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gettingfrilly · 1 year ago

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Can't get you out of my Ed

Chapter one of... 39 chapters lmao. This fic will kill me and I'll be damned if I don't take some of you down with me. Read it here or on ao3. Super mega thanks to @fish-bowl-2 for betaing and also for giving feedback on my massive outline.

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“Ppbbbbbbththtbbbhththtthhhhh.”

“Dude.”

“Dude yourself.” Eddy mutters, not caring if Kevin objects to his bored mouth noises. What else is he supposed to do? It’s Wednesday, five pm, and raining. No one's been in the candy store for hours, and ain’t no one gonna show up before they close at six. So he stands here bored out of his skull, full weight propped against the counter with his face squished in his hands, elbows velcroed to the permanently sticky wooden surface. He keeps his eyes where they’ve been glued for the last hour, which is directly on the nostalgic kitsch wall clock with plastic lollipops for hands and pounded sheet metal with a scene from some 50’s style soda shop superimposed on it for a face. It goes well with the completely non-functional jukebox in the corner, the rows of dusty, empty, retro soda bottles lining the shelves on the wall opposite the front door, and the 40 year old ice cream machine behind the counter that’s been out of order since last summer. Eddy had felt giddy when Kevin first got him a job here his freshman year, tickled by his younger self’s hypothetical jealousy over how easily he could pocket a jawbreaker here and there. The garish clashing of the puke green tiles and pastel pink walls had filled him with bittersweet memories of childhood, familiar and welcoming for a first time job.

Now he just finds the whole store ugly.

“You could, ya know. Work.” Kevin suggests. “Clean something. Stock something. Anything other than standing there with your thumb up your ass.”

“Oh? And you can’t?” He asks while side eyeing Kevin, who is also currently standing around with his thumb up his ass. More specifically, he’s leaning backwards against the displays behind the counter, wide shoulders slouched as his arms dangle at his sides. The clean hairline of his crew cut frames his wide, blocky face with sharp angles. He’s been made up of solid, sturdy shapes since he started playing for the varsity team in his junior year, and his workout regimen has further defined his muscles in the years since. Eddy wouldn’t exactly describe him as beefy, but his build is athletic for sure. He’s also classically handsome, Eddy begrudgingly admits to himself, though he’s not really his type. Too much of a normie for his tastes, with his basic sense of style and outfit compiled of store brand athletic wear. Guy shops at Old Navy for sure. Well, more like his mom shops for him there.

“I’m the boss. I’ve got underlings to do that kind of stuff for me.” An annoyingly smug smile graces his shovel shaped chin, and Eddy can’t help but grind his teeth.

“For your information, bossman, ” he hisses the title, “shelves: dusted. Floors: mopped. Inventory: stocked. Windows: windexed. Hell, I even ordered the lollipops by color out of fucking boredom. There is truly not a single thing left to do.”

Kevin hums and scratches his ten acre chin. “Oh. Well. Pbth.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

‘ Come now, with your cleaning skills, surely you left something amiss. Did you wipe down the floor trim? Deep clean the register? I see plenty of snack crumbs wedged between those sticky keys. And you didn’t even mention the employee bathroom, for heaven’s sake. ’

“Shut up.” He mumbles under his breath. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Hey, how’s Nazz doing?” Kevin’s and Nazz’s shaky relationship isn’t exactly his favorite can of worms to open, but he’s starting to get bored enough to peel his eyelids off of his face, so he better strike up some kind of conversation.

“ Man- ” Yup, here we go, “I don’t get what’s up with her. Ever since she moved to Buffalo she’s been acting all different and weird. Dunno what happened to the Nazz we used to know.”

‘ She grew up. Which is something you may want to look into yourself, Kevin. 19 years old and no interest in pursuing a higher education or a greater calling like our dear Nazz has. Tut tut.’

“Yeah, it’s almost like she cares about shit now or something.”

“Exactly,” Kevin bemoans, completely missing Eddy’s sardonic tone. “I don’t get all the polisci stuff she talks about. I’m just not a political guy, ya know? Why can’t things just go back to being simple between us? College wrecks people, man.”

On one hand, even Eddy can tell Kevin’s being pig-headed about this. On the other hand, he can relate on a very painful, squishy, sore, and tender level.

‘Well you are quite pig-headed yourself.’

“She just outgrew this small town shit. We all should. I know I’m getting out of here as soon as I graduate.”

“Speak for yourself. I like it here.” Kevin mutters while crossing his arms petulantly.

“Of course you do, mister former high school quarterback nepo baby. You already got shit made here. Doesn’t your dad own the candy factory now?”

“Vice president. But yeah, he’ll own it soon. And he’s thinking of expanding. But what are you complaining about? Aren’t you all set up to inherit your old man’s dealership? That place makes decent dosh.”

“I’d rather eat nails.” The words come grinding out of his mouth as if it were already full of sharp, pointy metal.

“What? No way, man, you used to brag about that place all the time. Said it was your legacy and that you were gonna make it the hottest place in the county to get a used car.”

“Times change.” That’s the only explanation he’s willing to offer.

Kevin just shrugs, much to Eddy’s gratitude. That’s probably the best thing about being friends with Kevin; guy doesn’t ask questions. Makes him a solid person to vent to.

‘Especially if you’re allergic to discussing your feelings.’

With a long suffering groan, Eddy literally peels himself off of the old counter to do another useless perimeter search of the shop. He knows he still won’t find anything to do, but at least it’ll get his body moving. His sneakers squeak against the freshly mopped floors (so bored he even got out the mop, for chrissake…) as he eyes the displays, watching his reflection warp and transform from one glass container to the next, an endless hall of funhouse mirrors mocking him with his own boredom, irritation, and overall misery. His fault for scrubbing them all until they were spotless. The hole punched cardboard pallet that holds a variety of different brands of lollipops is just as hue spectrum oriented as he left it, so this time he goes for ordering them by size and shape instead. Well, that killed two minutes. Walk by the freezers, rearrange some mismatched soda bottles he missed before. 30 seconds. Scrape a fleck of taffy off of one of the sliding door handles. 20 seconds. Stare at the wall for five seconds. Bang his head against it. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang.

“I’m taking a smoke break!” He calls loudly over the shelves in the direction of the front counter, not waiting for Kevin to respond before frantically scrambling towards the backroom. He nearly trips over a broom as he bursts into the cramped space, swearing at it uselessly as he stumbles over to his locker. It gets jammed as usual, the damn thing, Eddy jiggling the handle with a growl before he finally tears it open. The hood of his windbreaker catches on one of the locker’s internal hooks, causing Eddy to shout obscenities until he finally shakes it loose and shoves his arms into the sleeves. He stomps towards the back door and bumps it open with his hip as he wrestles with the zipper, getting himself encased once he steps outside into the muggy July evening air.

The door slams shut behind him as he huddles under the small overhang of the dirty green awning adorned above the back door, fishing his pack of camel menthols out of the pocket of his windbreaker. The hush of rain against the pavement and rhythmic pounding of droplets plunking against the rusty metal of the awning harmonize well together, creating a nice soundscape to back up the click click click of his lighter. He mutters swears under his breath like a prayer, internally praising glory hallelujah once the cig balanced between his lips lights and he can breath in deep and slow, the mint flavoring tickling his nose hairs and soothing the burn of hot smoke in his windpipe. Smoke billows from his mouth and nose after he’s held in his lungful for as long as he can, his exhale audible and pointed heavenward, smoke catching and lingering on the underside of the sheet metal above.

‘Those will kill you.’

“The sooner the better.” Eddy mumbles, letting gravity pull his loosening body down against the wooden door behind him, desperate for a paint job. He takes another grateful drag as he watches the rain bounce and slide off of trashbags, forming muddied puddles in the potholes below. The hit of nicotine puts a fuzzy blanket over the constantly firing nerve endings in his brain, making his eyes droop as he fights back a yawn. Double D doesn’t know what he’s talking about, calling nicotine a stimulant. Smokes practically put him to sleep.

He sneers down at the ground. What’s he got to even do these days other than work, smoke, sleep, repeat? The only thing he has to look forward to are the occasional phone calls he makes to Ed at the military school his shithead mom shipped him off to last summer before they all started their junior year. Double D and Ed were inconsolable that day, clinging to each other and sobbing as Ed’s dad silently packed his red commodore with sparse necessities, the rest of Ed’s belongings in boxes marked for the salvation army. The memory still makes Eddy’s eyes burn, the same way they did that day as he blinked to hold back his tears, repeating to the other two that they’d call, they’d write, they’d visit, and once senior year was done in two years, the three of them would be out of here. Double D would definitely get accepted to some fancy shmancy school on a fancy shmancy scholarship, and the two of them would follow along, working whatever jobs available so that their combined income with Double D’s scholarship funds could net them a nice apartment in whatever fancy shmancy city Double D went to for school. They’d be free of this pimple on the map of America called Peach Creek, free from their families, free from public school, free to be themselves. There’d be a queer scene, he told Double D. They’d be accepted there, he told him. It wouldn’t be like it is out here in the boonies. They wouldn’t have to hide.

Well, his plan may have less people in it now, but he’s sticking to it. He can’t stand the boredom anymore, can’t stand the confinement. If he spends one more summer afternoon staring at his bedroom ceiling, has one more shift during the dead hours of the candy store, has to give his dad one more excuse as to why he’s not dating anyone now that he’s got a paycheck, he’s going to burst out of his own skin like some kind of insectoid, brain sucking monster from one of Ed’s B-rated black and white horror flicks and suck the noggins of everyone in a five mile radius. He’ll get out of this shithole come hell or high water. He has to get out.

‘And go where, exactly?’

‘Anywhere but here.’

‘To do what?’

‘Live. Breathe. Stretch out and run around and scream and cry and shout and kick and hit and go and go and go.’

‘With who?’

‘Ed. Or no one. Who cares.’

‘You’d be alone.’

‘I’ve always been alone.’

‘That’s not true. You know that’s not true.’

Water streams from the corners of the awning, creating a puddle dangerously close to his Air Force 1s. An errant raindrop lands right on top of the toe of his left sneaker, and he grumbles as he bends over to swipe it away, cursing himself for not looking at the weather report before putting these on. He curses louder when a chunk of ash falls from his cig and takes up residence where the water droplet just vacated, grabbing it from his mouth to hold it out to the side as he frantically brushes off his shoe.

‘Please, Eddy, be careful! Think of how much money your mother spent on such a frivolous purchase.’

Eddy snarls, sick to death of this incessant nagging. “Just shut uuUGHH!”

The smack of the wooden door against his ass throws him completely off balance, staring down at his shoes one second then catching himself on his hands and gazing at a puddle inches from his face the next. Adrenaline rushes through his body, making his lungs seize up and his eyes go wide, the rain falling on the back of his head feeling far colder than it should be on a warm July evening. He keeps himself propped up on one hand as he swivels around to identify his attacker, blinking owlishly when he sees Kevin standing in the lit doorway, giving Eddy the same, wide eyed look.

“Dude. You okay?”

Anger quickly intermingles with his gut-dropping fear, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself back onto his feet. “Watch where you’re going, shovel chin!”

Kevin places one hand on his hip while he holds the door open with the other, expression blasé. “Doors are for opening, man. Anyway, we’re closing up. Just wasting money at this point.”

He finally catches his breath, raising his cigarette to take another calming drag, only to feel something unpleasantly cold and soggy touching his lips. Damn it. His hand must have landed in a puddle. He groans and pushes his now wet hair out of his face.

“These ain’t fucking cheap.” He grumbles, flicking the unlit stub to the ground.

“Did you even hear me, man?”

“Huh? Oh.” Calmer and less distracted now, his brain finally catches up with what Kevin said. “Yeah, great idea, bossman!” The title is used in a much more jolly manner than before, giving Kevin a pat on the back and leaving a stubby, wet handprint behind as he pushes past him and back into the backroom to grab the rest of his stuff. He kicks off his nice sneakers to trade them for the ratty back ups he keeps in his locker, stepping into the worn pair as he puts his multi-colored Nikes into his water proof backpack for safe keeping.

Kevin sneers and murmurs something Eddy is sure was insulting as he looks behind himself and at the back of his shirt. “I’ve got to count money and lock up if you wanna stick around to help-”

Eddy’s locker slams abruptly, echoing loudly in the small space as he slings his drawstring bag over his shoulders and puts his hood up in quick, jerky motions. “Bye, seeya later, hasta la vista, sayonara, annyeong.” He half-jogs out of the back room before finishing his goodbyes, ignoring Kevin’s jeering as he slips through the door to the front room. He continues his half jog past the candy displays, snagging a jawbreaker and shoving it into his pocket next to his smokes before heading out the door and back out into the rain.

He breathes in a deep breath of freedom as he stretches his arms out to his sides and then over his head, making his way back to the cul de sac with a skip in his step. The world is his oyster now that he’s off of work. Now he can… he can… well.

