#let the boys run their milk scam :( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slovo-theshattered-onion · 8 months ago

Text

How to Get a Shot of Heaven: Guide for Boys with Fear of Needles

this is a vaguely (very vaguely. it's the Vibes toward the very end) forcemascing fictional story with just some random ocs i pulled from the ether :D

all i can guarantee is that the prose will be decent and maybe the banter will be cute but otherwise i don't know what i'm doing ✨ enjoy the story, 's under the cut !! 4014 words (written in one sitting so quality mileage may vary)

cws: religious trauma (mostly lightheartedly referenced, but very much omnipresent, gets more prevalent toward the end. worth mentioning, jay (pov character) got it in a cult), mentions of sexism and transphobia, kidnapping if you squint, needles and sirynges, Vaguely Horny Vibes further in but not straight away

Much to Jeremiah's surprise, he's largely unaffected by jet lag.

It's odd; his first ever flight, a transatlantic one at that, and all it took for him to shake off the morning after was throwing cold water in his face. If not for Adam looking halfway ran over as he checks the milk's expiration date and curses, Jay would've thought nothing of it, but apparently it's a blessing and the only good reason for Jeremiah to believe in God. Bit dramatic, but sure, whatever. Not like he'd know better.

Having abandoned the fridge in favour of the cabinets, Adam shuts another one with a groan. "I can't believe I have to feed you dry cereal on your first fucking day here. D'you prefer chocolate or fruity and would you be merciful enough to make me choke to death on whichever one you choose?"

Jeremiah snorts. "Can't believe a billionaire eats worse than I did living out of a car." He pushes off the wall, wandering over to the fridge, and examines its remarkably barren, cold insides, "Do they take your 'capable of basic self-care and housekeeping' card once you're masculine enough, or something?"

"Firstly, not a billionaire yet and won't become one if I have anything to say about it. Secondly, you've got it backwards. I'm incompetent because of my wealth, not in spite of it." Good-natured, Adam peeks from around the fridge door in all his mussed, squinty glory, "Men do tend to be encouraged to do jack shit even when they know how, though. 'S called 'toxic masculinity', doubt you've heard of it."

Humming affirmation, Jeremiah takes out a crate of eggs stationed lonesome on the top shelf and checks the date. "Do you have oil, flour and sugar? We could make pancakes."

Adam furrows his brows, like his appearance needs more creases. "Don't you need milk for those? That shit's been spoiled for over a week."

"Heat banishes the sin out of it or something, we'll be fine." Eggs and milk in hand, Jeremiah shuts the fridge with his foot and sets them down, taking the scan for supplies into his own hands. First thing he finds upon opening a top cabinet right next to the fridge is plates, stale-smelling spices, and, for whatever reason, the aforementioned cereal. This place is in desperate need of a full re-arranging, isn't it?

"... Okay, if we swap 'sin' for 'bacteria' that does make sense. You weren't kidding when you said they taught you pure fucking bollocks, huh?" Having got out the oil- olive, not ideal but workable- while Jeremiah was busy with plates, Adam stares at him with what Jay can only assume is highly crumpled scientific fascination.

Jay nods. "Dinosaurs are a scam invented to make people sin and all humans on the flat Earth came from a guy who coincidentally shares your name, yes." In the next cabinet, there's cups, glasses, a single fancy goblet and, on the top shelf, pans, "But hey, at least I know how to organise a kitchen."

"I know where everything is! Look, flour and sugar, record time." Adam says, muscles flexing as he pointedly slams the two largely unopened paper bags down next to the milk and eggs. Because flour is involved, he immediately sneezes.

"Your cereal probably tastes like paprika at this point. Now get out of the kitchen you're paying me to run and let me salvage your pathetic homemaking, shoo." Poking Adam in the chest with a pan, Jeremiah shoulders past him to get to more cabinets. Next one mostly has a myriad snacks and sugary drinks, though because it's ran by Adam, there's random soup bowls in there, too.

As Jay rummages around for a mixing bowl, Adam hovers. He's so rarely recognisably awkward, shameless as he is, his shuffling is even more distracting than it'd normally be. Mixing bowl found- though it's meant to be a salad bowl or something equivalent, judging by the fancy design- Jeremiah turns to glare over his shoulder.

Adam twiddles his thumbs under his ire. "Are you... Sure it's not too uncomfortable? You know, dysphoria and all, 's probably weird to be acting a housewife for a guy you just met three days ago."

Huh. Jeremiah blinks. Looks down at himself.

Even holding a fancy bowl in front of a stacked kitchen counter, the sight is far less nauseating than usual, his chest flattened and hairy legs covered halfway by cargo shorts. He sucks in his lips, worries at them, sets the bowl down. Breathes. Turns, and smirks as he faces Adam. "I'd be more concerned about the three days part than the housewife part, if I were you." He pinches at the loose fabric of his t-shirt, lifting it away, "More seriously though, that binder thingy helps, it's fine."

Squinting blearily, Adam holds up his wrist to check his watch. "You've been awake... How much longer than me, again?"

Uh? "About an hour? Well, a bit more than that, but I first checked the time an hour before you started puttering."

Adam nods, tapping something into his watch. "And you've been wearing the binder that entire time?"

Oh, right. "Yeah, showered and put it on. That's five more hours, if I remember correctly?"

Adam looks up. "Four and a half. Can I make coffee?"

"Excuse me? Where'd the half hour go?" Crossing his arms, Jeremiah narrows his eyes. Mostly playfully. Excuse him for enjoying the high of a better fitting body.

"We've been hanging out. Don't cry, you can have your dysphoria hoodie even if you'll boil, but I'm not letting you fuck up your ribs. Now, coffee? Would you mind if I used ice cream instead of milk or would you just prefer it black?" Back at the counters, Adam squats, opening a bottom cabinet.

Jeremiah huffs. "Ice cream's good, but not too much. And sure, try and convince me you were responsible when you got your first binder." Measuring flour with a literal cup, he pours it into the bowl. No sieve, whatever; he'll just mix like he's trying to make a death vortex.

With a heavy thud, Adam sets a fancy, massive coffee maker on a nearby counter and stares blankly ahead. After a beat, he smiles. "I was, actually. I'm paranoid, remember?" His cheekiness almost masks the deep eye bags he's boasting.

Huffing again, Jay goes back to measuring sugar. "Who would've thought the biggest, most relevant inconsistency I'd have to face off with would be that weird degenerates are also sicklers for rules."

"Not all of us!" Adam laughs, brighter, "Though admittedly most do try to stay safe as much as possible." He puts coffee beans in a grinder, shutting the lid, "Loud, prepare yourself."

Even with the warning, Jeremiah flinches while cracking the eggs into a soup bowl to beat. He's found a whisk by the time Adam finishes with the deliciously fragrant but not worth the noise coffee beans, started to work at it even; before Adam can comment, he turns to him with the most judgemental face he can muster. "Why do you have a whisk and not a sieve?"

A bit more life to his face, Adam blushes. "I, uh, used to. Have one, that is."

"You lost it?" Opening the milk, Jay asks, amused, "Oh, this has started clotting. How are you this much of a disaster, good sir?"

Adam groans, setting up the coffee machine with whatever ancient magic required to make it work. "We're going to get stomach bugs and die."

"Better than paprika-flavoured cereal." Light, Jeremiah snorts, "It'll be fine, expired milk actually makes pancakes taste better. Probably that bacteria you mentioned, whatever it may be."

A beep, and Adam leaves the coffee for the refrigerator, probably to get his ice cream. "Fair. Bacteria is what turns milk into sour cream and cottage cheese, so, probably fine." He says, playfully exasperated, "If we die, though, I'm beating your ass in hell." And bonks Jay over the head with the frigid box of vanilla he got, which is frankly unnecessary. Jeremiah sticks his tongue out, and focuses on eviscerating the last clots in the egg and milk mixture.

For the rest of the preparations, they're both quiet, though Adam does start to mutter some tune under his nose. He even dances once he's done distributing the ice cream between mugs, completely uncaring of Jeremiah's not so subtle staring.

... It rides up his t-shirt, which, while never particularly modest given he paired it with only boxers, still did more to cover him before he raised his arms. Jeremiah's not staring, but it's hard not to see that he's- he's got a bulge, which, Jay has noticed earlier- not for any perverse reasons!- but- how's it not a trick of light? Adam's the same as Jay, isn't he??

Does that mean Jeremiah could one day- whipping his eyes back down to the pancake batter, Jay mixes with all the carefully controlled violence he's capable of. This is fine. Everything is fine. Adam promised to help him along with whatever aspect of 'transition' he needs or wants, so. All fine!

Thankfully for Jeremiah's mortification, Adam doesn't initiate conversation when handing him his coffee nor when stealing freshly cooked pancakes before Jay's done frying them all. At the same time, unfortunately, Adam is hovering far too close and taking his turn to stare. Since turning up the heat would do nothing but burn the remaining batter, all Jeremiah can do about it is try to distract himself while he's still busy.

Adam's cup clicks against the fancy, tiled counter top, empty by the sound of things.

"So... You say the binder helps you feel better even when you're doing 'womanly' shit? Quotation marks, nothing's inherently womanly or whatever. D'you... Would you be willing to try something even more masculinising? Since you're gonna be doing mostly domestic work around here." Fiddling with his hands, Adam stares, head cocked and lips pursed.

Oh. Jeremiah takes a deep breath. "It's that hormone you take, yeah?Tesrone- uh, whatever it's called."

"Testosterone!" Brighter in a blink, Adam leans closer, "Yeah, it's that. Makes you more hairy, changes your fat distribution to be more masculine, makes muscle gain easier and drops your voice, among the most immediately noticeable changes. D'you wanna know more?" He's shining, brown-bronze eyes crinkled and grin sharp and fox-like.

Deep breath, again. More or less needlessly flipping the pancakes, just to check they've cooked on both sides, Jeremiah bites his lip. "Mhm. Is this a faustian bargain type of deal?" He asks, unloading the pancakes onto the plate.

"Oh, absolutely. One hand, you get a will to live and a body that feels more yours, but on the other, male pattern baldness and bad skin. Look at this shit!" Adam leans in, lifting his messy and admittedly slightly greasy raven hair from covering his forehead, "I'm only twenty six, and it's already killing me." Playful, he combs the hair back in place with his fingers, and upleans closer to Jay's face, "Also, you get a T-dick." Mock-whispering, he hides his teeth behind a pointy smile, face as though composed of impish edges.

A T-dick-

Adam laughs, bouncing back with another stolen pancake. He gets a little crumb in his sharply trimmed beard as he takes a bite, and in his washed up, stretched out moon design t-shirt draping a bit oddly over his warm tan, he looks startlingly like any other guy; could Jeremiah get the same?

Swallowing, Adam wipes his chin, taking the crumb off with it. "I'd show you, but I've already got surgery so it wouldn't be a good example. Eh, there's pictures online and shit." He shrugs, "Everything else, you can pretty much just see looking at me. Except, I get hot and hungry more easily? Hm, my endurance got worse, but as I said, muscle grows faster and more defined with less effort, so it's not a terrible trade-off. There's ways to mitigate the hair loss and whatnot-"

"How do I get it?" Jay cuts him off, putting the pan in the sink and taking a pancake for himself. His coffee, predictably, got cold while he was cooking. Still, hiding in a coffee mug is more unassuming than staring at the floor, probably.

"I've got to take my shot for today, still." More subdued yet clearly still smiling, Adam tears off a chunk of pancake, seemingly swallowing without chewing like the terrible creature he is, "Wouldn't be much trouble giving you a dose, too."

Oh, Lord. No, Adam was wrong, the jet lag immunity isn't the only good proof for a loving God. The real proof is that Jeremiah managed to set his sights on pickpocketing the one man who would give him all this in return for coming clean.

Although- "Shot? Like, needles?"

For a split second furrowing his brows, Adam brightens again, swallowing another small chunk of pancake. "Yeah, but if you hate getting stabbed, 's not a big deal. There's gel and pills, too! We'd have to wait a bit before we get them, though, since I don't use those. You're lucky I'm the founder-owner-CEO-whatever of an NGO that deals with transition and stuff, it'd be harder to get our hands on more T without going the legal route. That's not only a while longer, but also, scary as fuck if you escaped some technically-legal abusive environment, which you did, so. Lucky! I'll figure out a way to get you some-"

"I'd like to try now." Jeremiah interrupts, again. Tenses up. Impolite.

Smiling so widely it must hurt, Adam strides over, puts the plucked pancake back on the plate and pokes non-too-gently under Jay's ribs. "I was trying to buy time for my impulsive ass, this is not proper risk-aware medical practice. But, I'm also not going back on my word, so, let me go print out an informational leaflet so we can at least pretend I'm not breaking the law, yeah?"

"You flew me here in a private jet specifically to bypass the customs." Unimpressed, Jeremiah crosses one arm over his toro and takes a bite of his own half-forgotten food. It gets him a rough mussing of his freshly cut hair and, predictably, no response other than laughter as Adam shoves his head and takes off sprinting out the room.

Huffing lightly, amused, Jay finally takes a sip of his barely tepid coffee. It's rich, deliciously bitter, and the vanilla does add a little something; he could convince Adam to make coffee with ice cream all the time, if he's lucky.

Or he could just make it himself, since he'll be working the kitchen. He glances at the imposing, shiny coffee machine.

... Maybe not.

By the time he's finishing the second pancake, Adam pokes into the kitchen, waving some pastel papers through the door. "It's done! Come find me in my room when you've finished, I'll be getting everything out meanwhile." With that, he's gone again, the stairs thudding under his feet.

Needless to say, Jeremiah swallows the rest of his pancake in possibly worse offence to nature than Adam did.

He forces himself to stretch to get the food to fall down at least somewhat, and tries to walk like a normal person. Keyword being 'tries'. Scaling the stairs two at a time, he paces with the biggest steps he can keep looking somewhat acceptable to polite society toward Adam's door; it's open, so Jay slips in easily.

At his vanity, Adam has arranged two medical-looking tiny bottles of clear liquid, a syringe, a bunch of bandaids and- and packed needles, okay, of course. With a deep breath, Jeremiah shuts the door, and goes to get the papers Adam has gestured him toward while rummaging in a med kit.

Most of the things on the pretty pastel infographics, Adam has mentioned, though there's also increased risk of some male-typical diseases such as cholesterol issues.

Just imagining himself with a careful beard, bigger, broader body, maybe even with a sharper jaw if he's lucky, has Jeremiah salivating too much to care much about some disease he has the smallest amount of knowledge on. He flips over to the final page-

Oh, that's what Adam meant by 'T-dick'. That. Does look sort of like a phallus. Good Lord. Jeremiah licks his lips. Yeah, no, he can deal with a needle for this. He glances over to Adam just in time to see him punch bubbles out of the assembled syringe.

That needle is sharp. Does Testosterone hurt? Jeremiah only got given shots once in his life, against his parents' will at that, and that hurt, and his parents hated it and tried to exorcise him and-

"Earth to Jeremiah?" Syringe lowered, Adam waves his free hand with furrowed brows and narrowed lips, "Are you sure you don't want to wait for gel? We can get you more informed and shit, and there won't be any needles involved. It's okay to take care of your brain first."

