from the tie of children (whilst putting a loop with the cord around the neck), from wealth (when binding the feet), and from the tie of the spouse (while the hands are tied).

Two things are interesting here. First, being that payment is needed to cross an underworld river. This is very reminiscent of the myth of Charon and the crossing of river styx. The second interesting point is the use of binding magic. I have witness the ritual performed but at the time, I didn't understand what it meant. The irony of binding someone in order to free them is also very striking.

Other Tai peoples, especially the White and Black Tais of northern Vietnam, who do not seem to be influenced by Buddhism, have quite different views. In their eyes, a person has many khwan that, upon death, divide themselves in groups; some khwan go to the spirit world above, some are conducted to the house and can be worshipped on the ancestral shrine, while the remainder stay in the grave.

The quote above explores the question many people may ask: where do souls go after we die? I have pondered this question many times- if I give all that I am to the Witchfather, would my soul continue to serve Him even after death? If I devote myself to the Theoi, do I get to gain entry to the Hellenic afterlife? Would that mean that upon death, I could never interact with the spirits of my ancestors again as we are of different religious beliefs? The concept of khwan solves this line of thinking, in my opinion. There are many independent khwan in your body, just like your body is made up of millions of miniscule cells. Perhaps, a part of me would fall into milk and join the Theoi upon death, perhaps another will stay here to guide whoever comes after me. We are multitudes, both in life and in death.

#thai magic

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ohpretty-baby · 5 years ago

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hesitation

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader ; established relationship

⇥ genre: angst, fluff, jungkook’s kind of a lost puppy in this one lmao

⇥ synopsis: “can i kiss you?” ; you storm out of the house in the middle of an argument and jungkook doesn’t know what to do when you finally come back to him.

⇥ warnings: cursing

⇥ word count: 3.2k

a/n: for the anon who asked for an angsty fluff with kook! thanks so much for requesting <3 hope you enjoy! (if you don’t enjoy, feel free to request again!)

i’m slowly but surely getting through my requests :) thank you for being patient. things have been kind of stressful as exams for me are coming up soon.

hope everyone is being safe! i love you <3

It’s 4 AM, and Jungkook can’t be bothered to even try to get some rest. His eyes are bloodshot, vision blurry due to his swollen eyelids. The cold night air from the open window hits his bare skin, making him shiver. Jungkook covers himself in the covers, gaze stuck on your side of the bed.

It’s empty, the wrinkles on the mattress insufficient to make Jungkook satisfied. Instead he’s restless, tears staining his cheeks and pooling onto his pillow without him even knowing. He sniffles, the sound reverberating around the room, proving how quiet it had been without you. Jungkook’s lip quivers before he’s breaking down again, body trembling.

He wishes nothing more than for you to return. For you to come back into his arms and never leave.

It had been two weeks since your argument, when you and Jungkook had been yelling to each other so much to the point that you grabbed your bags and left. He couldn’t even remember what the two of you were fighting about. With plates and glasses shattered all around that day, Jungkook found himself sitting on the tile floor, crawled up in a ball and dazed as he couldn’t exactly process what happened. There were no texts, no calls, nothing at all from you. It was almost as if you had just disappeared from his life.

Jungkook knows that he deserved it. He’s absolutely heartbroken at the fact that he had been so uncooperative and stubborn that he made you feel like you couldn’t even talk to him. He knows that this is all his fault, that if he had just listened to your concerns and talked it through with you, none of this would have happened. He knows that if he had been understanding and patient, you would be lying next to him tonight, your soft body pressed up against him. He would be able to hear your soft breaths as you slept, would be able to see how peaceful you were next to him.

In the deafening silence of the room, Jungkook yearns to apologize to you. He imagines what it would be like to have you in his arms again, to drown in your sweet scent and feel your lips on his once more. The ache in his body has slowly dulled each passing day but was still a constant reminder of his need for your presence. Jungkook finds himself always reaching out for something, but never getting anything in return. He grasps at air and empty space unintentionally, the new action becoming a habit.

He knows that it’s you he’s looking for, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

Jungkook’s deep in a trance and he figures that if he thinks about it hard enough, he can at least pretend to feel your presence around him. He imagines you giving him soothing, butterfly kisses, the thought of your lips on his skin making him feel light with joy yet heavy with heartbreak at the same time. As much as he’d like to cry, his eyes feel strained and the image of you soothing him enough to make him sleepy.

That’s when he hears the faintest sound of a door creak open.

The first thought that registers in his tired, slow brain is that someone broke in and they were going to steal something from him.

So Jungkook ever so quietly grabs his cell phone in and is about to call the police when he shakes his head instead and shoves it in his pocket. It was so late at night, his sleep-deprived brain tells him that if he called the police and the burglar was right downstairs, it would be useless. He reasons that by the time the police come, he would either be dead or the thief would have already gotten away.

In conclusion, self defense is the best option at 4 AM.

The male slowly stands up from the bed, taking a few stretches before going into action. He examines the bedroom hastily in an attempt to find a weapon. However, his attempts are futile until his vision lands on a hardcover book resting on your nightstand. Jungkook grabs it, knocking lightly to see how solid the book was. He nods in satisfaction, clutching it tightly in his hands.

He’s not quite sure how he can use the book, but he hopes that from its wooden cover and hefty weight, it could possibly be enough to knock someone out.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, Jungkook stealthily makes his way down to the living room, where he presumes the thief is. He makes sure to take the lightest steps, as he knows how loud the stairs could be, even with just the tiniest bit of pressure.

In fact, you had a terrible habit of always waking Jungkook up whenever you went downstairs to make yourself a cup of tea in the middle of the night. It made him laugh when you would try to be as quiet as possible but both him and you knew that you would just end up making the stairs creak and groan under your slippers.

After all, you had never really been that much of a light walker.

Pain shoots through his chest as he remembers the sound of you walking downstairs. He shakes it off, lightly slapping himself and feeling stupid for being sad over something as simple as a staircase. Returning his attention to the grave situation at hand, Jungkook reaches the bottom of the stairs, quickly moving to hide behind a thick plant. He’s aware that the criminal can probably see him, but he determines that he’d knock the person out before anyone could spot his hiding place.

Brown eyes scanning the living room, Jungkook sees that no one else was there except for him. Jungkook frowns, the furrow in his brows delving deeper and deeper in his skin.

Then, he hears a soft click from the stove and a sharp, high-pitched sound of water hissing from the kitchen. His ears perk up, more alert now than ever.

He thinks it’s weird for someone to break in just to boil water, but nevertheless, he treads on. He crouches low as he walks, raising the book above his head in order to hit the culprit from behind. His steps are slow, soundless, his heart beating rapidly as adrenaline pulses violently through his veins. He can hear his heart drumming in his ears, blocking out any noise in the house.

But Jungkook keeps his calm, clenching his jaw in anticipation. as he gets ready to attack.

He makes a mental note to praise himself for being so cool at moment like this. Those action movies you loved so much had taught him well. Time slows down for a bit as Jungkook gets distracted by the thought of you. He wonders what you would think of him if you were here, what you’d say when he finally catches the culprit. He thinks you’d probably tease him for using your book as a weapon and you’d scold him for not calling the police right away.

You’d probably say something on the lines of:

“Oh my goodness, Kook, are you stupid?”

He wishes you could be here to say that. His eyelids shut as he hears your voice in his ears.

Realizing once again that his head is in the clouds, Jungkook takes a few moments to steady himself and his thoughts. He inhales deeply, trying to be as levelheaded as possible before carrying out his somewhat improvised plan of a sneak attack.

When he finally enters the kitchen, Jungkook expects himself to rush up behind the intruder and knock him out cold. Maybe throw a few punches here and there if he really wanted to feel like a total badass.

Instead, he feels the book slip from out of his hands and he hears it thud loudly on the ground. The sound doesn’t seem to register with him.

“Ah!”

Jungkook hears you yelp, your body jolting up in response to the sound.

His mouth is agape, jaw fixed and permanently locked in that position as he feels like his eyes are about to fall out of his skull. His throat feels as dry as a desert and his heart beats rapidly against his chest, another greater adrenaline rush quickly coming. His body is stuck frozen in his place, not acknowledging the book that had just fallen on the ground.

He cannot believe the sight before him. He cannot believe the fact that you’re standing in front of the stove, arms crossed as you wait for your water to reach your favorite temperature.

For some reason, he could not fathom the idea of you coming back to him and being this close to him.

While your presence is all he can think about, right now, at this moment, you feel foreign to him. It was almost as if you were a hologram, an illusion that he could see but couldn’t actually touch.

“Jungkook?” Although quiet, your voice rings loudly in his ears, bringing him back to earth, “Are you okay?”

You watch him nervously, waiting for him to finally make a response.

But Jungkook can’t muster the strength or the courage to say anything. Instead he just continues to stare at you, eyes tracing the familiar pattern of your facial features that he had missed so much. He takes in the soft puff of your cheeks, wanting nothing more than to hold your face in his hands. The soft moonlight shines on you, displaying the puff of your eyes and the small shiny streaks from dried tears on your skin.

The two of you soak in each other’s presence, taking in how rough the other looked.

He notices how drained you look, how the bags under your eyes had sagged significantly deeper and gotten a few shades darker. He guesses that you can see the red blotches scattered all over his face. The kitchen is noiseless, save for the shallow breaths from both of your lips. Jungkook’s hair is tousled and pulled in every direction, resembling a disheveled bird’s nest. You’re clad in some leggings and his hoodie, while Jungkook has a loose t-shirt on and sweatpants, both of your figures unkempt.

It takes a while before one of you speaks.

“I’m making tea,” Your voice is scratchy, hesitant, “You want some?”

Jungkook nods, finally registering that you were truly in front of him. He then realizes that he had dropped your book, and he promptly bends down to pick it up. Your back is turned to him as you turn of the stove, carefully taking the teapot off the stove. While the water cools down, Jungkook is quick on his feet to grab two mugs and two bags of green tea.

“Oh, thank you,” Your words are painted with genuine surprise when you turn around to see what Jungkook had prepared. You watch, with a small smile on your face, the water turn from clear to green as you pour it in. Jungkook’s gaze is still pinpointed on you and he’s speechless.

He’s sure that you feel extremely awkward, maybe even uncomfortable, because he does as well.

But that really doesn’t matter to him at the moment when he gets to stare at you like this again.

Your eyes meet his, and nothing but pure love and admiration looks back at you, Jungkook’s eyes twinkling when your cheeks turn red. He’s leaning against the counter, head resting on his hand as he continues to say silent, gaze shifting to your mouth as he sees you bite your bottom lip out of habit.

“What’s up with the book?” You attempt to crack a joke in order to lighten the thick air, “Never took you for an Aristotle kind of guy.”

“Aris... what?” Jungkook looks at the book resting in front of him on the counter. He glares at the title, lips absently forming in obscure shapes as he attempts to pronounce the words. His bottom lip juts out as he couldn’t even comprehend how the title is said.

“Nicomachaen Ethics,” You step in, chuckling.

Jungkook’s mouth forms an “o” shape, him now focused on the cover of the book. He can’t seem to decipher what the cover is, wondering who the man drawn on the hardwood was.

“Oh, right,” He mumbles, more to himself rather than to you, realizing that he still hadn’t answered your question, “I thought you were a thief and I was gonna knock you out with this.”

His words are slurred and his voice is thick with fatigue. You giggle as you see his eyelids drooping down slightly as he speaks languidly, and you can’t help but inwardly gush, remembering exactly how cute he was when he was sleepy. He still hasn’t taken a sip of the tea, deciding to just let the steam hit his face.

You focus on the mug in your hands, taking a deep sigh once you finally drink the tea. The hot beverage slides down your throat, warming your body. You hum lightly, lips still pressed against the mug. It’s peaceful in the kitchen, and Jungkook can’t help but feel overjoyed for things to feel somewhat normal.

That’s when dread seeps into his brain.

“Are you leaving me?” His voice trembles, “You’re not leaving me... Are you?”

His doe eyes interlock with yours once more, and instead of admiration, there’s nothing but fear present in him. You can see his eyes shine more and more as the seconds pass by, indicating that they’re welling up with tears. Your expression softens, giving him a sad look.

“Of course not, Kook,” You respond, placing the mug on the counter and fidgeting with it in your hands. Jungkook visibly lets out a sigh of relief and some of the tension knotted in his shoulders releases.

The two of you are both reminded of the fight, your expressions darkening slightly.

“Listen,” Your hand travels to your sleeves, picking at pieces of lint while you speak, “That night... I don’t know why I left you, and I’m-“

Your words are cut off when you feel Jungkook grab your hand. They’re coarse against yours, and he massages your skin with his thumb. You look up to see tears streaming down his face.

“Y/N...” He starts, hiccuping as he sobs, “I’m so sorry for everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“This was all my fucking fault,” His head hangs low, and he places his lips on your knuckles, planting soft kisses, “I’m so sorry.”

“Jungkook...” You let out a shaky breath, “I forgive you. I’m sorry too.”

He shakes his head profusely.

“No, no, this was all because of me,” He faces you, voice breaking with every word, “I really fucked up, didn’t I? I made you leave.”

“Kook, no,” You forget your cup of tea and make your way on over to him, wrapping your arms around him.

Jungkook shakes against your chest, holding your waist ever so gently. He’s careful as not to squeeze you, acting as if you’re a porcelain doll. The scent of vanilla brings Jungkook back to life, and he buries himself in your embrace.

Your hand runs through his messy hair, combing through the knots in an attempt to sooth him. You rest your chin on his head, and when the familiar scent of pinewood wafts in your nose, you realize that tears had been falling down from your eyes as well. You place a kiss on his head, gasping as the tears fall onto his hair.

He notices this and immediately pulls away from your embrace to wipe the tear from your eyes, completely ignoring the ones on his own face.

“Can I...” He rubs his nose nervously, “Can I hug you?”

You nod in response, laughing at his strange question. It seems as if he didn’t notice that he had been holding you this whole time.

Jungkook stands up to pull you close to his chest, and you ball the fabric of his t-shirt in your fists. Incoherent apologies pour out of his mouth, his low voice vibrating against your body. He subtly rocks you back and forth in his arms, his strong arms making you feel secure and safe. The scent of pine is stronger now, calming down every muscle in your body and making your legs feel like jelly.

“I missed this,” You whisper, earning you a chuckle from Jungkook.

“Doll, you have no idea,” He responds but then there’s uncertainty in his words, “Can I call you that still?”

“Yes, you can.”

Usually you would have teased him by now, but it’s obvious that neither of you had enough energy to throw jabs at each other.

“I love you, so much,” He breathes out, desperate to get the words out.

“I love you too.”

The air around you is freezing, but Jungkook’s arms feel warm and welcoming. As your head is pressed against his chest, you feel his heart beating loudly, the rhythm lulling you into a state of peace. Jungkook feels the same serenity, overjoyed to have you here with him again.

Both of your tears are dried, now replaced with an abundance of love and gratitude shared between you and him.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

His cheeks are dusted a slight pink and he gives you a shy smile.

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of responding, you stand on the tips of your toes and connect your lips with his. Electricity shoots down your spine, and your nerves are on fire. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your hands through his hair as you kiss him passionately. Jungkook quickly responds, kissing you with as much, if not, more, fervor.

His hands travel underneath your hoodie, roaming around and massaging your skin. You sigh into the kiss, feeling the familiar, soothing touch of his hands. Jungkook takes this opportunity to gently prod his tongue in your mouth. You welcome him, mingling your tongue with his. After a few seconds, he smiles into the kiss, making your chest feel light and fluttery.

Jungkook pulls away, buried under your hoodie. Your lips are puffy and tingly as you get lost in Jungkook’s eyes. Your chests raise up and down simultaneously, and he rests his forehead against yours, a bright smile plastered on his face.

He places a gentle kiss on your nose, making you giggle in delight. Some hair falls down on your face, and Jungkook raises a hand to tuck the loose strands behind your ear. His gestures are exuding in love and endearment, showing you already all the words he wants to tell you.

“You’re beautiful,” He says out of nowhere, making your face heat up on the sport. You hide in his chest in response, making him coo at you.

“My pretty little doll,” He clicks his tongue, his praise making you melt. Jungkook grabs your chin, gently asking you to look up at him. You comply, and he whistles as he takes another good look at your face. His smile spreads from ear to ear and you find yourself mirroring him, a smile forming on your face as well.

Jungkook doesn’t waste another chance to feel your lips on his again, leaning in to get rid of the space between the two of you.

“What’d I do to ever deserve you?”

#jungkook #bts jungkook #bts jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshot #kookie #bts jungkook fic #bts jungkook angst #bts jungkook fluff

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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What if Florence and Daniel got into a fight bc both of them are stressed out worrying about money and taking care of the kids?? How would my OTP resolve their fight??? 🤔

This was lowkey emotionally draining to write...wowey. 3.3k words later, here’s some proof that Florence and Daniel’s relationship isn’t as perfect and flawless as it seems... x

Monday, November 4th, 2024

Daniel let out a heavy breath as he got into his car after another shift, having spent most of it with his supervisor never being satisfied but that wasn’t new. He turned on the car and connected his phone to Bluetooth to call Florence as he always did before leaving. Strangely, he was sent to voicemail but a text came through instead.

Can you pick up diapers on your way home?

He sighed and replied with a quick ‘ok’ before pocketing his phone and putting the car in reverse. Closer to home, he parked outside the drugstore and headed inside, rushing down the aisles to find the diapers and grabbed the biggest package before bringing it to the cash.

“$37.45.” the cashier said after ringing up the item.

Daniel waved his card and was directed to the machine. He typed in his pin and waited a moment only to be met with card declined: insufficient funds. The glance from the cashier made Daniel feel even worse and he cleared his throat nervously, brushing a hand through his hair before shuffling through his wallet to only be met with a $10 bill and a few loose coins.

“Sorry… I, uh, left my other card at home.” Daniel said softly before leaving the store empty handed.

He sat behind the wheel of his car and tried to steady his breathing after being unable to afford diapers for his baby daughter. After a few moments of trying to calm down and trying not to cry, Daniel turned on the car and headed towards home.

The apartment smelt like burnt supper when he walked in and the noise was insane, the baby’s piecing screams topping it all. No one even heard him come in. Daniel set his guitar case and backpack on the floor in the doorway to the living room, taking in the messy kitchen and loud TV with Clementine sat admits a pile of toys trying to watch it, Penelope on the couch with her face in a pillow and her hands over her ears as she cried, and screaming Lucy in Florence’s arms as the dishevelled looking mother tried to put the dishes in the sink.

“Hey.” Daniel finally spoke, earning the glances of Florence and Clementine.

Clementine jumped up and ran for him as if he was her saviour from the chaos and he picked her up with a tired grunt.

“What’s going on here?” Daniel asked softly.

“Mommy burnt the house down!” Clementine said with a giggle as Daniel carried her towards the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Penelope on the couch for a moment.

“I just burnt the lasagna a bit.” Florence sighed, wiping her damp hand on her shirt that was already covered in tomato sauce and baby drool. Her hair was pulled back but still almost completely falling out of its tie and her makeup-less face looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Did you pick up the diapers?”

Daniel cleared his throat nervously, setting Clementine back on the ground to let her run back off to the TV, “No, my-”

“Goddammit, Daniel, I ask you to do one thing.” Florence snapped as quietly as she could, tossing the pan in the sink a bit too hard, making Lucy scream louder in her arms.

“I tried, I just-”

“It’s not that hard to remember. Your daughter needs diapers. We have, like, four left but that’s fine; when we run out I’ll just tie one of your shirts around her like a freaking monkey at the zoo.”

“Florence, what is going on?” Daniel asked at her obvious stressed out state.

“I had to pick up Penelope only an hour after dropping her off this morning because the teacher called and said she had a meltdown and wouldn’t relax and everything is setting her off today. The damn oven beeped and she lost her mind. Of course Lucy’s crying only makes it worse and she won’t shut up because she’s teething.” Florence pushed her finger in the five-month-old’s mouth to get a look at her swollen gums and the baby just cried louder. “She also pooped all over everything today which is why we needed new diapers earlier than planned because her personal nuclear bomb ruined half the things on the change table.”