The skip turns into a slow trudge as Eddy remembers he doesn’t actually have anything post work to look forward to, mood sinking further and further with each dark and empty store he passes by. Looks like Kevin wasn’t the only one who decided to close up early; all of downtown is dead. And it’s just not the cafe, the butcher shop, and the shoe store that are dark. It’s too early for the street lights to come on, but the sky is thick with heavy rain clouds, keeping the sunlight prisoner behind the bubbling veil of black and gray. His eyes turn down to the wet cement of the sidewalk with its divots and potholes, floating cigarette butts in the puddles that formed within them, scowling at his feet as they pointlessly move beneath him. What’s he even going home to? Another evening zoning out in front of the TV? Maybe lying upside down on his bed and listening to saccharine sweet slow dance songs? Then whatever he does will just be followed by chain smoking in the backyard until he’s tired enough to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, welcoming oblivion as an alternative to being left alone with his thoughts. It’s the same damn thing every day. And it’ll keep being the same damn thing every day until he gets out of here or dies. Dying may be the more convenient option at this point. It’d be a lot easier than having to finish high school before he beats it. All he has to do is wait for a car to come by and then jump out in front of it.

But no cars come. No one coming, no one leaving, a town stuck in stasis, the white noise enough to deafen him. His shoes are getting soaked. He’s gonna get cold feet.

Christ, he needs to quiet his fucking mind before he ends up as roadkill. He reaches into his pocket, fingertips brushing against the cool metal of his lighter before he finds his pack of camels, grasping onto it like a lifeline. He takes out the light with it, shaking a cig loose from the pack and into his waiting hand. He balances it between his pointer and middle finger, bringing it up to press it between his lips and under his hood so he can attempt to light it-

Only to immediately pull his hand away when he tastes blood on his tongue.

“The fuck?” He squeaks out, high pitched and startled. He looks at the cig and finds fresh red blood smeared on the paper and filter, but that’s not what’s most alarming; what has him wince and hiss under his breath is the sight of his hand, dark, slimy globules clotted together in the center with dried and flaky trails of blood running down between his fingers, some of it gathered under his nails, in his nail beds, and around the gold band on his ring finger. Rain splashes down into his open palm, the droplets saturating themselves with blood before they roll down the sides of Eddy’s hand and down his wrist, leaving trails of pink behind. He swipes his thumb gingerly over his palm and squints, scowl deepening when he discovers the cut beneath, small but deep.

Damn it. Must have happened when he fell. Probably glass from a broken bottle. How did he not feel it? Stupid Kevin. Stupid door. He clicks his tongue and keeps walking, placing the cig back between his lips; he’s not gonna waste another one of these. It brings him minimal relief once it’s lit, his frayed nerves further agitated by the site, smell, and taste of his own blood. He’s had e-fucking-nough of that for one life time. Thankfully the shops start to become far and few between, with residential houses looming on the horizon. He’ll walk in through the back door to his room before his mom gets a chance to see his hand and starts freaking out. He’ll clean his hand, dry off his feet, and get out of this fucking rain. That’s something to sort of look forward to. Isn’t it?

When he turns the corner of rethink avenue several minutes later, all thoughts of the creature comforts of home disperse like a warren of rabbits intruded on by a fox. His cig, burned down to a stub at this point, dangles from his parted lips, eyes frozen on the looming portend of the past come to haunt him currently parked in his own fucking driveway. He’s freezing suddenly, all heat sapped out of him like someone pulled the plug, lungs becoming a vacuum as cosmic background radiation burns within them, singed by his only source of heat. It’s like he’s falling again, shoved from behind and just barely managing to protect his face from scraping the pavement. An unknown attacker from behind, the familiar sound of him breathing through his teeth.

He tastes blood on his tongue.

The cigarette butt falls from his lips as he turns away from the sight of the whale shaped trailer in front of his house, breaking out into a jog to the only other house he can think to go to, nestled right on the corner he just turned. His bedroom lights are on. His parents, as usual, aren’t home. He misses him with an ache deeper than anything else he’s felt in a long time.

He hopes Double D actually lets him in.

#eene #ed edd n eddy #eddeddy #gettingfrillywrites #chap 1

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genericmedicv2 · 2 years ago

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Long post, sad post. 14 followers, basically all porn bots. Relics from a different time, don't know why I'm bothering to warn anyone. I wanted to write something and chose this old account I used to find niche porn back in the day. Nobody who knows me knows this account, so it's perfect for venting. I basically never posted shit about myself on here and I've never cared to. I just never really got into Tumblr too much despite making two accounts.

I miss my cat. She died in April. Her name was Sassy. And I basically can't look at any videos of cats very obviously loving their owners a lot because that shit kills me inside now. I used to have that. No amount of time will make the loss of my best and truest friend hurt any less.

Now to talk about the good things about her.

She used to do this thing where if I made a little kiss noise twice, she'd twitch her ears and look at me. She knew I wanted her attention when I did that. She would even give me her forehead for kisses when I made that noise. She did the same for me saying "hey" or her name. She knew what "I'm getting up" meant when she was sitting on my lap. She knew how to stare at my mom to get her to yell for me to come into the other room so I could pet her. She would wait for me to wake up so she could get her kisses and food for the morning. She would sniff everything I held up to her. When I'd get home from work, I'd let her smell my boots and my hands, so she could smell where I'd been. So she could smell my adventures.

She used to be an indoor/outdoor cat, and when we'd get her to come in we'd whistle. She would come from all sorts of different directions. Across the road, left, right of the front door. She's been on both my neighbors roof, and mine. She'd scratch on the window screens to let us know she wanted in.

She was so curious and inquisitive. She loved being picked up, but only by me. She'd fallen asleep in my arms on many occasions. She was chatty. She would chime in on conversations across the house. She would talk back with these little chirps when you'd be talking to her while petting her. She had this double meow she'd do when she was especially happy. She had such emotion, such love behind her eyes.

Losing her was the hardest day I've ever been through. It's been such a long, what, two months? I honestly think I would've preferred dying instead of her. I never could've pictured life without her. How lonely it could get. She got sick out of nowhere. Throwing up for no reason. Eating her litter (the clay stuff). We assumed it was just weird cat things that cats do. It was kidney failure. She was suffering and didn't show it. When we found out, it was four days until we could get her suffering to end. She slept right by Mom until we took her on her last vet visit. She lost her vision a little, a day or two before she passed. It was heart breaking. God, it was so hard watching her struggle to navigate this house she was essentially the master of. Watching her miss to pee in her litter box.

The night before, she hopped up on my bed to see me. I'd like to think that she knew. She knew and came to say goodbye while she still could.

On her last day, I was with her until the end, petting her and holding her paw, telling her how much I love her and how good of a girl she was.

She died on the 4th, at 12:04 PM. She was 19 years old.

We buried her in the backyard, where she was happiest, underneath a branch of her favorite climbing tree; with her toys, her treats, and my cut-off ponytail, so I would always be with her, and the corner of a potato chip bag (she LOVED rubbing her nose on the corners of chip bags).

We wrapped her in half of my childhood quilt/blanket that she loved sleeping on. Specifically, with the fluffy side facing her. We placed a stepping stone on top to serve as a grave stone, and I placed her food bowl she used for nearly all her life on top of it. I couldn't give it to another cat, or use it myself. It was hers.

She was my best friend, and I'll never stop missing her.

I love you, Sassy. You'll always be the queen of the backyard. I hope you're napping peacefully. I'll see you again someday. In another life, maybe.

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opilius · 2 years ago

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Day 1 of Oc Week Cubed is here! Family is a very important part of Thespian's lore, and I tried to convey that. Thanks to @pretzelbytess for the idea! (i stayed up until 11 pm on a school day for this, i am eepy now)

Sunday dinner was an old tradition in Charlie’s family, swept under the rug after he moved away. But now, thanks to Brimstone’s decision to let everyone on break has led to Charlie being back in Sioux Falls, and standing at the door of his childhood home on a Sunday, hesitant on knocking. He hadn’t told anyone about his return, not even his dear mother.

He lifted his hand before quietly knocking on the door, and hearing a scrambling inside, followed by his father’s muffled voice. The door swung open, revealing his father and mother standing side by side, holding hands. A second of quiet was there, until Charlie’s mom broke the silence by disconnecting her hand from her husband’s and reaching out for a hug.

“Charlie! You’re home!” she said, as he crouched down to give her a hug. His dad patted his back.

“How’s it going son? You didn’t tell us you were coming home!”

“Well, I didn’t know I had time off!” he said, as he smelled something that smelled suspiciously like chicken.

“Are you guys cooking something? It smells good.”

His mom looked up at him.

“We were cooking leftovers, but we have some extra ingredients to have a proper Sunday dinner!”

Charlie was ushered inside, where he was met with the house he always remembered. Not much had changed, except for a few photos on the mantle and a different blanket draped over the back of the couch. He turned to the kitchen. His mom stood there, busily grabbing food from the refrigerator and placing them on counters.

“Jeez Mom, calm down. You’re gonna get hurt.” He said, as he grabbed the ingredients from her arms and set them gently down.

She shook her head. “Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m useless, Charlie!”

Charlie looked at her in sadness. “Mom, you’re weak from chemo, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Dad and I got this, you can relax.”

She considered that for a second, before turning around and continuing to grab food from the pantry.

“You can’t stop me. I will not let you and your father destroy my kitchen.”

Charlie sighed and started to cut potatoes into small wedges. The three worked in harmony, preparing a basic dinner of chicken, wedge potatoes, peas, and rolls. Charlie grabbed the pan of toasting chicken, and set it on a plate. His dad was in charge of the peas, and put them in a bowl. The two men were busy with their respective dishes, and didn’t notice that the third member was stumbling with the bread rolls, until a large bang was heard. The two jumped around, before looking down and seeing that Charlie’s mom was slumped on the ground, unmoving. The scattered rolls were paid no mind as they crowded around her, flipping her onto her back.

“Mom! Mom, are you ok!” Charlie yelled, as he checked for a pulse. There was one, albeit faint, and although she was starting to stir, he still was checking her wrists for a sign of life. She sat up, and looked around.

“What’s wrong?” She tugged her arm away from Charlie.

“Honey, you just collapsed. You’re not ok. You need to rest.” His dad said, as he stuck out his hand to help her.

She grasped his hand, and he gently lifted her off the ground.

“Can you stand?” He asked, putting an arm around his shoulder. Charlie watched from the sidelines, still very worried that his mom was badly hurt and needed to go to the hospital.

She stood up straight, and although her legs were shaking, she was seemingly fine.

“Yes, of course I can stand,” she said, as she swatted her husband’s arm away, “I’m just a little unstable, that’s all.”

Charlie pointed to the table. “Mom, please sit. Me and Dad got this.”

She pouted a bit, before slowly walking to the table and sitting down. Satisfied, Charlie and his dad discarded the rolls, before setting the remaining food on the table. They ate, while discussing Charlie’s job and his parent’s health. When they finished, he emailed Brimstone and asked if he could stay for longer so he could reconnect.

Sunday dinner was a success.

#valorant oc #valorant #valorant oc week #valorant thespian

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gyusbambi · 4 years ago

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humph; han seojun (pt 4)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5

click here for humph masterlist!

story: frenemies to enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis: seojun and you have known each other since kindergarten. you’re neighbors and even attended the same singing and piano classes. despite knowing each other for such a long time, you don’t enjoy spending time with seojun. even though you are aware of his unfairness, you keep spending time with him. when will you finally leave your childhood frenemy?

note: humph! is a story inspired by pentagon’s “humph! / 접근금지”. originally, this is a seungyeon fanfiction, which i posted on my wattpad. words: 3.8k

to claim that the cupid-team is surprised to witness han seojun getting along with his long term frenemy would be an absolute understatement. in fact, they seem completely and utterly dumbfounded as they watch you both laugh at a joke seojun pulled in the middle of the bus ride back home. needless to say, the childhood friends tease each other now and then like they’re used to it, this time without hurting any feelings. all of these observations, including the fact that you decided to sit next to each other in the bus, lead to several assumptions and without you knowing, rumors start to develop.

for whatever reason, neither you nor seojun are aware of the gossip regarding both of you. perhaps it’s thanks to kim chorong, who’s apparently really skilled at being inconspicuous.

it’s been one day since you arrived home and you find yourself sleeping in till two pm on a saturday.

seriously, you should fix your chaotic sleeping schedule.

when you finally leave your room to get some food into your stomach, dressed in your favorite hoodie and sweatpants, your mum and juyeong are already eating lunch. like expected, they give you a quick judging look without interrupting their conversation. while you’re putting some rice in a bowl they talk about juyeong’s crush on some girl. soon their conversation moves to something related to seojun, and that's when you suddenly pay attention instead of playing with the cold food on your plate.

"y/n, is seojun’s mother in a better condition now?"

instantly you look up to react to your mum’s question. instead of looking at you, she puts more vegetables on juyeong’s table,

"it's been a few days since i last visited her, maybe i should do it again soon. i really hope she gets better."

"what are you talking about?"

"seojun hyung's mum is in hospital." juyeong answers, his mouth stuffed with food while pushing the vegetables away with a scrunched face.

"what?"

"hasn't he told you about his mum? i thought you guys would tell each other everything." my mum questioned with a small pout forming on her lips, finally meeting your worried eyes.

"they broke up.", your annoying brother fails the attempt to whisper.

"we're not together!"

displeased, you hiss at your brother, voice getting higher.

"you guys act like a married couple sometimes. it's annoying."

"shut up!"

"both of you stop now." your mother sighs while her hands move in the air in attempt to stop you from attacking your own brother.

"seojun’s mum is seriously sick and i'm going to visit her tomorrow morning. y/n, maybe you should do too? or talk to him a little since he's probably not doing so well."