It's okay. Forcing himself to breathe, Jeremiah sets the pages down and takes a step closer. "You mentioned you need one, too? Could you do it on yourself first, then?" With his shoulders this tight and hands clutching at each other so hard in front of his chest, he must look like a prey animal. He swallows, shifts his arms to be crossed. A bit better.

Shifting his syringe-hand the slightest bit, Adam hums, light. "Sure, whatever. I do it on my left hip, usually." And, true to word, he lifts his t-shirt with his thumb and pushes his boxers down with the rest of his fingers, quick and practiced.

Taking a small turn to make his actions clearer, Adam brings the needle closer- he doesn't even flinch. Just injects, pulls out the needle, sets it down on a little napkin on the vanity and smoothly bandaids over the spot. He pulls his boxers back in place.

Sunny, Adam's smiling when Jeremiah finally looks back up to his face. "Better than coffee, I'm telling you. Coffee's for energy, this-" He pats his hip, "is for the will to use it. Does that make sense? 'M not a poet." Glancing around as though he's searching for something, he takes off to his closet, and pulls out a box from the bottom, "D'you wanna do it yourself or for me to do it? If me, I have an idea that might calm you."

Oh. Hm. Adam clearly knows what he's doing, so it's probably a better idea to have him take care of it. Plus, the idea of stabbing himself with a needle damn near makes Jeremiah's legs give out; is it even a choice when the answer's so obvious? "You, please. You know all of the safety precautions and such, it only- what's that?"

"Oh!" Showing off the sleek, shimmery green on one side and smooth black on the other item, Adam glows, "It's a blindfold. One of my employees got it for me after I've complained about struggling to sleep one too many times, but it turns out I hate being unable to see when my eyes are open, so I've put it in the shame box. I hear these help people calm down, and in your particular case, you won't have to see what I'm doing! So it'll probably be less scary."

Jay bites his lip, walks over to where Adam sits on the ground with the blindfold offered out. "It's shaped weird." Taking the thing, he turns it over, soft material weirdly attached. Are the sockets meant to cover the eyes?

"That's so it can block out the most light. I hated that, but who knows, it might work better for you." Up from the floor, Adam extends a hand asking for the blindfold back, looks up to Jeremiah's face and adjusts the sockets a bit. He raises it up, as though to put on Jay, before pausing, "Oh, would you like to do that yourself, actually? I should've asked before just going for it."

Adam will- have him blindfolded, specifically to inject him with a drug. What was it Jeremiah's parents used to say about strangers and why can't he bring himself to feel anything but warm anyway, as though a cosy fireplace heating his face, chest and abdomen?

... Too warm, mouth watering at the very idea of- Adam, his hands around Jay's head adjusting the straps that will hold the blindfold in place, body no doubt going at least somewhat flush with Jay because of their height difference or- or Jay bowing down-

Mechanically, gingerly, Jay takes the blindfold for himself and fits it over his eyes. Another, highly specific reason to believe in God is, his complexion makes it very hard to notice when he blushes, as deep and vivid as his skin is.

Given the heat in his cheeks, it may just be noticeable anyway- Adam pushes him, no, guides him until his back is to the wall. The vanity and the door are to the left of him, now, the closet to the right; focus on recalling what the room looks like, imagine it from this angle, it's fine.

A gentle touch lifts up his t-shirt a bit over his right hip, takes his hand up to hold it. Jeremiah didn't know heat could pool from his body and between his legs this fast, didn't know he could be so warm. His cargo shorts get pushed down on one side, his boxers follow, and Adam secures it in place with Jay's other hand; is it possible to get light-headed off touch?

"Count your breathing so you keep your stress in check, okay? Four or five for in, hold and out is good to start with." Cheerful as ever from a little bit to the left, Adam says. Jay forces his lungs to drag in air, so much colder than his body. Somehow, counting in his head does nothing to dissipate the heat, the soft simmer remaining even.

He counts as he breathes, overly aware of the whisper-crackle of needle packaging and the sound of a tiny glass bottle being lifted off tile. It clinks back down after another count of five, and the clatter of a nail against the plastic of a syringe rings twice. Two more counts, another short clack, Adam's steps walking over; the rabbit who took over Jeremiah's heart must've been running a race to get there.

Pressing into him, Adam pins Jay's right leg in place with his own. Warm, smelling of vanilla, coffee and something heavy, musky just underneath, he hums, probably meant in comfort. "Counting?"

Jeremiah hums back, nods. A cold swab that just swiped against his hip pulls back, callused fingers framing over where it was.

"Good. Now listen to me count and follow, okay? Right now, in. One, two, three, four, five-" Adam starts, there's a pinprick in Jay's hip, a weird pinch, Adam pulls his hand away, "-two, three, four five, you can let out your breath, now." The same hand, left, ruffles gently through Jeremiah's hair.

Breathing out slowly, like a balloon deflating, Jeremiah eases his muscles. Adam has pulled away; so, he pushes off the blindfold, looking over just in time to see the needles be thrown in the trash. He kind of really wants to slide down the wall, and a hug. Adam's scent lingers in his nostrils.

Scratch this being God, it can only be demonic temptation.

"Fears overcome, damn! Good job, Jay-Jay. Want me to go grab us a victory snack or something?" Packing up the med kit, Adam grins.

Well. Jeremiah was never heading for Heaven; might as well bask in the liquid salvation warming his veins while it lasts. Unsteady, he smiles back and gives a thumbs up. Adam tells him to wait on the bed.

He got so much more than he bargained for when trying to get money for groceries in the only way he could think of. 'Lucky' doesn't cut it; Jeremiah must be wickedly blessed, or maybe cursed.

So long as he gets to keep this, he doesn't care.

(author's note: yes, their names are jeremiah and adam. don't question it and don't read into the symbolism unless you wanna be disappointed (or to surprise me), because i sure didn't, i was just handed these names by The Brain and rolled with it WHEEZE)

#slovo writes #writing #writeblr #transgender #transmasc #trans man #original character #tw needle #blind fold #suggestive #forcemasc #tw religious themes #religious trauma #tell me if i missed any tags !! enjoyyy #might post this on ao3 or write more for these hoes. who knows #hope you like !!#tell me what think reblog reuse recycle /hj /nf

11 notes · View notes

wincore · 4 years ago

Text

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary: ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable.

You were right.

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world.

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3.

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever.

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed.

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this.

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want.

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else.

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works…

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner.

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please?

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

��Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare.

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected.

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe.

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…”

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here.

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure.

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh.

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly.

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions.

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?”

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch.

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!”

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point.

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly.

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly.

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected.

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!”

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison.

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms.

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own.

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you.

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is.

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make.

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band.

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them.

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer.

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.”

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?”

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance.

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you.

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him.

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday.

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here.

It smells minty.

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could.

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs.

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck—”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.”

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him.

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue.

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment. A little rain cannot stop Seoul.

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful.

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down.

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left.

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what.

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash.

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place.

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter.

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh.

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat.

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain?

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you.

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs.

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes.

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course.

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun.

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song.

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song.

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause.

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks.

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks.

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes.

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts.

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention.

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs.

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight.

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red.

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you.

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining.

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private.

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him.

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you?

You gulp.

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now.

“Ta-da!”

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway.

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic?

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more.

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts?

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite.

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day.

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it?

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side.

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights.

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers.

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage.

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity.

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real.

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation.

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever.

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely.

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms.

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does.

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes.

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder.

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?”

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near.

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys.

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle.

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks.

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!”

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

#nct dream scenarios #nct renjun #cznnet #neowritingsnet #renjun x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #renjun fluff #nct dream fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream #moonwrites #anyway hope you guys have fun this is way longer than i intended for it to be i am mad #and i know i only recommended songs from idol bands but it's always good to check out the krock scene lol!!#rock band!au #tw:alcohol #so this wont show up on tags heart been broke so many times </3

662 notes · View notes

hxlyhead-harpies · 4 years ago

Text

Cowboy Like Me

evermore

Pairing: Sirius Black x Remus Lupin

Summary: Muggle! AU. Remus Lupin is a con man who is determined to get what he wants. That is, until he meets Sirius Black. Inspired by Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift

You're a bandit like me Eyes full of stars Hustling for the good life Never thought I'd meet you here It could be love

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Remus stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the rich men and women dance around the room as he sipped from his glass of wine. He was at some high society ball that he hadn’t been invited to, searching for his next meal ticket. Remus crashed these events often, knowing that with a pretty enough smile he could get in anywhere. He’d meet the gaze of various important men from across the room, enticing them with his golden eyes. Each long, fixed stare conveyed a message, as if a secret code was embedded in Remus’s honey irises. They would find their way to him sometime later that night, in a secluded hallway or closet. There were many elites with secrets in unhappy marriages, a fact that Remus could easily use to his advantage. He learned early on that men who came from old money loved nothing more than to spend it, showering him in gifts he could sell and cash he could spend.

So there he sat at the end of the bar, eyes scanning the room for someone donning that specific air of loneliness. He tugged at his tie and observed.

The ballroom was grand edging on gaudy, high vaulted ceilings seemingly coated in gold. The party was held in the ballroom of a rich benefactor who had nothing better to do than to throw money at shallow causes and to throw gauche parties. The air was thick with fake niceties and the lofty laughter of old rich women who had downed too much champagne. Remus hated these parties, but he had to make a living somehow. Hustling for the good life was exhausting but the end always rewarded the means. He could forget how miserable these parties were when he finally had what he wanted.

His eyes eventually landed on a familiar man with sleek black hair pulled into a bun. He recognized him, from these very parties in fact, but he hadn’t seen him for years. He remembered the man’s piercing gray eyes, his overconfident posture, and his clunky black boots. Remus used to stare at him during these events, reveling in the shape of the man’s shoulders and the way he’d shed his jacket and roll up his sleeves.

The last time Remus had seen him was when he was nineteen, just starting to learn the life of a con man. Back then he had been on the cusp of adulthood, masquerading as a man when he was only just a boy. The man appeared to be close to Remus’ age and mysterious. He had always seemed carefree and out of place. Though his appearance screamed aristocrat, his smile held the mischief of a vagabond.

The man had disappeared abruptly, never showing his face at another event again. That was, until tonight.

He looked just as beautiful as Remus remembered, but still painfully out of reach. He seemed like a wild and free spirit, someone who wouldn’t be scandalized to be seen with him. He wasn’t the type of man that Remus could scam and milk for money. Remus didn’t have time to waste on anything else. But momentarily, sliver met gold, the stranger’s eyes strong and unwavering. Remus nearly shivered under his gaze but looked away quickly.

That night Remus spoke to a man in politics, whispering in hushed voices in a back hall, promises of riches if Remus promised not to tell. It was just as he planned. The gentleman left to return to the party and dote on his unsuspecting wife, leaving Remus to lean against the wall with a satisfied smirk. He felt a presence next to him and he turned, meeting the iron eyes he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind all night. The man smirked at him and crossed his arms. His bun had become slightly messy, pieces of hair falling to frame his face. The way he was looking at Remus was dangerous.

“Care to dance?” he asked, making Remus’s cheeks go pink. Remus leaned his head back against the wall, letting his eyes roam over the stranger’s body before turning away.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said after a moment. The man grunted in response, his eyes never leaving Remus’s side profile.

“I’ve seen you before haven’t I?” he asked Remus with a furrowed brow.

“I come to these events quite often,” Remus replied. The man narrowed his eyes.

“But the thing is,” he said, “I know everyone who’s invited to these little soirees and I don’t know you.” Remus smiled to himself and took a lazy look back towards the man.

“Whoever said I was invited,” he answered with a chuckle. A grin broke out across the other man’s face and Remus felt something in his stomach twist. Remus couldn’t risk taking a liking to this gorgeous stranger no matter how sharp his cheekbones, as love could never fit into his lifestyle. It was a realization he had come to a long time ago, a sad one, but it was the truth.

“So what is your name then?” he asked with a smirk. Remus thought for a moment, trying to decide whether he should give his given name or an alias.

“Remus Lupin,” he said finally. The man raised his hand for Remus to shake. Remus grabbed his palm, the stranger’s grasp warm and firm.

“Sirius Black,” he said, his eyes glinting. Remus faltered for a moment.

“As in…” he began.

“Walburga and Orian Black? Yes, I’m their son,” he said, interrupting Remus. Remus swallowed thickly and looked away, a pit forming in his stomach. For some reason, some part of him had wanted Sirius to be like him: a wandering man with no destination and a knack for fooling the rich. But it seemed that he had been mistaken, Sirius was one of them, among the ranks of the men he had swindled, and Remus had just told him his name.

“Not that they’d ever call me that,” Sirius said quickly as if sensing Remus’s internal panic. “Left home when I was eighteen. I’ve been disowned and disinherited,” he said, bitterness ebbing into his voice. Relief flooded through his veins for a moment, a feeling he felt guilty for seconds later.

“That must have been hard,” Remus said after a beat. Sirius just shrugged and loosened his tie.

“In all honesty, I’m happy to be away from them,” he said, “And it’s fine. I get by.” Remus nodded.

“So what do you do now?” he questioned, “You know, to get by?” Sirius smirked at him and gestured to the ballroom.

“I do this,” he answered, “There are plenty lonely women on the other side of the marriages you ruin, Lupin.” Remus let out a surprised laugh, not quite expecting Sirius’s bluntness. Sirius only smiled wider at the sound f his laughter, giving Remus a look that could only end in disaster.

Remus’s night ended in the coat closet with Sirius’s lips pressed against his own, ignoring the party and the potential scheming for the feeling of his hands running through Sirius’s dark hair.

Remus wasn’t sure what he expected to come out of that night. No contact information had been exchanged. After pressing several searing kisses to Remus’s lips, Sirius had straightened his coat and exited the closet, leaving Remus behind.

It was a month until Remus attended another party wearing a fancy new suit that a mayoral candidate had purchased for him, secretly of course. This party was in the garden behind some manor, a white tent pitched among the flowers and lanterns hanging from trees. As soon as Remus pulled back the tarp and headed into the heart of the banquet. He convinced himself that his eyes were searching for his next conquest, not for Sirius. But he froze when he caught sight of the man across the crowd with his hand resting on the forearm of an expensive-looking woman.

Remus sighed before heading into the throng of the crowd, reminding himself that the fleeting moment he had shared with Sirius had been nothing and they were both here now with a purpose. He couldn’t get sidetracked or too attached. So as the night wore on he met with various men, planting the seeds for his various affairs and subsequent funds.

As the party dwindled he felt a hand on the small of his back and he looked up to catch Sirius’s burning gaze. Sirius pushed past him, using his carefully placed hand to maneuver around Remus, his eye contact lingering as he headed towards the exit. Remus counted to a hundred in his head before downing his drink and excusing himself from the conversation and heading outside.

Remus left the tent, walking around the side in an attempt to find Sirius. After a short walk, he was met with Sirius’s back, the other man looking up at the sky. A twig broke under Remus’s foot, alerting Sirius to his presence. He spun around with a wide smile.

“Took you long enough,” Sirius said before stepping towards him, “I almost thought you didn’t read my signals correctly.” Remus chuckled before Sirius grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a blazing kiss. When Sirius pulled back he had a self-satisfied smile on his face, his grey eyes reflecting the stars.