Daniel watched with wide eyes as she rushed over to grab the last two plates from the dining room table and tossed them in the sink too before turning on the tap and letting the water run over everything.

“And Clementine is demanding that she gets this new set for her doll that everyone has at school. She won’t even hear of it for Christmas because she needs it now.” Florence continued. “And she keeps testing me! Judging everything I do like she’s the adult. ‘Mommy, the lasagna’s burnt’. Like I didn’t know!”

“Okay.” Daniel sighed softly, reaching over the counter to take the crying baby from her and made his way to the freezer to take the cold teething ring out and held it out to Lucy. “I’ll take the girls and get them ready for bed and then we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. I wanted you to get the diapers like I fucking asked.” Florence grumbled.

“Flora.” Daniel snapped sharply to shut her up.

His glare certainly helped, and she clenched her jaw before looking back to the dishes without another word. Daniel bounced the baby lightly as she kept screaming through the teething ring he desperately tried to put in her mouth as he headed back to the living room.

“Clem, angel, can you tidy up your toys and go get your pyjamas on please?” Daniel asked softly as he turned off the TV.

The almost six-year-old nodded and got up from the rug, starting to gather her things, “There’s a new set you can buy for my dolls, Daddy. It’s a whole car they can ride in and the radio even plays music! It’s really nice and all the girls in my class has it. I wanna get it so we can play together at school.”

“We’ll think about it.” Daniel said, trying to hold back his nausea from the harsh inset of reality. He wanted nothing more than to buy that stupid toy car for his daughter but it was no where near realistic. He set Lucy in her playpen with the teething ring before moving to tend to his middle daughter who was still face down on the couch with her hands over her ears. When he set his hand on her back she startled. “Just me, bug.”

Penelope rolled over, giving him a good look of her swollen red eyes and matted dark hair and tear streaked cheeks, and she held her arms up to him through a hiccup.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Daniel pouted as he bent down and scooped her up, the four-year-old cuddling right into him through her sniffles as he took her to her room to get her cleaned up for bed. He sung softly as he wiped her face clean with a damp cloth and got her into her pyjamas, something that always helped calm her down, and he took his time to help both her and Clementine brush their teeth and comb their hair before tucking them into bed.

Daniel grabbed Lucy for story time, all three girls cuddled up with him as he read them a bedtime story. Lucy fell asleep quickly, probably tired out from all her crying – same with Penelope – and he kissed the oldest two good-night before taking the baby down the hall to bed too. He let his eyes linger on the remaining three diapers in the basket before letting out a small sigh and took one out so he could change her into her pyjamas. Lucy was tucked into her crib with the teething ring beside her just in case and he pushed a pacifier past her lips, watching her for a second as she sleepily sucked on it for a moment, the plastic bumping lightly against her tiny nose.

The apartment was eerily quiet as Daniel closed the nursey door, baby monitor in hand, and made his way back down the hallway for a conversation he really did not want to have.

Florence had the kitchen cleaned up by the time he was back, and they shared expressionless glances as she closed the last cupboard.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” Daniel said, placing the baby monitor on the counter between them, “but you don’t need to take it out on me.”

“Maybe if you did what I asked, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“I tried.” Daniel protested. “It was a hard day and to top it off my card-”

Florence held up her hand to cut him off, “You go to work to play music for eight hours and then come home to a good meal that you don’t have to cook. You have it easy.”

“Easy?” Daniel gaped. “Are you kidding me? You know how much shit I do in my job and how many late nights and early mornings and weekends I put into this. It’s no where near easy.”

“Oh yeah.” Florence chuckled humourlessly. “When you don’t have to lift a finger around here, leaving me to practically raise your children.”

“You think I like never seeing my wife or kids?!” Daniel frowned. “It was bad when Lucy was first born, yeah, but we even had a whole discussion and I got much more time freed up. But I can’t just sit at home all day with you guys, this isn’t a fairy-tale.”

“I know but you act like I’m a psychotic bitch when I let it all get to me! I got shit on today! And walked over and hit and kicked and bitten and screamed at and I burnt my arm trying to get the charred dinner out of the oven. You just don’t understand what it’s like to stay home!”

“You have no idea what it’s like to work! To go out and earn a salary! You could have gone to school and gotten a degree and then figured out what you wanted to do with your life but instead you chose to cruise off everyone else. You didn’t even pay for your first apartment! Callum did! You have no freaking idea the value of money!”

“I was raising my daughter.” Florence seethed. “Fuck you for even saying that.”

“You could have made it work.”

“Sorry I chose to focus on her rather than shoving her in daycare to be pretty much raised by a stranger for the first four years of her life. I didn’t have the money for any of that. I barely had money to put food on the fucking table half the time and you know that.”

“So get over yourself! Stop being so goddamn selfish if you’re so finically-aware!”

“Fuck you!” Florence shouted, walking around the counter as if she were going to leave the room but she stopped in the middle of the living room and turned back to him. “I get that you have to work and I am thankful that you even have a job, but a little compassion isn’t a lot to ask of you.”

“Compassion? Are you serious?” Daniel scoffed loudly, taking a few quick strides across the room to stand in front of her, shouting back his rebuttal, “I nearly wait on you hand and foot and I drop everything whenever you need me and for years I always have! I have done nothing but work my ass off for you and our kids and you still have the audacity to say that it’s still not enough? I work too much and now I don’t work enough and then I don’t ‘understand what you’re going through’. Well, dammit, Florence, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to care about other things than your work!”

“I already cut my hours! We’re nearly fucking broke, Florence, I don’t know why you can’t understand that! We literally cannot afford for me to lose one more hour a week! Last months rent virtually drained us and we are surviving on a $10 bill and my fucking shoelace right now! I’m pushed to the fucking brim half the time trying to get all the shit done so I don’t have to work overtime so I can still come home to you and the girls and all I’m met with is attitude and snark and an ungrateful wife who scolds me like my goddamn mother when I walk in the door!”

Florence didn’t reply for a beat and the silence lingered heavy over the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed first before her face scrunched up in anger and she jabbed a finger in Daniel’s face before yelling, “Fuck you! I am not staying home just to make you a supper and serve you a beer in a pretty pink dress and heels with a face full of makeup and a fake smile when you get in from work. This isn’t the 19-fucking-50s! I am allowed to have emotions, Daniel James, and right now you are tugging at every single last one of them! How dare you say these things to me!”

“You are freaking out for no reason!” Daniel shouted louder to top her. “You’re twisting everything I’m saying! Do you even hear yourself?”

“All I can hear is you being a selfish and ungrateful son of a bitch!” Florence screamed, throwing a couch cushion at him.

“Throwing things at me? Real mature, Florence. Real fucking mature! God, why don’t you understand?!” Daniel shut his eyes and threw his hands into his hair and tugged hard to try and rid his frustrations. “You’re so naïve sometimes, you drive me fucking crazy!”

They were already even listening to each other anymore, simply off on their own tangents trying to out-volume the other. Daniel and Florence didn’t fight often, priding themselves on their open communication, but everything eventually hits a bump and when they did, they really did.

“Just go play your pretty music, Daniel! Make some pretty music with your friends and put it online for everyone rave over and shut up. I’ll be here taking care of and being hit like a punching bag by your children.”

“You know what, I would appreciate it if you stopped fucking accusing me of being a shitty father because I have a job! I have been trying my best and if that’s not enough for you then I don’t know what to tell you!” Daniel put his hands up.

“What? You’re gonna leave?” Florence laughed humourlessly, throwing her finger in the direction of the door. “Fine! Go on! Wouldn’t be the first time! Leave when it gets hard Daniel!” She cut her screams, leaning in closer to him to whisper sharply, “Just like Matt did.”

Their fight seemed to echo through the apartment as silence fell again, her angry expression still glaring at him as his face melted into neutrality.

“Don’t say that.” Daniel said softly, trying to each for her.

“Don’t touch me.” Florence stepped back before walking quickly down the hallway.

“Flora, I’m not gonna-” Daniel started after her but the slamming of the bedroom door startled him to stop in place. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face to try and calm down, leaning back against the wall of the hallway. It was surprising that the baby wasn’t crying given the fact they just had a ten-minute-long screaming match.

Daniel composed himself enough to open the girls’ bedroom door and peak in, finding them both huddled up together in Clementine’s bed, frightened looks on their faces.

“Hey, my loves.” Daniel sighed, sitting himself on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if we scared you. Mommy and I haven’t been talking as much as we should have been, and we got a little crazy. Do you forgive us?”

Clementine and Penelope nodded. Daniel kissed each of their heads and got them tucked in again in their own beds.

“No more yelling tonight?” Penelope asked.

“No more yelling.” Daniel promised, smiling sadly between his two eldest. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on Clementine a moment longer, remembering the night Matt walked out, leaving nineteen-year-old Florence and baby Clementine alone and a mess in their small apartment. She stared up at him with those same blue eyes he always remembered, and he gave her an extra kiss on the cheek, staying with them until they were drifting back to sleep, “Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

Daniel found himself back outside the master bedroom door with his hand on the knob and his forehead against the cool wood, taking slow breaths to keep himself calm to try the conversation again. He finally opened the door and slipped inside before closing it silently behind him. The light was on in the ensuite and he stopped in the doorway.

Florence glanced up at him from where she stood in front of the vanity brushing her hair. She silently turned back and continued what she was doing.

“Come here.” Daniel whispered, stepping closer and gently pulled her arms down from her hair to wrap around his shoulders and he tucked his own tightly around her waist, peppering a few kisses over her cheek and across her shoulder. “I love you. So fucking much. Even when you scream at me and swear at me and throw things at me.”

Florence sniffled a little, holding him tighter. “I love you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Daniel rubbed a hand over her back. “No matter what.”

“I’m sorry.” Florence mumbled, wrapping her fingers around the material of his shirt and buried her face in his neck.

“I’m sorry too.” Daniel sighed. “My card got declined today. It scared me.”

“What?” Florence leaned back with concern, holding her hands on his biceps to keep him close as she stared at his flushed face.

“$37 for diapers and my card was declined. I felt like a fucking idiot, like an absolute joke of a father…can’t even buy the necessities for my kid.” Daniel sighed, turning to lean back against the counter and hung his head. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Flora. I’m scared.”

“I know.” Florence mumbled, petting her hand through his hair. “Maybe we should talk to someone? Get a budget figured out until we get back on our feet. Worst case scenario, we ask your parents for a bit of a loan. We’re not going to lose anything from this.”

Daniel nodded, biting his lip as he stared at the floor, fingers holding tightly onto the edge of the counter behind him.

“I’m sorry.” his voice broke and he struggled to hold back a small sob, quickly hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Florence frowned, wrapping her arms around him to let him cry against her shoulder, “I know how hard you work. You’re such a good dad and an amazing husband. I know you’re trying your best and I also know it’s slowly starting to destroy you.”

Daniel whimpered as he nodded, clinging onto her tighter through his tears as he muffled a sob into her neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Florence sighed, running her hand up and down his back. “I took my own shit out on you. I needed any excuse to yell, I guess.”

“Better me than at the girls.” Daniel chuckled lightly, pulling back from their hug a little to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I love you.” Florence said strongly, taking his face in her hands. “$0 in your pocket or millions. Doesn’t matter. Don’t you forget it, okay?”

Daniel nodded and leaned in to kiss her once, lingering there a moment longer before pulling back.

“Now no more tears.” Florence said, taking a deep breath herself as she started to feel herself start to cry. “There have been to many tears in this house today.”

#daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey imagines #why dont we imagines #why dont we music #anything but mine #imagines

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crazybagelbitch · 4 years ago

Note

Ya want dark? Chimney has a nervous breakdown and tries to kill himself after an accumulation of events between everything that happened with Doug, Maddie and Shannon. Maddie finds him when she reads his text he didn’t think she would read until the morning but she’s already awake. She keeps him alive until the paramedics get there and remains eerily calm until she loses him for a moment in the ambulance. She has to be sedated when they arrive at hospital.

Ugh okay so obvious obvious trigger warning for suicide, suicidal thoughts, and all that jazz. Will put this aaaaaaaaaaall under the cut...

He knows it’s selfish. It’s selfish and dumb and insufficient to leave her with a text as their goodbye. But he doesn’t know if she would even want to see him in person, and honestly, why should she want to? He’s the reason Doug almost killed her, the reason she had to kill Doug in self defense, and the reason Shannon is gone... death follows him wherever he goes.

Might as well complete the circle.

He types and deletes, types and deletes. Nothing seems right. Is there a right way to say goodbye to the woman you love more than anything but hurt so badly past the point where if even she forgave you, you could never forgive yourself?

Probably not. And he’s starting to get dizzy, starting to get tired, he’ll be... asleep, soon, and then just... gone, after that. So he needs to type something and send it. Now.

“I could never be sorry enough but I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. I love you. Have a good life.”

It’s not enough, it doesn’t say everything that needs to be said, it’s incomplete, but his eyes are closing and he’s falling to the ground. It will just have to be. Incomplete. Story of their entire relationship.

In retrospect, she’ll look back with disgust when she remembers that the first emotion she experiences on a text message notification from him is happiness. It’s joy.

Then she opens it, reads it, and has never felt such strong emotional whiplash in her life.

She knows. She just knows. Knows it in her bones. Knows exactly what is about to happen, if it already hasn’t happened.

She grabs her keys, doesn’t realize that she never put on any shoes until she feels the coolness of the petal against her bare foot.

She calls and calls and calls him on the drive over, but he never picks up. It doesn’t stop her from trying, though. Everytime she hears his recorded message tell her to leave a message, she hangs up and tries again.

Come on, Howie, no. Please don’t do this to me, please.

The way her naked feet pound on the gravel, and then up the stairs to his apartment should probably hurt, but she can’t feel it. The only thing that her brain can possibly process is Chimney, and how if she doesn’t get there fast enough, their “minute” will last forever.

No, she tells herself, no, no, he--

The door is unlocked. She knows what that means.

The lights are all on his apartment, and she can see that the door to the bathroom is cracked open. It’s like her body is on autopilot-- she finds herself stumbling in without thinking, as if some force outside of herself is physically moving her body for her.

She sees the edge of his foot before she even fully enters and screams. He’s not standing, he’s not awake, he’s...

“Howie,” she whimpers, dropping to her knees. The tears fall instantly and she brings a shaking hand to his cheek, “n-no.”

Then she sees it, his chest... it looks like it just moved? He’s breathing?

Her hand flies to his neck and when she feels a pulse, a weak one, but very much the pulse of a heart that is still trying, it’s like a flip switches.

She stops crying as suddenly as she started, her hands are no longer shaking. She’s in survival mode, but not for herself-- for him. She’s on a mission, she only has one purpose in this exact moment and that is to not let this man, the one she loves so much in a way she’d never let herself say out loud, die.

She’s on the phone with 9-1-1, speaking with such eerie clarity and emotional detachment that if she ever listened back to it, it would be one of those calls the fellow dispatchers would joke about “oh, the person calling probably did it” because they seem so unconcerned.

(Hey, it’s a depressing job. They’ve got to find some humor where they can.)

She keeps him on his side, talks to him, monitors his pulse and breathing with determination equal to only her resolve to break free of Doug as she waits for the paramedics.

They let her ride with him, seemingly unsure about if they should but she says she’s going and any second that they might spend arguing would be a second wasted, because no one knows when Chimney’s body might just give out.

A point proven when it does.

She knows that sound. Knows the sound of a heart monitor flat-lining all too well from years as an ER nurse. She’s used to it propelling her, causing her to jump into action to try and resuscitate the patient.

Now, the calm can’t last. Neither can her determination.

She falls, sinks down to the floor of the ambulance wailing, screaming. She sobs, she yells, she begs. Her hand covers her face and she feels as if her chest is on fire.

No, no, she can’t do this without him. She can’t do life without him. They were taking a moment from dating but he was always supposed to come back. Or at least be physically there so she could come back to him.

Her anguished crying is so loud that she doesn’t notice at first when they’ve got him back. His heart started beating again within thirty seconds, but it’s felt like hours, and no, she can’t be relieved.

He’s back now, but he could easily flat line again, and that time they might not be able to get him back. And they hadn’t been talking, if she had checked in on him like she had talked herself out of, reasoning that he needed space, would this still have happened? Would she have seen it coming in time?

He gets wheeled away at the hospital, and she still screams. She can’t stop. She hears voices close to her, arms around her, and then a pinch.

And then she’s melting down toward the floor once more.

#tw suicide #tw suicidal thoughts

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changbeanie · 6 years ago

Text

beautiful stranger ↠ lee felix

◦ genre: high school au, strangers to lovers au, fluff

◦ pairings: reader x felix

◦ word count: 10k

◦ description: you’re missing a crucial part in your school play, and lee felix happens to fit the role just right. but what happens when that pretense becomes a reality?

◦ warnings: explicit language

◦ a/n: here’s the complete revamp of beautiful stranger that I intended on writing last year (but you guys know that I can’t write a chaptered fic to save my life) so a year later, here it is !!!

The fibers of your sweater are contaminated by specks of chunky gold glitter because one tri-fold, one wagon filled with posters, and one folding table are too much for one person to carry. The trade-off happens to be the word “Beauty” in Beauty and the Beast, so now, it’s just and the Beast: a horrific high school production.

Really, it’s Hyunjin’s fault for bailing on driving you to school in return for fifteen minutes of extra sleep; such a massive shame that your best friend chooses sleep over you, especially during casting day for the upcoming school play. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, and he chooses to sleep in today.

You’re hauling three bulky things at once up the ramp on the North Entrance of your school because it’s the closest one to the auditorium. Chan, the drama club president, insists on casting new people for the play because there has to be some diversity, new talent on the school grounds waiting to be discovered. Talk about causing drama in the drama club.

“Y/N. What took you so long?” Chan asks, showing you his phone with the time 7:00 AM displayed in a big, angular font. He really needs to chill because the custodians haven’t even arrived yet, and the foyer is perpetually empty for the next thirty minutes or so. “We have to set up and... why does the tri-fold say and the Beast?”

“First off, I vote to veto Hyunjin’s role as Lumière because he’s an asshole for canceling my ride last minute,” you huff, dropping the handle of the wagon as your arm gives up. Chan reaches forward to help you with the folding table sliding off the small blue wagon with insufficient space. “Second, Beauty came off is and smudged all over my sweater and the main entrance.”

Chan shakes his head and decides to text Seungmin “BRING MORE GLUE AND GLITTER” in caps because the more glitter the better. “So far, we only have a few confirmed characters, and I would love to have someone new play either the Beast or Gaston. The school is probably sick of seeing me in every play,” he comments modestly.

No one’s ever sick of Chan.

He’s the best actor your high school has ever come across, takes flesh of every literary/stage character there is like it’s his own self. It’s truly remarkable how effortless he makes acting seem when in reality, it’s all memorization and getting into character. He manages to stun the audience every single time because he has this magical charm to him that immerses whoever watches as if they were a part of the storyline. Chan is Anthony Hopkins incarnate, and it’s not surprising that he got into Julliard for his undergraduate, early acceptance.

“You being the director and not the actor would be quite a change for the audience. Nonetheless, It’s a Bang Chan Production, so it’s not going to flop. We’re going to have to train the newbies even if we’re running on two hours of sleep for the next month or so,” you nod. The dramatic arts isn’t for everyone, but with enough screaming stage directions and hair pulling, they might just get the hang of it.

“Okay, set up. Casting is open, and we’re allowing anyone who’s interested to sign up on the clipboard. Then, auditions and rehearsals start today after school,” Chan informs you, and it’s your job to relay it to the other members who are fashionably late. “The Beast is our priority right now, so as soon as Seungmin fixes the tri-fold, we’re doing a casting call.”

Speak of the devil, Seungmin arrives on time with chunky gold glitter and clear glue, scowling as he sees and the Beast on the tri-fold he spent two hours on. Again, Hyunjin’s the one to blame because he’s barely getting his ass out of bed and brushing his teeth.

“God, Y/N. You had one job, and you mess up my masterpiece,” Seungmin accuses, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Whatever. Did you promote casting?” You ask as you help Chan set up the table. The auditorium’s entrance is an ideal place for “street” casting because everyone’s bound to pass by it to get to their lockers in time for class. They can’t purposely avoid it or circle around it even if they wanted to.