"i will."

feeling upset that you’re just finding out about seojun’s mother’s condition, you can’t stop thinking about it for the whole day. besides that, you are worried and consider visiting them the next day.

even though their house is quite near to yours, you have to go through the dangerous part of your quarter. as you make your way to the han’s, your hand moves to your right pocket to grab the pocketknife, which seojun gifted you in your freshman year of high school. for defense reasons, he said.

"you need to be careful when you're walking down this street. here, have this."

however, instead of seeing a group of dangerous men, you spot han seojun himself, walking towards your direction with hands in his pocket. thinking of a casual way of greeting him, you clear your throat before taking a few steps forwards in order to greet him,

"hey!”

"hey, what are you doing here?"

surprised to see you in this area, seojun raises his eyebrows.

"well, i actually wanted to visit- what the hell happened to your face?"

rapidly, you interrupt yourself when the boy is finally close enough for you to spot the multiple bruises on his pale skin. this causes you take a few steps forward and reach for his cheek instantly, worry written all over your face.

he looks horrible. bruises all over his face, lip bleeding, knuckles visibly red.

seojun catches glimpse of your worried eyes and feels embarrassed for you to find him at this state. instead of making the attempt to explain the situation, he grabs your hand which rests on his cheek. the touch of your warm and soft hand causes a pressure building in this chest. seojun doesn’t dare to take his eyes off of yours.

suddenly your cheeks feel like they’re turning into the shade of a tomato. besides that, your heart starts acting all weird when you catch glimpse of his intense eyes.

"what happened?" you question once again, this time with even more concern.

"it's not important-"

"did you get into a fight?"

"that bastard lee seungyong was getting on my nerves again, it's not important." he sighs after running his hand through his hair.

"alright. come on, we need to clean those bruises before they get worse." you mutter after grabbing his right arm and pulling him towards your house.

seojun hisses with a painful expression as you attempt to clean the awful wounds on his cheeks. with a concentrated look crossing over your face, you focus on the terrible cut. however, you impatiently drop your hand on your lap when seojun can’t seem to stop moving, an annoyed sigh followed after.

“could you stop moving the whole time? i’m trying to do something here.”,

positioning yourself closer to the boy sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re ready to treat his wounds for the third time. seojun only grins playfully despite the painful bruises,

“look at you acting like a doctor.”

ignoring his comment, you raise your hand once again to reach for his chin. fingers brushing on his skin, you are able to focus. this time seojun doesn’t flinch. quite the contrary, he’s like frozen on spot. the only thing he seems to be able to focus on are your features.

nothing but silence dominates your room as you decide to clean the cut on his bottom lip. you fingers brushing over his soft lip, eyes completely focused on them, the poor boy’s heart is about to explode in front of you. he internally thanks to god that you don’t notice his chest rising up and down or his ears turning into a darker shade of red. breath taken away, his eyes linger on your lips, blinking frequently.

yet, his relief only lasts for a couple seconds when the silence eventually makes you look up to seojun, only to find him already staring at you, eyes gazing at your lips.

not aware of your slightly surprised eyes, he continues staring. clearly, your bodies are almost attached to each other. not to mention, you leaned in a little earlier, grip on his shoulder to prevent him from moving. the young boy practically prays that you won’t hear his heart racing in his chest.

aren’t you even a little nervous? it almost makes him annoyed how the closeness doesn’t seem to bother you at all.

little does he know that you feel the exact same way. in fact, you’re so bothered by the butterflies in your stomach that you suddenly wish that he would just continue making dumb jokes or rude comments.

pulling your hand away from his shoulder in a swift move, you blink. still, you’re not able to look away which seems so stupid and unbelievably odd.

seconds after you catch glimpse of his hand getting closer to yours but that isn’t enough for you to look away.

why would someone look attractive with a beaten face? that doesn't make any sense.

seeing him in this state, bruises, messy hair, intense gaze, flushed face, makes you want to hug him, ask him what was wrong, tell him you were here for him.

however, right when you think he is going to say something or reach for your hand and hold it...

"guess who just ate two big delicious menus-"

juyeong.

the second your brother lays eyes on seojun sitting super close to you, his eyes widen in horror.

"o-oh adult business, i get it. i'll leave now. bye, hyung!"

yet, of course, before leaving your room he doesn’t miss the chance to make gagging noises.

"and y/n, sadly, there wasn't enough food for you."

his fake pout makes you want to throw your slipper at him but you just close your eyes for a second and exhale, trying to remain calm.

seojun only chuckles with amusement.

"mum! y/n and seojun hyung are a couple again. can she move out now?"

juyeong’s annoying voice can be heard all the way too my room. embarrassed, you glance at seojun, who is obviously trying to hold in his laugh.

"i'm sorry for my brother."

"you don't need to be."

"a-anyways, are you better now? i mean your bruises?" you stammer while pointing at his face, wanting to ignore what just happened.

"yeah, a lot better. thank you."

he trails off, eyes darting through the room,

"i-i should probably leave now."

right, your stupid self forgot to ask him about his mum.

"i heard about your mum. i hope she's doing better?"

“thankfully, she is. it's a little difficult for us but we’re going through this."

“hopefully she’ll feel better soon. i’m sure you’re taking good care of her,”

you’re always like that. caring about others more than yourself.

“if you need anything, i’m here.”

he smiles genuinely, “thank you.“

and that's when he leaves.

the sun shines outside the next day. but instead of going out and enjoying the nice weather like other normal people, you lay on your bed while thinking about the previous day. strangely, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way seojun made you feel.

why did your heart race? why were you left speechless?

in the corner of your mind, there’s been an explanation for your weird feelings for your childhood friend. although, you’ve always tried to ignore it and distract yourself.

but now, thinking about all the times seojun made your heart flutter, it just made sense.

you like him.

“no!”

with widen eyes you swiftly stand up, not believing yourself.

it couldn’t be, right? everyone feels this way to their friend at some point of their friendship, no?

but the thing is: you’ve been feeling like this the whole time.

letting yourself fall on your bed, you scream into your pillow.

you like han seojun.

and there’s no way your former frenemy likes you back.

it’s another school morning as you walk into your class. this time however, you’re nervous to enter the room. after all, you’ll have to be around the one person you now feel nervous talking to. what if he notices your odd behavior. praying that he won’t approach you in a way that made your heart flutter, you eventually enter the classroom.

however, it seems like the universe is making fun of you when you’re met with something hundred times worse the moment you step into the room. instantly, all eyes land on you and all you hear are cheers and screams from your classmates,

“congratulations on dating, y/n and seojun!”

“you’re so cute together!”

“y/n and seojun sitting on a tree!”

at the sight of chorong and his group wearing t-shirts with your shipname printed on them, your eyes widen in horror. they think you’re dating han seojun?!

“why didn’t you tell me anything? i’m your close friend after all!”

sua pouts, hitting your arm playfully while your eyes are still glued on the ridiculous t-shirts.

“is it true, y/n?”,

from the corner of your eye you see soojin giving you a teasing smile.

“listen, guys. there has been a huge misunderstanding.”,

when you can finally focus on your friends, who surround you with curious looks, han seojun enters the classroom, completely unaware of what’s happening right now.

the young boy frowns at chorong after setting his bag on his table. yet soon his confused face changes to a shocked one, as he eventually notices the t-shirts, everyone congratulating him with cheerful laughter.

turning his head to you, he notices your helpless look while you tilt your head to the side. totally surprised by everything, seojun has no clue how to act at the beginning.

finally, both of you manage to stand in front of the class, facing your classmates as they continue asking several questions,

“since when have you been dating?”

“no way! did anything happen during the school trip?”

“tell us the truth!”

frustrated, you move your hands in the air, trying to speak with a loud tone so that everyone can understand you,

“i don’t know how you came up with this rumor but seojun and me are only friends, okay?”

hearing your statement, everyone groans at the same time, not believing you at all,

“it’s so obvious! just tell us the truth.”

letting out a sigh, you turn your head to face seojun with an annoyed look,

“could you at least say something?”

however, seojun only raises his eyebrows before taking his hands out of his pockets,

“would you hate it that much?”

his sentence makes you frown and multiple questions appear in your head. not quite understanding his point, you continue staring at him with furrowed eyebrows before he finally slams his hand on the desk in front of him, catching everyone’s attention,

“you guys better stop spreading all those rumors around. she’s only my friend...,”

disappointed, many students groan before going back to their seats while others still don’t seem to believe seojun and shake their heads in denial.

seojun bends down to your height so that his face is only a few inches apart from yours before whispering with one eyebrow raised,

“...right?”

nervously you blink, sadness starting to grow inside you after hearing his words. of course, he only considers you as his friend. there’s no way he would see you as something more.

friday nights are always the same for you: watching your current favorite tv show while snacking on whatever you have at home. whereas other people from your grade probably club somewhere.

that night your phone rings and an unknown number appears on the screen. thinking it’s a stupid prank, you pick it up with an annoyed sigh.

"hello?"

"hello. is this y/n?"

"yes. who am i talking to?"

there is a short silence before the unknown person starts talking again,

"look, i work at this club near your neighborhood and this dude randomly passed out here. i found your number on his phone so i thought of calling you. can you maybe come and get him? he's seriously wasted a– dude, what the hell, stop spilling all the drinks!"

"i'm sorry but who are you talking about?"

you heard the unknown man mumble before answering, "seojung? seung- seojun?"

"han seojun?"

"yes! that's his name."

a short silence takes over when you sit up in shock.

"so, are you coming?"

you sigh before replying, "i need the adress.”

the moment you enter that club, you want to return to your house. many people dance on the dance floor, totally wasted. everyone is pressing their bodies against each other's. the loud music makes you feel even more uncomfortable. you look around and let out a relieved sigh when you find a bartender with a phone on his hand.

"hello, i'm here for seojun. the guy who–"

"hey, finally! he's right here."

you follow the man to the other side of the club, where people are sitting on the couches and drinks were sold every minute. it doesn’t take you long to spot seojun sitting on the couch. his eyes are closed but his head is swinging from left to right. you can’t believe your eyes. you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen him in a state like this ever before.

"don't worry. your boyfriend didn't hook up with anyone." the bartender next to you said.

"he's not my boyfriend."

"what are you then?"

"i'm his..." you trail off before answering,

"neighbor! i’m his neighbor!"

seojun shouldn't know that you came to pick him up at this time.

without waiting any longer, you help seojun getting up and wrap his arm around your shoulder. before leaving the club, the bartender reaches you seojun’s phone and makes sure to call a taxi. after thanking him you leave with seojun’s heavy body.

while waiting for the taxi to arrive, seojun keeps rambling stupid things you can’t understand. it’s getting harder for you to stand with him by yourself every minute, so you decide to sit on the bench with him, which is a couple steps away from the bus station.

you let out an exhausted sigh after sitting down and then turn your head towards him. suddenly you grab his face and make him look at you. he smiles like an idiot after you brush his bangs away from his forehead. his cheeks are extremely red, his lips pouting slightly and his eyes struggling not to close. your cold hands hold his warm, soft cheeks while you analyze his expressions. you have to admit: seojun looks cute.

after a few seconds he suddenly frowns. he narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side slightly, looks you up and down considerately before asking,

"who are you?"

“you don't know who i am?"

"hmmm..." he rubs his chin carefully, acting like he’s solving a mystery,

"no."

"good."

"you're telling me that that's fine?" seojun giggles and covers his mouth.

"yes, absolutely."

"alright! i'm han seojun. who are you?" he stretches his hand out for you to shake.

"does that matter?”

“of course! who are you, young lady?”

"that's not important right now. what matters is that you're extremely drunk. what were you doing here?"

"you're rude!" he pouts and crosses his arms,

"you won't even tell me your name."

"why are you acting so childish?"

"i-i don't know."

"never mind. that's fine."

"really?!"

"yeah, you're good."

you notice how his lips form a small smile,

"you're nice and then rude and then nice and then- you remind me of someone you know?"

yes, that's you.

"my friend y/n."

"oh, really?" you sarcastically laugh.

"yeah! she's like you. but prettier. like so much prettier. she’s pretty."

"that doesn't even make sense."

"huh?" seojun asks confused.

oh no, why do you have to be so cute.

"actually, it’s hard for me to be her friend." suddenly he’s all sad,

"sometimes i cross the line and don’t know my limits. but she's so dumb and stubborn!"

"and why is that?” frowning, you cross your arms in front of your chest, waiting for his response.

he only sighs with tiredness, "never mind–"

and then he falls asleep on your shoulder.

finally you arrive at seojun’s house and fortunately all the lights are out. with his heavy body pressing to your small one, you struggle to carry him up the stairs. quietly, the door is opened by you before seojun falls into his bed. your head starts hurting, which makes you sit down next to him and massage your temples. however, you help seojun standing up and carry him to the bathroom carefully, in order to wash his face. he lets you take off his jacket and his shoes. finally he lays down on his back, with his face facing the ceiling.

"don't lie on your back." you demand.

"hm?" seojun’s eyes are firmly closed when he mutters with tiredness.

"lie on your side." you pull his body to the side, so that he could face you.

definitely, his facials expressions change. his lips are no longer pouted, his eyes extremely tired, his cheeks pale. from analyzing his face once again, you fail to notice him staring at you with his eyebrows drawn together. soon his confused expression changes to a sad one when you cover his body with his bed sheets.