After that night, every party that Remus attended became less about profit and more about the chance he could catch a glimpse of Sirius. He felt himself falling down a rabbit hole, feelings he had always scorned now bubbling to the surface. He didn’t know what Sirius wanted from him, but frankly, he didn’t care. Remus couldn’t offer him money or anything material, all Remus could offer was himself. He had been in this business long enough to know that he wasn’t enough for men like Sirius. But he was too caught up in the excitement of clandestine meetings and secret rendezvouses to dwell on it. The way that he’d catch Sirius stealing glances at him from across the room while simultaneously attempting to swindle one of his mother’s friends sent electricity down Remus’s spine every single time.

After their fourth encounter, Remus had the courage to slip his number into Sirius’s pocket, praying that his confidence was good and not a misstep. He sat by the phone anxiously for hours, waiting for the man he felt himself quickly falling for to call. And to Remus’s delight, he did.

After a particularly slow Christmas party, Remus found himself once again in Sirius’ arms. After months of parties, the arrangement had become less about their surface-level attraction. Gone were the nights of senseless kissing and grappling for honest human touch. Now, nights were spent learning of their pasts, tracing fingers across shoulders, and memorizing the shape of each other’s smile.

Here, Remus laid with his head resting in the crook of Sirius’ neck, breathing in his expensive scent and listening to the sound of his breathing. He thought the other man was asleep, his eyelids fluttering against his cheeks and his muscles relaxed. If Remus had suspected that Sirius was conscious, he never would have been so bold. He swiped a strand of dark hair from Sirius’s cheek and pressed a kiss to his jaw before murmuring the words that he had never thought he would say.

“I love you,” Remus whispered, the honesty of it all hitting him square in the chest. In the past, the words had only ever been used as a weapon, as a tool of manipulation. But as they left his lips, his eyes trained on Sirius, he knew that he had never once meant something so much in his life. The words were completely unselfish and authentic. Remus, for once, didn’t want or expect anything in return.

The air around him stilled as Sirius whispered that he loved him too.

Months later Remus stood in the lounge of a country club, tying up some loose ends. He sat at the end of the bar when a conversation to his left caught his interest. A few ladies that he knew Sirius had conned were lunching together, discussing Remus’s lover.

“I haven’t seen the boy in ages,” one of them said, scandalized.

“Not since the Malfoy’s Christmas party,” another one added with raised eyebrows.

“Quite a handsome young man, it’s a shame he’s run off again,” a third woman said. They all nodded in agreement and sipped their tea. Remus smiled to himself as he listened, knowing exactly where Sirius had disappeared to.

When Remus arrived home he walked towards his bedroom, kicking a familiar pair of black boots out of the way. He climbed back into bed and was immediately met with Sirius pressing languid kisses to his jaw.

“I missed you,” he murmured into Remus’s neck. Remus smiled, pushing Sirius’s hair out of the way and leaning in for a real kiss. Once they parted Sirius curled up into Remus’s side, his head on his chest.

“I love you,” Remus whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to Sirius’s temple. He had said the words to countless, people many times. But the words were only spoken when he needed something from them. It wasn’t until Sirius that the words meant anything. And Remus knew that never in his life would he want to say the words to anyone else.

#wolfstar #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #marauders era #marauders fic #young marauders #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar fic #sirius black x remus lupin #sirius black/remus lupin #remus lupin x sirius black

61 notes · View notes

twstarchives · 4 years ago

Text

Ruggie Bucchi・Voice Lines

Additional Voice Lines: Gala Couture Event Card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “The secret to feeling good is eating! As long as you eat, everything’ll be OK!”

Groovy “My studies, huh...? This is what’s gonna put food on my table, so I’m taking them seriously.”

Home Setting “They say there’s no such thing as a free lunch, you know?”

Home Transitions “I’m busy cleaning up Leona’s room right now. What? You wanna help? Man, thanks a bunch!”

“Mages who grew up in the slums like me are pretty rare.”

“Are you sure you should be spacing out like that? Time is money, you know.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Do you need somethin’ from me? I’ll listen if you say you’ll treat me to something.”

Home Taps “My uniform? It’s a hand-me-down from Leona. It’s a little big, but I can still wear it so it’s fine.”

“I wouldn’t mind looking after Grim if you ever need me to. How does 1000 madols an hour sound?”

“You’re hungry? If you get some ingredients together, I can whip something up for you.”

“I gotta think about what I’m going to do after I graduate and start working towards that. ‘Cause life is really long.”

“Hm, what’s up? Does Leona want something——Oh, he doesn’t? You scared me for a sec...”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “I’m really good at sports. At least, better than you.”

Groovy “Alright! I think I should show my cool side to the lower grades every once in a while~”

Home Setting “Getting to run around so nimbly really is the best.”

Home Transitions “Move it, move it! We’re in the middle of cleaning out the whole dorm! ‘Cause Leona never cleans this place up himself...”

“I’m considered pretty small in my dorm. But that just means I’ve got a lot of advantages in magift.”

“I’m really confident in my endurance. If I got my eyes on my prey, it’s not gonna escape me!”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Magift has a completely different feel when you see it live. Wanna come watch our practice sometime?”

Home Taps “Ahh, I’m hungry. I’m feeling like a whole pile of sugary donuts to dip in some milk.”

“I really respect Jack for how much physical strength he’s got. But he still has a selfish playing style.”

“Building up your strength is really important to survive a brutal environment.”

“Coach Vargas got angry today? Just compliment him on his muscles and that’ll put him right back in a good mood.”

“Now’s your last chance to enjoy yourself. Let’s hope you don’t lose all hope in everything when Coach Vargas goes and pushes you to your limit though. Shishishi!”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “I don’t care that much about looking professional, but I kinda like these snazzy lab coats.”

Groovy “You’re really clumsy. Here, hand that to me.”

Home Setting “Dirt would really stand out on this kind of white.”

Home Transitions “You should probably stay away from the Botanical Garden. If you irritate Leona during his naptime... Oo, it gives me chills.”

“Ahh, you’re using up so much good lab materials! Man, what a waste...”

“I love alchemy. But I tend to make lots of mistakes if I get too greedy. Hehe.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Aah? I wouldn’t be able to help you with that work even if you asked me.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “You can still eat weeds if you cook them right. Huh, you actually wanna try ‘em? ...You’ve got weird taste.”

Home Taps “Jack grows a lot of cacti in his room. Maybe they could be emergency rations.”

“I can only throw together a meal with what I’ve got to work with, but I guess it’s fine as long as Leona eats it.”

“A lot of the plants they grow in the Botanical Garden could sell for really high prices. ...I don’t mean anything by that; I’m just sayin’. Shishishi!”

“I don’t really get how Riddle just dumps in spoonfuls thinking it’s ‘the right amount’ he needs.”

“Don’t touch me when your hands reek of chemicals! You’re gonna get the smell on me!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Want me to tell you what was covered on my tests last year? I’d even give you a special friend discount.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “These robes are so fancy. They really do have the feel of this school.”

Groovy “Even I look the part when I’m wearing these, don’t I?”

Home Setting “So? These actually look pretty nice on me, huh?”

Home Transitions “You’re a student at this academy but you don’t even know the history behind it? Gathering intel should always be a priority.”

“Want a keepsake photo of you in your ceremony robes? Just 1000 madols a pic! It’s a great deal!”

“Hah, I’m tired... I can’t help feeling stiff in clothes I’m not used to. How are you doin’ in them?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “This high-quality fabric with gold embroidering, plus these decorations... How much would they all sell for?”

Home Transition (Groovy) “The ceremony today is gonna be in the Mirror Chamber. Shishishi! You look nervous. It’s cute; it’s fitting for a first-year.”

Home Taps “I’m not rich, but I’ll always like this better than being a spoiled brat who doesn’t have a problem in the world.”

“The chance of Leona coming to a ceremony is... about 50/50. But he’ll still come to the entrance and graduation ones.”

“The Headmaster takes really good care of the apple trees that grow on campus. Those apples all look so good.”

“Mages were pretty rare where I grew up. I bet they’d all wanna see what I look like now.”

“You don’t need to rush; we’ve got plenty of time before the ceremony. You’re so impatient.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Your makeup’s all smudged. Alright, guess I’ll fix it for you. ...It’s fine, I’ve done this as a job before.”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “Who stepped into my territory?”

“Oh, wow, what a cute little kitten. Did you come here to be our prey? Shishishi!”

Groovy “I could tell you how to survive at this school if you want.”

Home Setting “I feel like somethin’ fun’s gonna happen today.”

Home Transitions “The deserted feel of the Ramshackle Dorm is kinda nice, but... Savanaclaw is still my favorite.”

“The dorm uniforms really are so easy to move in. They’re not too fancy either; it’s perfect for me.”

“We’re about to have a dorm meeting right now. What, you wanna come check it out? I mean, Leona’s kind of... It depends on how you ask him.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’m heading to the cafeteria with Leona. Wanna come too? Having more people to run errands saves me some.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Sure, I came to this school without a madol in my pocket... but you can always find a way to handle anything as long as you’re alive!”

Home Taps “The strong and the smart are the ones who rise to power in Savanaclaw. I like how it’s an obvious system.”

“This necklace is supposed to represent different parts of nature. Red for the sun, blue for the sky, green for the land... It reminds me of my hometown.”

“It’s important to not let your guard down in the savannah. If you’re not careful... bam! You get killed.”

“Leona works me hard, but I’m always paid the appropriate amount. It’s a give-and-take.”

“You’re really just like a puppy with how playful you are.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “There’s still so much you could do even if you can’t use magic. Want me to give you a lecture on them?”

Duo Magic Ruggie: “Use your head, Jack!” Jack: “Right! Ruggie!”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Ruggie’s birthday event (Apr 16 - Apr 22, 2021).

Login on Birthday “Today’s my long-awaited birthday! Course that means you’ve got a present ready for me, right? ...Wait, huh? You actually do? ...Hmm, you were so straightforward, it kinda threw me off... Well, thanks! Hehe.”

Unlock Card “I’m the king today! Is the celebration all ready to go?”

“There’s really no one worth giving presents to as much as me. I’ll be happy with anything I get!”

Groovy “Thanks for celebrating! Can I expect another fancy party next year?”

Home Setting “I’m going to make it loud and clear I’m the star today.”

Home Transitions “Jack was so annoying telling me ‘The birthday boy needs to just kick back and relax!’ It was hard shaking him off.”

“Cake tastes so good and sweet~ But as long as it keeps me filled, I don’t really have anything else to say about it.”

“I can’t believe Silver was so quick to buy me that premium pudding when I asked him for it... I’ll go crying to him next time I’m short on food money.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “The birthday parties at this school are the best! I mean, there’s so much fancy food! I’m going to stuff myself like mad.”

Home Taps “The neighborhood kids always come to visit on my birthday. ...No, not to celebrate; they’re after the food.”

“Jade gave me a high-quality towel that’s so soft to touch... I might change my mind about being okay using it.”

“Lucius showed me somewhere where lots of dandelions grow. He’s a thoughtful cat!”

“This donut pin looks so yummy. But I wish they would’ve gotten some actual ones ready.”

“Hey, I know you just pulled my tail! You’re wrong if you think I’m going to allow that just ‘cause it’s my birthday.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Some people don’t like getting older, but I’m happy about it. Don’t take your birthdays for granted.”

Duo Magic Ruggie: “Sebek, let's hear ya shout it out!” Sebek: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RUGGIE!!!”

Tutorial “Delays never bring you anything good. Let’s go.”

Lv Up “Shishishi! This is good.”

“You’re kinda weird, trying to take care of me.”

“I think I’ve gotten stronger!”

Max Lv Up “I feel like I could do anything now. Trying hard every once in a while actually might not be that bad. Hehe.”

Episode Lv Up “You really are such a softie. You might get scammed someday, you know? Well, come talk to me if that happens and I might help you out.”

Magic Lv Up “I always thought my magic would stay sucky my whole life, but... it’s kinda turned out.”

Limit Break “I think my progress is still far from over. Guess I gotta stay around you a little while longer.”

Groovy “See? The skilled ones always survive in this world. You’ve got nothing to lose being around me.”

Select Lesson “There aren’t classes on haggling or anything? This place really is a prestigious mage-training school.”

“You don’t have to get so stressed about it. You take things so seriously.”

“Which one are you gonna do? If it were me I’d pick one that’d be useful for survival.”

Lesson Start “Alright, studytime, studytime!”

Lesson End “Hah... I gotta stay caught up.”

Battle Start “This is my territory!”

Battle End “Looks like I got myself some mouth-watering prey.”

Other

Profile Quote “This world is a survival of the fittest. If you don’t eat when you can, you’re not gonna survive.”

January 2020 Trailer “Even a hyena can become king at this school.”

Countdown Poster “You’ve got some nerve stepping into our territory. Shishishi!”

Login Bonus Greeting “Oh, you made some money! Shishishi! Getting this just by coming to school everyday really is the best, huh? Make sure you don’t forget to come tomorrow either.”

Player Birthday Wish “You’re eating good food, getting all these presents, and everyone’s being so nice to you today. So you don’t really need me to send you birthday wishes on top of that, right? Kidding. Shishishi! I swear! Happy birthday!”

#twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #voice lines

247 notes · View notes

that-one-gay-girl · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, Baby - Ch.2

Pairing: Daddy!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1905

Summary: The Winchester Family prepares for Thanksgiving

A/N: Hey y’all! So originally I planned for this to be the Sequel to my One-shot Oh, Baby. As I was writing it I realized I have so much more I want to put into this story so I’ve decided to turn it into a series. Let me Know if you want to be tagged!

The sound of giggles floated through the bunker as Dean and Sam walked through the door. “Luna May Winchester” you say sternly as she splashes water all over your shirt again.

“I sowy mama” She blows you kisses as you finish washing her off.

“Is that my little bug i hear?” Dean asks as he steps into the bathroom

“Daddy!” She squeals trying to get out of the tub to him.

“Careful baby it's slippery” Dean walks over to the bathtub scooping her up in a towel. “Oh i missed you bug” he kisses her face all over, giggles spilling from her lips.

“Well now that daddy is here mommy is in need of some dry clothes” Dean takes luna to her room to get ready for bed as you walk into the shared bedroom and put pajamas on.

“Daddy read stowy?” Luna asks as Dean puts her rainbow pajamas on and brushes her hair.

“Go pick one out bug” Luna jumps down from her bed and walks over to her reading corner, she grabs three books before running back to her bed and crawling underneath the blankets.

Walking into Luna’s roomas Dean opens the first book, as you sit on the other side of Luna, running your fingers through her hair. Finishing the second book, Luna's eyes close softly as soft snores fall from her lips.

You both kiss her one last time before closing her bedroom door. “How was it? Is Jody all settled into the new place?” you ask

“Yeah, now she's just gotta paint and replace the living room floor and she's done. She really turned that old piece of junk around” Dean replies as you both walk into the kitchen to find Sam eating.

“Hey sam” you hug him quickly before making yourself a mug of hot chocolate. Dean pulls out leftovers from the fridge as the three of you relax and hang out. “So Thanksgiving is coming up, I thought we should invite people over and have dinner?” You question the boys as they eat their dinner.

“Yeah, that could be fun. I’m sure Eileen would love to visit and see Luna!” Sam says excitedly at the thought of seeing Eileen. You chuckle softly at Sam as you finish your drink, resting your head on Dean's shoulder.