“Do you see the flyers on every single stall of the restrooms? Hallways? Cafeteria? Did I promote casting? Did I?” His voice raises with every question, and you’re starting to wonder if he had his daily intake of coffee. No wonder Seungmin has a penchant for the dramatic arts; he’s as dramatic as one can be.

Forcing a smile, you say, “Splendid, Min. And how would I know whether or not you placed it on every stall of the restrooms? I’m not allowed in restrooms of the opposite s– ”

“ –I’m here! What did I miss?” Hyunjin pants as he arrives at 7:16 AM. “Looks like you made it to school in one piece, Y/N. And here I was thinking that you were physically and mentally dying because of the texts you sent me.” Then he eyes your sparkly gold sweater which definitely wasn’t sparkly before and decides to shut up.

You shoot him a glare. “That’s right. One more word from you, and you can kiss your role as Lumière goodbye.”

“Any suggestions for the Beast or Gaston?” Seungmin pipes from behind the table, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor as he attempts to fix the heavily glittered calligraphy. He doesn’t mind it at all that his nice black slacks are getting sparkly. Seungmin has worked backstage so often that it rarely surprises his teachers when he comes to class with a paint bucket as a shoe, which he has certainly done before during A Streetcar Named Desire. Poker scenes get kind of messy on set.

“I want to find someone the school has not seen before because Mister Bang Chan over there wants to fulfill his legacy with new actors. We need someone revolutionary, probably,” you suggest with no intentions of finding someone half as good as Chan.

It’s a pity because many people have a fondness for the dramatic arts, but few are willing to actually be in it. And that’s the biggest irony of it all.

ii.

“Be honest with me here. Jisung would make a great Cogsworth,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear after you see a few names scribbled down on the piece of paper that says AUDITIONS written in an unknown Microsoft cursive font. Jisung doesn’t even need to sign himself up because Hyunjin already has his name written underneath Cogsworth the Clock.

“You’re just saying that because he’s your friend. He’s promising, I guess,” you state, generously chugging the orange juice Hyunjin offered you from the school’s vending machine. An apology gift for the new gold accents on your tan cashmere sweater. “So far, no one has signed up for the Beast yet.”

Hyunjin scoots his chair back, the metal scraping against the polished floors, and you groan. He replies, “It’s the commitment. The Beast has an awful amount of lines to memorize. I don’t think anyone’s going to sign off their soul for the next month or so to have Chan yell ‘STAGE LEFT’ or ‘STAGE RIGHT’ at them.”

Smiling bitterly, you start losing hope in finding a new main lead. Looks like Chan would have to play the role of the Beast after all. You thought it’d be nice to have Chan as the stage director for a change, but if he ends up being the Beast, you’d have to give up your role as Belle to be the stage director.

“I mean, we still have five minutes before class starts. Some people might be late... like you four out of five days a week,” you note at your best friend. If only Sleeping Beauty were next year's play.

“Five minutes before class starts and has acting interest? I fucking doubt it.”

A pair of black Converse approaches the table in front of the auditorium’s entrance, and you look up to see someone you have not met before, which was odd. The school has a population of roughly two thousand with five hundred in every grade, and the perks of being involved in theatre, you pretty much know everyone. But not once have you seen this person.

He’s very cute, was your first observation. Hyunjin’s very good-looking, but this boy is a different kind of good-looking; Hyunjin’s features are a lot more prominent than that of Converse Boy’s. The boy standing in front of you has the most delicate of features: starry eyes and a sharp cupid’s bow. His eyebrows frame his face nicely, allowing you to get a good sense of his train of thought as if you were reading him like an open book. But the one thing that lingers your stare is his freckles. They’re scattered across his cheeks like immaculate pieces of stardust, and it captivates you like fireflies drawn to light — you’re a complete sucker for freckles.

“Are you interesting in acting? Well, you’ve come to the right place–” Hyunjin trails off as he gives Converse Boy his little spiel on the perks of acting in a school play, something he’s rehearsed in his sleep at least a hundred times. He goes over the plotline of Beauty and the Beast and the need for new main leads, and you feel kind of bad for Converse Boy to be bombarded with all this daunting information. “So, are you new here?” he finally decides to ask. Even Hyunjin doesn’t recognize him, and he’s Mr. Popular.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Felix, and I just transferred here from Australia,” he opens his mouth and says.

His voice is deep, you think. From the looks of it, you’d think he’d sound relatively normal like an average high schooler; it astonishes you to say that his voice is actually deeper than the sea, very guttural and gruff.

“That’s super cool,” you chime, alleviating the awkwardness. “I’m Y/N, and this is Hyunjin. Are you interested in acting or stage production? We’re actually casting right now because the current president is graduating this year, and he would really love it if his final production were to showcase new talent.”

“What roles do you have open? I’d like to try something new as a challenge,” Felix inquires as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t know if I’m any good, but I think it’d be a cool experience to meet new people and stuff.”

Ecstatic, you point to the clipboard with the casting sheet attached to it. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. Hyunjin can’t act to save his life, but he’s still Lumière,” you chide at your best friend who in return throws a glare in your direction. “Anyway, we have the role of the Beast and... Chip.” You double check the paper, and man, Gaston was already taken by Woojin. Otherwise, Felix would be an interesting Gaston.

Felix is uncertain and looks as if there’s a mental battle raging inside his mind. He’s familiar with the story, and Chip has like two lines in comparison to the Beast. Then again, it’s only junior year, so the workload can’t be that terrible. If he’s going to do nothing but waste time on Fortnite every day after school, then he might as well channel that extra time into doing something productive.

Hyunjin continues, “No pressure, bro. Just take your time, and if you feel like acting isn’t your thing, there’s also set painting and stuff like that.”

It’d be a lie to say that you’re not the least bit excited. If Felix ultimately decides to take on the role of the Beast or Chip, you’ll be able to get to know him better. You already have good vibes about him after this one encounter, and your vibes are almost never wrong.

Okay, maybe you’re just shallow, but he’s very cute. Also, the juxtaposition with his deep voice? Oddly charming.

“I’ll take it,” Felix says with such determination and assurance. “I’ll take the role of the Beast.”

The Beast? God, you did not expect that.

“That’s perfect! We’ll meet here after school and hand you the script, and then we’ll work with Chan to start discussing rehearsal times and minor schedule tweaks in... uh, backstage. Right, Y/N?” your friend asks, snapping your attention back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, right. Felix, you can write and sign your name down. We’ll meet here with the other cast members, and I’ll give you a tour backstage,” you reply, giving him a polite smile.

Felix scribbles his name down underneath the Beast and writes down his email and contact information. “I have class in two minutes. Which is the fastest way to Chin’s class?” He reads off his syllabus.

“Upstairs to your left and down the hall, and run because he’s super strict on being late. You’d have to write your name on the Board of Shame,” you warn, laughing a little.

Felix grips the sides of his backpack and gives the two of you an absentminded wave before running down the hallway, making a sharp turn for the stairs.

“A tour backstage, huh. You didn’t even give me the same hospitality when I joined the drama club, and I’m your best friend,” Hyunjin grumbles, feeling the obligation to remind you. “And kiss rehearsals, hmmm spicy.”

Throwing a pen in his direction, you puff out your cheeks. “He’s new, and you fucking know backstage after set painting for Mary Poppins. And no, no, no kiss rehearsals. We still have to do auditions before he’s finalized.”

“Doubt it. Only one person signed up for the role of the Beast, and that’s Mister Felix Lee. Also known as the guy you’ll be kissing for the next month or two. French kissing to be specific because you know... they’re French. Did I also mention slow dancing?”

“Slow dancing? And French–what, fuck you,” you say in disbelief. How many intimate scenes are there? Maybe you should drop out as Belle and work with Chan as the co-stage director or secretary.

Because you know if you work with Felix long enough, you’d probably end up falling for him. And falling for someone is definitely not on your high school bucket list.

iii.

When the bell rings, you run out of English Literature and make a beeline for the auditorium because high school students hate school with such a passion that they can’t stand being in the classroom for more than an extra second. You manage to weave your way through the sea of students and arrive on the first floor before your legs give up. It’s very inconvenient for the founders of the school to build a spiral staircase; you can easily ram into another student and cause a concussion.

Speaking of head-related injuries, Felix looks like he’s about to slam his head on the metal lockers any second now. His arms are filled with textbooks as he fiddles with the lock in his hands, looking like a T.rex as the locker combination ceases to work.

“Need help?” you offer, tapping his shoulder lightly, and he looks at you like you’re an angel descended from the realms of Heaven — which you totally are.

“Y/N, thank you so much,” Felix says generously, letting out a sigh. “It’s 03-25-18.” His hand brushes over yours softly as he hands you the lock, arms wrapping tighter around his slipping books.

You follow the given numbers and twist the combination disc until the lock clicks, sliding the shackle out before opening his locker. “Sometimes you have to twist it a few times before it works. It’s a nuisance,” you comment, helping him with the heavy textbooks. It’s useless to give students such hefty textbooks when the teacher only teaches five out of thirty chapters.

“I know right? Luckily, I got a top locker, otherwise the circulation to my legs would have been cut off,” he chuckles, emptying the contents out of his gray backpack. There’s hardly any homework on the first day of school.

“How’s your first day here? Are you familiarizing well? I know it’s tough to transfer in junior year,” you empathize with him. You transferred to your middle school smack in the middle of seventh grade where students already had their cliques and squads, but it wasn’t too bad because you met Hyunjin.

Felix slips a bottle of water into his backpack before he zips it up, giving you his full attention. “It’s pretty good. I met Jisung, Seungmin, and a few of the other guys in the play. They were pretty happy to hear that I was playing the Beast, but I wanna ask... who’s playing Belle?” he questions.

Suddenly, you don’t want to give him an answer because you probably can’t do so without a blush spiraling up your cheeks.

“Uh... um, me?” you drawl, unable to meet his bright eyes. If you had to option to choose between being a hermit crab for the rest of your life and mustering up the courage maintain eye contact with Felix right now, you’d choose the hermit crab life.

“I was hoping it’d be you. Actually, I sorta knew. Jisung’s not really good at being subtle.” Felix follows you toward the entrance of the auditorium down the long hallway, occasionally brushing shoulders due to the hoards of students. “You’d play a great Belle.”

“Nah, don’t say shit like that. I’ve only played minor roles in plays, like a tree on set or Maiden #3. I’m only doing it because Chan insists on it, and honestly, he’s done a lot for me,” you wave it off lightly, terrible at reacting to compliments. “But you, thank you for playing the Beast. Otherwise, I’d have to end up being the stage director, and I’m not about to lose my voice yelling at people.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t you have megaphones?”

“Doesn’t mean we use them. It’s the dramatic arts, Felix. We use body language and the raising of our voices to convey that we’re fucking pissed off. You have a lot to learn, my friend,” you console mockingly, waving at the rest of the cast members who were already in front of the auditorium.

iv.

“There’s a stranger here,” Felix reads directly off the script.

Chan holds his hand up and shakes his head. “Felix, what do the words in the parentheses say?” he signals.

“It says that the Beast is growling at his words,” he nods, sitting nervously beside you as he holds the script tightly in his hands. Seungmin’s eyes widen noticeably as he paints the base of the staircase, and Changbin clears his throat awkwardly from the step-ladder as he hangs up the chandelier; they know how scary Chan gets when he’s immersed in a play.

“Then growl as if your life is depending on it. As if you’re pissed at Maurice for entering your castle. Look as if you’re about to roast someone on a grill,” Chan instructs assertively.

“There’s a stranger here,” Felix growls his words, sounding more daring and confident than his previous attempt.

Jisung, as Cogsworth, pipes in timely. “Master, I’d like to take this moment to say... I was against this from the start. I tried to stop them, but would they listen to me? No, no, no! ” He finishes his lines without a glitch, and Chan seems somewhat content with the level of emotion and fear in his voice.

Felix growls again, right as Jisung finishes his words, following the script to the T.

Even then, Chan bellows, “Louder! Angrier! Yell at Jeongin like he deserves to be thrown into your dungeon! Be loud and don’t rely on the mics because they’re useless! ” He encourages him, the same training he received from Jaebum when he was new to the theatrical arts.

“Who are you! What are you doing here? ” he cries, shooting Jeongin a menacing glare.

Jeongin scoots his chair back, breaking the perfect circle as he pretends to cower in fear, teary-eyed. “I was in the woods and...”

You watch in awe beside Felix because you didn’t expect Jeongin to be such a good actor. He’s the youngest of the gang, but he was able to grasp Maurice’s character pretty quickly.

“You’re not welcome here!” Felix rages, standing up in the process to project his voice farther, feeling provoked by Chan. If he signed up with the intentions to play the Beast, then he’s going to be the Beast.

“I-I’m sorry,” the younger boy stutters, words slurring with hesitance.

Felix interrupts clamorously, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty auditorium. “What are you staring at?”

“Noth-noth-nothing!”

“So, you’ve come to stare at the beast, have you?” The Beast, or Felix, threatens, throwing his hands in the air as you watch quietly from his side. Even Changbin, the head of stage crew, is sitting on top of the step-ladder as he looks over the drama club’s commotion. Set management gets pretty boring after the first hour or two as demonstrated by Kim Seungmin using the staircase as a lounge chair and Lee Minho with his beanie pulled over his face by the walls of the castle.

“Please, I meant no harm! I just needed a place to stay.” Jeongin delivers his last line effortlessly, much to Chan’s approval.

“I’ll give you a place to stay! ” Felix rages before the scene fades out, threatening to throw Jeongin’s character into the dungeon.

Chan claps his hands together and announces happily, seeing that the Bang Chan Production is definitely coming together, and this was only the first rehearsal. “Felix, good job! You’re really good considering that this was your first run through of the script. Everyone, have a good evening, and we’ll resume this tomorrow! Dismissed!” he declares.

Felix slumps back onto his chair and leans his head back. He must be drained after a full day of school with rehearsal on top of that. A very memorable first day of school. “Y/N? Do you think I did okay?” he asks, head turning towards his right as he stares at you.

“You were amazing. Although you started off rusty, you really managed to grasp the character as you progressed. Chan really knows how to drill instructions into people, huh,” you comfort him.

Felix was better than you when you first joined the club because he wasn’t afraid to express himself through the words and actions of another character. He understood that it was okay to be dramatic because this was the fucking dramatic arts; it’s only a matter of if you’re dramatic enough. God, you wished that the freshman Y/N knew this.

“This needs to be memorized too. It shouldn’t be too bad considering we had to do A Streetcar Named Desire last year. That play was very wordy, and the plot was messy,” Jisung reassures Felix, giving him a small pat on his back.

He stuffs the thick script in his backpack and groans playfully. “At least this is sort of fun and rewarding. Unlike physics. I have thirty pages of reading due tomorrow, but am I going to read it? No.” Felix smiles bitterly at the only textbook he’s carrying.

You’ve only met him for a day, but you have a feeling that he was going to read it either way. Felix seems like a hardworking guy — not many people are willing to take on the main role of a play on their first day of school.

“Hyunjin, Jesus Christ,” you hiss at your phone only to receive messages of him apologizing. “I completely forgot that he had dance practice today. Jisung, lovebug, can you give me a ride home?”

“Oof, sorry Y/N. Changbin and I are gonna be working on some songs in the boba shop down the street. I mean, if you wanna tag along, it’s cool with me,” he offers as he shrugs lightly. The boba place was in the opposite direction of your house, you know that, and it’d be more convenient for both parties if you take the bus.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just take the bus then.” You mentally sigh because the buses in your city are renowned for running off schedule, especially this late.

Felix stands up and adjusts the straps on his backpack before asking quietly, “I can give you a ride home if you want. My car’s parked down the street.” Granted, he’d probably get lost at night without proper navigation anyway.

Your eyes light up, and your hands grab the sleeve of his hoodie excitedly. “Really? You’d do that for me? Then let’s go now. It’s only harder to drive through the bumpy roads at night,” you advise, remembering the first time your dad drove the narrow roads at 8 PM and almost made you late for the school play. Given, you were only a back-up in Mary Poppins, but a back-up is still a crucial part in the singing formation.

“My driving is rusty because your roads are gnarly compared to Australia’s,” he claims.

You throw a wave at Jisung and the remaining members only to see Jisung wink and blow kissy faces at you. Rolling your eyes, you ignore him and avert your attention back to Felix. “Sounds like you’re just making an excuse for your shitty driving,” you quip.

“Okay,” Felix acknowledges with a fake smile. “Walk home.”

“Did I say shitty? I meant splendid, superb, spectacular, stupendous–I’m running out of synonyms here,” you whine as you walk through the large doors leading you to the back entrance of the school.

He scoffs aloud, “I didn’t know that the vice president of the drama club could be such a two-face.”

“I am not two-faced! I take personal offense to that!”

Felix isn’t a terrible driver.

Well, he’s much better than you, at least, because you always forget to check for passing cars when you pull away from the curb.

On the way home, you ask, “Do you feel more confident now? After Chan’s guidance?” You know how intimidating the first rehearsal can be, and to this day, you remember the feeling like it was yesterday — the thought of giving up and running off stage even before it was your turn to read the lines. You know it all too well.

Felix puffs his cheeks and slowly lets out a long breath of air before answering. “More confident? Yes. But the lines will only get wordier as the character dynamic gets more complicated. What if... what if I don’t convey the emotions well and let everyone down?” He doubts himself.

“Hey,” you raise your voice. “It’s the first rehearsal. The Beast’s lines may get wordier, but you’re only going to get better. I can practice with you if you need me to and Chan as well. You think he’s going to let a Bang Chan Production fail? Only in his worst nightmares.”

The freckled boy beside you drives carefully in the night, the streets breezy and empty as his car turns into a more suburban part of the neighborhood. “You’ll practice with me?” Felix asks, glancing over at you momentarily before keeping his eyes on the road once more. He’s a safe enough driver, you guess.

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t come with a price. Pay up with food. This is expensive,” you continue, referring to yourself as you suppress a laugh.

“Ugh, you’re wrecking my wallet,” he complains, following Google Maps with your inputted your address. Felix pulls up in your driveway in front of your dad’s favorite bonsai tree, careful not to chip off any of the dangling leaves.

It’s the middle of winter, and the tree’s dying anyway; you really don’t know why your dad loves the old tree so much. Either way, Felix is extra mindful not to accidentally crash into one of the branches, and you can mentally see your dad crying in happiness.

“I don’t even eat that much, mind you,” you say before climbing out of his car. “Thanks for the ride, Felix. I feel like I should be inviting you in for a bowl of soup or something.” Your heart does a little zing when the words leave your mouth. After a day, only one day, and you’re already inviting him inside as if he’s Hyunjin or Jisung.

“That actually sounds great. It’s actually my parents’ anniversary today, so it’s a leftovers kind of dinner for me,” Felix agrees automatically, much to your surprise. “I mean... if you insist... I don’t mean to intrude or anything,” he stutters near the end of the sentence. Again, he remembers that he’s only met you for a day.

You shiver at the cold winter air, your gold-stained cashmere sweater defenseless against the wind. “Come in before I change my mind,” you joke, running towards your front door as you fetch the spare keys hidden underneath one of the fifty decorative boulders.

Felix turns off the engine and quickly stuffs his car keys in the pocket of his hoodie, hopping out of the driver’s seat as he follows you like a puppy. It’s almost kind of cute.

“It’s a bit messy, sorry. My parents are probably still at work, the medical business, you know? High, high demand,” you declare as you open the door to your dimly lit living room. One lamp is on, and that’s enough to give the first floor an ample amount of lighting. You set your backpack by the small foyer before the staircase, and Felix does the same, taking in the sight of your home.

Felix immediately recognizes the familiar scent, the same one that filled his car when you entered. It smells a little fruity and a little sweet as if you’ve been to a vineyard and taken a stroll among the many grapevines in summer. Weird explanation but strangely intoxicating. In front of him is your kitchen, and he can’t help but notice how well loved it is, how much time your parents had spent in there despite working graveyard shifts. The towels are all worn out, dishes newly washed piled up on the rack, and a display of Tupperware all over the countertops. He thinks that it’s really smart to cook at home and not endure mediocre hospital cafeteria food.