"i'm sorry." seojun mutters suddenly. you expect him to continue, as he grabs both of your hands and slightly pulls you closer to him. a shiver goes down your spine.

"y/n, you deserve better."

he knows it’s you?

"i know i treated badly but i need you."

his eyes are barely opened, his words barely understandable. your hands start shivering as his grip tightens.

"i-i should go."

"no! please stay here." he rambles drunkly.

you decide to stay a little longer, just until he would fall asleep and hopefully forget everything that has happened this night.

“i mi..."

you aren’t able to understand his quiet mumbling, so you lean in a little,

“what did you say?"

“i miss y/n."

silence takes over the room before you finally reply,

“i missed you too, seojun-ah.”

your words make him open his eyes immediately. with a surprised face he tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes,

"y/n?"

instead of saying anything, you hold his hand while he’s still questioning your identity. all of the sudden his hands leave yours to grab your face. without waiting too long he pulls your face closer to his. instantly, your eyes widen when you notice the small gap between your noses. intensively, he looks into your eyes. so many emotions can be read from his look, yet you can’t figure out what he‘s feeling exactly. they have the most beautiful brown color you have ever seen. so deep, that you could get lost in them. only seconds pass, but it still feels like you were staring at each other for an eternity. you can even feel his soft breath on your face, which causes your ears to turn a dark shade of crimson.

seojun then glances at your lips before looking back into your eyes again. without waiting any longer he presses your lips together, one hand holding your cheek while the other grabs your waist. you let out a small gasp, your eyes remain closed, your whole body frozen. is this really happening?

when you’re finally able to kiss him back and hold firmly into his shoulders, he tilts your head, deepening the kiss. you feel your heart beating thousand times faster, almost exploding in your chest, as his soft lips press against yours. your face is glowing when you eventually wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, unable to resist the warm feeling. without doubt, you are sure that you've never felt something like this before.

seojun slowly pulls back when he feels your fingers softly tugging at his hair, leaving a small gap between your lips. you feel his breath on your face when he hums something before his lips meet yours for the second time, not giving you enough time to open your eyes,

“hmm, strawberries.”

feeling his lips forming a small smile, your heart is about to explode in your chest. seojun was insanly drunk but clearly enjoys the taste of strawberry lip balm, brushing his thumb over your cheek softly.

soon you break the kiss only to find seojun falling asleep on his bed seconds later. not believing what just happened you stare at him, admiring his features before panic takes over you and you rush out of his house.

would he remember any of this tomorrow?

to be continued...

(p.s: sorry for making you wait for so long🥺)

#han seojun #seojun #humph #true beauty #hwang inyeop #han seojun imagine #han seojun imagines #han seojun x reader #han seojun fluff #seojun x reader #seojun fluff #seojun imagine #seojun imagines #scenarios #fanfiction

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me4gumi-moved · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Not Angry Anymore

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Yagi Toshinori x Daughter!Reader

Warning(s): Shitty Parenting, Angst, Some Strong Language, (Kinda) Child Abandonment

Song: Interlude: I’m Not Angry Anymore by Paramore

Note: This is a counterpart to @kozumeizuku ‘s Twisted

“(Y/N), I’d like for you to meet Midoriya Izuku.” Your father gestured to a 4 year old with freckles and curly green hair. He looked nervous. You walked up to him with a big toothy grin on your face and held your hand out to him,

“Hi, ‘Zuku! I’m (Y/N)!” Your smile didn’t waver as you saw him creep back a little bit.

Your dad pat your head, “Midoriya here is a little shy. His classmates are not very nice to him because he’s quirkless.” You nodded your head in understanding, releasing a small “oh.”

You took a step back from the boy, “I’m sorry your classmates are meanies, Zuku. I like you, though, so don’t listen to them!”

That’s when it all started, you remember. You started to see your dad less and less after you met Midoriya Izuku. At the time, you didn’t understand why, but as you got older it became clear. The blond adult was spending time with Midoriya, training him and being a father figure to him. He used to do that with you, but you’d been replaced. 12 years later and now the two of you were strangers.

You ran up to your father when he got inside the house, a drawing in your hands. You’d drawn him and you wanted to surprise him with it. “Daddy, look!” You hadn’t even pulled the picture out from behind your back when he stopped you.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I’m about to head back out. I’ll look at it later, okay?” He ruffled your (h/c) hair and gave you one of his big smiles. You nodded sadly. You’d really wanted to show it to him right then. You whispered a soft “okay” before turning around and going to the kitchen. Normally you weren’t allowed in there and you had to ask your live-in nanny or your father to get you what you wanted but you didn’t feel like asking.

You put your drawing on top of the table used for prepping food and walked up to the fridge. That’s where you saw it -- a crude drawing of your father signed “Izuku”. In a flash of anger you grabbed your own drawing and ripped it up into tiny pieces. “(Y/N), (Y/N)! What wrong, sweetheart?” Your nanny, Saki, walked in on you in the middle of your tantrum. You wailed and held your arms out to her and she scooped you up into her comforting arms. She looked down at your ruined drawing and at the one on the fridge. Oh, she would be having a word with your father when she saw him next.

11 years had passed and you still remembered that moment. If you remembered correctly, that was the last time you’d drawn him something.

“Oh, darling, I’m sure he’s just running a little late.” “He must be stuck in traffic.” “Don’t you worry your sweet little head, he’ll be here.” “You know what your daddy says, don’t you? I am here! And he will be, alright?”

That’d been hours ago. The cooks, the maid, the butler, the nanny -- they’d all assured you that your father would make good on his promise. He’d promised to spend the day with you -- to go see a movie and get lunch. That was at 10:00 AM, it was now 6:00 PM.

You sat at the table in the kitchen, lazily moving the spoon in your chicken noodle soup around. It’d long since gotten cold. “Would you like me to heat it back up for you, little lady?” One of the cooks asked you. Mr. Yuji was nice -- he always slipped you snacks while the others weren’t looking. He’d been here since before you were born. He was wrinkly and his hair had thinned out with age. He was like a grandpa to you. “Or do you want something else?”

You pushed the bowl over to him, “No...‘m not really hungry.” You folded your arms on the table and rested the side of your head on them. Mr. Yuji put a hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

“Your temperature seems normal. Are you sure you’re not hungry, missy?” He smoothed back your hair. You nodded silently. You were tired, sad, and disappointed. It ruined your appetite. He took the bowl off the table and poured its contents out into the sink, “Alright, well if you get hungry in the middle of the night, let me know. I’ll make you something.”

“M’kay.”

The swinging door to the kitchen opened but you didn’t bother to look at who it was. You recognized your father’s heavy footsteps, “Hey, baby. What are you...doing?” Before he could finish speaking, you hopped down from the bar stool, walked around him, and left the kitchen. As you walked away, you could hear him ask Mr. Yuji something. “Is she okay?”

You think that was when you’d stopped asking to spend time with your father. 7 years had passed and you could still feel the emotions your 11 year old self had gone through that day.

Your fists were clenched, your face towards the ceiling, and your lips pressed into a thin line. You were fighting back tears. You were tired. You were tired of this. You were tired of broken promises. You were tired of being second best. It was your 16th birthday, and your father missed it because of him. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” Your father had the nerve to ask. You clenched your jaw.

“What’s wrong?” You copied. “What’s wrong?!” You looked at him, the hot tears already running at a steady pace down your cheeks. “What’s wrong is that you missed my fucking birthday! Again! That’s 10 years in a fucking row!” You snarled. You didn’t care if you were acting like a spoiled brat.

He stood there in shock. You wiped your tears on your forearm, “What I want to know is why -- why didn’t you show up like you promised?” You had given up on him. All you wanted was a reason why. You already knew but you wanted him to say it.

“It’s Young Midoriya’s--” You cut him off with a laugh. A completely and utterly, joyless laugh.

“Just as I thought.” You scoffed. You pulled out a chair from the dining room table and plopped down on it. You were exhausted and numb, “Midoriya this, Midoriya that. It’s always about Midoriya.” You wondered if your father even knew what he was doing to you. He probably didn’t, he was so oblivious when it came to his own child.

Your father -- the oh so wonderful All Might -- walked up and took the seat next to you. “That’s not true and you know it, (Y/N).”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” You turned in your seat to face him. “Tell me, Dad, when was the last time we spent my birthday together?”

“Well, um--” He stuttered.

“Last meal we had together? Last time you showed up to one of my award ceremonies? Last time we spent time together? Last time we had a real conversation?” You asked question after question, knowing he wouldn’t have the answer to any of them.

“(Y/N), that’s not fair--” “I’m not trying to be!”

Silence.

“When was the last time you told me you loved me?” Your voice cracked. The blond didn’t say a word. You sighed and stood up from your seat, “I’m moving out tomorrow. Don’t try to stop me -- I’ve already made up my mind.”

That was 2 years ago and you hadn’t talked with your father since.

A knock came at your door. It must’ve been one of your classmates asking for your notes again. You got up from your desk and opened the door without a second thought. “I’m not giving you my...notes. Oh, it’s you.” Standing in front of you was your father’s successor — Midoriya Izuku. You hadn’t seen much of him since your childhood.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Can...can I come in?” You stepped aside and held the door open for him. He awkwardly stepped past you and stood around the middle of your room. “Your room. It’s nice.” Izuku complimented.

“It’s alright, I guess.” You shrugged. You had a platform bed with lots of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals on it. A bean bag chair sat next to it. Your walls were white but there were so many posters and pictures on them you could barely see the paint anyways. Fairy lights were strung up around the room and LED clouds were hanging from your ceiling. There was a bookcase filled with, well, books. Next it was your desk — it was normal but there were knick knacks, notebooks, and too many pens spread across it.

“No, no — it’s really cool. It’s a lot more cool than my room.” He assured you. You hummed. You didn’t really need to guess what his dorm room was like.

You put your hand on your hip, “Let me guess, yours is covered top to bottom, wall to wall in my dad’s merchandise. Is that right?” A blush erupted on the younger teens face. You’d hit the nail right on the head. You laughed and clapped his shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. You really admire him, don’t you?” You smiled.

He was nervous, you could tell. “Yeah, I guess so.” He looked away from you.

“Alright, have a seat. There’s obviously something you want to talk to me about.” You plopped down on the bean bag chair next to your bed.

Izuku sat down at your desk. “I wanted to talk to you about All Might.” He stated. You hummed and nodded your head — as to be expected.

“I honestly don’t know much about him, Izuku.” You told the truth. “He’s never really been around much for me.” Izuku cringed at your statement.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about with you.” He ruffled his own hair.

“If you’re about to apologize, don’t.”

“What?” Izuku’s green eyes met your (e/c) ones for the first time since he’s been here. “I-I don’t understand. I’m the reason he-“

“I’m going to stop you right there, Izuku.” You shift around in your bean bag. “Everything he did, was in no way your fault. They were his choices to make and he chose you over me, time and time again.” You said bluntly. “But that wasn’t your fault. Sure, for a time I did resent you but as I got older, I came to realize you had no say in how he treated me. You were just a kid and so was I. I know how much you admire him but it’s the truth when I say he’s the one at fault here. You don’t have to apologize for his actions.” You got up and walked up to him. You ruffled his hair, “I never once blamed you, Midoriya Izuku.”

Tears welled up in the curly haired teen’s virus in eyes but he quickly started to rub them away. “Geez, you’ve always been such a crybaby. I thought you would’ve grown out of that already.” You jokingly pushed his head. You’d always thought of him as a younger brother, even when you hated his guts as a child.

“Sorry, I just…” He sniffled. “I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” You wish you’d known he was carrying all this guilt sooner — you could’ve already relieved him of the burden.

“It’s alright. I understand.”

That was a few months ago. Talking with Izuku like that, it really did help you understand why your relationship with All Might is the way it is.

“Have you talked with your father recently?” Your therapist asked after you finished recounting your childhood with her. She’d needed an updated version now that you were 18.

You shook your head, “No, but he did leave me a voicemail the other day — he asked how I was doing, talked about how he was proud of my grades, told me to make sure I eat and drink enough water.” You appreciated that he was trying, but you weren’t ready to make amends with him.

“Did you call him back?”

“No. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him just yet. Only recently had I accepted what he’d done.” You explained to her.

She nodded, “That’s alright. It’s all a part of the process. You’ll be ready eventually, and when you do, you’ll be one step closer to leave this all behind you.” You hummed your agreement.

“Have you seen or heard anything from your brother recently?”

“You sound just like the police.” You laughed.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader angst #mha x reader angst #all might x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #yagi toshinori #all might #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

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wickedmilo · 4 years ago

Photo

ISN’T THIS NICE | MILO & DANI

PLACE: The Summers family home TIMING: 9:12 PM SUMMARY: Dani sees another chance to put Milo out of his misery, only the setting is far less than ideal WRITING PARTNER: @surmamort CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of addiction, alcoholism

Realistically Milo had always known that returning to his parents’ house was inevitable, something he needed to do. But returning so soon after his death felt stupid, and reckless. Not in the way he usually enjoyed. Two months had passed, and he was still being battered by calls, and texts from his mom, asking if he was okay, demanding he come home to his family, insisting he should be in a rehab facility, and not carelessly roaming the streets. If the Summers still hadn’t taken the hint, then him showing up on their doorstep was only going to complicate trying to cut them out of his life. That being said, he wanted his wardrobe, he wanted his comic books. He missed the things in his life that inherently made up Milo, and most of them were here. Night was only just beginning to fall, he had taken a chance in arriving early. It was very possible both of his parents were at the hospital, but also very possible they were already at home together. Without breaking into the garage to look for their cars, he really had no way of knowing. There were no lights shining from the front of the house, but the office they shared was towards the back of the building. If they were working from home, he was only going to find out when it was too late to turn back. He had tried to listen for heartbeats, breathing, shuffling papers, literally anything that might give away their presence. But apparently he had overestimated his abilities. It was why, after hesitating on the porch for more than a few minutes, he eventually let himself into the house.