“As long as there's lots of pie I don’t care what we do” Dean replies. Shortly after finalizing Thanksgiving plans everyone retires to their rooms for the night.

The next morning you roll over in bed to wrap your arms around Dean only to be met with a tiny body. You open your eyes to see Luna holding back a giggle “What’s so funny baby girl?” you ask her with a smile as you begin tickling her.

“Momma Stop!” she squeals in laughter. You scoop her into your arms as you walk towards the war room.

“Where's daddy and Uncle Sam?” You question the ball of energy wiggling in your arms, as Luna slips from your arms to the ground she takes off running screaming

“Unca Sammy gots a puppy!”. Your eyes widen as you follow behind your daughter. As the war room comes into view you see Dean frowning at Sam who indeed is holding a very small puppy.

“Dude, it's a puppy not a monster, what did you want me to do? Abandon it and let it die?” He looks at Dean questioningly.

“Maybe if you weren’t Mr. Health nut and always going on runs, we wouldn't be in this mess!” Dean responds. Walking into the room you lean against the wall.

“So we have a dog now?” You question your husband as Sam sits on the ground so Luna can play with the puppy.

“No, we are getting rid of it” He responds looking at you sternly.

“Daddy! NO!” Luna cries holding the puppy against her small body. You smirk at Dean as big fat tears roll down Luna’s cheeks

“Like I said, we have a dog now” you say to your husband who now looks defeated.

“Come on unca Sammy!” Luna pulls Sam with her as she chases the puppy down the hall. Kissing Dean softly you tell him

“You’re the best dad, now I have people to invite, a meal to plan, and a grocery store trip to make. Maybe you and Sam could take Luna to the park today, she misses you.”

Thirty minutes later you are sipping coffee at the table as you write down a grocery list. Dean walks into the kitchen, Luna’s small ladybug backpack in hand.

“Luna’s all bundled up, its a little chilly today. We are going to get dog supplies and then head to the park. If you need anything just call ok?” He confirms with you as he kisses your forehead.

Nodding you stand up following him to the impala to say goodbye to your daughter. Opening the back door you double check her buckles and kiss her forehead. “Be good for Daddy babygirl.” You tell her

“I am!” She grins widely showing off her teeth

Laughing softly you close the door and wave as the impala pulls out of the garage. Going back to your room you grab a pair of skinny jeans with a cream sweater, deciding to dress up slightly you grab your new pair of booties, zipping them up.

Grabbing your bag you put the grocery list inside and grab the keys to your car. When you arrive at the grocery store you groan, debating your choice to have a thanksgiving meal as you see the store filled with people.

Grabbing a shopping cart you quickly gather your list of supplies filling the cart to the brim, you consider grabbing a second cart, knowing how much the hunters loved to eat. In the end you manage to get everything into one cart and head to the checkout counter. Once you checkout, you are glad about the credit card scams for once, seeing the large total of $378.43.

Putting the groceries into the trunk of the car you shiver as the wind picks up. If the weather kept this up it would be snowing in no time, you thought to yourself. Turning the car on you turn up the heater as you listen to the soft acoustics of the music drifting quietly throughout the car.

Once you are you notice it’s already two in the afternoon, quickly putting away the groceries you grab your phone begging to make calls to your family. Dialing Jody’s number first you heat up a small lunch for yourself.

“This is Jody.” She answers after the third ring

“Hey Jody! It’s Y/n, I was calling because we decided to do a last minute thanksgiving and we wanted to invite you and the girls.” You tell her happily

“That sounds perfect Y/n, we were just talking about plans for thanksgiving. We will head down there in the morning, it’ll give us plenty of time to catch up and see that gorgeous girl of yours.” She responds

“Great! We’ll see y’all then!” Hanging up you make your way down the list inviting Jody and the girls, Garth, Charlie, and Bobby. You hadn’t seen everyone in a long time and having them in one place together kept a smile on a face.

This year was extra special for another reason, as you finish eating you can’t help but smile down at the small bump of your stomach, two weeks ago you took a pregnancy test. At first you thought it was a stomach bug because Luna was just getting over it.

Turns out, it was another baby. You couldn’t wait to tell Dean about the newest addition but you were worried as well. With the news of your second child coming you had been thinking more and more about leaving the hunting life, you hadn’t shared any of this with your husband but you knew eventually you would have to tell him.

Keeping yourself occupied you clean the bunker, getting it ready for guests. Everyone would arrive tomorrow for Thanksgiving and stay the night. Making sure each room had clean sheets and pillows for your guests. Distracted in cleaning you don’t hear the bunker Door open.

“Mama! I Home!” Luna runs into your arms giggling as she wraps her body around your.

“Hi baby girl, did you have fun at the park?” You ask her, her cheeks and nose slightly rosey. Adjust her so she’s sitting on your hip you walk out of the room to look for Dean.

“Yes! And buttercup plays me!” She tells you excitedly

“Let’s get you warmed up bug” you pour some milk into a mug heating it up in the microwave.

“Pizza delivery!” Dean says as he walks in dropping two large boxes on the table.

Pressing her cold hands onto your face Luna giggles as you gasp at the cold touch. Pouring the warm milk into a sippy cup for her you set her down in her chair, glaring slightly at your husband.

“What?” He says around a slice of pizza.

Saying nothing you grab plates for everyone and dish some for Luna. Sitting down next to her as Sam comes in to eat as welll.

Throughout dinner Luna had begun to start sneezing and sniffling and your husband still had yet to notice. This only added to your annoyance. Once Luna was finished she was basically half asleep. “Sam, could you put her to sleep please, I need to talk to Dean”

“Sure thing Y/n” Sam quickly lifts Luna from her seat bolting from the kitchen recognizing your tone.

“I’m sorry?” He asks unsure of why his wife was now pissed at him.

“Dean! She just got over the stomach bug and now she has a cold! You can’t keep her out so long especially without the right gear! Her hands were freezing cold!” You snap at him

“I’m sorry y/n, you know how much fun she has at the park and with the dog we just lost track of time. She seemed fine and I even made her wear a jacket. I’ll take care of this ok?” He holds your hand rubbing his thumb against you softly.

“Just, don’t it again please.” you say, the annoyance leaving you. “Let’s just go to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Standing up you put the leftovers in the fridge before walking to your room with Dean.

Dean sits you on the bed unzipping your shoes and rubbing your feet softly, moaning at the feeling you lay back closing your eyes and drifting to sleep.

Opening your eyes you feel Dean's lips on your neck “Morning baby” he says gruffly

“Mm” you smile rolling over on top of Dean, straddling his hips. “Good morning” you lean down kissing him. Your lips capture his in a fight for dominance.

“I could definitely get used to waking up like this” He smirks as you run your hand down his chest

“Can’t help myself, you’re just so damn irresistible Mr. Winchester” You lean down kissing his neck

He flips you over quickly pining you underneath him “Don’t start something you can’t finish baby” He runs his hand down your body kissing you all over

“We’ve got 15 minutes before she’s up” You gasp as he reaches your sweet spot

“That’s all I need” he smirks, pulling the sheets over your entangled bodies.

Chapter 3

Dean/Jensen Taglist:

@akshi8278 @hobby27

#dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #oh baby #series

51 notes · View notes

leverage-ot3 · 5 years ago

Text

notable moments from The Snow Job

leverage 1.09

Wayne: Mr. Retzing I want to talk to you for one moment, please. (walks toward Retzing) Just one moment. (punches Retzing in the face)

we love to see corrupt assholes punched in the face

- - - - -

Eliot: Where the hell is he at?

Hardison: Maybe he overslept.

Eliot: No. He doesn't oversleep. This guy sets an alarm to set his alarm.

Parker: A man with one watch knows the time. A man with two is never sure.

Sophie: Huh?

Parker: I had fortune cookies for breakfast.

(Nate walks in looking very rough)

Nate: Okay, run it.

Hardison: So, what, you had left over Chinese for breakfast?

Parker: No, just the cookies.

Hardison: Do you put milk on the fortune cookies? ‘Cause I don’t…

Parker: It's not cereal. It's a fortune cookie. You don't dunk it.

Nate: Whoa, no chatter today. Just -- Just run it

we love the chaotic ot3

like, poor eliot. he fell in love with “I once ate a pizza pocket off the ground” alec hardison and “I eat fortune cookies for breakfast” parker

- - - - -

Sophie: Are you drunk?

Nate: Technically, no. I was drunk a couple hours ago. Now I’m just hung over.

- - - - -

[Resort Lounge]

(Randy looks through the planner, finds her passport, and does an internet search)

[Resort Bar]

Hardison: Sorry, Ute Ausgatner.

(Hardison uses photoshop to superimpose Sophie’s face on an actual Luge athelete)

[Ute Ausgatner’s House]

(Ute is surfing the internet and finds all the pictures of her have been change to that of Sophie. She starts cursing in German to her mother)

SKSKNSNDNKKS

- - - - -

Sophie: Here we got to make room for heli-Skiing pad, you know, all the usual, you know, spa's facilities. We're gonna have the heated plunge pools and the Jacuzzis and the hot tubs.

Randy: Ski in, ski out?

Sophie: Yeah. Boom?

Randy: Boom

their entire plan here was EXTREMELY ridiculous

- - - - -

Nate: Okay, Parker. Go.

[Ski Lift]

(Parker calmly dives off the lift, hanging by it from one hand, completely unconcerned)

Nate: Parker?

[Resort Bar]

Nate: Parker?

[Ski Lift]

Nate: Parker?

Parker: Hmm?

Nate: What are you doing?

Parker: Oh, yeah. (sounding bored) Help. Help. (to man) How you doin’?

[Resort Bar]

Nate (facepalms): Oh, geez

“how you doin’” IM SCREAMING

- - - - -

(Eliot is showing a display to Rockman)

Eliot: And unlike conventional fireplaces, these have marshmallow toasting rods already built in and retractable. Brand-new.

where do they even get these ideas ???

(lowkey I’d want one of those fireplaces)

- - - - -

the picture of eliot and his VERY seriously fake german wife I’m screaming

- - - - -

Randy: Oh, come on, dude, are you ready to rock this?

(Randy grabs Eliot and hugs him, lifting him off the ground. Eliot looks uncomfortable)

Eliot: Yeah

eliot looks so uncomfortable it’s amazing

- - - - -

Sophie: So, uh, you can write that little check now, eh?

[Resort Bar]

Hardison: Hey, why can't they all be this easy?

[Resort Office]

Randy: Of course not. We have to go to Miami. My dad's the one who has to write the check.

[Resort Bar]

Hardison: Aw, hell, why they all got to be this hard?

let hardison have an easy job 2k20

- - - - -

Retzing: Randy. So, where you been this time -- Europe?

Randy: No.

Retzing: Caribbean?

Randy: No.

Retzing: Well, give me the dirty details.

Randy: Just some skiing. Dad, meet Leena Christinger.

Sophie: Guten tag.

Retzing: French. Nice

“french? nice” sophie looks ready to scream

- - - - -

the scene of parker and eliot running around in the back yard is cute y’all but I’ll take literally any ot3 interaction and adore it so

eliot nodding at parker, not having to say anything before he boosts her up to the second floor

I’m sorry but her lil thieving outfit with suspenders is ADORABLE

- - - - -

[Office]

(Parker plants a bug on the back of a frame, sees someone at the door, pulls the flash drive from the laptop, and dives out the window)

[Exterior House]

(Eliot sees Parker falling toward him)

Eliot: Holy...

(Parker lands on Eliot, knocking him to the ground)

Eliot: Damn it, Parker. A little warning next time. How'd you even know I’d be there?

Parker: I didn't

eliot will always catch her because that’s just who he is

also, she just had blind faith that she’d be okay ??? like that’s just her way of thinking- act now, figure it out on the way down

she didn’t know eliot would be there, but that is the first time out of MANY for the rest of their lives that eliot is there to catch her when she falls

they don’t know it yet, but he’ll always be there to make sure she’s safe and sound

- - - - -

Nate: And besides, we're going with a much bigger scam. One of the classics.

Parker: The London Spank?

Hardison: The Genevan Paso Doble.

Eliot: The Apple Pie. (everyone looks at him questioningly) It's like the cherry pie, but with lifeguards.

Sophie: Ooh.

Nate: Glengarry Glen Death. It's like a-a mutual fund, but instead of stocks, you invest in--in death. (walks out on balcony)

Parker: I-Is it me, or is he getting creepier?

we love to hear all of the wacky con names

- - - - -

parker had like a million rubber bands around her fingers ??? maybe it’s a boredom thing that she does ???

- - - - -

Eliot: You know, we could get another chamber, and then put a brain with a tumor in that one and then send the signal to the monitor for this chamber. Cross the wires.

(everyone looks at him)

Eliot: What? I dated a neurologist.

(Sophie looks pleased)

he never said the gender (he often doesn’t when talking about his past lovers) and I stan him for that- also it lets us assume that some of them were men

ALSO

eliot really pays attention to his lovers! he listens to them about their jobs and their lives and it is shown many times throughout the series

- - - - -

Nate: What we need to do is, we need to secure this chamber and the one next to it, have to make sure that the coms work with the magnetic interference, set up a meeting with the Retzings. Somebody find me a brain.

Parker: Oh, yeah. He's definitely getting creepier

the way she says it in a sing song voice tho

- - - - -

(Eliot prepares the body as Hardison gets the shot ready. Hardison turns and holds the shot out to Eliot who takes it but hands it back)

Hardison: What? You.

Eliot: Go.

Hardison: What you mean, "go"?

Eliot: Because it was your idea.

Hardison: No. No. No. No. It's my information. It's Nate’s idea to do this nastiness.

(they both look at the body)

Eliot: Rock-Paper-Scissors?

(Hardison nods. Eliot sticks the shot into the body’s leg and they play two rounds of Rock-Paper-Scissors, Eliot watching Hardison’s face. Hardison loses)

Hardison: Well, I’ll be damned. How you do that?

Eliot: You got a tell.

(Eliot hands the shot to Hardison)

Hardison: I have a tell.

Eliot: Yeah.

Hardison: In Rock-Paper-Scissors?

Eliot: Yeah, go.

the first of MANY rock paper scissors disputes that always end up in eliot’s favor

- - - - -

(Parker joins Eliot and Hardison sitting on the MRI machine, listening. She gestures with her hands for the boys to scoot over so she can sit between them.)

how she gestures with her hands for them to move over and they immediately scoot so that she can sit in the middle ? iconic. beautiful. glorious.

- - - - -

Nate: Payout bonus kind of thing. (writing check) $100,000?

[MRI Room 1]

Parker: What is he doing?!

(Parker gets up angrily and heads for door, a moment later, Eliot follows her)

Hardison (to body): Sup?

[Hallway]

Nate: There you go (hands him check) 100G.

Dennis: I think this just might work out after all.

Sophie: With this money, you know, you can start your own company, just leave your father for good, hey?

(behind them in the hall, Parker comes out, headed for Nate. Eliot picks her up and carries her back out of sight)

chaotic ot3

- - - - -

Nate: Guys, you got to trust me, all right? You've trusted me before, and with your life.

Eliot (slams his hand down on the table): Not when you're drunk.

Nate: Oh, come on.

Eliot: You're not in control of yourself.

Nate: So, what, you're gonna control me? Is that it?