“It can’t be messier than mine. I still have cardboard boxes laying around,” he defends, falling back on your coffee-brown L-shaped couch. The royal blue and yellow quilt draped on top of it catches his eye, soft underneath his fingers. “Did someone make this?”

“Don’t even, Felix. You literally just moved,” you say as you walk towards the kitchen to heat up leftover soup from last night. “Yeah, my grandma made it. It’s neat, right?”

“Very neat. Reminds me of the costumes they’re making us wear,” he chuckles, scrolling through his phone. “Y/N. Wifi password.”

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms from the kitchen, your back against the countertop. “What makes you think that I’m going to give away my wifi password to some stranger I barely met today?” You appeal playfully, voice lighthearted.

Felix laughs in disbelief, leaning back against your couch. “I mean, you already let a stranger inside your house. Not to mention that the stranger also took you home. Also, the stranger is pretty familiar with the plotline of Beauty and the Beast and happens to play the Beast. So naturally, along the lines somewhere, there’s a kiss sc–”

“THE PASSWORD IS TRUFFLES,” you blurt out of embarrassment, burying your face in your palms. “God, Felix. I hate you.”

He’s even worse than Hyunjin. It’s official.

The insufferable smug look on his face only grows bigger as he checks his notifications. “Thanks, Y/N,” he smirks. “But about the offer in the car? You’re still up for helping me rehearse?”

“I’ll consider it,” you change your mind, deciding to get him back for the teasing.

“You’re really allowing me to fuck up a Bang Chan Production? I don’t even know how to sing...”

“Well, I guess you better start singing in the shower then.”

Felix gives you a very unimpressed look from the living room, and you merely laugh it off, cupping a bowl of piping hot chicken soup in your hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll help you rehearse on weekends so you don’t get yelled at by Chan,” you give in because he’s looking at you with those Puss in Boots kitty eyes.

vi.

The next few weeks of school are hectic; between balancing school work, the play, and volunteering hours, your schedule is completely packed. The only free time you have is on the weekends, and even then, it revolves around the script.

Not that you’re complaining, of course.

“Papa. Oh, no. he’s sick, he may be dying. And he’s all alone,” you read off the script quietly, keeping in mind not to scare off the customers around you. Maybe a boba shop wasn’t the best place for a script run-through. It’s the magic mirror scene, and you’re holding a spoon in your hands from Felix’s coffee.

“Then... then you must go to him,” Felix says, struggling to stay in character as he looks up at you.

You take a quick sip of your jasmine milk tea and shake your head gently. “No, Felix. Say it with more of a heartbroken expression. There’s a prop, remember? Stare at the rose on your plate and don’t meet my eyes.”

He lets out a small breath, but continues, staring passionately at the fork on the plate. Changbin’s taking forever on the props, so a dessert fork was the next best thing. “Then... then you must go to him,” Felix continues, this time successfully channeling his emotions as his face shows dejection and longing.

“What did you say?” you gasp in disbelief, meeting his eyes although he fails to meet yours intentionally.

“I release you. You are no longer my prisoner,” Felix reads briefly, finally able to lock eyes with you. His eyes are glossy, outshining his freckles, and for the fifth time this week, your heart flips.

“You mean... I’m free?” You pretend to be amazed, hand dropping lightly on the sleeve of Felix’s bomber jacket.

Felix furrows his brows at you. “Wait, Y/N. For this part, am I supposed to look at you or look away?” He asks you with such hesitation, like a little boy asking for permission to attend his friend’s first ever sleepover. The answer is always no, by the way. Strict parents.

In this case, you say, “Do whatever you want. This script was written by a random writer and a Disney fanatic. You can look between the lines and make this play your own because they are no guidelines. There’s only one of you in this world, so imagine you outshining all the other actors who played the Beast. The spotlight’s yours.”

Felix nods before resuming the script. “Yes,” he continues, eyes dropping down to his lap.

“Oh, thank you,” you interject as you stare at the spoon (magic mirror) in your hand. “Hold on, Papa. I’m on my way.” Then, you push the spoon into Felix’s hand.

“Take it with you, so you’ll always have a way to look back, and remember me,” Felix says quietly, completely immersed into the script. It stuns you how much he’s improved since the last rehearsal where Chan was practically teaching him how to slow dance by slow dancing with him forcefully.

You hold your hand to his cheek and brush it gently with the pad of your thumb. “Thank you for understanding how much he needs me,” you sigh in relief.

On the outside, you were very composed because you were Belle for the time being. On the inside, you were mentally screaming at yourself for initiating skinship in the middle of a boba cafe. Literally, anyone could look over right now and think that you two were on a date. Two teenagers bonding over silverware — who are they to judge.

Felix places his hand on top of yours and gives you a sort of sad smile. God, that was Not On The Script. You told him to improvise, but you did not expect him to catch on it this quickly. Your heart’s beating is evident in your ears, and you feel your cheeks growing red.

“U-Um, let’s work on the next scene.” You clear your throat as Felix releases your hand.

He responds with an endearing smile, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as his laughter fills the air. Felix is like a breath of fresh air from the constant demands of the dramatic arts. “Am I good or what?” he infers cockily. His confidence level is in outer space, a stark contrast from the Converse Boy you met a few weeks back.

“You’re alright,” you lie. You had to because you’re not retrieving his ego from Mars.

“Admit it. You were taken back. I could see it in your eyes,” Felix chirps annoyingly. “Also... I don’t think that this is a good location to work on the next scene.” He flips a few pages back to show you his highlighted parts, a big block in neon pink.

The kiss scene. You’ve forgotten all about it.

You puff your lower lip out and decide to call it a day because there was no way you could kiss him without Chan in the room, as bizarre as that sounds. It’ll be all too real. Too real if you kiss him outside of stage rehearsal. It’s already evident that your feelings are growing for the freckled boy. If you spend ten hours every day with someone you’re mildly attracted to, those meek feelings will only branch off into something more.

Quickly, you draw up an excuse. “Yeah, we have to do it at rehearsal tomorrow. Stage crew needs to rehearse as well. Minho’s still figuring out how to work that fog machine,” you tell Felix. “We’ll wing it tomorrow.”

The waiter swings by and slips a check onto your table, and Felix automatically takes out his card and places it on the tray before getting up from his seat. “Winging it sounds good. I have a stats project with Seungmin in thirty minutes, but I told him I’d drop you back home first,” he reminds you.

“You really don’t have to. I can always just take the bus,” you babble for the sake of a light objection. You’re not going to lie: you were expecting him to give you a ride back.

“Okay. Take the bus. See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Felix responds simply, giving his card to the cashier up front.

Your jaw drops, and you’re ready to throw hands. Pouting, you kick the back of his black Converse lightly. “You’re supposed to object with good intentions and offer me a ride back regardless of what I say. Jerk,” you huff.

“Hey, you offered the take the bus back after I said I would give you a ride. Saving me that gas money.” He plays dumb, but obviously, he gets the social cues. Felix just likes to mess with you, and you’re not sure if you hate it or like it. Though, you do feel a little special that he only acts this way towards you.

“Ugh, do you even know how to act in a civilized society? Are you a barbarian? You’re supposed to offer me a ride either way. Gosh, you’re so frustrating!”

“Get in the car before I change my mind.”

Touché.

vii.

Changbin and his gang of lazy, uncoordinated, constantly complaining stage crew students do a wonderful job on the set each year; it’s seriously not news, but it still manages to blow you away every time.

Right now, there’s the notorious golden staircase where half of the castle scenes take place, decorated with pieces of antique, Victorian furniture Minho acquired from the drama teacher and her hoarding tendencies. Who knows? They might be real, for all you know. The props are all finalized by Seungmin, and the forest and village backdrops are currently monitored by Changbin. Minho’s given up on the smoke machine, so Changbin’s just pulling on the wires to make some sense of it. The thing that amazes you the most is the Greek Colosseum-esque arbor Seungmin designed for the Beast’s transformation on the balcony. It’s heavy and bulky, requires the rest of the stage crew to lift it, potentially dangerous and not time efficient. But who cares because it’s beautiful. It’s a recycling of an old woodshop student’s mini garden pavilion, and because the design’s already there, all Seungmin had to do was spray paint it white, add marbling, and throw on some strategically placed fake flowers.

The stage is magical, but the play...

“You came back,” Felix says with effort as he lays injured on the balcony.

“Of course I came back. I couldn’t let them... oh this all my fault. If only I’d gotten here sooner,” you cry, cradling him on your lap. You decide the brush the soft brown locks away from his face, revealing his half-lidded eyes.

Chan’s monitoring the scene with an eagle’s eye, and Woojin emerges from backstage after falling off the cliff (offstage) to watch the scene. You definitely feel the pressure on your shoulders.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Felix replies, voice cracking. He stares up into your eyes as you hold him close to your body.

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be all right. We’re together now. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see,” you sob onto his chest, bending your back. Tears welled up in your eyes before you knew it, and you didn’t even have to force them or use eye drops. Felix makes it very easy for you to get into character almost like you’ve built a sort of mutual trust bond with him.

“At least I got to see you one... last... time.” Felix’s breaths are labored as he holds a hand up to your cheek, cupping it gingerly. He holds it there for a second, then drops it as his head lolls back, eyelids fluttering shut.

You gasp and shake him softly, hands firmly planted on his chest and shoulder; tears are flowing down your cheeks at this point. “No, no! Please! Please! Please don’t leave me! I love you! ” you confess with what strength you had left.

In the background, Changbin struggles with the fog machine as Minho gets up from the cozy spot on the side of the castle. He slams the top with his fists in frustration. He’s tech manager, for fuck’s sake, and he’s not letting a stupid fog machine get the best of his abilities.

That happens to do the job, and the entire stage is enveloped by an aggressive puff of smoke. You cough and bat your hands at the overwhelming amount of smoke, and Felix resurrects only to have himself suffocated by fog.

“What in the world just happened?” he asks, sitting up from your lap as his eyes attempt to sort out the space around him.

“Minho got the fog machine to work a little too well,” you grumble as you bat at the fog away like a madman, sniffling in the process because you were just finishing up a sobbing scene where your lover dies.

“STAY CALM,” Chan ensures the cast. “FELIX AND Y/N RESUME THE SCENE AFTER THE SMOKE CLEARS. MINHO, I SWEAR...”

Minho waves if off casually and walks back to his nest by the side of the castle walls. The machine works, so he doesn’t know why Chan’s complaining. Good work can’t be appreciated sometimes.

“Okay,” Chan speaks up as soon as the fog clears. “Felix, you’re human again. Resume the lines leading up to the kiss scene.”

Two more lines until you kiss him.

You may have avoided it back at the boba shop, but now that Chan’s in the room, on stage, during a stage rehearsal with the entire theatre club watching, there’s no backing out.

“Right,” Felix mumbles to himself as he lays back down on the balcony (arbor) to gather his thoughts and emotions. He opens his eyes slowly. “Belle! It’s me! ” he beams with bright eyes, sitting up.

You take an extra second to yourself to get back into character, turning around in a seated position. You stare at the Beast skeptically, almost in disbelief that he had just transformed into a human, but as soon as you meet his eyes, you realize that it’s him (the Beast).

“It is you! ” you proclaim, and your heart feels like it’s about to explode any second now.

From the corner of your vision, Seungmin’s on the edge of his seat, anticipating the next scene. Changbin’s such an ass for having his camera out and recording the entire thing from the front row.

As Chan had instructed him, “to kiss freely and passionately”, Felix grabs your face and snatches your lips in a desperate kiss. Like lovers after being separated for ages, traveled through several worlds to reunite, endured life or death situations, he kisses you.

His lips linger on yours for a bit before you tilt your head to latch back onto him, hands gripping his shoulders surely. It’s quite timid for an on-stage kiss, but it’s a rehearsal, so you decide that it’s okay. Felix’s lips are soft and warm against yours, and his hands drift up to your cheekbones and into the locks of your hair before he decides to break the kiss.

“Wow,” Chan utters, shocked at the kiss scene. “CUT!”

Seems like Felix did take his advice after all, and he’s proud of it. “Good job crew! We only have one more scene to run-through tomorrow, and then a dress rehearsal the following week before the actual performance.”

Hyunjin walks up to the both of you still seated on stage. “Damn. Did you guys rehearse that? It’s like I was watching some Romeo and Juliet shit. I’m angry that none of you told me about this,” he complains and crosses his arms over his chest after tossing you your backpack.

“Nope, but guys I really need to go now. I have a job interview at the bookstore down the street for a summer gig. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says hurriedly. Felix flashes you a freckled smile, pats your shoulder before swinging his gray backpack over his shoulder, and jumps off the stage. He runs towards the big, lanky auditorium doors and pushes them open, a ray of sunset hitting your eyes.

“So an impromptu kiss, how romantic. Wipe that stupid smile off your face, Y/N,” Hyunjin says monotonously. “How much do you want to scream in the restroom right now?”

“A good eleven,” you say, cheeks tinted pink. It’s your first kiss, and it’s definitely not awkward and shabby like you imagined your first kiss to be. Like all first kisses should be. It’s the perfect amount of tenderness and affection, making your head grow dizzy. The worst part is, it’s all fake because it’s written in the script. It wasn’t voluntary, so ultimately, it’s meaningless.

Although an actor, you’re clueless to as how other actors do it. How they maintain platonic feelings when their partner kisses them like that. Maybe you’re just a defect with an annoying bug crawling its way to your heart as it slowly manifests your entire system.

Hyunjin laughs, “You’re a sucker for him, aren’t you?”

“I’m offended,” you claim.

Felix is a little prick, someone who games more than he actually works. Whines like there’s no tomorrow and drinks more coffee than Seungmin does. Your friend group’s a cohesive mess, but Felix overshadows the crowd of overbearing, geeky gamers who spend way too much time online. Honestly, you don’t know what you see in him, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. The way his face beams when you compliment his performance. The way his eyes form crinkles when he finally gets it right. The way his smile brightens up the entire stage. He’s breathtaking.

“I’m fuming,” you say bitterly. It’s not right for you to fall for your co-star. Chan’s been in like, a hundred plays, and you don’t see him dating anyone from the cast. It’s highly unprofessional, and Felix probably thinks of you as a friend. Or maybe he has someone back in Australia and is doing some long distance shit. Maybe that’s why he’s online all the time.

“Because you like him,” Hyunjin singsongs. He leads for to his car for the first time in forever because he’s finally free to give you a ride back. Hyunjin reads you like an open book, and he knows that you’re the most stubborn person in the entire world when it comes to admitting your feelings. He calls it denial, but you call it a coping mechanism.

You refuse to indulge your best friend because he’s right. He’s always been right, and you hate it.

viii.

The final song comes to a close and the lights dim, courtesy of Minho on lighting, to a round of applause from the audience, and curtains draw close after the entire cast, crew, and orchestra take a full ninety-degree bow.

Stage crew is completely exhausted as Changbin lays on top of Seungmin who lays on top of Minho who reclines on two other bodies, strands of hair stuck to their foreheads glistening in perspiration. God, the cast members may be exhausted, but no one has it as bad as backstage does. They’re the ones who physically maneuver the backdrops and monitor all the effects. Without them, the play lacks perpetually all the necessary components of a play.

Chan thanks the orchestra in the pit, the stage crew members, and finally the cast members before his “graduation” speech. He’s the star now because the Bang Chan Production’s a success. Even the local newspaper company purchased tickets to see this play, and they’re completely astonished to see a newbie actor take on the role of the Beast.

You sigh in content, sticking the cool bottle of water on your forehead as you head backstage to take a breather. The dressing rooms are filled, and you can hear Hyunjin screaming at Jisung as he attempts to unbutton the back of his shirt. Jisung screams back, and Woojin grunts as Jeongin accidentally knocks over a chair when he takes his wig off. You don’t even know how he did it, and you’re not planning to ask either.

It’s a true disaster backstage. Though exhausting, you wouldn’t exchange it for a single thing because you love the dramatic arts.

“Hey,” Felix says from behind you. He’s still in his prince outfit, and his eyes are sparkling with gold eyeshadow, looking like a million bucks. “You... um, you did great.”

“You’re not so bad yourself too. Especially for your first time in front of an audience,” you praise him. Felix really did an outstanding job. There were moments where he showed hesitation, and you could tell, all you had to do was hold his hand, and he managed to slip back into character. It’s done with such nuance that no one could even tell. Again, there’s a mutual trust and reassurance system between the two of you, and that is the most valuable thing you gained from this production.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, a habit of his you have noticed. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you, Y/N,” he says gratefully.

Underneath the dim backstage lighting, he’s glowing. “It’s not a big deal. I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me. What are friends for, right?” you ask timidly, almost as if you were unsure yourself.

“Right.” Felix gives you the same breathtaking smile the same way he always does. “You have a ride home?” he asks you.

“Lumière’s in the changing room, but he’s dropping me off on the way. Are you going home in that ?” you chuckle a little, referring to his sparkly, stuffy eighteenth-century French royalty outfit.

Jennie’s in charge of outfits, and she might have gone overboard with the bedazzling. Your hair’s all glittery from hugging and dancing with Felix.

Felix does a full body groan and slouches his shoulders like he’s dreading something. “My mom insists on taking pictures outside the school’s auditorium. Which reminds me, I have to get going. I’ll see you later on? We’re still down on the group study thing on Monday right?” He wonders before he’s dashing down the stairs of the stage.

You give him a small nod, feeling almost sort of empty. “Yeah, my house after school,” you only confirm.

He gives you a full hug before he runs off. “I’ll see you then,” he mumbles softly. Felix lets go of your embrace but keeps you close, noses almost brushing, faces still, and you could feel the ghost feeling of his lips lingering above yours. His lashes are fluttering softly like feathers curling up in a fire ambience, and you’re able to make out the freckles scattered across his cheeks despite being in crappy lighting. Felix is wondrous.

You take a silent but sharp intake of breath, your lungs forgetting how to breathe, like you’ve been climbing a steep mountain. The proximity, his hand on the small of your back, his light cologne mixed with artificial polyester. It’s almost too familiar. Only this time — it’s real. Not staged. Not in the presence of others. And that terrifies you.

Then, Felix decides to take a step back, and you stop hallucinating.

“See you later,” you respond quietly, missing his warmth.

He gives you a small wave before pushing the curtains aside, rushing down the side of the stage in his sparkly French robes.

You’re standing in the dark, like the dramatic character you are, wondering how much of a mistake it was to fall for your co-star. Felix shines everywhere he goes, literally (because of his glittery stage outfit) and metaphorically.

You can’t believe that you have to wait a whole weekend to see him again because you’re so used to seeing him every day of the week. What the hell were you supposed to do on weekends now?

ix.

yongbok (12:15 AM): hello are you awake?

yongbok (12:16 AM): helllooooooooo

yongbok (12:17 AM): are you serious? you’re asleep already?

y/n (12:18 AM): i’m brushing my teeth... what?

yongbok (12:19 AM): i can’t do this

y/n (12:20 AM): what are you doing exactly...

yongbok (12:21 AM): open the door

y/n (12:21 AM): wtf are you doing out there AT MIDNIGHT

yongbok (12:22 AM): just open the door, it’s cold

y/n (12:22 AM): istg my parents will kill me if they here you

y/n (12:22 AM): *hear

The hallways are dead silent other than the soft snores of your parents and the light clicks of your brother’s desktop mouse. The kid really needs to stop gaming so often or else your parents are really going to pay for his LASIK eye surgery. You softly make your way downstairs by flashing your phone’s flashlight so you don’t end up tripping over your own feet, because you’ve done it before and certainly will do it again.

Slowly, you open the door, just a slither, only to see Felix with a hood over his head, hands stuffed inside the pocket of his white hoodie.

“Felix,” you whispered harshly. “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow? What’s so important that you must tell me n–”

The limits of Felix’s patience happens to be the moment where you wouldn’t stop scolding him about showing up at your house in the middle of the night. Fair enough, normal people wouldn’t do this, but he needs to tell you something. Urgently.