Carefully closing the door to avoid making any sound, when he turned to face the hall it was dark, and shadowy. Despite that, he was able to see everything. Every shape, every detail, every pattern, every surface. It seemed each time he felt as though he might be getting used to what he was, the universe liked to send him pointed reminders of just how weird things had become. Eyeing the table beside the door, there were keys in the bowl, and the faint smell of his mom’s perfume seemed to linger in the air. It was accompanied by the scent of air fresheners, and the polish his dad used to clean the glass frames hanging above the staircase, proudly displaying his varying degrees. It was familiar, but overwhelmingly so. Like his entire childhood was being pressed down upon him, every smell, every item, every memory he had in this room… almost too much. Almost enough to make him turn around and leave. Glancing up towards the mezzanine level, he wondered if he would be able to make it to his bedroom without being seen. If he only focused on his stealth, if he tried to utilise his new agility, then it might be possible. He had done it before on many occasions. Hell, he had done it drunk. It didn’t feel like too much of a stretch, but so many of these expeditions required outright luck. And he wasn’t sure luck had been on his side, as of late.

Just get in, and get out, he thought, swiping a ten dollar bill and a handful of change from beside the key bowl, slipping them into his pocket as he made a hurried mental note of the items he wanted to take. Clothes, as many as he could fit, a handful of his favourite comics, if he could find his dad’s prescription book then a few blank prescriptions certainly wouldn’t hurt, and his laptop. In and out. You can do this. Swallowing the strange sense of anxiety in his chest, he tried not to think about how close he was to his mom, about how much he missed her, and began to make his way towards the staircase. His foot had barely connected with the first step before he heard the front door beginning to open. His senses on high alert, he spun with unnatural speed, freezing in place as he waited for his dad to enter the room, to catch him in the act as he made an effort to avoid the very people who had raised him, who had supported him over the years. Only, he realised almost immediately that it wasn’t his father. It was Dani. Dani who had tried to kill him more than once now, Dani who wanted him dead, Dani who had followed him into his family home. She was moving as slowly and as swiftly as he had been, clearly attempting to catch him off guard, and he felt a sudden surge of anger course through him. If she wanted to hurt him there was nothing he could do about it, but she was trespassing, she was on his parents’ property, bringing her toxicity, and aggression into the home they had both grown up in. It filled him with rage. How could she taint this space after everything? How was she expecting to look his parents in the eye knowing she had tried to kill their son in the entryway of their home? Glaring at her silently, his expression an equal mixture of shock, and frustration, he threw out a hand to stop her where she stood, doing everything he could to keep his voice low so that nobody would hear him. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He hissed. “Don’t do this, Dani. Not here.”

Dani rarely had nightmares. Despite the horrors that crept in and out of her life, she rarely held onto them with her heart. Every moment was a chance for collapse if she didn’t get her head on straight. There was no point in being scared. Being scared meant being vulnerable. However, the way that the tide ripped her apart, the feeling of being dragged over the river bottom’s surface-- the feeling of suffocation. It woke her up every night, and it continued to be just as jarring as the moments she had experienced it. Dani had been up against plenty of different monsters, but none of them had created a rag doll of her the way that the combination of the water and the selkie had. It made her stomach churn thinking about it.

So Dani decided to go on a walk. The moon was nowhere to be seen in the sky, but there were plenty of stars. The street lights flickered, but were bright enough to aid Dani’s already superior night vision. However, as she crossed the street, planning on going deeper into the neighborhood, movement caught her eye. She saw him, and she blocked out the part of herself that hoped it wasn’t him, that she had mistaken the stranger for somebody else. But as he slinked into his house, Dani knew that it was him. She froze. What if his parents were home? She couldn’t let him hurt them, even if sometimes they were annoying. They were still humans. Dani sprang into action, following after Milo silently. Just as he had, she slipped through the door.

The sound of his voice was loud against the silence. She looked up at him through the darkness. His tone accusatory, her eyebrows knit themselves together. “You shouldn’t have come back here.” She wished he hadn’t. No, Dani thought to herself, it’s good that you did. The weight of the dagger strapped to her wrist-- wood, bone, and silver dipped into her palm as she flicked her wrist. She gripped it tightly. “I live next door, Milo-- you expect me to just let you go? Even here?” She motioned around them. Despite the fact that she’d hate to kill the Summers’ son in their own home, it needed to be done. He was no longer Milo-- he was a ghost of who he once was. Not even a ghost, a replication with a stilled heart and a thirst for violence that, if he continued on any longer, was bound to unleash. “You can either die here, or you can run and you can die somewhere else. Your choice.” She kept her gaze steady, listening for any noise-- were his parents home?

Why? Milo thought, his rage only growing stronger. Considering he had spent years doing everything he could to avoid the place, he was incredibly offended by being told he should never have returned. “This is my home.” He whispered, a sharp edge to his voice. “You don’t get to tell me I don’t belong here.” Watching her through the darkness, he stayed frozen, avoiding sudden movements in the same way prey might when being observed by a predator. It struck him that their positions really should be reversed. But underneath everything, his indignance, his offense, his anger, his bitterness, he was just as scared as he had been upon waking up a vampire. Just as scared as he had been when Dani first decided to attack him. He was so tired of being scared. He was tired of everything. Worried if he moved before she did, she would use it as an excuse to jump on him, he waited at the bottom of the staircase. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. “I know you live next door,” he snapped. “I didn’t think you’d be watching my fucking house. My parents have nothing to do with this.” Even here? She said it as though the building meant nothing to her, as though they didn’t have a million shared memories inside these walls. There was no fondness, no appreciation for how close they had once been. It meant nothing anymore.

Swallowing his anxiety, he knew she was never going to stop. If she wasn’t successful now, she wouldn’t rest until she had forced a stake through his heart, had watched the life drain out of him, and his body crumble to dust. It made him feel sick. “My choice is for you to realise you’re being the monster here.” The words were strong, and he made it incredibly clear that he meant them. She was going to kill him in his childhood home, she was going to kill him when his parents might be inside the house with them. His Mom was going to vacuum the hall, straighten his father’s degrees, tidy up the clutter, without ever knowing she was standing where he had taken his final breath. His dad was going to drag his golf clubs from the garage to polish them in the living room, was going to kick off his shoes by the front door after a long, and stressful day at work, was going to slip outside in the early hours of the morning to watch the sun rise from the front porch with a coffee, not knowing his only son had died quite literally yards away. “Mom and Dad took care of us!” He continued, unable to help himself. His anger was spilling over, forcing words to escape him. “They took care of you, how could you even think about doing this to them, Dani? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Is it? Is it really?” Dani recalled the number of times that she had begged Milo to come home. The glass bottles acted as wreckage beneath her sneakers as she fought against every instinct to go in and take out the monsters who had taken him from her. If Dani were a different person, then maybe she would have simply knocked Milo out and dragged him back by force. Looking at him now, maybe that’s what she should have done. If she had acted on that impulse, would he still be her Milo? Would he be a healthier version than he had been in the past? Would he still have a heartbeat? His words shake her from her thoughts and she can’t help the laugh that splits from between her lips. “Oh, come on-- I’m not watching your fucking house.” Though, it might have done her some good to do so. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be stupid enough to show back up, especially knowing she was next door. “I saw you go through the front door while I was outside.” She didn’t know why she was reasoning with him-- there was no point in doing so. “No shit your parents have nothing to do with this. It’s not them I’m concerned about. Tell me, do you want to rip out your mother’s throat?” Maybe a little too harsh. This wasn’t her Milo, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

Dani had been used to the excuses that Milo would throw at her. She never allowed herself to be angry with him. Instead, she prided herself on acting as his savior. Dragging him home, or to 24 hour diners in order to help him sober up-- rubbing circles into his back during the worst of it. She remembered the amount of times that she had 911 on speed dial, waiting for the day that she’d find him. Only, she hadn’t. He had been found by somebody else, and now he was this creature, void of life. It was her fault he was like this. She thought back to the moments in the woods, the exact timing that she understood what she had to do. Her recollection did not sway her, but it certainly made things more complicated than what she dealt with in the cemetery, or under any other circumstance. “Do you think they’d love you if they knew what you turned into?” Dani said pointedly, “I don’t think so.” They had still loved him despite his slipping through the cracks-- despite the amount of times he had betrayed them, so who was to say they would look past the monster that he now was? Dani would not wait to find out. She approached him slowly, “you’re going to hurt people-- God only knows how many you’ve hurt already.” She didn’t typically talk down the vampires that she was trying to kill. Instead she’d lunge, wrestle, and kill. Milo was different, and it was excruciating. “I have to do this,” Dani said after a moment, her voice tinted with nothing but anger, “because if I don’t, who will you hurt next?”

Milo didn’t know how to counter the question. Dani was right, technically this hadn’t been his home in a very long time. But he wasn’t about to admit that to her, especially not given the circumstance. He had done so much to get through to her, begged her to understand, sent her texts recounting sentimental memories, given Athena the shirt to pass along… nothing was working, nothing was going to work. If she was willing to do this, here, and now, then it was over. How could he fight for their friendship when it had disintegrated so rapidly? Become so painful, and complicated that thinking about it consumed him with grief... He wasn’t expecting her to deny watching the house, but he also didn’t trust her to be honest with him. So he narrowed his eyes, his chest burning with each unnecessary breath as he fought against the urge to raise his voice. And then she caught him off guard again, causing him to flinch at the mention of hurting his mom. Blinking tears from his eyes, the image was so real, so visceral, that he knew it was going to haunt him. He had a difficult relationship with his parents, but he loved them. More than he could put into words. The idea of seeing either of them in pain was abhorrent, it was unthinkable. “No.” He said quietly, his voice firm, barely louder than a whisper. “But you’re trying to kill her son so don’t tell me you give a shit about her wellbeing.”

Falling silent again, letting her words hit him with the same amount of force she usually reserved for her fists, he didn’t know. He couldn’t answer her. They could never find out what he was, that much had become obvious to him. But a small part of him was desperate to believe they would accept him. They accepted him as gay, they accepted him as somebody who enjoyed using drugs, albiet begrudgingly, and with obvious disappointment. There was no real reason to believe they wouldn’t try to support him through this too. Slowly reaching up to brush away his tears, he didn’t break eye contact, hoping that would stop her from suddenly lunging. And maybe it worked. She didn’t immediately attack, but he noticed her take a careful step towards him. He couldn’t see a weapon, though he knew she had to have one. Where could he go? What could he possibly do to fight back against her? “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was still seething, still fierce, and defiant, despite the overwhelming onslaught of emotion. He didn’t understand why she was apparently so convinced he now lived to attack people, bite people, kill them without hesitation. He had never wanted to do those things before, and yet she assumed his nature had changed. His appetite had, but with Harsh’s help that felt under control. He felt under control. And he cared. The only person he had ever been content with harming had been himself, that was still very much the case. “No, you don’t.” He countered, gripping the banister of the staircase, his knuckles white with the pressure. He could feel his fingertips denting the wood, but he didn’t release his hold. “Who are you going to hurt next?” He asked pointedly, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. They ran down his cheeks, but this time he let them fall. “Milo Summers…” He whispered, his voice cracking as she continued to approach him. “Your friend, Dani. Orion’s friend… Allison, and Oliver’s son.”

Dani knew that if she allowed any part of this to affect her, that it’d be over. She recalled the conversation she had with the hunter in the woods shortly after Milo had escaped. Dani thought about how she had him pinned at the University, only to be thwarted again. Now was her chance. The location was in no shape or form ideal. Of course she didn’t want to kill Milo in his childhood home where his parents would unknowingly walk over his ashes-- of course not. Voicing the fact was another thing. A weakness. Dani’s grip tightened on the dagger as Milo spoke. She let out a cold laugh. “You’re pretending that you’re still her son.” When Dani had first begun to train, she had questions-- plenty of them. Jeanette had done her best to answer them. The texts, too. Other hunters with worn hands and scarred necks spoke their stories. Though Dani wouldn’t consider herself as fearful, it was what they had to say that made her believe in the monstrous things that grew at the roots of White Crest. Milo had sprouted from that very darkness. It was terrible, but Dani didn’t have the time to be sad.

“I’ve lived in this world longer than you have, Milo.” She wanted to add on that it was she who had protected him, as well as his family from it for so long, but her defeat was laid out at his feet. He stood as a monument, embellished in her failures. Dani watched him carefully as he took a step back on the staircase. Oblivious to the way that his hold dented the bannister, Dani shook her head, “My friend died.” Her tone was void of any emotion-- the anger and fear that she held in the quiet moments alone buried deep. She refused to address them, especially when she had him so close. “As far as Rio goes, he’s an idiot.” Dani glanced to her right, picking up a picture frame, chucking it at his head. Hopeful that it’d act as a distraction, she ignored the sound of the glass shattering against the wall and she lunged at him.