Eliot: Ah, I ain't your daddy. You can drink yourself into a coma as far as I’m concerned, but you take me down with you -- then it's my problem.

Nate: You know, you talk too much. You ought to just go skip some rope.

Eliot: What? What? (gets up angrily)

Nate: Skip some rope.

Eliot: You want me to skip something? (heads across the room)

Sophie: Hey, hey! (gets in front of Eliot)

Eliot: I'll skip your drunk ass off this marble floor

eliot wants everyone to be safe + you can tell he’s had troubled alcoholics making bad, endangering decisions in his past and eliot is not going to have that be in his life again

- - - - -

eliot was dressed like a true floridian in the bank scene- bulky, fake gold jewelry, sunglasses, check hawaiian shirt, etc

he was the og florida man

#leverage 1.09 #leverage 1x09 #the snow job #leverage #notable moments #mine #leverage season 1 #season 1

97 notes · View notes

jungkookfeelz · 5 years ago

Text

Not What You Expected 6

Description: After years of dating Min Yoongi and starting a life together, he ends your relationship out of nowhere. Will you finally find out why the love of your life left you in the cold?

Words: 3K

Notes: Well that’s that. If you have any questions, or suggestions for future work, message away! I hope you guys enjoyed this series, I can’t tell you how thankful I am with all the support so far. Thank you so much. ^.^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why the fuck are you laughing" Yoongi yelled, it wasn't time to play games with him, he wanted answers. You understood that this was a serious situation, but you couldn't help but start to laugh. You doubled over and held your stomach to relieve some of the pain. You were thinking of something completely different but finally understanding why he left you made you question everything. As soon as you stopped laughing, you wiped a tear and looked at Yoongi, who is glaring at you with a raised hand holding still his phone to your face

"Because Yoongi, that" You pointed at the phone "is my brother"

"He's your....what?" Yoongi stuttered. How could he not know that was your brother, you have been dating for so long and haven't been told about your sibling?

"My brother, I know I didn't tell you about him and I will take responsibility for that, but why wouldn't you ask me first? Why do what you did? You could have talked to me, like a mature adult, I was going to tell you when I surprised you in America that I met with my brother but you didn't give me that chance" You put your head down, looking at your hands. You had to close your eyes and count to ten in your head, you needed to be calm

"Since when do you have a brother? " Yoongi diverted your questions. It didn't make sense that you could have a brother and not tell him unless you're lying again, which was the best option he could go with. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying to you, but you don't get to ask me all these questions after everything" You demanded. You wanted to tell him, but not because he forced you too. "All you really need to know...to help you deal with your bruised ego is that I always had a brother but had a falling out with him because of my parents selfishness and didn't want to burden you with knowing my past that even I don't want to remember" You were pissed, you would never lie. You promised him from the day he asked you to be his that you would never lie to him, you would never go back on your word even if you weren't together anymore. "I wanted to move on, and you gave me that chance to be the person I have always wanted to be, I didn't want to remember how shitty my life was before I met you and the rest of the boys. It is my fault that I didn't tell you but that shouldn't have been an excuse for what you did to me...I trusted you and you took that trust and left me in a foreign country to fend for myself and try to get home on my own, not even bothering to give me one fucking phone call to make sure I made it back safely. I have always been there for you, did everything for you, and for you to automatically assume that I could betray you like that is just disgraceful" You took a moment to breathe before continuing your rant. "and how fucking dare you belittle my name in my own workplace, get me fired and laugh about it, you turned our treasured relationship into nothing in front of people who I considered my best friends and some random fucking stranger, who by the way I know you only brought to antagonize me. I have never been as disgusted by a person's actions as I am with yours." You sneered, pointing a finger at his chest. You couldn't explain how good it felt for you to finally tell him what you have been feeling for months, you now were the one breathing heavy, your face hot with too many negative emotions. You didn't cry. That, you were proud of.

Yoongi didn't say anything, just staring at his ex-lover wide-eyed. He never knew that you had a terrible childhood, he understood why you didn't tell him but it hurt knowing that you suffered and he didn't know. He wonders what could have possibly happened between your family that teared up your relationship with your brother but he knew he wasn't in any position to ask anymore. Yoongi never expected to hear this, he never realized what kind of situation he put you in since America, he was so worried about his own feelings that he forgot to make sure you were okay, he even told the rest of the guys to never contact you even though they really wanted to, he went as far to go through their phones and delete any contact information they had to reach her.

He knew there were no excuses for his actions, he formed his mouth to say something, anything but he knew that he couldn't make the issue any lighter. How did we come to this?

You ran around the kitchen grabbing and throwing ingredients in a mixing bowl. Yoongi was finally coming home after a two-month tour with Bangtan and you couldn't be more excited You wanted to bake him a cake but it wasn't going to great, you lost track of time and realized that Yoongi was coming home in about two hours and you haven't even picked a cake yet. You grabbed a cup of flour, in the process of walking to the kitchen island where the mixing bowl was, you tripped which resulted in all of the flour to land all over your body

"Oh no," You moaned, you looked down at yourself, dissatisfied with how you looked. You put down the measuring cup and tried to wipe yourself down, not caring about the floor.

"What is going on?" You whipped around and saw Yoongi standing at the doorway of the kitchen with a suitcase beside him. He smiled at your cute appearance before opening his arms, inviting you to a hug. You grinned from ear to ear before running at him at full force, tackling him. He caught you with ease and hugged you tight to him

"I missed you so much baby" He mumbled into your ear, chuckling at how disastrous the kitchen looked

"I didn't even hear you come in"

"I can see you were preoccupied

"Hey! Don't tease me, I wanted to make you a cake but it's not working" You frowned, getting out of your boyfriend's grasp.

"Hey, hey it's okay let me help you" He grabbed your hand before dragging you into the mess. He took an egg in his hand and looked over at you, you were trying to figure out how to clean up the kitchen, he walked right behind you and cracked it on your head. You gasped in shock, jumping in surprise.

"What's next? Milk?" Yoongi chuckled, reaching for the milk

"NO! What are you doing?" You screeched, Yoongi cocked his head to the side in confusion

"I thought we were making a cake?"

"Yeah, in a bowl. Not on me!"

"But I thought you're my dessert" Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at you blushing in embarrassment.

You giggle and shake your head "Oh my god you perv" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Yah, Taehyung stop it" Yoongi muttered, trying to sleep as Taehyung had kept poking his Hyung to wake him up "I'll kill you" the younger boy laughed at his Hyung's threat, not believing it for a second. After a few more pokes Yoongi has had enough

"You little shit" Yoongi jumped out of his seat and tackled Taehyung to the ground causing a bunch of giggles to burst from the other guys in the room. What made Yoongi stop was when he heard something clatter to the ground, right away the room silenced. Because Jin was the closest to the two boys on the ground he picked up the black box that fell out of his friends pocket

"What is this?" Jin asked what everyone was thinking

"Well since it's out, I guess I have to tell you" fiddling with his hands, Yoongi looked at all the boys in the dressing room slowly getting ready to perform as they were about to go on stage in their world tour, currently performing in America. He got up and patted his jeans clean from falling on the ground. "I'm planning to propose to Y/N, and I need your help" Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the rapper, clear shock on their faces.

"Holy shit, seriously? I didn't know you were ready for that yet" Namjoon spoke first

"Yeah, are you sure you're ready for this?" Hoseok asked after the leader. Yoongi didn't hesitate to express his emotions. He isn't normally good at that but he needed to let his best friends know.

"I love her, I can't imagine my life without her. She means everything to me, I would drop everything just to be able to wake up next to her every day" but before Yoongi can finish his small rant they were interrupted by their manager, telling them they had to get on stage.

"Let's do this" Jimin beamed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After the successful show, they all went back to their dressing rooms to cool down before going back to their hotels to rest. Yoongi took out his phone while the rest of the guys were busy getting ready to leave and saw a missed call, realizing it's a number he didn't know he ignored it thinking it's probably a scam. Dropping his phone, he took off his jacket and set it on the couch beside his chair, fanning himself. While he was wiping off the sweat on his face his phone started ringing. He glanced at his phone, he noticed it was the same number as before, he frowned deciding to answer it anyways.

"Hello?" Yoongi answered

"Hello, Mr. Min Yoongi, this is Kim Ha-Joon, a reporter from the Indigo Korean Media Company, I have some information for you, are you alone?" Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows in confusion

"What is this about?"

"I have some information regarding your partner Y/N, I just sent you a document regarding her activities while you were on tour. Since this is my job to report this to the media, I decided to tell you in advance...as a courtesy, unless you're willing to pay me to keep quiet, please look at the document that I sent. Call me back when you have come to a decision, hope you had a pleasant day, goodbye" The line went dead.

"What the hell" Yoongi muttered to himself, quiet enough for the other boys to not hear. He pulled the phone away from his ear and went into his Email, to see what kind of document the reporter was talking about. As soon as he clicked on the photos his heart stopped. Y/N was photographed walking into another man's home with the timestamp of 3:17pm, the next photo was her walking out at 5:12pm hugging the man on the front porch, another waving back at him before getting into her car. He started to shake, his breathing wavered. He didn't know what he was seeing, all he knew was that it was making him sick., he wanted to throw up. Yoongi quickly walked out of the dressing room and into the bathroom across the hall, pushing the stall door open with a loud 'bang' he fell to his knees and released all the pain into the toilet bowl.

It's been a few days since Yoongi found out about you, about your betrayal. He didn't tell any of the other boys yet, pretending that everything was okay, even though you did something unspeakable, he protected you. He still loved you. Yoongi was walking through the hallway, taking his time to meet the other boys in the dressing rooms. Apparently, there was a surprise that he needed to be there. He didn't want to be around anyone but he couldn't really tell anyone, making his emotions go crazy. As he walked closer to the room he heard laughing, but more specifically...your laughing. The innocent giggle that passed your lips. Yoongi couldn't help it, he felt outraged, how could you laugh like you did nothing wrong? He dashed into the room, looking around quickly before spotting you, laughing with Jungkook.

“You shouldn’t have come here Y/N” Yoongi sneered “I didn’t want you to come here, nobody did, you’re just getting in our way” Yoongi didn’t even hesitate, didn’t stutter. He looked at you with hatred, no matter how much he wanted you here he couldn't stand another second pretending nothing had happened. “Get out” Yoongi held his ground he didn't want you to see the pain in his eyes as he said this. Yoongi knew that the guys were going to freak out on him later on but he didn't care. Yoongi noticed your face pale when he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you out of the room knowing you wouldn’t say or do anything to stop him. As soon as you were out of the room Yoongi slammed the door in your face. He stared back at all of the bewildered faces of his band members

"What the fuck was that Yoongi!?"

"Hyung!"

"What are you doing!?"

"Why would you do that!?"

He could hear a few of the members scream at the same time. Seeing you made him snap, his eyes started watering and his breathing shook, he couldn't hold his pain in anymore, he started sobbing, turning around facing the door he just kicked you out of. His heart shattered. The rest of the members forgot about the situation with Y/N, making the health of the broken rapper in front of them the number one priority. They wrapped their arms around Yoongi and comforted him, they all fell to the floor only hearing his loud sobs. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You waited for a response for a few minutes now, watching Yoongi stand there, flabbergasted. You sighed, pushing your hair back from your face.

"Yoongi, you need to respond at some point, I don't have all day" You stated

"I...just...I don't know what to say, is that actually your brother?" He managed to get out.

"Are you serious? You still choose not to believe me? you're so infuriating" frustrated, you put your hands on your hair and pulled, walking back and forth in his small studio.

"You can't blame me, this is...this is a lot to take in, you were supposed to trust me, we were in a serious relationship, you should've talked to me"

You glared at him "I could say the same for you" at your statement, Yoongi visibly cringed, he couldn't tell if it was because of what you had said or the terrifying look you had given him. You were too tired to stand anymore so you walked over the couch by the desk and sat down, putting your hands on your face, leaning forwards onto your legs. You didn't know what else to say, you had said practically everything you wanted him to know.

Lost in your own thoughts you didn't notice Yoongi sit next to you on the couch until you felt his knee touch yours. You tense up trying to move away from him slowly to not gain his attention. You straighten up to be able to get his form into your line of vision, to make sure he didn't come any closer. You didn't know if you would be able to stop yourself if he touched you, really touched you.

"I'm..I'm sorry Y/N"

"I don't need your apology, I needed an explanation" You looked at him again, seeing him look so defeated and guilty you gained confidence in yourself "and so I got that, maybe it's time that I left...for good" when he didn't respond you got up sighing, you at least thought he would put up a fight after finding out that you didn't actually cheat on him. He grabbed your wrist before you could get anywhere and stood up slowly

"Is there any way you can forgive me?" His voice was quiet, he wasn't confident in himself anymore.

You took a few moments to think about a response, wanting to give him and yourself the right answer "I think so...in the future" nodding your head towards him. Yoongi frowned

"Do you think you could ever take me back?"

"No." You didn't hesitate. You don't trust him anymore, no matter what he could do to change your mind you wouldn't be able to. You know what he can do when he feels threatened and you don't want to be on the other side of his wrath anymore.

"Oh," he pulled his arm back like he was electrocuted. No matter how much he deserved this he didn't want to hear it.

"I'm sorry" You didn't have a reason to be but felt like it was appropriate to say it at this time, Yoongi shook his head, telling you he understands where you are coming from, he wouldn't go back to himself either if he were you. "I have to go now, take care of yourself Yoongi, don't make the same mistake with the next lucky girl to capture your heart" You smiled. You wanted to leave this conversation on a good note, somewhat. It broke your heart to say goodbye to him but you knew it was for the best, for both of you.

"...goodbye Y/N" he whispered, his voice cracked saying your name. You turned around quickly not being able to look at him anymore and walked towards the door, you opened the door and let yourself out, closing the door behind you quietly before leaving his life for good.

Admin Min <3

#im not crying u r #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts #bts jimin #bts hoesok #bts namjoon #bts jungkook #bts yoongi #bts taeyhung #bts jin #bts one shot #bts imagines

99 notes · View notes

weilongfu · 5 years ago

Text

Wei watches HIStory3: MODC Ep 1

We start with Yu Xi Gu staring at the boy squad being idiots. He looks mesmerized, almost wistful. And then the teacher starts reading off grades. OUCH. Although as a teacher (OKAY FINE, as a TA), I sympathize with their teacher rather than whatever Xiang Hao Ting is trying to pull.

Boy squad, what are you doing? This is the high school experience, but I never had this kind. Also Hao Ting asking everyone for money? So he can buy a Switch? At least run some kind of scam, bro.

Then Hao Ting makes out with his girlfriend. Wow, what a flirt. But I admit, I’d also like that kind of cheesy line Hao Ting pulled with his girlfriend here... Poor Yu Xi Gu... You didn’t sign up to watch that. Also, he’s too skinny. I want to feed him.

Okay, if you want to do a fujoshi thing, fine. But why are they obsessed with Yu Xi Gu? He doesn’t seem to care about boys or girls? Is it just because he’s handsome?

Hao Ting’s family dynamics are pretty realistic. I like it. It’s cute. Also, am I the only one who noticed Hao Ting’s dad’s slipper is a fish?

Yo bro, do not take candid photos at the gym. That’s not cool. Liu Zhi Gang, I know you probably think he’s cute, but don’t encourage creeper behavior! ... Bro. Bro stop giggling at his abs. Bro, you’re gonna scare the fish away.