So he swiftly slices the distance between the two of you and latches onto your mouth. This time for real. No script. No stage. No Chan yelling in his ear asking him “to kiss passionately and freely”. Felix’s hands clutch your sides gently but firmly in place, adamant that he would not chicken out from confessing again; not that he intends to anyway after pulling this stunt.

It’s such an instinct for you to return the kiss, this time genuinely, as you match his passion with the perfect pace, your head completely intoxicated and light-headed. You place your palms on the side of his face before intertwining your fingers behind his neck so you could pull him a little closer. Terrifying, you admit, but at least you know that it’s real.

The door is left ajar as Felix presses you closer to the side of the wall, kissing you one last time before he breaks it.

You take the few stolen seconds to wander your curious eyes over his, and he’s absolutely breathtaking underneath the winter moonlight. Shadows cascade perfectly down his nose bridge to his cupid’s bow, and finally, it refines the sharp edges of his jaw. He’s like one of Da Vinci’s paintings come to life, and you’re betting that he meets the Golden Ratio of beauty, of divinity. He outshines the stars in the obsidian sky, and it’s incredibly miraculous.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, hands still on your side as your back presses against the wall.

“The play’s over, and this isn’t a rehearsal kiss,” you remind him as the corner of your lips tilt up into a small smile.

Felix chuckles lightly, his deep voice echoing in your ears. “Definitely not a rehearsal kiss. I’m not the Beast, and you’re not Belle. It’s a real kiss. In real life. Outside of your house. On your front porch,” he addresses timidly.

“This really couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” You pick at him, your lips scrunching in mock disapproval. You’re in your pajamas and the heel of your foot is nearly frostbitten in the chilly weather, but all of that is irrelevant because your insides are fuzzy with warmth.

“Nope. I couldn’t sleep,” Felix states without hesitation. “I just didn’t want this to come to an end after the play ends. The acting is all make-believe but underneath all that... I think I may have developed real feelings for you.”

“Hmmm... but that’s so unprofessional. To fall for a co-star,” you tease lightly. You watch Felix roll his eyes because you’re such a little hypocrite.

Felix decreases the distance between the two of you and says in a low voice. “You’re the one who kissed me back. I think we’re equally as unprofessional,” he makes clear.

You capture his lips again to make sure that you’re kissing Felix and not the Beast, without the script being your only excuse for kissing him. He’s so much more than a character in a storybook, so more than that. More than just a privileged prince.

For starters, Felix has a diamond heart, one so precious and clear that you’re just awestruck. There were so many instances where he could have just quit with the excuse that he’s a new actor and completely uncomfortable with being on stage with no previous experience in the dramatic arts, but what stuns you is, he didn’t.

Felix worked twice as hard as everyone else did, and if you were to lay out his script on the floor, every single page would be filled with his poor penmanship, his ugly but useful notes. He loses sleep at night to memorize lines because he’s the main lead, the success of the play resting on his shoulders. Easily, he could have offered the role to someone like Jeongin or Woojin, who are both more experienced than he is, but he kept it and morphed the Beast into himself. Felix absorbs constructive criticism like a sponge and continues to better himself without a single complaint. In the end, he’s only a better version of himself.

And that’s the most fucking attractive thing ever.

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argylemnwrites · 5 years ago

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OTP Questions

Thanks for tagging me @addictedtodrakefanfic, and thanks for building this list of questions @mskaneko! I always find things like this crazy fun!

1. What other couple would your OTP get along with?

Like, in universe? They get along very well with Liam and Iris (who I will write more about going forward), although Iris and Riley are closer in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe even though they see each other in person less often.

2. Do either of them have secrets even the other doesn’t know?

Not really, most things have a way of coming out with these two, and most of their “secrets” aren’t something they intended to keep from the other, it just never came up in conversation. The closest is probably that Drake slept with a woman Riley knows at court years before they met, but when Drake tried to tell her, Riley said ignorance was bliss and that she did not want to know that detail.

3. Who is the one that sees the big picture, while the other focus on the small details?

Riley is a big picture optimist (”everything will sort itself out” type of thought pattern most of the time) usually, whereas Drake tends to focus on the details, even though they often frustrate him.

4. Who does stuff on impulse?

The one who moved to Cordonia with guys she’d known for less than 24 hours on a whim, hahaha!

5. What is their favourite holiday?

Drake loves Christmas, Riley loves Halloween.

6. What is their favourite board game?

Drake prefers card games, but he does enjoy Risk quite a bit (Riley refuses to play with him because she finds it painfully dull). Riley likes Clue and Monopoly.

7. Who would go out of their way to do something silly to make their partner laugh?

Riley

8. Favorite canon moment of them?

When Drake asks Riley if things would be different between them if they met under different circumstances after the Tariq incident. The moment is such a perfectly vulnerable one for him, that it just holds a special place in my heart.

9. Least favorite canon moment of them?

“I don’t know what to say. My kid sitting on the throne? I mean, it would be an incredible honor.” - Drake Walker, on his honeymoon, agreeing to King Liam’s plan to name his yet-to-be-conceived child heir to the Cordonian throne before discussing it with Riley.

10. Who is the competitive one?

They are both incredibly competitive. They both insist the other one is more competitive.

11. Who likes to go on drives to nowhere in particular

Seeing as Riley never got a driver’s license growing up in Manhattan and feels incredibly uncomfortable behind the wheel, we’ll go with Drake here. I could see him doing this to clear his head on trips to Texas.

12. Who sings along with the radio?

Riley will if she’s in a good mood. Drake will if he’s drunk.

13. Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire while cooking?

Riley. Not only is she a mediocre cook, but she’s more easily distracted and might tend to forget she left something on the stove.

14. Who is more seductive when they are drunk?

Drake gets really affectionate and cuddly when drunk, but whiskey dick is a thing so... Riley is a happy drunk primarily (unless she is drinking to cope in which case she is a very sad drunk), not so much a horny drunk. She does get pretty handsy when she’s just tipsy, though.

15. Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night to tell them a cool dream they had?

Neither. Riley is difficult to wake up, so Drake wouldn’t bother when he could just tell her later. Drake is such a light sleeper that Riley wouldn’t want to be one more disruption to his sleep just to tell him about an interesting dream.

16. Who asks weird questions in the middle of the night?

Riley, if they’re both still awake. Otherwise neither.

17. Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on?

Okay, so all this makes me think of is the Seinfeld episode where Jerry is dating a woman who chooses to be naked all the time and it brings up the discussion of good naked and bad naked. Riley is prone to stripping down for “good naked” tasks pretty often. Sometimes it’s just to flirt and tease, but other times it’s to persuade Drake to do something he doesn’t want to do. He catches on to this tactic pretty quickly, so he will tell her to cover up and that it isn’t going to work if he suspects she has ulterior motives. This behavior pretty much comes to a halt once Riley is pregnant as she isn’t as confident given the changes that are occurring to her body, and after they have a kid, nudity as a flirting and/or manipulation technique just doesn’t happen all that often.

18. Who is always ready to have sex at any time, at any place?

Both of them, although Drake won’t at his work functions/parties in the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe because he’s too nervous they’ll get caught and he’ll get fired.

19. Who likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

They both buy each other things, but Drake’s gifts to Riley are more practical (he’ll grab her granola bars or creamer before she runs out) whereas Riley chooses more random fun items that just made her think of Drake.

20. Where did they take their first picture together?

Maxwell snapped a pic of them walking back from the first cronut run together.

21. Who knows the most useless facts?

Drake. Riley often questions how accurate his claims are, but he’s right more often than not.

22. Who is more likely to forget their own birthday?

Neither, but Drake is far more likely to try and downplay his birthday. Riley never lets that happen.

23. Which bad habit of their partner do they find the most annoying?

I don’t know if these are truly bad habits or just irritating ones, but Drake cracks his knuckles absentmindedly, which can get on Riley’s nerves, and Riley never returns food to the same spot in the refrigerator, which really annoys Drake.

24. Who is the better driver ?

Definitely Drake. Riley doesn’t really drive, though Drake has attempted to teach her during trips to Texas. She’s just not that interested in learning.

25. Who is more likely to admit they are wrong in an argument ?

This is a struggle for both of their stubborn asses. Drake is more likely to say he’s wrong, but Riley truly means it more often when she says it.

26. What is something that reminds them of one another?

The smell of peaches reminds Drake of Riley. Probably an obvious answer, but whiskey reminds Riley of Drake.

27. Would they get matching couple tattoos? If yes, what it would be?

Nope, neither one of them are tattoo people.

28.Who sleeps wrapped up in a cocoon of covers?

Neither. Both prefer just a sheet and a thin blanket, plus a quilt/comforter if it’s winter.

29. Who would win in a pillow fight?

Riley’s agility and impressive aim give her the slight edge.

30. Who likes to take photos of the other when they’re not looking

Riley would be more likely to do this

31.Where would they go to get away from everyone else and just be alone?

In canon, Drake goes fishing at a small creek between the capital and Valtoria. Riley goes to the undercroft area of their estate. If they are looking to get away together, they go camping on the grounds of their estate, cycling between a few different locations so it’s harder for the staff to track them down.

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, Riley is very willing to share “her beach” with Drake. If they are looking for a longer getaway together, they’ll rent a car and get out of the city to go camping.

32. If they got to pick what one another wears for a day, what would one another wear?

Riley likes seeing Drake dressed up in a simple suit since it’s a break from the usual. Navy would be her preferred color. Drake would have Riley wear a slim cut red dress with a length short enough to be sexy but not so short that he feels that everyone is going to be checking her out.

44. What do they love most about each other?

Drake loves that Riley has a bit of a temper, but uses it for “good,” such as calling out stuck up, snobby assholes (He loves that she swears up a storm with her temper, too). Riley loves the way nothing she can say or do phases him.

Bonus: 3 random HC about your OTP

In canon, they host a Superbowl party every year, even though neither one of them really cares about American football, because Riley feels this is one America tradition they can still embrace without it being seen as a “thing” by the press (They drew some flack when they tried to have a July 4th barbecue with fireworks because that was seen as too political)

In It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment, they attempted to rent a cabin to get out of the city for a couple of nights around New Year’s Eve to escape the insanity that first year, but Riley did not have a driver’s license and Drake’s Cordonian license was deemed insufficient, so they had to text Liam to emergently transmit them some additional documentation. He essentially just wrote a three sentence letter on stationary with the royal seal stating that Drake had a driver’s license in good standing.

In any universe, they will intermittently have intense poker nights (just the two of them), that devolve into drunken rounds of strip poker and insane bets.

Tagging @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @ravenpuff02 @omgjasminesimone @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore if any of you are interested in joining in the fun (sorry if this is a repeat tag for any of you), or anyone else who sees this and wants to play along!

#meet my otp

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alwaysmychoices · 5 years ago

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“A Day with Dr. Ramsey”

Synopsis: After waking up in Dr. Ramsey’s apartment after a series of drunk texts, Charlie and Ethan spend the day with Naveen on the river...

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlie Greene)

Choices Story: Open Heart

Rating: Teen (Charlie enjoys cussing. Don’t @ me).

Words: 5099 (buckle up, y’all)

Part 2 of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey”

part 1: drunk texts - part 2: a day with dr. ramsey - part 3: unspoken - part 4: in the morning light - part 5: brunch - part 6: the library - part 7: the cure - part 8: the celebration - part 9: goodbye

There were no embarrassing t-shirts. No “Turkey Trot 5K”s or “World’s Okayest Doctor.” The best Charlie found was an old medical school t-shirt, and Ethan could see the disappointment on her face when she returned wearing a plain grey t-shirt from his closet.

“Any luck with embarrassing t-shirts?” Ethan mused, already dressed for the day.

“You hid them, didn’t you?” Charlie narrowed her eyes, her dedication so comical that Ethan wished he could have offered a confession.

“I gave them to Jenner as chew toys,” Ethan retorted, and he watched as Charlie struggled not to show the smile forming on her lips. In that moment, he decided that of all of the Charlie expressions he’d seen, that was his favorite. The way she bit back a smile and swallowed her laughter, eyes shining with amusement, made his world stop. She was so happy then, and she tried so hard to maintain her aloof sense of sarcasm just to make their banter last longer. She wanted to keep talking with him, to keep having fun with him. He never knew he needed such validation until he met Charlie, but now, he couldn’t get enough.

“Walking through your closet was like looking through a catalog for respectable men in their thirties,” Charlie had to walk past him to reach the coffee he’d made for her while she was in the shower, and in the process, Ethan caught a waft of his body wash on her skin. For a moment, the sensation overwhelmed him. Before, Ethan had no idea that he would be so intoxicated by Charlie brandishing his scent, but now, he couldn’t help but think of every possible way to make sure it happened again.

Charlie watched him, unaware as to why he suddenly seemed so dumbfounded, and she sipped at her coffee, waiting for him to say something in return.

“Apparently, I am so far gone that I can’t even recognize the insult in that statement,” Ramsey forced the words out of his mouth, taking a large gulp of his caffeinated beverage to forget all of the scenes now playing in his head.

“Ethan, I saw a sweater vest in there. It was a nightmare,” Charlie shook her head as if she was disappointed.

“My closet is starting to feel very attacked,” Ethan found himself smiling and could only imagine what he must have looked like, grinning like a fool and practically drooling over a woman in his t-shirt.

“Your choice of shampoo, however,” Charlie nodded approvingly, “If I’d known your hair smelled that amazing this whole time, I probably would have spent every day just smelling you.”

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle, “I can tell you found your tour through my bedroom very enlightening.”

Charlie blushed, trying to conceal the spreading redness by hiding behind her coffee cup. Did she really just say that she’d like to smell him all day? It took all of her energy not to physically grimace, and she tried to divert his attention by mumbling, “Thank you, by the way.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, and Charlie went on to explain, “For letting me clean up and not look like a walking hangover for the rest of the day.”

“Consider it a public service,” Ethan teased.

“I had no idea you were so charitable, Dr. Ramsey,” Charlie was smiling again, and Ethan practically had a physical reaction to it. It was as if simply flashing her teeth in a sign of approval could relieve the tension in his body and produce a brief euphoria, momentarily rendering him unable to do anything but smile back at her.

If he could bottle the feeling he had when he saw Charlie smile, Ethan Ramsey would have destroyed a whole sector of the drug market.

This wasn’t the first time Ethan noticed that he was affected by Dr. Greene, and he was long past his days of denial. To not recognize the enigmatic influence of Greene would be senseless at this point. It was one thing when she was the intriguing intern. In his years at Edenbrook, he’d seen many charming interns pass through the halls, but none had been of consequence.

There was something different about Charlie – something he’d never seen before. When he looked through her records, he knew she’d be a competent if not accomplished doctor, and he appropriately advocated for her match at Edenbrook. Ethan anticipated the possibility of mentoring the promising, young doctor, and he acknowledged the associated emotional connection that accompanies mentorship. But this… This was more than Ethan could have imagined.

This was consuming and overwhelming and warm and terrifying, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake Charlotte Greene.

Ethan Ramsey had never felt like this before, and he was surprised by the amount of terror he felt. How could one person affect him so much in such a short amount of time? And why, out of hundreds of thousands of people in Boston, did it have to be her? A bright, promising intern whose career could be ruined by his unchecked affection. And why couldn’t he leave her alone?

“Ethan?” Charlie asked, surprised by his apparent silence, and Ethan’s head snapped up, thankful to be forced from his train of thought.

“Sorry, a little tired,” Ethan lied. It was an obvious lie, but if Charlie realized, she didn’t let on.

“I’m sure chasing a drunk girl across Boston was exhausting,” Charlie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She still remembered nothing from the night before, but if her texts were any indication, she had a lot to be embarrassed about. “Dr. Sexy” was horrifying enough, but that was just the tip of the iceberg to how she felt about him. What hole had she dug herself into, and did she even want to ask?

“It was worth it.” That was honest, and Charlie could see it in his face.

She was smiling again, unable to contain a sudden warmth spreading through her body as her heart briefly fluttered from the idea that Dr. Ramsey thought she was worth it.

Dr. Ramsey turned Charlie into a lovesick schoolgirl, and it was mortifying. Charlotte Greene was a highly-educated adult woman. She was passed the days of doodling “Mrs. Ramsey” in her notebook in class, but just a few moments with Ethan transformed her into a sentimental fool. And it didn’t make it any easier that she couldn’t crack him. He was the one man she couldn’t diagnose. She couldn’t see past his emotional walls and deflecting behavior, and every lingering glance or surprising display of affection confused her more. Who was Ethan Ramsey, and was he as pathetically in love as she was?

“I haven’t seen Jenner much this morning,” Charlie briefly bit on her lower lip, and Ethan was so distracted he almost couldn’t respond.

“Oh… he’s in bed, I think.”

“Really?” Charlie laughed, “I assumed that living with you would make him a morning puppy.”

“He braves mornings for me but sleeps as soon as he can afterward,” Ethan beamed as he talked about his dog. After years alone, Jenner had been a constant companion, and he gave Ethan something outside of work to keep him grounded, “I’m sure he’s especially tired after staying up with you most of the night.”

“He stayed with me?” Charlie’s expression was suddenly full of childlike excitement.

“Right up until you woke up. He likes you,” Ethan couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Who didn’t love Charlie? He sure as hell did.

Charlie leaned onto the kitchen island, holding her coffee cup to her lips with a wistful smile, “I am determined to become your dog’s best friend.”

Ethan choked on his coffee with laughter, amused by the suggestion but not at all surprised by the statement. Of course, Charlie would want to befriend his dog.

For a moment, Ethan was drawn into a fantasy of life with Charlie… Morning coffee, walking through the park with Jenner in tow, coming home to see someone he loved in the other side of his bed.

No. You can’t do that to yourself.

Ethan forced the image out of his mind. It would only do more harm than good.

“We should probably leave soon if we want to avoid traffic,” Ethan stood suddenly, finishing his coffee and looking for his car keys to distract himself.

Charlie was confused about his sudden shift in behavior, but she shrugged it off, similarly finishing her coffee and holding up a leash from a kitchen drawer.

“Can Jenner come?”

The drive to Naveen’s home was littered with occasional small talk and frequent changes in the radio station, much to Ethan’s chagrin. Though he knew the way, Ethan quickly recognized that Charlie needed something to do, and he turned over all navigation to her. He found that, though a competent doctor, her directions were insufficient, and had he not been confident in his path, he would have grown irritated with her. But instead, he found humor in her sudden gasps of “oh shit, turn right!” and “fuck, it says we should have turned there.”

Undoubtedly, Jenner enjoyed the drive the most. Somehow, he weaseled out of the backseat and settled comfortably in Charlie’s lap, and for a moment, Ethan couldn’t tell who was more smitten with Charlie – him or his dog.

“And we should be… here…” Charlie leaned forward in her seat, making Jenner shift, to look for a sign that we had arrived. Instead, she was greeted with an apparent wall of trees, “What the…?”

At this point, Ethan decided to relieve her of her navigational duties and drove towards a break in the trees. He found the small, hidden drive. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Charlie’s expression fill with amazement and curiosity. After a minute or so of wandering down the drive, Naveen’s river house appeared, and Ethan could see his mentor pouring over an easel on the dock.

Naveen looked so… frail yet at ease. He’d embraced his death sentence with a friendly smile and resigned to spend his final moments only doing things he enjoyed. Ethan offered to stay with him at the river, offering companionship and medical care as his health deteriorated, but Naveen refused. In his last days, he wanted Ethan to be family, not his doctor, and he wanted memories to be fond, not burdened by the daily care of a patient.

Even now, the pain on Ethan’s face was apparent, and Charlie instinctively reached for him, placing her hand on his arm and giving him a gentle squeeze.

Ethan was surprised, and as he looked over to Charlie, she gave him a gentle smile that left little room for talk.

He didn’t need to say that he was sad. She already knew that. And she didn’t need to tell him that she was here to support him because she’d already shown him.

When Ethan’s car pulled into park, there was silence. Charlie’s eyes never left Ethan, waiting for a sign that he was ready to get out of the car and face his dying father figure. She never rushed him, instead offering her hand on top of his. She was gentle, unsure if he would accept the sign of support, but to her surprise, he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed tightly.