Milo continued to watch Dani, blinking away fresh tears as they formed. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he could see her mind working impossibly fast. Only now did he realise she was holding a dagger, and he wondered whether she might be imagining driving it through his chest. Flinching again at the sound of her laughter, her words cut through him, sharp, and cold. Why was it so impossible for her to believe he was still who he once had been? He couldn’t understand her level of blind conviction. “I’m not pretending…” He said, his voice quiet as he tried to resist feeling utterly defeated. He wanted to escape this, he couldn’t afford to lose all hope. For their friendship, maybe. He was beginning to feel that might be inevitable, but not for his continued survival. He had so much to live for. “I know.” He insisted. “But clearly you have as much to learn as I do.” He wasn’t sure why he was still trying, but he couldn’t stop himself. This was Dani. He had never felt a need to filter himself around her before. In fact, he had always been honest with her. More honest than he had been with anybody else in his life. She never judged him, she never used his words against him, or shared what he had said in confidence. How could this be the same person now? Standing before him, ready to kill. “Yeah, he did. But he’s still here.” He begged her to listen, his body still tense as he waited for her to make the first move.

Even when he knew it was coming, she managed to catch him off guard. The mention of Rio distracted him, left him with an urge to defend his friend’s intelligence, and then a frame was shattering against the wall. For a brief, ridiculous moment, he wanted to shout at her. That was one of his father’s frames, a degree the man had worked to achieve. One he displayed proudly in the hall where people could see it, where he could talk about everything it meant. Sure, it was also a reminder of how he had failed his parents, of how accomplished they both were, how accomplished they had been hoping he might grow to be himself. But it was also tied to many fond memories, and he hated that. He hated that Dani knew and still chose to destroy it. In the split second it took him to feel his rage boil over, she had lunged towards him. His arms already raised to protect himself from falling glass, he reacted instinctively. If he could only get to the door. He just needed to reach the door. Barrelling forward to meet her, using his anger to fuel the action, he pushed back with every ounce of his strength, twisting Dani so that she was forced back against the stairs. He stumbled over his own feet as he backed away, scrambling to reach the front porch before she could right herself.

In the back of her mind, Dani knew that maybe she was crossing a line. Killing Milo in his own home where Mrs. Summers would have to walk over it, high heels making imprints in what was left of her son. Though, if she believed Milo were truly gone-- that this was not her Milo, nor Allison’s son, then the idea of him being killed inside his childhood home shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. Dani could see the recognition on his face, as well as the fear-- but there was something else. Anger. She had to get this over with. The longer he was alive, the easier it would be for him to hurt others. It’d only be a matter of time before Jeanette realized what was going on, that Milo was no longer Milo and that Dani hadn’t taken care of the problem yet. Even now, her mother was only a yard-- if that, away from what was currently transpiring.

Before she could get a grip on Milo, he was knocking her back into the stairs. Almost immediately, the wind was knocked out of her. Dani gulped in air, quickly regaining her composure and got to her feet. She was lucky she hadn’t broken entirely through the staircase. At least Milo was finally fighting back. As he tried to run, Dani reached out and grabbed the back of his t-shirt. She yanked him backwards, aiming to make him stumble. She quickly threw all of her weight into him, sending them both to the ground. “How many more times will you run?” She growled, using the majority of her strength to wrestle him down. The sound of the door in front of them opening caused Dani to look up. Horror flickered across her features as she saw the Summers’ walk into the house, their faces contorted with disbelief, fear, and surprise.

Dani didn’t respond to his words, and Milo couldn’t say he was surprised. She had been talking for too long, he could see her expression shift to one of determination, and disconnect. She was forcing herself not to see him for who he was, forcing herself to take action. For a moment, he thought maybe he had bought himself enough time, but then she grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards before throwing her weight on him, pushing him in the opposite direction. It would be enough for anybody to lose their balance, and for what felt like the millionth time, he tumbled to the floor, hitting the hardwood with enough force to do some serious damage had he still been human. He already knew he had no hope of reaching the door before she was on top of him, so he decided to fight back instead.

It went against so many of his instincts, but he only needed her to falter, or get distracted. Just one opportunity to bolt… She had fallen with him, and was already working to trap him in the same way she had outside of the college. Her breathing loud, and heavy in his ears, he moved beneath her, desperate to find some purchase so that he would be able to slip out of her grasp. “As many times as it takes… for you to realise... you’re wrong about me- Dani, stop!” His voice was strained, and quiet. He wasn’t sure she had even heard him, but she did stop. She stopped and stared upwards, looking suddenly like a deer caught in the headlights. In his distraction, he hadn’t heard the sound of the door, and their scent managed to reach him before he saw them both. Falling still himself, he followed her gaze, tilting his head back to look up at his parents from where he was currently pinned to the floor. The look of confusion, and shock on their faces was about what he might expect. Though he didn’t have time to feel any relief. In seconds that shock turned to their usual guarded expressions, the stern and level headed approach they often took when they were forced to deal with his problematic behaviour. His mother was the first to speak. He longed to hear her protect him, defend him, say something to get Dani to leave him alone. But he was beginning to realise that wasn’t how this was going to play out.

“Milo, stop it. You’re going to hurt her!” She said, her voice curt, and assertive. The sound of his mom breaking the brief silence was enough to spur on his dad, who jumped suddenly into action. Moving forward, he gestured for Dani to get off of his son, but not in an aggressive, or defensive way. He was understanding, and gentle, subtly checking her for injuries. It was then that Milo was able to see what they thought was happening, and his stomach churned uncomfortably in response. How many times had Dani brought him home? On occasion she would catch him sneaking out, or stealing, and insist on making sure he didn’t get away with it. This wasn’t the first time his parents had caught them in a compromising position. And this wouldn’t be the first time Dani had pinned him to the ground when he was under the influence, a desperate attempt to save him from himself. They knew that, his parents knew that.

“Milo, stand up.” His father’s voice was equally as measured, lacking the soft concern he had reserved for Dani, and he felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what Dani was going to do, or say. He only knew he was powerless to stop what was happening.

Dani worked quickly to slide her wooden dagger back up her sleeve and out of sight. She shifted uncomfortably on top of Milo, only beginning to slide off when Milo’s dad walked around, guiding her off of him by her elbow. He was gentle with her, and it took Dani a moment to realize that they had no idea what was happening. Mrs. Summers turned on the lamp and Dani blinked rapidly against the sudden burst of light that flooded through the hallway. She glanced at Milo who looked… upset? She could hear her heartbeat, quick and loud. She knew that Milo could too. He’d know she was nervous. Shit. While Dani knew what she had to do, she hadn’t actually wrestled with what it meant to kill Milo in his home. She had done it under the guise of protecting him, but hadn’t put faces to the names that he spoke-- she chose to ignore them. Until now. She had known from the moment that she saw Milo in the woods that night, when he felt different, that this would be far more difficult than she could have ever imagined. She cursed herself for allowing her feelings to get in the way, even now.

Dani looked between Milo’s parents and him. It felt like she was being thrown back into the nights where she’d catch him trying to sneak out his window after she had brought him home, only for her to climb it and wrestle him to the ground-- to prevent him from slipping past the care that the Summers’ had for him. She backed away from Mr. Summers and looked towards his mother, a careful smile directed at the pair of them. “He wasn’t--” She bit her lower lip, “he wasn’t hurting me. It’s fine.” She wasn’t sure if she was defending Milo, or if she was defending herself from the idea that he’d ever be able to hurt her.

Dani looked at Milo who seemed severely dejected. Something short of anxiety began to crawl and bubble at the base of her throat. She worked to slow down the quick beat of her heart as best as she could, swallowing the air in the small room that only seemed to be growing smaller. As a distraction, Dani walked backwards and purposely knocked against a table, a small figurine toppling to the ground. “Oh, sorry.” Dani knelt down to pick it up and looked to meet Milo’s gaze. For the first time since he had turned, she saw her friend. He wore the same expression he typically had when he had run-ins with his parents. “I uh-- I should get going.” Dani couldn’t do this here, not now. She’d come back later tonight. She’d watch the house and make sure that Milo wouldn’t hurt his parents.

Milo waited patiently for Dani to remove herself from him, staying where he was on the floor, entirely overwhelmed by the situation. There were so many things wrong with this, so many things he couldn’t think about, not without dissolving into tears. And he couldn’t afford to. Dani was still here, she was still dangerous. Although he had to hope she wouldn’t try anything in front of his parents. Surely, even she was above that level of violence. He wasn’t hurting me. It’s fine. He had no way of knowing whether she was trying to make the situation better or worse. Was she assuring his parents that he wasn’t being violent, that things were as okay as they could be? Or was she encouraging them to believe she was saving him, she was holding him back from making another self-destructive decision? He swallowed, feeling fresh tears run down his cheeks, only to get lost in his hair as they fell towards the hardwood behind his head.

Continuing to stare at Dani as she knocked over an ornament, when she bent to pick it up she intentionally caught his gaze, but her expression wasn’t filled with loathing, or anger. Not in the way he had expected. She was looking at him, and for the first time since his death, he felt as though she might actually be seeing him. Did she have any idea how hard this was going to be? Was she even going to consider the fact that he had been avoiding his parents to avoid acknowledging he could no longer be a part of their lives? Everything he had lost was inside this building, and it hurt. It hurt more than he would ever be able to say. Flinching suddenly at the sound of his father’s voice, he shakily forced himself to his feet. Only a few seconds passed before Oliver had his fingers under his chin, tilting his head back to observe his pupils in the sudden light of the hall. He heard his mom close the door, locking it behind herself as though she could keep him in if she only made a little effort. Or maybe she was trying to hide him from the neighbours. Hide what a mess her son had become. “...’m not high, Dad.” He muttered, pulling his face out of his grip. Brushing away his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, he sniffled, wishing he could be almost anywhere else. Anywhere but here, with these people, under this circumstance.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Milo. You know the drill.” Milo set his jaw, chancing a glance towards his mom who only gestured silently to the downstairs bathroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he had come home and not been asked to take a drug test. On multiple occasions he had heard his parents fighting over whether it was even a beneficial demand. You already know what the test is going to say, Ali. Why are you doing this to yourself? His father’s voice was never angry, but always tired, always disappointed. Laced with the question of how this had become his life. Wouldn’t you rather know, Oliver? Know what our boy is doing out there? Isn’t it better to know…

There was no way around it, he knew that much. The idea of leaving Dani alone with his parents terrified him, but what else could he do? Brushing past his childhood friend, he heard her insist she should leave as he pointedly slammed the door to the bathroom, opening the cabinet above the sink to pull out the box of home tests. Tearing open one of the cards, finding the designated cup his parents saved for such glamorous occasions, he listened to the conversation taking place outside of the door. His mom’s voice was soft, filled with concern, and affection. She was talking to Dani like she was grateful.

“Please don’t feel like you need to leave, Dani… we owe you so much, we all do. We have cake, you know? Maybe we can all have a coffee?” She was trying to entice her, to make her feel as though she couldn’t say no. Staring at the mirror above the sink, devoid of his reflection, he silently willed his parents to open the front door, to usher Dani out of it and never let her back into the safety of their home. But unfortunately telepathy wasn’t an ability he had inherited. Not that it would matter, they almost never took his word. Uncapping the bottom of the thin, white card, he dipped the strip of material into his urine sample, watching as the liquid was absorbed. After ten seconds had passed, he reapplied the cap. Washing the cup, and his hands before re-emerging from the bathroom, he already knew what the test was going to say, he already knew he was going to fail it like the thousand previous tests he had been forced to take. But apparently just being willing to provide them with proof was enough to give his parents some illusion of control. He would never understand it. “Dani wants to go.” He said, his voice blunt, an edge to it as he pointedly refused to look back at her. He handed the white card over to his mom, who was already holding out a hand to take it. “Let her go.”

Dani watched as Milo wasted no time in brushing past her. Would he run? Would he make a chance escape through the window-- No, Dani thought. There was no window in that bathroom, not from what she could remember. She stared ahead, down the hallway towards where Milo had disappeared. She barely registered Allison’s voice in her ears, but forced her gaze away from the bathroom door. It’d only take her a few strides to make sure that he hadn’t escaped. No, she couldn’t do that. Not with his parents there. Not when Mrs. Summers was offering her cake. “No really-- that’s… That’s okay.” Dani felt like a deer in headlights. She had the vampire behind the door and his parents right in front of her who were clearly ignorant to the fact that their only son was now a part of the living dead.

Dani decided, for a brief moment, she’d give Milo his privacy. She turned her attention towards his mother and looked down at the bag that she held in her hand. “Oh, you must try this-- it’s from the bakery down on Main St.” Dani opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again once Milo had appeared in the doorway. She recognized the drug test in his hand. She had seen it plenty of times. Most times, she sat on the couch while she listened to the Summers’ argument just outside of the bathroom. Dani glanced back at Milo, only now realizing that there were tears blotting the collar of his shirt. She shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of him, his parents, and the lamplight that seemed to illuminate far too much of the hallway. She glanced at the test, not catching the result. Was he still using? Even in this state?