Zhi Gang is such a good man. He feeds Xi Gu and tells him to get more sleep. Can I date you Liu Zhi Gang?! I’ll come up with things we can sell at your soy milk place! Made out of soy milk!

Sis... Sis leave Xi Gu alone. Sis.. you’re scaring all the smart and sensitive boys away. Stop it. Then one of the twins brings pictures without context to the rest of the squad to get Hao Ting mad. At least one of the twins has sense! That’s right! Stand up for Xi Gu! The boy has no time for this BS! Let him study!

Hao Ting stumbles upon a sleeping Xi Gu. He grumbles, and approaches further, examines most carefully his sharp cheekbones and resting face. Then reaches for a pen to be completely juvenile. Then falls onto the bed, almost kissing Xi Gu. Careful man, stare too deep into the void and it stares back and makes you gay. Can confirm, it totally happens. At least the doctor steps in and gets him to back off.

Poor Xi Gu, Twin #1 is on his case and Twin #2 can only stare and feel bad. Be brave nice!Twin! And then Hao Ting’s girlfriend is all upset because Hao Ting isn’t paying attention to her and probably because Xi Gu keeps telling her to go away. She has a point though about only being handsome and relating it to eating sugarcane.

And here we see what happened, Hao Ting ditched her to earn all that money for his Switch within two weeks! That’s impressive! His dad’s right, if he put that much effort into his studies, he’d be fine! (This is how I know I am becoming stereotypical Asian dad, and I am scared.) And the truth comes out! He didn’t just ditch his girlfriend, he ditched school! Also his sister is such a little shit and I like it.

Xi Gu, no! Don’t accept the water bottle! It’s a trap! Look, she keeps trying to get you alone and the boy squad has proven time and again within the last 30 min that they have no rational thinking ability because of all the testosterone! Don’t fall for it! Just read your books and be happy, sweet sweet nerdy boy. And... you’re taking advantage of him giving you his jacket because you said you were cold? And you just want Hao Ting to be jealous? GIRL PLEASE LEAVE THIS BOY ALONE.

Noooo why have you lead Xi Gu into the den of boy squad Nice!Twin?! You have betrayed him! Xi Gu is right though, he isn’t trying to do anything and they should also be asking Li Shi Yu about this and not only attacking him. Poor baby, all those meals you’ve missed are exacerbating whatever happened from being pushed.

Now he’s been late to class and his scholarship is on the line. Xi Gu, you don’t deserve any of this. Zhi Gang and I can adopt you! Then you won’t have to worry about a scholarship or anything! I’ll make you lunch and dinner every day!

Xi Gu confesses what happened and the teacher takes names. GOOD. Shi Yu and Hao Ting have a fight. Not so good, but Shi Yu is right. She should be allowed to be friends with who she wants. But Hao Ting also didn’t technically do anything. It was one of the twins that started the mess.

Bo Xiang, you’re too obvious. But Hao Ting plays off it nicely. I like this friendship.

Zhi Gang’s trainer/Bo Xiang’s cousin has great enthusiasm. I like him!

Hao Ting, don’t bully him! Xi Gu is innocent! And needs to eat all this cake I’m baking in his name right now. Please leave my precious baby nerd alone.

Zhi Gang continues to be the best person in Xi Gu’s life right now and it makes me happy. Look, he gave him bread! BO XIANG! DON’T YOU DARE GIVE XI GU ANY MORE GRIEF JUST BECAUSE ZHI GANG IS BEING NICE.

BO XIANG! MEET ME OUT BACK. I’M GONNA FIGHT YOU.

#wei watches #MODC #make our days count #spoilers #modc spoilers #make our days count spoilers #HIStory3 MODC

33 notes · View notes

chiseler · 5 years ago

Text

JOAN BLONDELL: The Honest Con

Every carny is the same: the same hicks milling around in overalls and print dresses, as trusting as cows; the same stalls and banners emblazoned with fat ladies and fire-eaters; the same bored cooch dancers listlessly gyrating their hips; the same pickpockets working the packed, sweaty crowd; the same atmosphere of hucksterism pervading everything as thickly as the smells of grease and popcorn and sawdust and cotton candy. The cacophony of spielers: Step right up! Move in closer, folks. The show is about to begin! Try your luck. Everybody wins a prize. Only a dime, ten cents, the tenth part of a dollar…

Every movie set in a carny opens the same way, with the camera elbowing through the midway, taking in the sights with a knowing eye. Sinner’s Holiday (1930), Joan Blondell’s first feature film, began this way, and so does the masterpiece of her later years, Nightmare Alley (1947). Here the camera glides over the crowd to find Blondell standing in the shadows at the back of her booth, surveying the scene. Her flowing robe, poised stillness and grave expression give her a hieratic air. Her eye is fixed on a handsome young roustabout in his undershirt, but her look is pensive rather than lustful. The wary, contained way she observes the world, and her calm unmannered presence, were with her from the beginning of her career, but here they have aged and deepened and mellowed like spirits.

She’s come a long way from Myrtle, the brassy photographer’s model of Sinner’s Holiday. Now she’s Zeena, a mind-reader, “the miracle woman of the ages” as her barker tells the gullible throng. Zeena’s act is pure hokum (she gathers questions from the audience, pretends to destroy them, and reads cues supplied by a hidden accomplice), presented with good-natured flim-flam that would fool only the most naïve. Off-stage, though, Zeena is a true believer in the Tarot, a woman of much deeper intuition and understanding than her gimcrack act suggests. Here Joan Blondell pulls off the same paradox that defined her greatest early roles in Blonde Crazy (1931) and Blondie Johnson (1932): in all these films she’s a con artist who makes her living off scams of one kind of another, yet who somehow remains fundamentally decent and even honest.

One of the links between pre-Code and film noir is their mutual obsession with dividing the world into chiselers and suckers, the wised-up and the chumps. Pre-Code movies, made at a time of mass disillusionment courtesy of the Depression, reveled in the exploits of con men, sharpies, hustlers, and maestros of ballyhoo. Films like the exhilarating James Cagney vehicle Hard to Handle (1933) depict a country where everyone is either on the make or being taken. “The public is like a cow, bellowing, bellowing to be milked,” Cagney declares, echoing his speech to Blondell in Blonde Crazy about the “age of chiselry” in which “everyone has larceny in his heart.” In the first scene of Nightmare Alley, Blondell’s Zeena listens to Stan Carlisle (Tyrone Power) as he explains why he loves the carny racket: how looking at the rubes out there gives him a feeling of superiority, a sense of being in the know, being on the inside while they’re on the outside.

She’s heard it all before. At 41, Blondell is seasoned and wise, yet still vulnerable and open-hearted—just like she was at 25. What she brought to all these movies about rackets, about schemers and saps, was the ability to put over a con and let us enjoy her triumph, yet also to express, without sanctimony, the melancholy weight of too much knowledge. As she listens to Power’s speech, all this is in her eyes and in her silence. The oily Stan is an homme fatale who shamelessly uses his wiles on the older woman, making love to her because he wants her to reveal the secret of a verbal code she and her former partner used in a successful vaudeville act. Blondell’s role could easily have been a humiliating one—as soon as Stan gets what he wants from Zeena, he cheats on her with the pretty, innocent young Molly (Colleen Gray)—but Blondell makes Zeena’s susceptibility appealing rather than pathetic. When Stan tells her she’s a “real woman” (praising her generosity to her washed-up, alcoholic partner Pete), it’s with his usual slick insincerity, but she can turn this smarmy compliment into simple truth. Zeena blames herself for her Pete’s drinking, since he hit the bottle after she cheated on him. It was Pete who said she had a heart like an artichoke, “with a leaf for everybody.” She ruefully quotes this to Stan as they drive through the night with Pete sleeping drunkenly in the back of the truck.

Wanting to pick Pete’s brains about his past success, Stan plies him with liquor, but what he learns is that even he can be suckered by a spiel. Gazing into the bottle of moonshine as though it were a crystal ball, Pete summons a vision of a barefoot boy running through rolling green hills, a dog at his side. “Yes, his name was Gyp!” Stan eagerly confirms, at which Pete reveals that it’s a stock reading that fits anyone. “Every boy has a dog!” he laughs. Much later, when Stan has followed in Pete’s alcoholic footsteps, he pulls the same trick on his fellow bums in a hobo jungle. The mind-reading racket depends on the fact that people’s memories and feelings are all pretty much the same, and nothing is more universal than the belief that one is unique.

In pre-Code, con games exploit the simplest appetites—chiefly greed—and their elaborate mechanisms rely on no profound psychology. In Nightmare Alley, Stan plays with more volatile elements: with people’s insecurities, guilt, regrets, memories, and desires. The film lays bare the irony of the mind-reading scam, in which the appearance of uncanny sympathetic understanding, a luminous glimpse into the human heart, is just a ruse to bilk money out of suckers. Stan eventually teams up with a cruel, manipulative psychiatrist, who practices the same sort of racket under the cover of science. In the book by William Lindsay Gresham from which the film was adapted, the key to Stan’s character turns out to be a textbook Freudian revelation, his sexual desire for his mother. Forced by the Production Code to drop this, the film actually improves matters by replacing it with an account of his childhood in orphanages, during which he learned to cynically manipulate authority by feigning conversion and repentance. All this pretense of empathy and communication only accentuates the alienation at the heart of the story: Stan’s destiny is to become a geek, an isolated freak who has traded his humanity for a bottle a day.

The movie’s tacked-on, studio-imposed ending not only rescues Stan from his proper fate as a geek, but adds a pat moral to the story: he fell so low, a carny-owner opines, because he reached too high. What really happened was that Stan finally encountered someone who was even more skilled and ruthless than he as a manipulator of minds. But although it’s trite, the moral accords with noir’s foundational pessimism: an un-American distrust of ambition, a certainty that those who crave more, who want to make it to the “top of the world” are courting failure, destruction and death. When Zeena reads Stan’s fortune with the Tarot, his card is the Hanged Man, a figure derived from Odin, who hung upside-down from the world-tree and sacrificed an eye to gain knowledge that would make him supreme.

Movie stars are, by and large, people driven by the burning need to be “somebody,” the same drive that Robert Warshow pinpointed in “The Gangster as Tragic Hero”: to be separate from the crowd, to be “way up high where it’s always balmy,” as Sidney Falco says in Sweet Smell of Success. One reason, perhaps, why Hollywood was so good at making movies about confidence tricksters is that so many of its great stars were self-invented, bearing names that weren’t their own, inhabiting personas that were nothing like their real selves. Joan Blondell belonged to a smaller group of stars whose air of authenticity was not an act; and that burning drive to get ahead and be the best that defined the personae of actresses like Crawford and Stanwyck was not part of her make-up. Her screen persona (like the off-screen Joan) knows poverty and will do what it takes to stay off the pavements, but she’s not naturally aggressive or afflicted by restless hunger. She is, for this reason, not really a noir type, and Nightmare Alley proved to be her only stroll down noir’s dark alleys.

It’s part of Blondell’s mystery that she is compelling on-screen despite lacking that fierce need to be the center of attention. How many genuine movie stars could be plausible in the role of a stand-in, as Blondell is in Stand-in (1937)? One of the better offerings from the mass of her post-Code films, this is an off-beat movie about Hollywood that focuses on the “little people” who labor in the film industry. In the title role, Blondell plays former child-star Lester Plum (she had, in real life, started in vaudeville as Baby Rosebud), and performs a hilarious, squeaky-voiced impersonation of Shirley Temple singing “On the Good Ship Lollipop.” Having failed to establish herself as a grown-up star, Lester uncomplainingly does the standing around and sweating for a bitchy, temperamental actress, and lives in a boarding house inhabited by trained seals, their keepers, and other show-biz oddities. Her task in the film is to awaken the heart and humanity of an Asperger’s-stricken mathematician played by Leslie Howard, who has been sent west by the New York money men to assess the financial viability of the studio where she works. Directed by the underrated Tay Garnett, the film features an array of eccentric character turns, including Humphrey Bogart as a director who goes through the film toting a Scottie dog under one arm.

It’s a cut above most of her post-Code films, which took on a drearily routine quality. The problem with the movies she cranked out during the remainder of the thirties is their relentless lightweightness. They try for the dizzy comic tone of her pre-Code films, but have none of the edge or the ballast, the dark shadows under their eyes that gave those early-thirties gems their bite. The pre-Code films had a delirious exhaustion that made them tremble on the verge of hysterical laughter or sobs; the post-Code B comedies merely feel tired. In movies like Topper Returns, or her many pairings with the deliciously acerbic Glenda Farrell, Blondell is all round eyes and pearly teeth, but the scripts deny her the wounded reserve that was, paradoxically, essential to her comic presence. There’s often plenty to enjoy, and the constant stream of wisecracks in Kansas City Princess (“Your grammar ain’t fit to eat!”) is almost enough to disguise its basic insubstantiality. But something was lost, as it was for other stars like Warren William and Mae Clarke whose careers declined after the Code sanded off their edges.

Blondell struggled to find work in her middle years, partly due to her age and partly to the personal turmoil of her third marriage to Mike Todd. Strangely, she never got many of the mother roles that subsumed actresses like Mary Astor (though off-screen she was the devoted mother of two children.) Her best-known later part was as the free-spirited, scandalous Aunt Sissy in Elia Kazan’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945). Rather than matrons she tended to play older, single working women: she was Jayne Mansfield’s secretary in Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957), and in Desk Set (1957) she shares a surprising rapport with Katharine Hepburn, who never seemed more relaxed or likeable than when she and Blondell get drunk on champagne together at an office Christmas party. A work-horse to the end, Blondell put in a lot of time on television and returned to the stage, often in stock. In 1972 she published an autobiographical novel, Center Door Fancy, about her life in show business.

She had that brand of level-headedness that seems common to people who started in show biz as children, those lifers who see through every illusion yet understand better than anyone the value of illusions. Throughout her career, Blondell exemplified one definition of what good acting is: an honest con.

by Imogen Sara Smith

#Imogen Sara Smith #The Chiseler #Joan Blondell #Tyrone Power

6 notes · View notes

headcanon-baby · 6 years ago

Note

Can you do how to tell he’s in love with you with Alex Summers

how to tell if he’s in love with you? this dork??? Y E S

- this boi is 82731678210% more of a dick whenever you’re around and he’s literally on your ass the minute you open your mouth

- he says shit like “oh speak of the devil and she arrives”, “hey shorty, didn’t see you come in - oops, guess we all know why” and “whoa look what the cat dragged in today - oh wait it’s you”

- he says it all in that snarky, teasing way of his and sometimes you don’t know whether you should get turned on or kick him in the dick

- the thing is he doesn’t really know WHEN to tone down on the teasing and then it’s too late and you storm off and you can literally hear mystique slapping alex on the back of his head for being such a dumbass

- has never apologised a day in his fucking life but leaves a plate of cookies outside your door with a note that says, “i think i took it too far” which is the closest to an apology he’s ever going to make

- if you haven’t noticed, he likes giving you borderline insulting nicknames, “shorty” is a common one, followed by “loser” and “tiny”

- makes the stupidest excuses to sit next to you during meal times

- “alex why are you sitting there that’s my spot” “it’s so i can help this shorty here reach for the salad, duh” “alex the salad is right in front of her” “….i’m grounding you”

- tends to hang his arm around your shoulders without thinking too much about it

- gets antsy when he finds out you’re going out with your friends without him and he literally marches over to scott, grabs his shoulders and tells him to “fucking watch over her she’s useless without me” and scott is like “lmao sure trash brother”

- every time you’re training together he finds every opportunity to take off his shirt

- or flex

- or both

- you notice that he tends to hover over you like a ghost in group conversations. he doesn’t contribute much aside from the random quip or snark comment but he glares at anyone who tries to get too close to you and he just stands behind you like a protective bulldog waiting to attack

- you think it’s kinda cute

- for some ABOMINABLE reason, he likes waking you up at 5am. not for breakfast or anything but to fucking JOG FFS

- “wakey wakey eggs and bakey time to run you slob” “summers i swear to FUCK - ”

- alex looks and acts like a Jock almost 99% of the time but boy this man can COOK. after the jog he makes breakfast for you and you think it’s all a scam and he’s poisoned your eggs but he just looks at you abashed and just mutters, “I like cooking for people” and your heart just dies inside

- you think alex is some sort of magician especially that time when you’re with your friends and peter just looks around and is like, “your boyfriend not here today?”