“Are you okay?” her whisper was soft and concerned.

Ethan considered her question for a moment before nodding his head, “Yeah… Thank you, Rookie.”

He hadn’t realized that he used the nickname, and it was the first time he heard the level of affection he placed in it. Had he always sounded so enamored?

Charlie let out a gentle chuckle. It had been a long time since she’d heard that, and she never thought she’d be so happy to hear it.

“Come on, Jenner wants to say hello,” Charlie placed a gentle kiss on Jenner’s head, and he practically turned to mush. Charlie leashed Jenner before opening the door, and Jenner happily stuck by her side as they got out of the car and made their way to the dock.

Naveen saw Ethan first and waved enthusiastically, abandoning his painting and walking towards his former colleague. Even from a distance, Naveen saw a change in his friend. Sleepless nights and scotch had aged him since leaving the hospital, and a sense of finality followed him. Failure was not a good look for his dear friend, and it pained Naveen to think of leaving Ethan behind when he was in such a poor state…

“There you are! I was beginning to worry. You’re always punctual,” Naveen called out to Ethan, but as he got closer, the answer to his friend’s tardiness revealed itself.

Dr. Charlotte Green appeared from behind Ethan with Jenner in tow. Even as she smiled and waved, it was evident that she stood by Ethan’s side. It was as if she and Jenner had formed a silent attachment to protect their pained friend, and suddenly, Naveen wasn’t so worried about leaving Ethan alone in the world.

“Dr. Greene!” Naveen greeted her warmly, occasionally glancing at Ethan as if trying to confirm the obvious. Now that she was closer, Naveen found clues that she’d spent the night with Ethan, and he began to wonder how long Ethan had guarded such a secret from him.

“Please, call me Charlie,” she smiled, seemingly oblivious to Naveen’s assumption that they’d slept together, “I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along, Dr. Banerji.”

“Of course, I don’t mind! You were once one of my only companions in Edenbrook, and for that, I consider you a friend,” Naveen was sincere. Like Ethan, he saw something special in the young intern, and had his health permitted, he would have liked to form a friendship with Dr. Greene. He imagined that, by the way Ethan looked at her, she would have quickly become an significant element in both of their lives. “I am now a retired man. Call me Naveen, Charlie.”

“Thank you, Dr-“ Charlie stopped herself, “Naveen.”

Naveen smiled and pulled her into an unexpected hug that Charlie happily reciprocated. And for a moment, Charlie reverted back to her med school daydreaming and almost pinched herself when she realized the famed Dr. Banerji was hugging her.

In his embrace, Charlie could see how Ethan adored Naveen so. If anyone could feel like an intern’s medical school grandpa, it was Dr. Banerji. In his retirement, he’d abandoned his white coat for a warm sweater vest that smelled of acrylic paint, aftershave, and peppermint candies. His roaring laughter warmed anyone who heard it, and his gentle, attentive smile demonstrated his genuine affection.

Charlie bit back an oncoming wave of sadness as she remembered that this wonderful, tender man was dying.

When Naveen released her, he caught a flash of the pain in her expression, but she quickly returned to a polite smile as Naveen invited the two for coffee in the kitchen. Jenner, excited by a few ducks in his view, hurried and forced Charlie a few paces ahead of Naveen and Ethan.

With a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, Naveen looked at his friend with a telling smile.

“She’s wearing your shirt, Ethan,” Naveen didn’t have to specify the obvious insinuation.

“She slept in my guest room,” Ethan grumbled, somewhat embarrassed by Naveen’s excitement.

“Ah, but you brought her here this morning,” Naveen was satisfied that his young friend had not yet accepted what was very obvious to him.

When Naveen received the news of his impending death, he mourned the life he lost. He mourned the patients he could no longer save, the world he could no longer serve, and the people he could no longer love. But more than any other, he mourned the years he would miss of Ethan’s life. He regretted that, in their years of companionship, he had never seen Ethan fall in love. Ethan’s life had been a series of carefully planned decisions, each furthering his illustrious career and cementing his success, but in all of his deliberate choices, he had never made one to love someone. Once, Ethan came very, very close, but that chapter had been closed a long time ago.

In all of those years, Naveen had never seen Ethan look at anyone like he looked at Charlotte Greene, and Naveen was filled with hope for the two. But the warm hope was followed by sadness that Naveen didn’t get to see how their story ended.

Naveen’s home, much like his apartment in the city, was filled with books. Most were medical, and a few had been written by himself. There were classics and popular titles mixed in at random, most of which Naveen had never read but purchased to read “someday.” And with his days now numbered, he’d pulled them off the shelves and stacked them on various end tables, occasionally picking one up and switching at random. There were fishing rods and unfinished paintings littering Naveen’s living room, and Charlie spotted several unused golf clubs in the corner. Naveen dedicated his remaining time to his various passions in life – all but one. He could never satisfy the burning curiosity that evaded deduction, and he resigned himself to let go of the final mystery of his diagnosis.

Charlie noted that the medical books were not pulled out, and she felt a wave of surprise. Until now, she’d never believed that Dr. Banerji had really given up.

“Coffee?” Naveen offered, already preparing a cup as he had never known Ethan to reject such a proposal. As he poured a second cup for himself, he noticed that Charlie’s eyes had settled on his fishing rod.

“Do you fish, Charlie?”

Charlie nearly jumped, surprised by the question.

“When I was a kid,” Charlie admitted with a sheepish smile, “It was my grandfather’s favorite pastime.”

“Ah,” Naveen broke out in a wide grin, “Ethan won’t fish with me!”

“You won’t fish?” Charlie raised an eyebrow at Ethan, “I thought you’d do anything to avoid small talk.”

I knew I liked her, Naveen thought to himself.

“Even I have limits, Rookie.”

Naveen couldn’t contain his smile as he watched the two and proudly brandished it when Ethan looked back at him, much to Ethan’s embarrassment and Naveen’s amusement.

“As your Grandmentor, I’d be honored if you joined me on the dock. Who knows? You might even be the missing ingredient to get Ethan to fish after all these years,” Naveen took a sip of his coffee, happy with himself for putting his mentee on the spot and daring him to say no to her.

And if Ethan thought it was hard enough to say no to Charlotte Greene, he certainly couldn’t do it now.

“To satisfy an old friend, I will consent to a boring pastime,” Ethan agreed, and he could see the words hiding behind Naveen’s smile: You’re doing it for her.

That day, the river echoed the laughter coming from Dr. Banerji’s dock.

The three doctors spent some time seriously baiting fish on the river, even catching a few that Banerji insisted they would cook later that night, but the seriousness of the pursuit quickly evaporated. Banerji and Greene were first to laugh, though they both tried to stop in fear of “scaring the fish away.” However, a competition developed in which they all tried to contain laughter as Banerji and Greene told jokes. Ramsey, unsurprisingly, was the obvious victor, and while Banerji and Greene dissolved into fits of laughter, they worked together to earn his laughter.

In the end, it was Charlie who won, and once the competition had been decided, they moved onto another activity. While putting away their gear, Charlie stumbled upon Banerji’s latest unfinished painting. It only took one compliment of his work for Banerji to light up, and he handed her an easel, offering to teach her a few tricks. This time, Ethan resisted their requests for him to join, and instead, he and Jenner offered to judge when they were done.

Charlie painted terribly, but Banerji wasn’t much better.

It wasn’t long before Dr. Greene and Dr. Banerji were thick as thieves. She trusted and adored him instantly, and Banerji reciprocated. She was a lovely young woman, but even if she hadn’t been, her affection for Ethan was enough to make him appreciate her.

At some point, Ethan meandered back to the house where he picked up a stray book from the growing collection of titles on Naveen’s coffee table, and he watched the two paint through the expansive windows, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen him so happy…” Naveen’s words were soft enough to almost be lost in the passing breeze, but they caught Charlie’s attention with a jolt of surprise.

Charlie looked at the man beside her, a sad smile on her lips, “He’s in a lot of pain.”

She didn’t waste time pretending that she didn’t know what he was talking about or acting surprised at the implication of his words. They both knew what this looked like, and Charlie was not skilled enough to hide the obvious way she felt about her teacher. To deny it was to waste the short time Naveen had left, and he was the only person in the world she felt she could talk about it with.

Naveen nodded thoughtfully, “Will you be there for him when I am not?”

“I don’t know if he’ll let me,” Charlie admitted with shame in her voice. A dying man was asking her to care for his loved one, and she wasn’t even sure she could complete her request.

Naveen chuckled, “Ethan may hold you at arm’s length, but he’s never let you go, has he?”

Charlie thought back to his time away from Edenbrook, all of the texts she’d almost sent and all of the days she’d hoped he would reach out. He’d never felt so far away from her, and it pained her more than she expected. But one drunk text, and now she was here…

She considered Naveen’s comment, growing silent as she returned to her painting. Had Ethan ever let her go?

Ethan abandoned his book eventually and returned to the dock, and that essentially silenced their previous conversation. By this point, both had grown tired of painting, and they abandoned it in favor of a new activity.

This was how the day carried on, moving between new activities with a fleeting commitment to each pastime. Naveen’s new lease on life meant that he didn’t need to finish an activity for the sake of completion, and this philosophy ruled their time together.

Ethan and Naveen played a game of chess while Charlie played with Jenner, and when they discussed another match, a casual suggestion was made to play cards and was enough to change course. Charlie joined them during the second round, and this continued until they found something new to do.

When the sun set on their day on the river, Dr. Banerji invited them to stay for dinner, and declining never occurred to either of his guests. A bottle of white wine was opened as they enjoyed the sunset, and their conversations were littered with laughter and smiles.

Banerji took the lead in cooking dinner, though he promptly found helpers.

Jenner parked himself in the kitchen, waiting for scraps, and Charlie sneaked him treats quite frequently. Ethan pretended not to notice, and Naveen hid his smile by focusing on the fish. When they finished cooking, they carried their meal to the deck overlooking the river. Ethan lit the candles while Naveen and Charlie set the table, and once they were all seated, Naveen raised his glass.

“To good friends and time well spent,” Naveen toasted, and suddenly, an unwanted reminder presented itself… Naveen’s still dying. A lump formed in Ethan’s throat as he raised his glass, and without missing a beat, Charlie’s hand silently rested on his beneath the table, offering silent support.

Ethan’s smile was grateful and adoring as he looked down at Charlie, and Naveen felt a sense of relief wash over him. His boy was loved…

Dinner carried on in the same spirit of their day. They laughed and joked and enjoyed themselves freely. The jokes carried on with particular attention to Ethan’s less than stellar cooking abilities, and they enjoyed teasing each other. Long after they finished their food, they continued their conversation with wine under the moonlight.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to hospital gossip. Naveen, now out of hiding, remained in contact with several of his friends at Edenbrook but was eager to hear more from Charlie. Remembering how much he loved gossip, she happily obliged.

“From what I hear, Dr. Lahela has quickly amassed a group of followers,” Dr. Banerji’s smile was full of mischief, “You’re friends with him, no?”

“Bryce and I are friends, yes,” Charlie nodded her head, amused by Naveen’s apparent enthusiasm for hospital gossip.

“Is he as scandalous as the rumors say?”

“Even more so.”

Naveen nodded appreciatively, and after eyeing Ethan for a moment, he dared to ask, “Have you partaken in the scandals?”

Charlie choked on her wine, eyes wide with surprise. Was he asking if she fucked Lahela? Naveen was unphased by her response, acting as if it were a typical question as he poured himself a glass of wine. Even in the dim candlelight of the night, Charlie’s blush was noticeable.

“That’s not very polite to ask,” Charlie feigned a dramatic affront, somewhat hoping that she could avoid answering the question. She was aware of Ethan’s eyes on her. For a moment, Ethan considered jumping in to save her, and he would have if not for his sudden need to know the answer.

Jealousy flashed through his veins as he thought about the way Dr. Lahela looked at her…

“You don’t have to answer, of course,” Naveen insisted.

“Well…” Charlie bit her lower lip, taking a deep breath before stammering, “I…” Charlie laughed at herself, shaking her head at how nervous she was. What did it matter if she fucked Bryce? It’s not like Ethan didn’t have the option and rejected it, “I had sex with Lahela, yes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It took enormous self-control for Ethan not to jump out of his skin at her confirmation.

Naveen looked proud of Charlie, but she didn’t know if he was proud of her confession or that she’d slept with Bryce. Either way, she accepted his smile and casually watched Ethan’s reaction.

“Any rumors to add in circulation?” Naveen teased her, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d asked just to make Ethan jealous. And should she thank him for that?

“No, Dr. Nosy, I have nothing to add,” Charlie playfully reprimanded him, “Bryce is a very good friend of mine.”

Naveen raised his hands in surrender, and Ethan remained silent. He could hardly focus on the conversation surrounding him. Instead, he was haunted of images of Lahela touching her, claiming her… Jealousy prickled at his skin, burning him alive from inside. Suddenly, Ethan was aware of the fallacy of his assumptions. All this time, he’d thought Charlie was his, but now, he knew that he had no right to make that claim. He’d pushed her away every time she offered her heart but held her too close for her to ever completely leave him.

“How about we talk about the scores of women after you, Dr. Banerji?” Charlie turned it back on him, raising an eyebrow.

Naveen waved off her question with a chuckle, “You flatter an old man.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” Charlie assured him, winking for effect, and he continued to laugh.

“Speaking of flattery, I hear congratulations are in order. You performed exceptionally well after the subway derailed. You helped save Rafael Aveiro’s life,” Naveen held his glass up in a toast of respect, “He’s a fine man, a real hero.”

Ethan knew the story well, and he felt a swell of pride in his chest that his rookie had helped so many. He raised his glass in a similar congratulations, but when his eyes met hers, he faltered.

The change in Charlotte was visible, and it startled Ethan. There was guilt in her gaze, as if the mention of Rafael reminded her of betrayal against him.

Oh…

Ethan swallowed, suddenly understanding.

She had sex with Lahela, but Rafael was different. She cared for him… Ethan’s body went cold as the idea entered his mind – she loved him.

Rafael Aveiro was a superhero. He loved with conviction and unencumbered freedom. He never hid his affection for Charlotte, and he never questioned if he deserved her. He loved her in a way that Ethan couldn’t, and how could Ethan ever compete?

Charlie should have loved Rafael, and maybe she did…. But she’d never felt such guilt as she did when she thought about him while sitting next to Ethan. She felt like every tender moment with Rafael was a moment in which she cheated on Ethan, and she had to remind herself of all the times Ethan pushed her away. Rafael didn’t push her away, so why did she keep coming back to Ethan?

For the first time all day, silence fell between the two of them.

The illusion shattered. They weren’t two lovebirds enjoying a day with a mutual friend. It was always more complicated than that…

Naveen filled the silence with a story from his youth, and slowly, they both engaged again. They laughed and participated, and truly, they enjoyed themselves. But between Ethan and Charlie, so many things remained unspoken.

Their conversations carried late into the evening, but every good day must end.

Containing their yawns, the group of three finally concluded their day together. Banerji was exhausted but still sad to see his friends go. He hugged them each tightly and sincerely, giving Charlie a kiss on the cheek as she went. He bid farewell to Jenner with a playful scratch under his chin, and he waved Charlie and Ethan off as their car disappeared down the drive.

Charlotte’s day with Dr. Ramsey ended, and the moon illuminated all of the illusions they shared. Today had been wonderful and magical and fun, and away from hospital politics, they were two people who loved each other deeply spending time with a dear friend. But as the city of Boston approached them, they were two people, irrevocably connected but divided by unspoken words.

Dr. Ramsey wasn’t hers to hold, but why couldn’t Charlotte let go?

I know this is super long and didn’t have a very satisfying ending, but I wanted to show you the unique situation of their relationship. They’re obviously in love and basically married, but there’s still something that divides them... Please request to be tagged for the next update “Unspoken.”

Tag List: @claudevonstruke @flyawayboo @octobereighth @elixabexh @togetherwearerapture-blog @perriewinklenerdie @nobounderiesplease

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #dr ramsey #dr ramsey x mc #dr. ramsey x mc #dr. ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #choices #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanfiction

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joonsrack · 5 years ago

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+PAIRING: Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: SFW, slow burn, ficlet (do people use that term anymore?) mini series, it’s not exactly fluff but it’s soft i guess.

+THE ONE WHERE SEOKJIN IS A PART TIME COP AND A FULL TIME NAMJOONSITTER SERIES: Part I | Part II | Part III

+WORD COUNT: ~3k

+SUMMARY:

“You know hyung, that’s why even though you've got that face, you're still single; you can’t see a good opportunity even when it moves next door.”

“Excuse me?” Seokjin says, feeling pretty insulted. He chose to be single, single didn’t chose him.

+WARNINGS: Very brief mention of sexual harassment, abuse of italics.

Awkward is not strong enough a word to describe how meeting Namjoon in their building is.

How do you even act around your attractive new next door neighbour on which you pulled a gun on your first meeting? Jimin is laughing forever, the asshole.

Plus, Jimin keeps telling him he needs to take him out, to 'apologize', but the fucker has already guilt tripped a ride in the police cruiser out of him (without the lights, thank you very much), what more is he supposed to do?

“You know hyung, that’s why even though you've got that face, you're still single; you can’t see a good opportunity even when it moves next door.”

“Excuse me?” Seokjin says, feeling pretty insulted. He chose to be single, single didn’t chose him.

“Oh come on, you’re life’s prime example that a good face doesn’t equate having game.” Jimin says, and finds himself two second away from needing a new best friend and roof.

“I don’t know how you came to the conclusion that I had any interest for Namjoon—”

“Hyung, you wrote his name instead of yours on your last report.”

“I was distracted.”

“You downloaded all of their songs even though you despise rap songs.”

“My taste can evolve!”

“You looked him up on facebook and instagram without following or sending a friend request.”

“I—” he starts, but pauses.

Yeah, that last one made it pretty obvious.

A god given opportunity presents itself, and even Seokjin can admit this must be faith. Or fatality. He’s hoping it’s the first one.

He’s coming back home, arms loaded with groceries, and almost turns around and tuck tails once he catches sight of a tall shadow standing in the hallway. He freezes when he hears the tell tale sound of metal snapping,

followed by a low groan that will haunt his dreams forever. He sneaks a look over his shoulder to catch Kim Namjoon, head in his hands, looking… very blond. And despondent. But blond, hi. Gone is the dark silver, his hair bleached almost white.

Seokjin takes a deep calming breath, hoping this will not go as badly as he knows it will. It’s not like it can go worse than their first meeting, so he can at least find joy in that.

“Hello there,” he says, taking slow steps towards the man.

Namjoon takes one look at him, then looks away, avoiding his eyes as red blossoms on his cheeks.

“Before you pull out your gun; as we have already established, I live here, so this is not me trying to break in.”

Ouch.

Seokjin chuckles to cover up the fact that he just got served.

As he gets closer, he spies something in Namjoon’s hand, and; yep, that’s half a key. He could bet his handsome face that the second half is stuck in the lock.

“Looks like you’ll have to call someone for that one.” Seokjin says, approaching the man carefully like he’s a wounded animal. He definitely looks like he’s about to snap.

He’s dressed in all black, and Seokjin is not in uniform, so he indulges in a quick once over while the man is looking at anything but him. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots, making his new hair colour stand out even more. The bad boy look is strong with this one, although the knowledge he could probably spill a sippy cup ruins the image a bit.

“You could… call a locksmith and then wait for them at my place, with a cup of tea.” Seokjin tries, and let it be known that he’s got game; Park Jimin can go to hell.

Namjoon looks at him again, this time with a self deprecating smile on his face that breaks Seokjin’s heart in a thousand pieces. There’s dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t had a good night of sleep in a few days.

“If you hold your stuff dear, you better leave me outside.” He says, taking out his cellphone and sending a quick text to someone.

Seokjin makes a quick inventory of every object and furniture currently in his living room, but can’t think of anything that would warrant leaving the blond man sitting duck in the hallway.

“If you just sit nice and tight on the couch, I’m sure I can find a plastic cup somewhere that you can’t break.”

Namjoon looks around, like he’s searching for a reason to say no, but his phone pings then, and he peeks at the incoming text.