“That’s um, that’s okay.” Before Dani could insist on leaving again, she felt Oliver’s hand on her shoulder. She looked up to meet his gaze, forcing the small smile to stay. “Oh, come on. We haven’t seen you in awhile. Just a quick slice.” She looked back to Milo. Her heartbeat had quieted some, but the anxiety was still there. How was she going to get out of this? She couldn’t sit a foot across from Milo and not do anything. What if Jeanette sensed him for some odd reason? Before she could further object, she felt a nudge in the direction of the kitchen. Probably a means for privacy between Milo and his mother. Shit. Dani found herself being directed towards the kitchen island while a low conversation followed her.

Milo could sense Dani’s tension, even with her standing behind him. No doubt she was waiting for him to try and make another escape. But it felt so pointless. Not only would she find him again, he would be leaving her with his parents. What if she used them to try and draw him out? He wanted so badly to think she would never stoop so low, but he didn’t know her anymore. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what she might be capable of. The atmosphere in the hall was odd, his parents had fallen into their usual routine of moving between disappointment, and pretending there was nothing dysfunctional about their family. And Dani… it didn’t look as though she was willing to turn down his mother’s offer. Namely because his mom was clearly so determined to convince her to stay. Cake. From a bakery. It was painfully desperate, to the point that he almost couldn’t bring himself to be angry. His mom took the test from him, clutching it tightly in her hands before setting a timer on her phone for the results. She shot him a pointed look at his words, as though she couldn’t believe he would be so rude to the woman who had just pinned him to the floor and tried to kill him.

“Milo.” She used the same tone she had been using for years. It reminded him of being a child, of making simple mistakes during his piano lessons, or talking back when he was instructed to go to bed. “You know as well as I do that if it weren’t for Dani you would be-” She broke off, for a brief second he saw genuine emotion cloud her expression, fear maybe, and heartbreak, as she tried not to dwell on the death of her son. If only she knew he was already dead. Dani hadn’t been able to save him. Nobody had. Turning his attention back to his father, who seemed to sense Dani’s hesitation too, he caught her eye, watching as Oliver put a steady hand on her shoulder. His dad was using a far more gentle tactic. He could still hear her heart pounding in her chest, still hear how shocked, and anxious she was. Good. He thought bitterly. Suffer with me.

“She threw one of your degrees at me.” He said. He knew it was petulant, but he couldn’t stop the words from escaping his lips. His dad seemed to suddenly notice the glass on the staircase behind him, the shattered frame, and the paper that had escaped it. A frown creased his brow, but he didn’t look upset.

“She also brought you home.” He countered, and Milo knew there was absolutely nothing he could say in return, not without giving away too much of what was really happening. He opened his mouth anyway, hoping something of use might come out, but he was interrupted by the sound of an alarm. His mom silenced it quickly, reading the results of his test without reacting to the information.

“One out of five.” She said finally, forcing him to hold her gaze as she spoke. “I suppose we should be proud. That’s better than last time.” Milo held his tongue, he wasn’t sure whether she was trying to guilt trip him, or embarrass him in front of Dani to make a point. He could barely remember his last results, he was pretty certain two out of five of the recognisable substances had tested positive. Maybe even three. “Opioids.” She muttered quietly, in answer to his father’s silent question. And then the moment was over. She readjusted her bags, forcing a smile onto her face, before making her way into the kitchen. “I’ll put the coffee on.” She called, flipping light switches as she moved throughout the house. He stayed where he was, powerless to stop his dad as he encouraged Dani to follow.

“Come on, Dani. It’d mean a lot to us. After everything...”

Dani winced at Milo’s words. She shot him a look as if to tell him to cut it out. He didn’t want them to know what he was and he had pleaded with her not to kill him in his own house, and yet he was hellbent on trying to twist the situation, to reveal what had happened, and for what? The two of them had been through this time and time again. Milo was chastised while Dani was praised. It had made her feel guilty then, but Dani refused to let it make her feel guilty now. Not when they were wrong; when they didn’t even realize who and what was under their roof. She wanted to shout at them. Can’t you see? Can’t you see that this is not Milo! He’s dead!

It was no use, because Dani knew that even if she whispered his true existence, they would not believe her. It’d go against her code, too. Despite wanting to get rid of him once and for all, she couldn’t out him to his parents, not when they weren’t supposed to know what vampires were in the first place. Dani flexed her fingers and averted her gaze when the timer went off. She listened to Allison speak, her tone reserved and precise. She kept her gaze on the wall where the degree had once been. So Milo was still using. Dani hadn’t been aware that the undead were susceptible to drugs. Usually, Dani would interject-- she would tell them that she had found him in time, that he didn’t mean it. That he was trying to get better.

This time, Dani stayed silent. It seemed as though something broke in the air, because Allison was moving towards the kitchen quickly, the bags in her hands shuffling against one another. She followed after Milo’s parents, every step feeling as if there were weights in her shoes. It was like a constant alarm was going off, her senses going wild. Vampire, vampire, vampire! She could see him, but she couldn’t touch him. This was worse than in the woods. Worse than with Rio. Dani jumped slightly as Oliver handed her a plate. He let out a laugh and Dani tried to smile. She looked at Milo before setting her own plate down on the table.

“I didn’t--” Didn’t do anything. Doing something would mean he’d no longer be here. “Sure.” Unlike usual, Dani didn’t have any witty quips to shoot at Milo as they prepared for their sit down. Instead, she stayed silent, like a fly to a wall. She waited for him to speak, to run, to tear their throats out. Would he? She couldn’t be sure. “No coffee for me, please.” Dani raised a hand to stop the fourth mug from being filled. “Water is fine.”

Milo stared at Dani, disbelief written across his features as she told him to stop with a pointed look. Why should he? She had started this. Because of her, old wounds were now being opened, and he had absolutely no way of escaping the pain. He was going to have to sit across from his parents and pretend things were normal, he was going to have to look two people in the eye, knowing he couldn’t stay in their lives. Knowing, no matter how much they worried, how desperate they were for him to come home, it was no longer an option. Cutting them off had been his choice, and now that it wasn’t his choice, now that it was being forced upon him, he was beginning to wonder whether he had ever really wanted them gone. When his substance abuse was announced to the room, the silence that followed was deafening, it pulled him out of his thoughts. Dani wasn’t going to defend him this time, she wasn’t going to insist he was okay, or doing better, or at the very least trying to do better. There was no lying to herself, or lying on his behalf. Only a cold, empty distance between them both that seemed impossible for either of them to cross.

Listening quietly to his mother as she began to busy herself in the kitchen, it didn’t take long for Dani and his father to join her. He knew if he stayed in the hall it would be a matter of seconds before somebody came to find him, convinced he would be attempting to climb out of a window, or steal one of their prescription books. They didn’t need to know the latter was partially why he had returned. Taking a deep breath, glancing down at the glass littering the hall, he begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen, his jaw still set as he hovered in the doorway. The scene unfolding before him was so twisted. Seeing his parents being warm, and affectionate towards the person who had now tried to kill him on three separate occasions made his stomach churn. They were treating her like a daughter. His father was the first to take a seat at the kitchen table, and Dani settled next to him while his mom continued to find ways of distracting herself, ways for her to pass the time until she was forced to confront the awkwardness of the situation. Eventually she set down four plates, each holding a slice of cake, and a generous helping of whipped cream, before turning her attention to the coffee pot.

“Come on, Milo. Sit.” She encouraged him, pausing briefly as she passed where he was standing, running a hand through his hair in the same way she used to when he had a nightmare, or was struggling to sleep. Steeling himself, he ignored the ache in his chest, the longing for her to hold him like that again, and tell him everything was going to be okay. He took the seat on the other side of his dad, opposite Dani who he continued to stare at, willing her to feel his conflict, the agony she was forcing him to endure. The cake in front of him smelled good, but no longer like food, no longer like something his body wanted him to eat, and so he pointedly ignored it. Would that make Dani uncomfortable? Yet another reminder of the fact he was no longer human. Probably. “I thought everybody was drinking coffee these days.” Allison tried to make polite conversation. “Aren’t the kids going to Starbucks for just about anything? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” She held up the coffee pot as though that might convince Dani to change her mind, and started to ready the three cups she had waiting on the counter.

“You can’t buy drugs at Starbucks, Mom.” Milo muttered under his breath. It was his fallback, making things more difficult than they needed to be. If he could hold his parents at arms length, maybe he could ignore how badly he wanted to break down and cry. He could be gone by now, he could have his clothes, and his laptop, and be safely at home with Harsh.

“Milo.” Oliver’s voice was low, a warning, and he scowled down at the table in response. His mom chose not to hear his comment, handing drinks out to everybody before taking a seat herself, finally acknowledging the tense atmosphere with a smile he could only assume was forced.

“There. See, isn’t this nice? To have everybody back together again? Almost like when you were kids, right Dani? Milo? The amount of fun you both used to have at this table.”

When Allison began to talk about Starbucks, it took everything in Dani’s power not to laugh. She stared down at her plate, watching as a slice of cake was added to it. Were these people really that oblivious that their only son was no longer their son? Had they been so used to his change in demeanor because of… She looked up at Milo. The same dejected expression still flickered across his features. If looks could kill. Dani picked up her fork with no intention to actually eat, but she began to push around the chocolate and creme. It dawned on her then, that with their son missing-- over two months, the Summers’ were joining together to eat cake. Were they even actively looking for him? Had it only been her who did?

When Milo made his quip, she suppressed the familiar shit-eating grin that begged to curl at her lips. She coughed into her shoulder instead and straightened up in her chair. Things were tense, more tense than ever before. The amount of times that she had brought Milo back didn’t compare to this, not by a longshot. Now, Dani had no intention of saving Milo-- or, at least, not in the usual sense. She wanted to save him, but by shoving a stake into his chest. The longer she stayed seated around the Summers’, old patterns blooming before her, the more she realized that this wouldn’t be a one and done type of staking.

At Allison’s words, Dani looked up to meet her gaze. She was expecting an answer. “Oh. Um.” She refused to look at Milo this time. “Sure, yeah. Sorry-- I have um, a big test that I’ve been studying for. I’m just tired.” It was a blatant lie, but they didn’t need to know that. Milo obviously would.

“Do you remember,” Oliver started with a laugh, “when you kids would build forts in the living room? Then you’d get bored, so you’d go to the back yard and pitch a tent.”

Dani remembered those moments vividly. They ran wild in her dreams-- she and Milo-- able to be together, the simplicity of their childhoods. She hadn’t ever dreamt that it’d come to this. She had tried so hard to prevent this. “Yeah, I do.” Dani kept her gaze trained on her plate, her fork grinding against the china. No matter how hard she wanted to try, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pretend that this was normal. She wouldn’t be able to provide the Summers’ the smiles that they were grasping at straws for. Things were not the same, and they never would be again.

Glancing over at Dani when she coughed suddenly in response to his comment, it wasn’t lost on Milo that she had hidden her face. He couldn’t bring himself to hope, it was too painful to imagine a world where she accepted the fact that he was still very much himself, but he could have sworn she was repressing her amusement. One of his hands reaching to grip the edge of the table, his touch was gentle, and familiar. As children hiding beneath it one day, they had rebelliously decided to sign their names in Sharpie against the underside. He couldn’t feel the evidence of the ink, but he knew it was there, beneath his fingertips. A memory that was so tangible, so close. Evidence of how deep their bond ran, and how awful it was that Dani was desperate to shatter it. Offering his childhood friend a look when she decided to mention a test, he knew it was irrational to be so angry about her guilting his parents, especially when he so often manipulated them in the same way. But they were his parents, and after everything she was trying to take from them, she had no right to be so callous.

“Oh, don’t apologise, Dani.” Allison hurried to assure her. “Honestly, it’s refreshing to see someone so young take their studies seriously.” Great, Milo thought to himself. A compliment for Dani, and an insult for him. His grip on the table tightened, but he was careful not to dent the wood. More aware now than he had been when Dani had first taken him by surprise. Briefly turning his attention to his father, he seemed as determined as his wife to keep up pretence, he wished he could block his ears, or get up and leave. but neither felt like a genuine option. Not now. He didn’t need this, he wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

“My ambulance tent was outside. The indoor fort was the hospital… we had too many patients, we were forced to expand.” He said, in a begrudging response to Dani’s quiet admission. His voice was barely louder than a whisper as the details came flooding back to him. How many times had he played doctor with Dani? Convinced that was what he was going to be when he was older, too young to question what his parents were telling him. Wincing just a little at the sound of cutlery against china, it was a horrible noise, one only exacerbated by his sensitive hearing. He stared at Dani as she twisted her fork, willing her to drop it. “Stop.” He told her, his voice firm, positively dripping with irritation. No doubt she would do the opposite, all too aware of his new abilities causing him discomfort, but the demand escaped him before he could hold his tongue.

“Okay.” Letting out a huff of breath, Oliver ran a tired hand down his face. Already halfway through his cake, he carefully set his fork down before looking between Dani and his son. “I don’t know what has happened between you two tonight, but Milo, you have been gone for months. Can you please allow us to enjoy your company before you disappear to shoot up in some alleyway? Is that really too much to ask after everything you put us through?” His voice, as always, didn’t hold any anger. But it was tense, and Milo was begrudgingly forced to admit the man sounded exhausted. He always assumed, when he was missing, that his parents sent texts, and attempted to call him out of obligation more often than genuine concern. They had decided worrying was a waste of their time years ago… hadn’t they? A detriment to their own wellbeing? Allison reached out, linking fingers with Oliver, smiling sadly at him with unguarded affection. He did everything he could to shrug off the guilt weighing on his chest, but looking at his parents, it proved impossible.