- for some reason alex knows EXACTLY when to pop out of nowhere at that exact moment to deny everything with the biggest fuck off blush on his face

- sometimes you think he’s self-conscious because every time you enter the room he discreetly tries to fix his hair

- is a super POSSESSIVE FUCK. when you go out together with friends to the movies he makes sure to ask you every time whether you’re cold and even when you tell him your not he makes you wear his jacket anyway while glaring at peter who’s about to offer his

- “maximoff i swear to fuck if you -” “whoa calm down homeboy i was just about to offer storm mine no need to get your panties in a twist”

- scott discreetly tries to offer you hints that alex is in love with you but every time he opens his mouth alex dog tackles him into a bookshelf

- “hey you know my brother - ASDHAGGFALLKSL” “ha. ha. what were you about to say lil bro? oh hey shorty whats up with you” “ALEX SUMMERS YOU BROKE MY TEETH”

- yeets himself when his hand brushes against yours while you’re walking and everyone is just so exasperated because it’s literally a recurring gag that happens at least once a day

- “hey scott, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think your brother is whipped” “he’s been whipped since the day he met her what’s new”

- he likes picking you up

- no literally

- he just picks you out of mcfreaking nowhere. like in the middle of a conversation or you mention that you’re heading to bed he literally just fucking picks you up in his arms bridal style and runs the fuck away laughing with you while you’re gripping on him and screeching

- “do I even weigh anything to you???” “nope it’s like carrying a bunch of grapes”

- he’s amusingly pleased whenever you call him by his x-men alias

- “you got a kink for your superhero name, summers?” “hey back off it’s a cool name”

- whenever you’re hit on in public alex just scoffs and finds every single insult he can think of about you to deter the dude away

- “you shouldn’t do that, she probably hasn’t showered for a whole week”, “you really wanna date a girl you can’t see when she walks into the room? alright dude if your standards are that low”, “she puts milk before the cereal. you really gonna hit that?”

- has failed his confession about 6 times in six months. he chickens out before he can ever finish or gets an untimely interruption from someone in the house

- “okay so the mansion was gonna explode right? so I waltz in there like oh hey guys what’s up - OH sHIT ALEX wERE YOU ABOUT TO - ” “maximoff i swear to god”

- you think his heart is full of snark and wit until one day you find him intoxicated at the dinner table with charles and beast and mystique basically the Whole Gang™ completely red-faced and sulky and everyone is just laughing at him because he talks a lot of shit but he sure can’t take it

- “he’s had a bit too much to drink,” charles says politely as alex flat out sobs onto the table while beast pats him on the back

- alex just continues being emo until he sees your ass and he just. wobbles towards you and the first thing you know he’s giving you the biggest, bone-crushing hug you’ve ever had and mumbling like an idiot

- beast is about to intervene until you wave him off and you silently drag alex back to his bedroom and the whole time he’s just moaning and sobbing and telling you how nice your hair smells and you’re just smh

- and then out of curiosity you pop The Question™ and he answers so fast it gives you whiplash

- “hey alex, do you like me?” “h-h-huh???? like you?? n-nah i love you loser” “wait what”

- he doesn’t let you leave the bedroom even after you tuck him in and turn the lights off and he makes you sit by his bed and hold his hand to sleep and sweet fucking jesus he even pulls out the puppy dog eyes no you and you’re like gdi

- and then out of nowhere he starts to drunkenly babble about his past, telling you all about how scared he was when he got drafted for war, how close he became to getting experimented on because of his x-gene and how fucking terrified he was at the thought of not being able to come back to the mansion and see everyone again

- he pulls your hand against his face and he just. BREAKS down crying and confesses that he sometimes dreams of losing you in the war and it scares the shit out of him

- it takes awhile for you to calm him down, rubbing his hand with yours in comfort until alex pulls you closer to him and grips your hand until he’s shaking and asks

- “d-do you t-think i’ll e-ever have a chance w-with you in t-this lifetime?”

- and being the fucking impulsive piece of shit you are you lean into him and grab his face and give him the softest, sweetest kiss you’ve ever given anybody and he just stares at you giddily touching his lips blown out of his mcfreaking mind

- “ask me again tomorrow when you’re sober, dork”

- he does

aaaaaand i’m done. sorry i haven’t been taking requests! been hella busy and dying and i just got out of hospital so kEK

194 notes · View notes

duhragonball · 6 years ago

Text

Dragon Ball 082

InaShikaCho! He’s got the head of a boar and the antlers of a moose and the wings of a butterfly. Not real clear on what his body is more like. Definitely not a butterfly body, that’s for sure, but I think it’s like a moose body on boar legs?

Funimation always spells it as one word with three capital letters, while the subtitles spell it “Inashika Cho”. I’m gonna look this up, because I always assumed the name was some sort of portmanteau of Japanese or Chinese words for the three different animals. Please enjoy this pleasant music until I get back.

youtube

Okay, so here’s a plot twist for you: If you google “InoShikaCho” the first hit is the Dragon Ball Wiki, but the second result is the Naruto Wiki. Apparently there’s a technique in Naruto called “Formation InoShikaCho”. It’s actually named after a term from the card game Koi-Koi. There’s a certain combination of cards named Inoshikacho, which indeed translates into “boar, deer, butterfly”. Okay, and that’s why the title card for this episode displays three playing cards. Not sure how they switched the deer with what is clearly a moose. Maybe “shika” refers to both animals. Let’s move on.

Goku’s wandering around hungry when he sees a family in a runaway vehicle. It looks like half a motorcycle hitched to a trailer, so you tell me what it’s called. He leaps into action and stops the thing with a bamboo tree. The grateful family tells him that their brakes went out while they were trying to flee the vicious Inoshikacho.

Just like the title of this cartoon! Goku wants to fight the Inoshikacho, but they warn him that it’s super dangerous. Well that only encourages him.

No one really spells out that Inoshikacho is a chimera of three different animals. Now that I see the guy, I’m satisfied that he has deer antlers and not moose antlers, so I guess it’s just the title card that messed up. It’s probably just as well that Goku doesn’t get a description of the guy, or he’d probably want to eat him. Goku’s pretty hungry.

Meanwhile, Krillin and Yamcha are sparring at Kame House while Bulma complains that Master Roshi isn’t teaching them anything. Look, lady, the whole idea is they wear those heavy shells and delivery milk or fight bees or whatever it was. He didn’t teach Goku anything either and he turned out okay. The real question is why he’s letting them spar at Kame House instead of their usual regimen.

Bulma checks out the book Roshi is looking at, and shockingly it isn’t porn. It’s actually a photo album with pictures from Roshi’s younger days. This one is him with the Crane Hermit, who is holding a baby Inoshikacho.

They start out pretty docile, but when they get upset, they’re hard to deal with. Bulma asks where the Inoshikacho is now, and Roshi admits that he moved away soon after these photos were taken, so he has no idea.

Well, we know, because when Goku heads to the village to find it, he discovers that someone else is way ahead of him. Two martial artists already showed up and hired themselves out to the village to capture the beast. Look, they’ve already got it cornered.

Wait, whaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Tien and Chiaotzu? But this is the Fortuneteller Baba Saga! Yeah, these two haven’t been introduced in the manga just yet, but here’s a sneak preview of these guys. They kick the Inoshikacho a couple of times and it goes down surprisingly easy.

The villagers are super grateful for the boys’ help, but T&C don’t care about that as long as they get their reward money. Chiaotzu’s all about the dollah-dollah.

Since they’re in a hurry to leave, Tien offers to dispose of the Inoshikacho corpse on their way out.

And Chiaotzu helps himself to this corn that’s also hanging from somebody’s roof. Chiaotzu’s also about that corny-corny.

Meanwhile, Goku’s just minding his own business, fishing with his tail because he’s still hungry. As far as he knows, that whole Inoshikocho business is over with. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t introduce himself to Tien and ask to spar with him, though. Maybe he did and Tien brushed him off.

Then he smells something good, and follows his nose to... What’s this?! Inoshikacho is alive?????? And eating corn on the cob with Tien and Chiaotzu???????????? The same martial artists who were hired to kill him??????? Is thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis what I’ve been paying for?

Yeah, so this is your basic “Martial-artists-pretend-to-kill-a-monster-but-they’re-really-in-cahoots” scam. Goku doesn’t even understand that, but Tien’s convinced that he’s exposed their sweet racket, so now he’s gotta die. At first, Chiaotzu squares up to fight him, but Tien tells him to back off and let him handle this. Goku has no idea how lucky he is. Tien just wants to kill him, but Chiaotzu would have devoured his soul.

So yeah, Tien’s really good at martial arts. So is Goku, but he’s too hungry to fight back effectively, as this episode has reminded up like fifty times. We get it, we’re not really seeing a sneak preview of the 22nd Budokai because neither fighter was prepared. Goku’s had all day to find food, though. It’s not like he’s picky either. If he can’t find a wolf or a centipede in the middle of nowhere than that’s his own damn fault.

Goku still manages to dodge Tien’s attacks, so Tien kicks a tree instead and it crashes on top of Goku, who lacks the strength to hold it up.

Tien decides to just leave Goku pinned under the tree and let him die of exposure. I think I’ve talked about this before, but it really exposes Tien’s conflicted nature. Yeah this sounds like a really cruel way to kill a guy, but it also shows us that Tien lacks the killer instinct to finish Goku off himself. When Mercenary Tao failed to kill Goku, it was because he was too arrogant and careless to check the body for a pulse. When Tien fails to kill Goku, it’s because he doesn’t have the stomach to reach down and break Goku’s neck with his bare hands.

I’ll even go you one better and speculate that this is why Goku was somehow able to dodge all of Tien’s strikes. In his head, he was trying to kill Goku, but his heart wasn’t into it, so he wasn’t putting his all into those attacks. I’m not saying that Tien hasn’t killed before, or that he wouldn’t have killed a weaker target in this situation, but we know he’s strong enough to kill Goku and he definitely didn’t kill Goku, which says to me that something’s holding him back.

As for Chiaotzu, he’s easy either way. He’s got his money, he’s got his corn, he doesn’t mind peacing out and leaving Goku to die.

Meanwhile, Bulma wakes up from a nightmare involving Goku getting impaled on Inoshikacho’s antlers.

Yamcha and Krillin don’t know what the big deal is.

As for the real Goku, he’s just fine. He wakes up in the home of a girl named Tanmen, who feeds him. I’m a little unclear on how he escaped from that tree, but the point is that he survived and he’s totally fine now that he’s got some food in him. Goku explains Tien’s scam to Tanmen, and she’s pretty upset about it.

Meanwhile, Tien and Chiaotzu have already moved on to the next town. Inoshikacho is wreaking havoc, and they’re just waitng for the right time to move in. “I hope they have corn,” Chiaotzu says. “They will,” Tien replies.

On his way after Tien, Goku runs into the same family as before. Turns out they left the first village and took refuge in the very one that Inoshikacho is terrorizing right now. Goku resolves to settle their has this time.

By the time Goku arrives, T&C have already “captured” Inoshikacho and have it trussed up.

But Goku comes along and tickles the supposedly “dead” monster and reveals that he’s still alive. This proves that Tien and Chiaotzu are in choots with Inoshikacho!

But wait! Tien puts a burning piece of wood under Inoshikacho, which proves he’s NOT in cahoots. Would he allow an accomplice to suffer and die like this? On the other hand, Goku takes pity on the creature and frees him, which Tien uses to “prove” that Goku’s the one who’s in cahoots with Inoshikacho!

That trick fools the villagers into turning on Goku, but it also turns Inoshikacho against Tien. He shoots him a dirty look as Goku comforts him, and the boys realize that Inoshikacho might never trust them again.

Goku doesn’t want to fight the villagers, and Inoshikacho is still hurt from his burn, so Goku has to pick him up and take him away to Tanmen’s village for help.

I think this is something that’s often overlooked whenever there’s discourse about Goku being a good husband or father. He hardly knows Inoshikacho, other than the fact that he was a bad guy until about ten minutes ago, but he’s still carrying him all the way to the next town, just to get him some medical attention. The argument I’ve seen is that Goku thinks about his wife and sons no differently from anyone else he knows, but that still goes a long, long way. Personally, I think Goku loves his wife a lot more than Inoshikacho here, but even if this were as far as it goes, Goku would still be a great husband. Most guys wouldn’t carry their wives several miles at night to save them from an angry mob.

Eventually Tanmen convinces the mob from the other village that Goku’s on the level, and everyone agrees to forgive Inoshikacho. Inoshikacho, in turn, promises to be good, and he starts helping out around town and being a cool friend. When Goku mentions that he’s training for the Tenkaichi Tournament, Inoshikacho offers to spar with him. The narrator suggests that this is a big deal, since Inoshikacho knows how Tien fights, so this’ll be good preparation for Goku. That might be overselling it a little, but it’s definitely a nice gesture.

Anyway, Tien and Chiaotzu are on their way to Papaya Island for the 22nd Budokai and that sweet sweet prize money. “I wanted corn,” Chiaotzu says. “50,000 zeni can by many corns,” Tien explains.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #tien #tien shinhan #chiaotzu #goku #tenman #inoshikacho #bulma #master roshi #krillin #yamcha #fortuneteller baba saga

14 notes · View notes

lickstynine · 6 years ago

Text

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Ten

written with @ocsickficsideblog

The next few days were bumpy; Kit wasn’t sure he’d have made it through without Alistair staying with him. He’d spent almost four hours talking to the mental health overseer he was assigned, answering questions and filling out paperwork, and every day since, he’d been required to write in his notebook for at least thirty minutes. While it helped to write about his feelings, the obligatory time limit was quite grating, and it was hard to focus with how lousy he felt. The high-calorie diet the doctor had put him on was miserable. He felt bloated and nauseous almost constantly, and even when his weight seemed to be going in the positive direction, the doctor still had things to fuss about.

Apparently, despite the healthy diet and vitamin supplements, Kit’s blood tests still didn’t look good. The doctor had sent in a hematologist, who discovered that he had a suspiciously low red blood cell count. They’d sent several vials of his blood out for testing that morning, leaving him feeling faint as well as queasy. The poor nurse was properly struggling to coax lunch into him. Kit had rejected a health shake, a fruit salad, and a bowl of pasta, and now they were arguing over a single slice of peanut butter toast.