“Shit.” He says. “Locksmith can’t make it for at least two hours. And I'm already late. Damnit.”

Seokjin decides to ignore the fact that Namjoon is on texting basis with his locksmith, balancing his groceries in one hand and unlocking the door with his other. He holds the door open, looking expectantly at Namjoon until the man takes the hint and steps hesitantly in his direction.

“Hope you’re insured.” Are his last words before he sets foot in Seokjin’s home.

He takes off his jacket —and who the hell wears a leather jacket in summer—and puts it on a hook, but the hook doesn’t hold and both fall to the ground.

Seokjin is very impressed; a very short second has yet to pass and the destruction has already begun.

“It was loose anyway.” he hurries to say at Namjoon’s blank expression. He grabs the jacket after putting the groceries away on the table and puts it on the back of a chair, then waits until Namjoon steps out of his usual black boots to lead him to the couch.

“It’s an interesting choice, black boots in summer.” He says, to break the silence and awkwardness.

“Steel toe” is the only answer he gets, and it actually makes a lot of sense. It also seems to be a sore subject, so he doesn’t ask about the leather jacket.

With Namjoon looking extremely stiff on his couch, like he’s trying to keep every muscle still, Jin leaves for a moment to put away the groceries and to try and find what he needs to make an accident-prone-person’s cup of tea. Well aware the man is most definitely not immune to spills, he ends up finding an old reusable ice tea Starbucks cup, needing a few minutes to locate the matching straw. He pours their drinks on ice and serves both of them an iced tea.

It’s summer, after all.

He drops the drink on the low table only to look up and realizes his guest is… fast asleep. His head is reclined against the back of the couch, his mouth hanging slack and emitting soft snores. The rest of his body looks locked tight even in his slumber, his hands stuck to his thighs with his legs straight. He looks like he’s used to sleeping without moving a muscle, which just mustn’t be nice. After looking at Namjoon’s sleeping form long enough to effectively feel like a creeper (the loose neck line of his t-shirt exposing a tantalizing amount of collarbone), he finds a small fleece blanket, his AC making the insides of his apartment pleasantly fresh but dangerous for uncovered throats.

As softly and quietly as he can, he covers Namjoon’s whole upper body with the blanket, only leaving his head poking out.

He looks proudly at his work after taking a step back, but the stupid smile on his face disappears once he realizes he just babied a grown ass man who he barely knows. Namjoon will probably think this is weird, right?

He’s tempted to take back the blanket to preserves his dignity, but risking the man waking up as he’s ripping it off him is not a position he wants to find himself in.

He settles for sitting on the other side of the couch, sipping at his glass quietly, trying to stop his eyes from wandering to the man’s sleeping form and failing pretty badly.

In the end, his glass empty and discarded on the coffee table, Namjoon’s even breathing ends up making his own lids feel heavy. It’s his first day off in a while, and the first few hours of it have been spent running around the city, so before he knows it, he’s joining the other man in dreamland.

“There’s a hot young man doing things to your neighbour’s door knob that will star in my wet dreams for and undetermined futu— Hyung, What the hell.” Is what Seokjin’s wakes up to.

He’s laying on his side, head pillowed on a nice and comfy surface that is sadly tensing up by the second, and that’s how Seokjin knows he will never be able to look at Namjoon in the eyes again.

He dares to crack an eye, and once he confirms his very pillowed head on Namjoon’s very thighs, he takes back everything he earlier thought.

How naive it was of him to believe he couldn’t do worse than their first meeting.

He uses every single muscle in his body to roll off the couch as fast as possible, his fight or flight response deeming it the quickest way to get off Namjoon’s lap. His body connect to the floor with a heavy thud, but not before knocking the coffee table hard enough to make Namjoon’s untouched drink inevitably topple off. His spill-proof solution proves itself insufficient as the lids pops open and the chilled tea explodes all over his chest, soaking his whole torso.

Wearing his thin and light pink summer shirt had seemed like such a good idea that morning, the sunny and clear sky promising a beautiful day. Now, as the fabric clings to his chest leaving nothing to the imagination, he curses the day he ever bought it.

As he lays still on the floor, cold liquid dripping off him and on the carpet, he takes a moment to regret every single decisions that lead him to this very moment. At the top of that list is of course, listening to Jimin’s advice. One day, he’ll take the time to think about how funny it is that every bad things that happened in his life can be linked back to that particular man.

Meanwhile, Taehyung is still staring from the and Namjoon is still perfecting his imitation of a statue on the couch.

Seokjin can’t see his face from his position on the floor, until the man reclines forward to look over the edge of the couch and down at him.

“First, abuse of firearm, and now sexual harassment? You've been a very exemplary police officer these past few weeks, Kim Seokjin-ssi.” He says, the only hint that he’s joking the small smirk stretching his lips. Seokjin covers his face in shame. “It’s always a relief to see that some people can embarrass themselves as much as me.”

Seokjin feels a warm hand on his forearm pulling it away from his face. He lets himself be pulled off the floor, Namjoon standing up with him as he helps him up.

“Hyung, cover your damn tiddies for Christ sake.”

“Shut up Taehyung.” Seokjin says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, feeling a faint blush dust his cheeks. “What are you even doing here?”. Namjoon, like a true gentleman, offers the blanket to him without a word.

“Dad told me mom told him Jimin told her you had a crush on your new-“ Taehyung doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as Seokjin pounces on him, hands covering his mouth to shut him up, knowing very well where this story is leading. “Taehyung,” He says with an edge to his voice and a glint in his eyes, “-meet my neighbour, Kim Namjoon. He moved in a few weeks ago.” Realization crosses his brother’s features, and he looks apologetic for all of two second before he pushes the hands off his mouth. “So you might know who’s that delicious piece of man currently greasing up your knob?”

Namjoon looks a bit dumbfounded before he answers, uncertain. “Probably my locksmith? I wouldn’t use those exact words to describe his profession, though.” He shrugs.

“Would you happen to know his name? Current relationship status? Sexual orientation? Better yet, favourite colour? ” His younger brother says, hope blooming in his eyes.

“Huh.” Namjoon’s phone rings, saving him from the onslaught of questions. He checks who it is before answering, and a smile blooms on his face, his dimples hitting Seokjin straight in the guts.

“Hey! How's my baby?”

Seokjin’s heart stops and shatters at his feet; His baby.

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, too busy spiralling down into self pity. Of course someone as attractive as Namjoon wouldn’t be single. Of course. He feels so stupid.

The phone call doesn’t last long, ending on a quick “see you in a few”, but it’s long enough for Seokjin to have sweared off love altogether and made a vow of celibacy, with very nice plans of moving to a desert island. He'll have so many cats.

“Soo, baby huh.” He says, barely containing the distaste in his voice. If Namjoon notices, he doesn’t show. He gives them both a shy smile, and Seokjin has had enough with this man. “Well, run along now, we wouldn’t want to hold you back too long, in case your baby gets impatient.”

Namjoon looks at him weirdly then, just catching on the tone of his voice. Nevertheless, he chuckles the awkwardness away before answering. “She’s kind of a diva I guess. And she always needs new stuff, quite the expensive girl that one.” Taehyung turns pitying eyes towards him.

Namjoon got himself a gold digger. He doesn’t even look like he has money.

“But she's the best ride there is.” Namjoon says, and Seokjin holds back a gag. T.M. goddamn. I. There’s a part of him that’s ready to cancel Namjoon for his apparent fuck boy personality. There’s also another part, one that is deeply buried inside of him, that gets a twisted sense of satisfaction from knowing that if that’s how Namjoon talks about the girl, she mustn’t be all that special to him. He’s a cop though, and an outspoken feminist, so he shuts that part up, ready himself for a nice lecture on respecting women and how to do it.

Taehyung beats him to it.

“That’s a very misogynist way to put it, mr. neighbour.”

“What?” Namjoon, says, looking confused. “How is it... misogynist to say I like to ride my bike?”

The word bike reverberate in the silence of the living room, Taehyung exchanging a look with Seokjin as the both of them realize the misunderstanding, leaving Namjoon looking nonplussed.

“Bike, as in motorcycle?” His brother asks.

Namjoon looks between the two of them, slowly putting the pieces together.

“Yes? What did you think I was talking about.... ah. Yeah, i guess that can be confusing.”

Seokjin’s relief is short lived; It only takes a few second for the meaning of it all to sink in; the sexy fucker is also a sexy biker, how is Seokjin supposed to get any sleep at night now?

The leather jacket in summer makes so much more sense.

Seokjin’s mouth feels dry for reasons he can very much explain. “Isn’t that a bit… dicey, though?” He doesn’t say for someone like you, but it hangs in the air, and Namjoon seems to hear it loud and clear.

He smirks like someone who’s used to this exact reaction.

“There’s two things I’ve never broken in this world; Music equipments and vehicles.”

Seokjin nods calmly to cover up the fact that his inside are a mess. Figures Hearts aren’t on that list.

“Alright, I need to go talk to my locksmith.” Taehyung’s eyes lights up again. “Thank you for letting me stay here.” He finishes, nodding in his direction, a shy smile on his face.

“Anytime.” Seokjin says faintly, still processing everything. “And I’m sorry for, you know, the whole falling asleep on you.” His blush must be covering him all over by now. He might never got back to his normal colour. He tries to laugh the embarrassment away, but all it does is make his crush look even more obvious.

Namjoon looks at him then, the cogs clearly turning in his head. Once he seems to finally have reached a conclusion, his expression twist into something different. Something that looks suspiciously... flirtatious?

“Don’t worry about it. Having a lap full of handsome has never been a problem for me.”

Let it be known Seokjin has rarely been rendered speechless. For a second he thinks he just hallucinated it, but then Namjoon unmistakably winks at him.

Seokjin’s mind goes blank. Where did the shy guy from before go?

“You know where to find me if you ever want a ride. I kind of owe you one.” He adds before leaving, closing the door behind himself.

Seokjin is too stunned to make a noise, so it’s Taehyung who breaks the silence.

“I aspire to have that level of game.”

Seokjin agrees.

Fin 1.1

Namjoon has already left to pick up his motorcycle from the auto shop, trusting Jungkook to lock up behind himself. After all, they’ve bonded over Namjoon’s difficulties with locks for the last few years, and can now be considered good friends.

He’s pretty much done, gathering his tools before leaving.

Somebody comes out of an apartment next door as he’s packing up. He doesn’t pay it any attention until the person clears their throat for a solid fifteen second. Turning around curiously, he catches sight of a particularly pretty man, probably around his age, locking up very loudly. He wouldn’t give it more attention if the young man wasn’t looking right at him with a weird smile. He’s locking the door with fervour, never breaking eye contact while he clearly struggles, and a particular hard twist even succeeds in making Jungkook wince.

When the inevitable happens and the key snaps under the pressure, the man lets out the fakest sound of despair Jungkook has ever heard, maintaining eye contact and looking like the cat that got the canary.

“Oh!~ What am I to do!~ I don’t know any locksmith...”

Jungkook has a feeling he should, perhaps, run.

He doesn’t.

Fin 1.2

#magicshopnet #bangtanarmynet #armysource #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #namjin #mxm #bangtanscenery

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eddiesasspbrak · 5 years ago

Text

When I’m With You Ch. 2

Eddie can’t stand the barista at his favorite coffee shop. Richie has fallen in love with the man he sees twice a week. Stan is dating someone but won’t let his friends meet them. Ben is in love with Beverly, but is so afraid of scaring her away he’s not moving forward. Chaotic friends navigating college together.

Ch.1

Ch.3

Read on AO3

Less than 2k words

It was Saturday, Eddie didn’t have to do anything. When he woke on the couch, his neck hurting from the insufficient head support, he was glad to see his streak of no hangover was still going strong. Still, he felt off. A little sick to his stomach, but not from the drinking. It was that emotional kind of ache that came with anxiety usually. He wasn’t sure what was causing it and it was really quite annoying when it hit out of nowhere.

He sat up, rolling his neck and allowing it to pop and stretch. He’d slept in his clothes and that always made him feel too warm and gross. The first thing he needed was a shower and then he should probably eat something, even though his stomach protested at the thought. He turned the shower on and looked at the way his hair was sticking up in the mirror. He looked tired. He was tired. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t exactly restful.

Stripping off his clothes, he stepped under the warm spray of water. The events of the night before were coming back slowly as the groggy remnants of sleep faded away. He remembered Bev showing up with Richie and being stuck talking to him all night. He remembered Ben and Bev leaving them there alone without telling him they were going to go. He remembered Richie inviting him for pie and then leaving in a hurry when he got a text. The sad and disappointed look he tried to hide behind a smile crept back into his mind and his stomach churned with that heavy anxiety feeling again.

He tried to shake all thoughts from his head as he focused on getting clean instead. Feeling fresher than he had before, dressed in clean clothes, hair drying, he went to this kitchen to see if he could find anything he could stomach at the moment. In one of the cabinets he found a sleeve of crackers and took them back to the living room with him. He switched the TV on, ignoring the cooking show that was on as he checked his phone for the first time since waking up.

Ben: I’m so, so, so sorry. Beverly said she wanted to go somewhere alone and wouldn’t let me tell you first.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he read the text. He wasn’t actually mad at him and didn’t really expect an apology. But Ben was probably sitting there worried that he was angry. He was always like this. He’d spent his childhood before moving to town without friends. They’d met in middle school and found they liked some of the same things. Eddie didn’t really have friends either, so they found comfort in being with another outcast. However, Ben was always worried he’d do something wrong and lose him. Even in high school when their friend group grew to include Stan, even when all three got into the same college and ventured outside of their small town for the first time together.

Stan and Ben lived on campus, but Eddie’s mom had helped him get his apartment. He’d started out in the dorms, but he couldn’t stand living with a roommate who didn’t keep clean and his roommate was constantly complaining about him being anal about cleanliness. He also didn’t cope well with the communal showers. In the end, it was just better for him to live on his own off campus. He’d thought about finding a three bedroom with Stan and Ben, but for the time being, they were enjoying living on campus. It was fine. Eddie didn’t mind living alone.

He munched on some crackers while he typed out a response to Ben.

Eddie: It’s fine. I left right after you. That was pretty much the plan anyway

Ben: You’re not mad?

Eddie: No. How did it go?

Ben: Can I come over?

Eddie: That bad?

Ben: No. I just want to talk about it in person.

Eddie: Yea. I’m home

Ben: Twenty minutes

He hadn’t really expected to have company but spending a few hours with Ben wasn’t a terrible way to spend his Saturday. He could probably guilt him into buying him lunch to pay him back for the bar tab. Eddie went to put his phone down when another text came through, this one from Stanley.

Stan: Did you guys go out without me last night?

Eddie: Every time we ask you out you say you’ve got a date

Stan: So…you did

Eddie: If I had texted and asked you to come out what would your answer have been?

Stan: …that’s not the point

Eddie: omg ok I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to hang out Stan. I promise that next time I will ask you to come so you can turn me down properly instead of bringing this mystery person for your BEST FRIENDS to finally meet.

Stan: You will meet them eventually. I’m just not ready.

Eddie: It’s been three months.

Stan: Excuse me but I’m supposed to be mad at you. You can’t just turn things around on me like this

Eddie: Ben is coming over now. Do you want to come too? He’s going to regale us with the fascinating events with Bev from last night

Stan: …I can’t

Eddie: Oh my God

Stan: Next time?

Eddie sent back an emoji of hand flipping him off and dropped his phone down on the couch. He half focused on the cooking competition show while he ate almost the entire sleeve of crackers and waited for Ben. He was starting to feel better, more relaxed after texting with his friends. They both knew that he struggled with a panic disorder and were often the ones to help calm him when things got bad. Over the years they’d learned what they needed to do for him. Just being with him, occasionally hugging him or just placing a hand on his arm to keep him grounded. He really did love them.

He figured Ben was texting to let him know he’d arrived when his phone chimed about fifteen minutes later. He unlocked the screen and stared down at the number the text had been sent from. It was local, but not one he had saved or recognized. He opened the message warily, figuring it was probably a spam message from some store that had his information. Instead of a special offer or a sale announcement, he was met with the picture of a slice of pie.

?: thinking of you

Eddie: Who is this?

?: really? The pie didn’t tip you off?

Eddie: Um…

?: it’s Richie

It clicked for him a second later, having been working hard to forget about any of their interactions from the night before. Of course, he’d asked him to go get pie with him before he’d disappeared. The only question remaining was how he’d gotten his number. He for sure didn’t remember giving it to him and he didn’t want him to have it. He would never know peace if Richie was able to text him.

Eddie: Why do you have my number?

Richie: Bev gave it to me

Eddie: Why?

Richie: I asked her

Eddie: Why?

Richie: I wanted it

Eddie: Why?

Richie: did you give your phone to a 5yo?

Eddie: I’m just trying to understand why you would want to have the ability to contact me

Richie: you’re not very social, are you?

Eddie: No. I’m not.

Richie: we’ll have to work on that Eds

Eddie: Don’t call me that

A text came through from Ben, letting him know he was downstairs. Eddie set his phone aside, ignoring the new texts from Richie and going to the intercom. He pushed the button that would allow Ben to enter and unlocked his front door. He went back to the couch and a minute later Ben was letting himself in. At first glance, he didn’t look upset. Things must have gone well.

“So?” Eddie said, expectantly.

“I kissed her.” Ben blurted out, going tense.

“What? Really?” Eddie was really interested now.

“We left the bar and we were just walking. It was cold but it was like, I couldn’t even tell or something. I just wanted to keep walking forever if it meant that I could have her by my side.”

“Ok, enough of the poetic shit. Tell me what happened.”

“We stopped to get coffee at this place that was still open, and we were sitting and talking and…”

“And?”

“She’s just so pretty. I was staring at her and she started laughing at me, so I thought I screwed up. Then she just leaned across the table and kissed me.”

“Like, on the mouth?”

“Yep.”

“I told you she liked you.” Eddie couldn’t help the ‘I told you so’ as he had been telling Ben for months that Bev was into him. He was so sure that she wouldn’t be into him that he doubted every move he made around her.

Ben finally left the door and joined Eddie on the couch. He looked like he was in disbelief, like maybe he was thinking that he’d dreamt it all.

“So, are you guys dating then?” Eddie asked, pulling his legs up underneath him.

“I think so. She said I was cute and then we held hands while I walked her home and we kissed again before I left.”

“Did you ask her out again?”

“No. But she said her birthday is on Thursday and she wants both of us to come.”

“Is it a party?”

“She said drinking and laser tag.”

That didn’t sound terrible to Eddie. He liked Bev. Considered her a friend. He would like to celebrate her birthday with her. He’d never been to play laser tag, so he wasn’t sure he’d be any good. Still, he didn’t have any classes on Friday so a fun night out on Thursday didn’t sound bad.

“Should be fun. And, hey, she wants to see you again after kissing you. That’s a good sign, right?” Eddie asked, patting Ben on the shoulder.

“I guess. Do I kiss her when I see her? When I shop for a birthday gift, should I shop like I’m buying for a girlfriend? Or a friend?”

“You need to calm the fuck down, man. When you see her, if she wants to kiss you, she will let you know. This is Beverly we’re talking about. As for a gift, just buy her something you know she’ll like. I’ll go with you to find something.”

“Really?”

“Yea, of course.”

Ben wrapped his arms around Eddie and pulled him into a crushing hug. “I love you.”

“I know.” Eddie patted his back and laughed. “I love you too.”

Ben ended up staying the rest of the afternoon. They spent the day watching movies and playing games together. It had been a long time since they last did this, just enjoying each other’s company. They ordered dinner, Ben paid, and ate in front of the TV. Eddie told him about how he knew Richie and how Bev had given him his phone number without asking him first. Now he had him saved as a contact in his phone and he hated it.

When night fell, Ben chose to stay the night instead of heading back to his dorm. Tomorrow was Sunday and he didn’t have to be anywhere. They shared Eddie’s bed and the next morning they went out for a late breakfast of pancakes and coffee at a diner. Eddie absently remembered Richie’s comment about cheating on him with someone else’s coffee and rolled his eyes, drinking every drop and asking for a refill.

#It #it (2017)#it (2019)#reddie #benverly #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #Ro writes

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curiosity-killed · 5 years ago

Text

a hard night

@synergetic-prose ahhh okay i LOVE this prompt and also am sorry that this got....somewhat sidetracked and only sort of followed said prompt orz

Pairing: Shiro/Allura/Ulaz Word count: 2045 Warnings: Major character death (fake), PTSD, nightmares

They all have their own ways of handling their scars. In the middle of the night, Shiro will slip out on silent feet to train against the gladiator until his legs quiver from exhaustion and his arms can no longer lift his bayard. Allura will hole up in the command center, monitoring the surveillance both within and without of Atlas — making sure no one attacks and no one disappears. There are nights where Shiro can’t stand the softness, the openness, of a bed and tucks himself into a corner of the room where he can keep an eye on both them and the door. A chair is his only concession to comfort those nights. Nightmares wake them all. But tonight — tonight is a good night. It’s been a long day, filled from the first moment to the last. Ulaz’s shoulders ache with the strain of having been well-used, and the soft pads of his fingertips sport the tender rawness that comes before callouses have had a chance to form. The bricks they used and the tall beams were still rough, and he probably should have worn gloves. Still, it’s his favorite kind of fatigue: one born of rebuilding instead of fighting, hope instead of fear. The industrial showers of Atlas had washed away the dirt and dust of reconstructing from his fur, and Allura had insisted on braiding back his crest till only the very tip was loose to tickle the back of his neck.

Now, curled around Shiro with his ankles tangled in Allura’s, Ulaz has only enough energy to seep into the honey-warm contentment that has settled deep in his chest. Already, Allura’s chest rises and falls with easy long breaths, and Shiro gives him a sleepy smile from where his face is smushed into the pillow, half-hidden. Lifting a hand, Ulaz combs gently through his bangs, brushing them sideways out of Shiro’s eyes. His smile broadens and he closes his eyes, nestling deeper into the mattress and pillow. Taking a deep breath and letting it out easy, Ulaz does likewise and lets sleep slip blanket-like over him. The grass is soft, flattening beneath his boots rather than crunching and breaking off. The fire hasn’t reached here — yet. Already the air has turned thick and grey, smoke a living thing that coils against his suit, forms feeble hands around his neck. If he peers hard enough, he can make out the shapes of the buildings, half-ruined, crumbling in silhouette through the smog. He can’t be that far away. He has to make it. Urging his limbs to move faster, he finds them heavy, sluggish. Silence rings in his ears, the echoes of an explosion he wasn’t there to witness. There’s a kind of pressure deep in his skull that buzzes in the curves of his inner ears, and the edges of his vision are blurry, smudged like fingerprints on a visor. He trips on the long arms of the smoke still rising from the ashes of these strangers’ homes. Kolivan is first. His eyes are still open, dulled and paled against the stark scarlet dried over his throat and jaw. White bone gleams through the ruin of his cheek. Ulaz’s stomach lurches but he stumbles on. There’s no saving his leader, but the cause has always been greater than one soldier, greater than any of them put together. It must go on. He must go on. More bodies follow soon after, some he knows, some he only saw in passing. Some wear masks but others are bared and their faces look so young, too young, barely older than kits. He cannot stop to grieve for them. The time for helping the dead is long past. All he can do now is search for the living. He doesn’t find them. One by one, the broken bodies of the paladins appear through the rubble. Garish red streaks across the white of their armor. Hand prints pattern Hunk’s cuirass and finish at his cheek, too small to belong to his own hand. Beside him, Pidge is crumpled with her face hidden in the rocks. Lance is a little further off, facing away. Ulaz can’t bring himself to walk to the other side, to see the aftermath of the helmet fractured and dripping red just beside the paladin’s lean body. He doesn’t find Keith at all, only the red bayard and the shards of a luxite blade. His hand flexes, curls tight on empty air instead of his own saber’s handle. Rare and terrible is the force that can shatter a Blade. Swallowing, he forces himself to go on. The urgency of before has drained away, replaced with a heavy despair. Desperation is the only thing that keeps his steps from halting completely. He hasn’t seen Shiro or Allura yet. They could still — they might not be — he could — He finds them together — and alive. Shiro’s grey eyes burn violet, quintessence a toxic blood crackling through him with the acrid taste of Haggar’s touch. His left hand wraps around the black bayard’s handle, curled over Allura’s fist. The tip of the blade juts scarlet and wrong from his back, a perfect line to Allura’s arm. His right hand is pressed to her belly, knuckles kissing her skin where the blade of his prosthesis has burnt through armor and undersuit. The scent of burning flesh clogs the air, chokes Ulaz where the smoke hadn’t succeeded. Rigor alone seems to hold them in place, bodies using the last of their fight to make sure that this gruesome sacrifice is complete. When Allura turns to him, it is with jerky motions, mechanical. Her blue eyes burn. “You,” she hisses. Blood trickles dark down her lip, sluggish. “You were supposed to stop this. This is your fault.” He knows enough about Altean anatomy now to know where her injuries must fall, know the source of the thick black-burgundy blood staining her teeth. His mind, inconsiderate beast, turns to that with a kind of detachment, cataloguing the damage done to her as if he were still performing research in Haggar’s torture chambers. A punctured lung, internal bleeding, potential rupture of digestive organs — by rote, it notes them down as if in black-and-white text on a report. “Why didn’t you do anything,” Allura snarls, voice rising in a hoarse call. “Why didn’t you save us?” His feet are planted to the spot, staked into the grass as if they’ve grown roots. Even if he could move, he doesn’t know what he’d do. To touch her would be an insult, a disgrace. She’s right. Her words deserve more than his faltering comfort, his insufficient justification. He should have fought harder, should’ve done more, sacrificed himself before accepting the death of a thousand others. “You failed us,” Allura cries. Beneath his feet, the planet shudders and groans, giving way at last. When he falls among the rubble, the darkness is almost a relief from the hatred in Allura’s eyes. He wakes to the soft hush of Atlas’ air cycle kicking on. Their room smells of soft things, clean fabric, a hint of juniberries, but the smell of death clings to his fur and mind. Swallowing, he unfolds his fists to lay flat over his belly and forces himself to breathe. Long, slow inhales and matching exhales expand his chest, press the warm fur up against his palms. His heart beats a frenetic rhythm in his neck, ragged with remembered fear and adrenaline. He remembers that planet, that mission, that failure. He’d been so much younger then — in heart more than years — and still heady with the arrogance of the newly initiated. Back then, he’d still believed that their sacrifices meant that no one else had to sacrifice, that their deaths meant that no others had to die. And then Kijala Four had happened. His fingers tighten, claws scraping through his fur, and he forces them to relax once more. He taught himself this practice back when he was working under Haggar. Any discrepancies, any odd behaviors, would jeopardize the mission, and so he could not afford to get up and walk the ship’s cold corridors or commandeer a training room until his body was too exhausted for dreams. Any comfort he sought, he found alone and in stillness. The witch’s eyes were ever-present and rarely inhibited by wall or closed door. Like a small creature, he holed up in the darkness and stilled his trembling limbs to keep away from the hunter’s gaze. The mattress dips and there’s a rustle to his left. “‘Laz?” Allura mumbles, his name a mush of sound. “Apologies,” he murmurs, “I did not mean to wake you.” “Didn’t,” Allura says before a yawn splits her words, squeaking on the end. She lifts a hand to sweep back the great tide of white hair tumbling over her forehead. “Atlas thought you were in distress.” Despite himself, Ulaz’s lips twist in displeasure. He should be used to it by now: Allura and Atlas are nearly a single whole, divisible only with effort and never completely, and though Shiro’s connection to Atlas is dwarfed next to his with the Black Lion, his time nestled in Allura’s soul left them bound. By extension, occasionally, Ulaz benefits from a strange sort of benevolence from the ship that offers him rooms at a preferred temperature or pathways opening up to speed his trips around the many levels. Still, he cannot quite accustom himself to the invasiveness of the ship’s sentience and omniscience. “It is nothing,” Ulaz says, stiff. Propping her cheek up on one fist, Allura eyes him in silence for a moment. There’s a keenness, a knowing, to her gaze that tiredness doesn’t abate. “Was it a nightmare?” she asks. He hums, reluctant to give much answer. It was a nightmare in the most basic sense, a terrible dream wrought of his own fears — but it was not only fantasy, was grounded in true failings, in sense memories that linger in his hands and ribcage. He doesn’t want to burden her with the phantasms his mind concocts or the terrible truths from which they’re born. “Would touch make it worse?” Allura asks. That gives him pause, and he hitches up his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. “Not worse,” he offers. It’s enough for Allura to give a firm nod and turn around to swing her legs off the edge of the bed. The motion seems to rouse Shiro, who lifts his head to squint blearily first at her and then at Ulaz. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “Nothing,” Ulaz answers. “Just a bad dream.” Shiro’s forehead scrunches up in a frown. It doesn’t ease as Allura steps around the foot of the bed to clamber up on the other side. Ulaz has to shift inwards to make room, and in doing so, realizes that something’s changed about their relative proportions. He twists around to look at Allura and finds her his same height, tall enough to curve around him from back to toes and reach over him to Shiro. “How is that?” Allura asks. Her voice comes out in a warm breath against his shoulder, and he can feel the steady thump of her heart against his back. Swallowing, he gives a little nod. “Good,” he says. She hums and nestles a little closer, tucking her feet between his ankles and her face into the curve of his neck. On his other side, Shiro watches the proceedings with a solemn, confused frown before it eases into a gentle smile. Smallest of their trio, he folds himself into Ulaz’s chest so that his head fits under his chin and his left arm curls around his side. If they stay like this, that arm’s bound to go numb, but Shiro shows no sign of discomfort, and Ulaz makes no move to dissuade him. The weight of their bodies on either side seems to form a kind of gravity, a grounding force that tethers him here and now. He sinks into it, lets his lungs follow the steady rise and fall of their chests, lets his heart settle into a matching rhythm. The nightmares will return someday, will crawl back on broken, bloodied feet. For now, though, his princess and paladin will keep him safe.

#shalluraz #shiro #allura #ulaz #voltron #vld #voltron ficlet #my writing #ot3: asterism

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falseroar · 6 years ago

Text

Broken Memories Part 7: Is It Worth It?

((Here’s a link to the last part, Part 6: Nightmare and to the beginning of the series, Part 1: Deal with the Devil.))

“Incorrect.”

You took a second to react to that. “Sorry, what?”

“Y/N believes they have to go back to Markiplier Manor. That is incorrect.”

“But I told you, I keep seeing that room, I can’t get it out of my head!” You stared at the Host, who just shrugged at your words. “You told me yourself that these visions or whatever they are could be of the future, and it’s not like they’re memories. I know they haven’t happened yet!”

“A future.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The Host recalls telling Y/N that what they see may not happen at all. The future is a difficult thing to read, and even observing it may be enough to change what one sees.” The Host sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desk as he turned his bandaged eyes on you. “What reason does Y/N have to go to the house?”

“I told you, I keep seeing it—”

“The Host stands and asks Y/N to join him in the middle of the study.”

“…O-okay,” you said, following the Host to the middle of the room. You almost knocked over a stack of books along the way, but the ego wound his way through the haphazard stacks without any trouble.

“Now the Host asks that Y/N close their eyes.”

“I’ll say it again, what?”

“Whether Y/N believes it or not, not being able to see for one minute is not the end of the world.”

“I didn’t mean—Fine. Now what?”

The Host’s hands rested on your shoulders as he turned you around, and then around again, until you lost all sense of direction and then he let go. You stood there with eyes still closed, knowing that the Host would call you out on peeking.

“Y/N hears the sound of the Hosts’ voice. Can Y/N walk toward it, without opening their eyes?”

“Sure I can, I just…” You paused after one step when you felt the pressure against one side of your leg and heard the sound of a book tumbling to the floor. Right, the stacks of books, all over the room. “Oh.”

“Exactly. Walking forward blindly would result in Y/N tripping and most likely twisting an ankle.”

“Host.”

“That is, if the Host were to let them,” the Host added quickly at the tone in your voice. “The Host’s question is if risking that outcome would be worth it just because someone told Y/N to go there.”

“So I should just ignore these visions?” You crossed your arms, recalling the latest in the series of nightmares. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Is that the reason Y/N wishes to go? To make them stop? Because the Host cannot guarantee that will be the outcome. Going back may even make them worse. Again, is it worth it?”

“I don’t...” Your fingers dug into your arms as you recalled the nightmares, and the memories they came from. It took an effort to speak, but he was patient. “Host, I was in that house for so long, and that door was always there. And every time I saw it, I thought, what if…What if we were wrong, what if we could have saved them, what if they were trapped in there like I was trapped in the mirror, and...I know they’re not coming back, I know what happened. They’re gone, this won’t change anything, but...I have to see that room for myself. I need to. Do you understand?”

“When the Host sees the future, it is not just one. There are so many paths to choose even if someone knows where they wish to go, and at times the Host feels that there is more to lose than just knocking over a stack of books or a visit to Dr. Iplier.” The Host sighed. “But if that outcome is important or dear enough, then it is worth the risks along the way. Of course, like crossing this room, having someone to help you could make all the difference. Y/N will not be going alone.”

“No, of course not!” There was absolutely no way you would go back to that place alone.

“That was less a question and more an observation. Y/N may open their eyes now. The Host has finished making his point.”

You opened your eyes and watched as the Host threaded his way back over to you, taking the time to think. You already knew one person you could ask, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else come along. “Host, would you go with me?”

The Host paused, his head dipping toward the ground as he considered. Then he said, almost sadly, “The Host cannot.”

“That’s okay, I just thought—” You were about to say you thought he could use some fresh air and time outside, but going back to Markiplier Manor hardly seemed like a fun kind of outing.

“The Host hopes…” The Host stopped, considering his words. “The Host hopes that Y/N gets some rest soon. He has found that Chefiplier has tea in the kitchen cabinets that helps him to relax when bad dreams keep him awake which Y/N may find useful.”

“I’ll give that a try,” you said. At the door you turned around and added, “Thank you, Host. For listening, and the advice.”

In the kitchen you found a half-cleared disaster area that started with something in one of the sinks that burbled and gulped when you looked at it and spread to a disturbing yellow liquid splashed across one of the counters that oozed slowly toward the ground in thick strands. A mop stood straight up in the middle of the pool gathering below it, as if the substance was not only strong enough to keep it from falling over but could rip the mop out of the hands of whoever had been desperate enough to try to clean it up. The whole area had been roped off with probably more hazard signs than were necessary, or at least you hoped so.

Fortunately, there was more than one sink in this massively oversized kitchen, and you could at least get some water boiling for the tea the Host told you about. You took a moment to pull out your phone and, with a guilty look at the clock, send a text message. You hoped it wouldn’t wake him up, but part of you suspected that he wouldn’t be asleep even at this hour. As you were picking out a cup, the back door opened and two superheroes came stumbling into the room.

“Y/N! Good to see you,” Silver Shepherd said, waving as he led Jackieboy Man to one of the clear counters and propped him up there.

“Hey—Are you okay?” you asked, looking especially at Jackieboy.

He shrugged, one hand over his left eye, the other bracing himself against the counter. You could already see a bruise forming under his fingers and there was a rip in one of his sleeves. “You should see the other guys. Right, Silver?”

Silver laughed, but you couldn’t help noticing that his lower lip had a split in it. He handed a small towel wrapped around some ice to Jackieboy and said, “Here, try this.”

Jackieboy pressed the wrap against his eye, wincing a little as he did so. “Didn’t expect to see anyone up so late. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a bad dream,” you said. “Do you two need to go see the doctors?”

Both men immediately shook their heads, speaking over each other as they reassured you they were okay.

“Barely even a fight,” Silver added last. “These guys didn’t know what hit ‘em when both of us showed up.”

He puffed himself up, and before long he and Jackieboy were going over the fight piece by piece, laughing a lot for two guys who were almost tossed off a rooftop. You listened while you sipped your tea and breathed in the heavy steam. It seemed to be helping calm you down at least, so there was that.

You glanced down at your phone when you felt the vibration and saw the words, Only because you asked, Partner.

You smiled just before the phone vibrated again with a second message: Go to bed!

Well, there was only one way to respond to that.

You first.

Jackieboy made no secret of sidling over to peek at your phone and grinned at you when you turned it away from him. That’s how you missed the brief surge of static across the screen as the words jumped and scattered before settling back into place once they were read.

“Ooh, texts late at night, I know what that means,” Jackieboy said.

Silver pressed both hands to his mouth with an exaggerated gasp. “Y/N, do you have a secret someone?”

“Uh, no, it’s not like that.”

“You know we’ll have to meet this boyfriend and/or girlfriend of yours,” Silver continued, wagging a finger at you with one of his oversized gloves. “I don’t think I can approve of someone texting you at this hour of the night, keeping you up on a school night.”

“A school…? I texted him, about a thing tomorrow.”

“A thing?” Jackieboy said, nudging Silver as he did so. “Sounds pretty serious to me.”

“It’s not—I mean, it is, but it’s not…” You paused when you saw both men cracking up. “I hate you both so much right now.”

Silver waited until you finished your tea and went back upstairs to say to Jackieboy in a far more serious tone, “That was a pretty bad hit earlier. How’s your eye doing?”

Jackieboy removed the wrap and blinked a couple of times. For one second it seemed like his eye was completely bloodshot, but when Silver moved closer to take a better look there was only the bruising.

He gingerly touched the area around his eye and then shrugged. “I’ve felt worse.”

After you left the study, the Host went back to his desk and sat there, waiting in silence for the knock that he knew would soon come.

“Come in, Google.”

The blue Google unit entered the room, careful to shut the door behind him as he did not wish to be overheard. He walked across the room, taking a calculated path to reduce encounters with the stacks, until he stood at the other side of the desk and looked down at the Host. The Host could hear the android’s system whirring loudly, a sign that he was…not upset, that would be a human emotion. Just having difficulty processing.

“I have been analyzing my data records since I returned to the house,” Google said, not bothering with an introduction or any niceties. “I can not find any cause for the van fire earlier today, and seeing that my memory banks are…insufficient, asking for your assistance seemed to be a logical choice.”

The android said the word “insufficient” like it hurt, and the Host knew that the last several hours had been a debate between the four units on whether or not to seek outside help.

“The fire that damaged the Barrel was caused by a glitch, a spark that ignited the grease,” the Host said.

“I did not glitch,” Google said, his hand coming to rest on the desk as he leaned over the Host.

“The Host did not say you were the source of the glitch.”

“Bing,” Google muttered.

The Host opened his mouth to correct him and then stopped himself. Instead, he asked, “Does Google still intend to repair the van?”

“It is doubtful if the ‘Barrel’ is worth this unit’s time and energy,” Google said. “Holding on to that van is sentimentality on the part of Markiplier and Y/N, a human defect that prevents them from simply making the most efficient choice of getting a new vehicle.”

“Some things can’t be fixed…” The Host said to himself, quietly, and shuddered.

“…I did not say that,” Google said. He scowled when the Host turned his head toward him and added, “Just that it has no rational value.”

“If the van has no value, then why did Google offer to repair it in the first place?” the Host asked.

Google narrowed his eyes. He knew that the Host only asked questions when he wanted someone else to say it for themselves. “Because this unit finds it more convenient to achieve my directives when Markiplier and Y/N trust me. Today’s error will only make that more difficult, unless the Host knows another way.”

“The Host does know that Markiplier’s house is currently empty, and will continue to be so for several days. That is, if Google truly believes the van can be repaired.”

The Host listened, sensing the android’s processing as he took in this information. It lasted longer than he liked, and the response was not the cocky answer he had hoped for.

“Perhaps I can spare my other units to look into it. This information is…appreciated, Host.”

The Host nodded and waited until the door shut behind Google before he leaned forward on his desk and buried his head in his shaking hands.

One outcome, only one where this was all worth it, and he could feel the pits lurking on either side of the path to get there.

((End of Part 7. Thank you for reading!

Here’s the link to Part 8: Return to Markiplier Manor (Again)

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @determinedrevolutionary @cherrybomb-jaguar @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfic #wkm y/n #the host #silver shepherd #jackieboy man #googliplier #anti #broken memories #one outcome #many paths

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