“I don’t want it. I feel sick.”

“That’s because they took your blood, dear.” The nurse, bless her, was still being quite patient. “You’re going to feel poorly until your body can replenish it. Eating will help.”

“I already drank the juice the phlebotomist gave me.” Kit huffed, as if a single cup of juice were equivalent to a meal.

Alistair gently nudged Kit with his foot. He was sitting at the bottom of the bed, drawing, his hair tied up in a terribly messy topknot so he looked like a volcano spewing lava. “You can manage that one slice, Kit. They’ll put you on IVs again if you don’t.”

Kit cringed. After having so much blood drawn, the last thing he wanted was another needle jabbing him. At the same time, just the sight of food was making his stomach turn. Alistair’s words seemed to have more weight than the nurse’s - after a long moment of silence, Kit sighed and reached for the toast.

Alistair smiled at him, genuine pride shining in his eyes. “You’re doing so well with this, Kit…”

The older boy managed a weak smile. “I’m trying.” He mumbled, peeling the crusts off of his whole-wheat toast before taking a bite. It was painfully dry, but he’d been brought milk rather than water. He powered through several small bites before caving and picking up the glass. He sipped slowly, wishing it weren’t so creamy and thick. Alistair pulled a face too. He couldn’t imagine having to chug a glass of tepid milk, but he smoothed out his features whenever Kit glanced his way.

Now that Kit was eating, the nurse shuffled away, leaving him in peace to slowly and miserably peck away at his toast. Kit wasn’t sure what was worse - the cloying sweetness of the peanut butter, or the overwhelming richness of the milk. He ate about two-thirds of the toast before setting it aside with a grimace. Alistair let him get away with that, grinning. “Thanks, Kit.”

“I feel worse than when I got here.” Kit whined. “I'm convinced this peasant hospital is a scam.”

“It’s widespread free healthcare, Kit. Established by Enurin Bevan in 1949 to care for the masses. A good thing,” Alistair said, knowing it annoyed Kit when he parroted history facts like that.

“Well I'm not the masses and I hate it.”

“You are the masses. You eat and shit the same as I do.” He paused. “Well. Maybe you don’t eat. But they’re trying to remedy that.”

That actually made Kit snort, and he kicked Alistair lightly. “I'd like to think I do both with far more poise and composure than you.”

“How do you shit with poise and composure?”

“Not like you.” Kit grinned.

“I bet you’re always constipated with your diet. You can’t constipation-shit with poise.”

Kit scoffed. “You're disgusting.”

“You’re not saying no,” Alistair teased.

“I don't hold conversations about my bathroom habits.” Kit rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you’re lucky you can get out of bed. When I had appendicitis, for the first few days I had to use a bidet. Talk about humiliating! And when I’d burned my bloody arms I couldn’t even lift them, so I had some poor nurse in the bogs with me then too. You can’t take a shit in peace in these places.”

“First of all, bidets are not the abomination you make them out to be, and you only hate them because you haven’t gotten over the time your dumb arse mistook one for a drinking fountain.” Kit smirked.

Alistair scowled. “I was only five! Pammy used to tease me about that even years later.”

“Only because you still get so huffy. It’s hilarious.” Kit was chuckling now, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

“It’s not! I bet other kids have done it…”

“All the more reason for you to not be so flustered!” Kit pointed out.

“I suppose…” He sighed. “Still. Trust me to manage it.”

Kit nudged his shoulder. “Hey, don't actually get upset. I did plenty of stupid shit when I was younger. You probably remember more of it than I do.”

“I wasn’t getting upset, don’t worry. Just thinking…”

“About what?”

“Before. It would have been fine if Auntie and Pammy had been able to stick around, wouldn’t it?”

Kit went quiet, the cheerful smile melting off his face. “Maybe…”

“Sorry,” Alistair said wretchedly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He yanked his hair out of its ponytail, pulling a face as he shook it back over his shoulders. He’d been by Kit’s side almost all the time - he usually only had a quick wash in the sink in the morning, and he had only washed his hair once since the day Kit was admitted.

The sight of his cousin’s disastrously greasy hair made Kit cringe. “Lord, you can take a proper shower, you know. I feel lousy, I don’t have the energy to run off and do anything stupid.”

“Why? Do I disgust you?” Alistair grinned.

“Disgust is a strong… accurate word.”

Alistair snorted. “Can I shower here? They have a chair in there. It’s fucking luxury.”

Kit laughed. “That’s luxury to you?”

“I get to sit on my arse, so yes. Never do anything standing that you can do laying down. You ever tried to have sex standing up? It’s fucking exhausting. Your legs ache.”

Kit shrugged. “Sometimes the person is worth it. Besides, you get to lie down after.”

“You say that like I’m not just banging one boy.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” Kit grinned. “Or really, more of Julie’s problem.”

“Oh, ha ha. He’s never complained. Just for that I’m not going to wash my hair.”

Kit sighed dramatically. “Why do you hate me?”

Alistair grinned, swinging his legs off the bed anyway. “You want anything before I go?”

“Do we have any more ginger ale?”

“Yes.” Alistair fumbled in the bedside cupboard, opening the bottle for Kit out of habit. The older boy accepted it without complaint, taking a sip and waving as Alistair gathered his clothes to go shower.

“Enjoy your luxurious shower chair.”

“I will. Stay alive, you. Gingers don’t give up,” Alistair said, pulling a face to show he was joking, then disappearing into the bathroom. Kit rolled his eyes, glancing down at his soda and wondering if it was still cannibalism to drink your own kind.

The bathroom door locked, and before long, the steady sound of running water lulled Kit into a half-sleep. He was curled up in his blankets, staring drowsily into the middle distance when a familiar voice in the hallway made his blood run cold.

“Out of my way! Don’t you know who I am? I don’t care, let me in right now!”

Kit sat up with a start, instinctively drawing the covers closer around himself. The door slammed open, and he scooted as far away as he could, pressing against the safety bars on the bed. The massive shadow more than enveloped him, and Kit retreated deeper into his blankets, wishing they could swallow him up.

“Look at you. Clinging to cheap blankets in some rickety peasant bed. How far have you fallen?” Reggie sneered.

“I… I didn’t fall…” Kit mumbled, staring down at the sheets as his father’s gaze bore into him. “It was just the nearest hospital.”

“That you shouldn’t have fucking needed!” Reginald spat. “What were you thinking? Trying to snuff out my bloodline with one cowardly swoop! You’re bloody lucky I’ve not got another heir. If I did, I’d disown you for this. You could stay in this filthy peasant hospital with your filthy peasant cousin and stop being my problem.”

Kit didn’t know what to say; he was just grateful they were in a public place, where the worst Reggie could do was yell. When his father continued to glare at him expectantly, he mustered up a weak. “Sorry…”

“You’d best be fucking sorry!” Reggie’s eyes burned with an uncanny flame, made almost as orange as his hair by the cheap incandescent light. His powerful fist latched onto Kit’s shoulder, pulling the smaller boy close. “If you ever try something this stupid again, you’d best finish the job, or I’ll do it for you.”

Kit’s heart was beating so quickly it felt like it might burst. It took every ounce of courage left in him to nod. He couldn't have spoken if his life depended on it. Luckily, that was enough confirmation for Reggie to drop him back on the flimsy mattress.

“You’d best not bring another peasant faggot home this time.” The older man straightened up, stomping off towards the door again.

Alistair had cut his shower short, having heard the commotion. He hadn’t been able to make out the words, and hadn’t recognised Reggie’s voice; he’d just wanted to have a snoop and watch whoever was kicking off. He looked horrified as he came out of the shower just as Reggie turned to go. He ran to Kit at once, his face flaming red with rage, his wet hair tangled. “Oi! What the fuck are you doing here, you asshole?”

Reginald spun around, scrunching his nose at his soggy, disheveled nephew. “Did I interrupt your mud bath?”

Alistair took in the state of Kit now, his eyes flashing. “What did you do to him? He was getting better, starting to smile again. Why’d you have to come in here and ruin everything? Why can’t you you all get lost and leave us in peace?”

“I'm ruining things?” Reggie snorted. “How do you think your mother and I feel, knowing our noble bloodline has dwindled to almost nothing, thanks to you faggots?”

“Oh yeah? Well, at least us “faggots” can actually get it up. I found viagra in your medicine cabinet, you dirty bastard!”

If Kit hadn't been on the verge of a panic attack, he would've laughed. A weak smile cracked his face, but it vanished when Reggie turned to scowl at him.

“What're you smirking at, ingrate?”

“No… nothing, sir…” Kit ducked his head, quickly withering under his father's flaming glare.

“Leave him alone!” Alistair cried. “If you’ve nothing kind to say to your own bloody son, then get your insensitive arse out of here before I kick it out.” He stood firmly in front of his uncle, barely reaching up to his chest.

Reginald smirked. “I'd love to see you try.”

“Al, don't…” Kit was looking at his cousin with pleading, fearful eyes.

Alistair looked back at Kit - and for once it seemed to break through the fury. He saw Kit’s face, white with fear, shaking like a wet kitten. Alistair moved away from Reggie, going to wrap his arms around Kit. The older man sneered.

“You faggots have fun cuddling. I'm leaving before the poverty starts to rub off.” Reggie walked out the door before Alistair could snap back again.

“Asshole,” Alistair growled, then turned his attention to Kit. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Kit shook his head, sniffling and sinking down in his blanket nest. Alistair climbed into bed with him. “What did he say?”

Kit didn't answer, just leaning on Alistair for support. He was eyeing the door warily, like he thought Reggie might still come back. Alistair held Kit in his arms tight. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realise it was him. He’s got a cheek, coming here.”

Kit shrugged. As unpleasant as his father's visit had been, he wasn't surprised. He was shaken, though, and it took a while for him to find his voice again.

“He… he said… if I ever tried something this… this stupid again, I'd better finish the job, or he… or he'll finish it for me.”

“He said what? That bastard!”

Kit flinched, though he knew his cousin was angry for him, not at him. He just nodded, once again at a loss for words. Alistair tried to swallow his fury, gripping Kit’s face in his hands. “We won’t let him do that.”

“Promise?” Kit looked desperately up at Alistair, fear shining in his eyes. Though they were the same colour as Reggie's, there was no fire in them.

Alistair nodded fervently. “I promise. I’ll never let that happen.”

Kit latched tightly onto him. “I hate it here. I want to go home. Your home.”

Alistair nodded. “They’re sending you home soon, I know it. They’ve been giving me all these leaflets and notes about how to care for you.”

“We still haven't heard back from the hematologist. Shouldn't they have gotten the lab results by now?” Kit fussed.

“Don’t ask me. I was rubbish at science, I just drew the whole lesson. Sometimes it takes a week or more, I think.”

Kit sighed. “So will they like, call when they get the results, or make me come back in, or what?”

“They call you to come in if there’s something wrong.”

“But do they call either way?”

“Yes,” Alistair said, laughing.

Kit's cheeks went pink with embarrassment. “I don't know! I've never used commoner healthcare before!”

“Stop calling it that! This is a very rare and good thing, to have public healthcare.”

“How am I supposed to differentiate it from my regular healthcare then?” Kit asked.

“This one is free,” Alistair declared. “You don’t get upgrades or a big fat bill at the end.”

“I'd rather pay and get the upgrades…” Kit mumbled.

Alistair snorted. “I know you would.”

“You're so mean to me.” Kit declared dramatically.

Alistair laughed. “Oh yeah, I’m awful.”

“The worst.” Kit was smiling even as he said it, stretching out across Alistair's lap. He gently nudged his cousin's shoulder, hoping Alistair would lay down.

Alistair giggled at him again, slumping back obediently. “You can ask me to lie down, you know.”

“I don't want to bother you…” Kit mumbled, resting his head on Alistair's chest. “just… if you don't mind.”

“I obviously don’t mind. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

Kit nodded, snuggling up closer. “You're warm. And your heartbeat is soothing.”

“That’s why you put babies on your chest. They find it soothing, like being back in the womb. No idea what Mother’s heartbeat sounded like. I can’t imagine it being soothing. Maybe it was the Jaws theme tune.”

Kit snorted. “I wouldn't be surprised. Father's is probably a war drum.”

“Yuck, imagine curling up on his chest.”

Kit cringed and shook his head. “No.”

“It’d be like that scene in Totoro. Where it opens its mouth and yawns and almost swallows that little girl,” Alistair giggled. He remembered long ago Totoro games with Kit, when he’d stand trying to make shoots grow or collecting acorns or searching for soot sprites.

Kit just shook his head, trying to think more about the Totoro games and less about being so uncomfortably close to his father.

“Do you remember all our games?” Alistair whispered. “When I was sent off to that awful boarding school at seven, I’d be excited for weeks about seeing you every holiday.”

“You would?” Kit seemed surprised.

“Of course I would! What else did I have to look forward to?”

Kit shrugged. “I don't know. I just didn't feel like I was that much fun. I was never as energetic as you, or as imaginative…”

“Oh, I was only so in my own head back then because nobody else paid any attention to me. You were just as imaginative.”

“I think you've always been more creative than me. I like that about you, though.” Kit murmured.

“You do?” Alistair seemed surprised. “Nobody ever said that…”

Kit nodded. “I never knew where to explore, or what games to play. I probably never would've left my room as a kid if it weren't for you.”

“Pammy said we complimented each other. I got you outside, you stopped me wandering into an animal trap or something.”

Kit laughed. “I don't think you were ever quite that bad. No, I take it back. I forgot about the frozen pond.”

Alistair grinned. “We had fun while it lasted.”

“You had fun.” Kit rolled his eyes, smiling and snuggling up to his cousin.

“You liked skating when it was at the proper rink. Remember how we’d go?”

“Barely. It's been ages. Tell me about it?” Kit begged.

“Sometimes Auntie took us, and then Pammy when we were older. Remember, she could barely move a centimetre without falling? She had to use those little props for the tiny kids to hang on to. But we could both go out and skate together. You were the one who could do it all properly, I just tore along and bashed into things - but at the end you’d take my hand and we’d skate together, and you’d steer me in and out of the crowds so it was like I was doing it properly too…”

Alistair trailed off, actually shivering. He’d been so far off in his memories that he’d felt the artificial cold of the rink, heard the chink of skates on hard ice, felt the wind blow his hair back as he went gliding fast, Kit deftly dragging him out of the path of the public.

Kit closed his eyes with a wistful sigh. “You should draw that…” he mumbled thoughtfully.

“Yeah… Now I really want to.”

“You can move me if you want.” Kit offered.

“No no, I’ll do it when we get home. I want my pastels.”

Kit nodded, secretly grateful that he got to stay put. He snuggled up closer, yawning and wrapping his arms around Alistair. The younger boy ran his hands through Kit’s hair, hoping to soothe him to sleep. It worked quite well, and only minutes later, Kit was snoring away. Alistair was awake longer - though Kit was skinny, he was still a grown man, and it was hard to get comfortable with him lying on top of Alistair - but he eventually fell asleep too.

#misadventures of Kit #nanowrimo #chapter ten #collab #ocsickficsideblog #kit #raycraft #reggie #alistair #julius #tw homophobia #angst #drama of the big gay

10 notes · View notes