“Just for tonight?” Allison’s voice was softer somehow, but laced with a desperation he was all too familiar with. “Milo, I know you don’t want to be here… but you’re here now. You too, Dani. We won’t keep you long, but we miss you… we miss both of you. It just means so much to have you home...”

Dani inhaled sharply as Milo began to speak. She did everything in her power to keep her gaze on the plate in front of her. Why did he bother picking apart stories from when they were young? It was silly, thinking that they were the same children who loved things like face paint, climbing trees, and playing hospital. The only time she had ever been able to be normal had been with Milo. Now? Neither of them were normal. Far from it. Their relationship had suffered under the crosshairs of her duty and his rebirth. She dug the fork into her plate even harder at Milo’s words. She glanced over at him and let it drop, the clatter louder than anything else that night.

She picked up her mug of water and took a sip, not realizing just how dry her mouth had gotten. Dani drained the cup and Allison was quick to refill it. When Oliver began to speak, Dani dropped her gaze back to the plate. The creme was smeared against the pink and blue flowers, making a mess of what could be considered a beautiful dish. Growing up, Dani had always appreciated that about the Summers. They cared about beauty. Maybe a little too much, but they cared. Jeanette cared only for necessities. Most of anything that the Edwards owned was cheap and easy to replace. Save for their weapons, of course. Once upon a time, Dani would have told Oliver some ridiculous, one-off story in order to take the heat off of Milo. She knew how exhausted they all were-- Milo, because what he was doing wasn’t his choice, and his parents, because they were worried. Dani only ever wanted Milo to be safe. The longer she kept her mouth shut, the more foul she felt.

The ache in Dani’s heart would have to be inspected at another time. She didn’t have the capacity to reason with the guilt she suddenly felt, not while in Milo’s presence. Deflated, Dani took another quick breath between her teeth. There was no use in staying around for much longer. She wouldn’t be getting Milo tonight, and despite his control, or lack thereof, Dani had to trust, not in the vampire, but that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill his parents with Dani only a few doors down, her eyes unleaving from the very house he claimed to hate so much. “I would love to, but--” Dani hurriedly took her new burner phone out of her pocket-- a clunky brick that she’d replace once she had the money, “my mom actually needs me home.” She forced a small, polite smile towards Allison and Oliver, ignoring Milo entirely. “Besides, you should really talk.” She finally looked at Milo, “if you need me, I’m only a few houses down.” A threat. To him, letting him know that despite her absence in the house, she would be able to come back in a heartbeat, should anything happen. Without allowing the Summers’ to object, Dani raised a hand in goodbye and quietly slipped out the back door. She waited until she was far enough away from the house to allow herself the time to process what had just happened. All of the anger she felt in the beginning, before his parents had arrived-- it was gone. Now, nothing but sadness and exhaustion filled her heart.

How was she going to kill him?

Unable to stop himself from flinching as Dani dropped her fork, Milo continued to watch her, struggling to discern her expression. What was she thinking? Her usual anger seemed to have faded away over the course of the conversation, only to be replaced by something impossible to recognise. Refusing to acknowledge his father’s words, he found it far easier to stare at his childhood friend. He could see in the way her body was tense, the way she was poised on the edge of her seat, feet flat against the floor, that she was preparing herself to leave. He knew his parents would be disappointed, the saviour of their son was letting herself out, but the wave of relief that washed over him was strong. At least for now, he could relax. He had so many things to focus on, so many emotions to process. Not needing to worry about Dani becoming violent made everything easier. Albeit, not by very much. Glancing down at the brick phone she pulled out, a frown creased his brow when he realised it was new. He had so many questions but he was smart enough to understand that asking them wouldn’t grant him any answers. Either she had blocked him, or she had bought an entirely new device to make sure he couldn’t contact her. The thought hurt, but the pain was dull now. He was slowly becoming used to it. Seeing his mom open her mouth to argue, he cut her off before she could speak. “Dani wants to go, Mom. Just… just let her.” He muttered. “It doesn’t matter.” Looking up at Dani, shooting her the same pointed glare she had given him earlier when she had tried telling him to stop, he wanted to do so many things. Throw something at her, scream, physically force her outside, cry, get high... “No, we shouldn’t. There’s nothing to talk about.” He countered, his tone forceful, and sharp as he held her gaze. Screw you, Dani. Screw you and all of the pain you’re causing me.

Steeling his expression, making it painfully clear he understood her thinly veiled threat, he stayed where he was, waiting for her to leave before allowing himself to exhale. The threat was out of sight, but not out of reach. He needed to remember that. She could get to the house in a heartbeat if she wanted to. Listening to her as she walked to her home, crossing the lawn instead of taking the path, when her footsteps began to fade he became very aware of his parents. They were both watching him, concern written across their features as they sat in a mutual silence. “I’m not staying.” He hurried to warn them, pushing away from the table, and getting to his feet. Both Allison, and Oliver followed his lead. It was clear by the way they caught each other's eye they had already accepted that would be the case. “I just- I need to get some things, and then I’ll be gone, okay? So you can stop worrying about how your son is such a fuck up, and how I’ll just- I’ll embarrass you in front of the neighbours or fucking-” He broke off suddenly, caught off guard by his mom as she pulled him towards her, enveloping him in a hug. Holding his breath, too comforted by the close proximity to want to risk any potential bloodlust, he felt tears sting at his eyes the moment his father decided to join them. Standing in the kitchen of his childhood home, in the arms of his mom and dad, the people who had raised him, who had once made him feel so safe, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking down. He fought it for a brief moment, but sobs soon began to wrack his body and he wrapped his arms around them too, holding them as close as he possibly could without hurting them both.

“Shh, shh… We love you, Milo.” Allison pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, running her fingers through his hair as she spoke. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We love you so much… you make mistakes, you do. And you know we don’t agree with your decisions, but you’re always going to be our son. And we’re not embarrassed by you… never.” Burying his face into the crook of her neck, he knew he wouldn’t be able to last very long before the scent of blood began to tempt him. But he was determined to make the most of it while he could. This was all he had been really craving, and all he had been denying himself. Because as much as he needed his parents to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay, everything wasn’t going to be okay. They didn’t know it, they had no way of knowing it, but this was essentially a goodbye.

#c:dani #milo and dani #addiction tw #alcoholism tw

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advena87 · 5 years ago

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Kaer Morhen shenanigans (but mostly Lambert’s) part 5

Here is: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 and Daily Lambert

also Keira & Lambert’s love story, Aiden & Lambert’s love story and… this.

Geralt: How late is Lambert now?

Eskel: Two and a half hours.

Geralt: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11.

Eskel: I printed that fake schedule for him, saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon.

Berengar: Oh, and I set his clock to PM when it’s really AM.

Geralt:

Geralt: We may have overdone it.

Lambert: *bursts in* WHAT THE HELL TIME IS IT?!

***

Geralt: We saved our best idea for last.

Eskel: If it's your best idea, why did you leave it for last?

Lambert: Because we didn't know it was our best idea until our other ideas turned out to be terrible.

*moment later*

Geralt: It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught!

Eskel: We’re literally being chased by guards right now! How can you say that?!

Lambert: Yeah, yeah, whatever!

*an arrows comes flying towards them*

Lambert: Ooooh, it’s about to get fun!

Eskel: Lambert, NO.

***

Vesemir: What will this accomplish, Lambert? What are you trying to do?

Lambert: *shouting from the top of lungs* MY BEST!

***

Vesemir: WHY IS THERE BLOOD EVERYWHERE?!

Lambert: I may or may not have aggressively poked Geralt with a sword.

Vesemir: YOU STABBED GERALT?!

Lambert: No no, aggressively poked him with a sword.

***

Eskel: I have a question.

Vesemir: Hm?

Eskel: Is four a lot?

Vesemir: Depends on context - orens; no, murders; y-

Lambert: Murders also no.

Vesemir, hitting him with a newspaper: LAMBERT!

Lambert: WHAT?!

***

Vesemir: Our wolf school needs to find a way to cut down on expenses. Any ideas what we can live without?

Geralt: Lambert.

***

Geralt: Ok, so we have this plan-

Eskel: I’m not even going to try to give advice anymore.

Lambert: Okay, so we need a rock troll, a mallet, saltpeter and zerrikanian mix. Good?

Berengar: Good.

Geralt, Lambert and Berengar: *walk away*

Eskel:

Eskel: I’m so tired.

* A moment later , witchers just before setting the fuse on fire*

Eskel: This is a mistake...

Lambert: A mistake we're going to laugh about one day!

Geralt: But not today xD

Berengar: Oh no, today is gonna be a mess.

Eskel: You're not really scared, aren’t you?

Berengar: Not really. I’ve already lived longer than I expected.

*Lambert sets fire to the fuse. An explosion breaks the windows in the castle*

Vesemir, yelling: WITCHER LAMBERT OF KAER MORHEN WHERE ARE YOU?!

Eskel: Oh, you mean Lambert the biggest Idiot of Kaer Morhen? Lambert I-Have-No-Idea-What-I'm-Doing of Kaer Morhen? Lambert I-Probably-Shouldn't-Be-Allowed-To-Be-A-Witcher of Kaer Morhen? Lam-

Vesemir: Is he pulling some reckless magic bullshit with Geralt and Berengar again?

Eskel: TAKE A GUESS.

*A few moments later*

Berengar: Vesemir, I really don’t see the point in getting upset over spilt milk.

Vesemir: Why would I be upset? The entire east wing of castle will be unusable for the next fortnight and three of my witchers orchestrated it.

Lambert: Actually it was four. Eskel was there as well.

Eskel: Why would you say that?

Geralt: We just thought it would help cushion the blow if we distribute the blame.

Eskel: Cushion who?

Berengar: Us mostly.

*Later*

Berengar: Why is Lambert bleeding?

Eskel: Because he's an idiot.

Berengar: I didn’t know idiocy caused people to bleed from their nose.

Eskel: Me either, I think it's a new phenomenon.

***

Lambert: I know you hate our pranks but stick with me with this one, and I promise you, you will love it.

Eskel: Can you magically make everyone kind, sober, and fully dressed this time?

Lambert: Kind, Sober and Fully Dressed. Good news, everyone! I found the name of Eskel's sex tape.

*later*

Lambert: (wearing a mask and holding a knife) WE OFFER UP THIS VIRGIN, FLESH AND BLOOD.

Eskel: Lambert, I'm not a virgin.

Lambert: (stops) Huh. Life is full of surprises.

***

Lambert: Why is my sword in the refrigerator?

Berengar: You said: “This is really gonna confuse me tomorrow”. Apparently drunk you plays pranks on hungover you.

Lambert: This explains so much

***

Eskel: Why are you speaking in third person?

Lambert: Because I’m so hungover that I don't even want to be myself anymore. What's should I change into?

Geralt: A better person.

Lambert:

Lambert: Try me bitch.

***

Vesemir: Imagine if somebody gave you a box full of everything you lost during your childhood.

Geralt: Wow, my innocence! Thanks for finding this!

Berengar: My will to live! Haven’t seen this in years!

Eskel: I knew I lost my potential somewhere!

Lambert: Mental stability, my old friend.

Vesemir: ...

Berengar: If you are wondering now whether you are a bad parent, then, well, you are.

***

Vesemir: Alright everyone, I have an announcement to make and only have a minute

Lambert: Are you in a hurry?

Vesemir: No, I was just referring to your short attention span. Now, since you won’t be able to contact me for a month, I’ve left a complimentary bowl of advice.

Vesemir: For example, “Lambert, stop doing that!” just applies to everything.

Lambert: Why does everyone assume the worst of me?

Berengar: It saves time.

***

Berengar: To the prick who stole my antidepressants, I hope you're happy now.

***

Geralt: What time is it?

Lambert: I don't know, pass me the beehive bomb we'll find out.

Lambert: * throws a bomb out the window *

Vesemir, screaming from the other room: WHO THE FUCK FIRED THE BOMB AT 2 AM?!

Lambert: It's 2 am.

***

Eskel: So, who will do it?

Geralt: Definitely not me.

Lambert: Shouldn't Vesemir do this?

Eskel: Give him a break. One of us must do it.

Lambert, taking a phone: Alright, let it be, I'll do it.

Funeral home employee, on the phone: You're calling to make arrangements for a loved one?

Lambert: No, actually I found a dead raccoon on the road and figured, if I don't honour him-

Employee: uhh...

Lambert: who will?

Eskel, facepalming: Oh, for the fuck's sake, Lambert!

Employee: uhhhh...

Lambert: Just kidding.

Lambert: So my brother Berengar died.

251 notes · View notes

minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 6 years ago

Text

Ephemera Chapter Eight

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hey guys! This chapter is a little short unfortunately, but that’s because this week is a double update week! On Wednesday at 12 PM (PST), I’ll post Chapter Nine! So please stay tuned for that. I hope you guys like this chapter. We’re getting really close to some...fun developments and reveals so I can’t wait to get there! As always, thank you guys for your support and thank you for enjoying my work! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them! Ah, and links will be added later!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Special update: Wednesday, February 6 at 12PM (PST)

“Wait, wait, wait-,” began Nara, sitting on the counter at Nunchi, Mr. Kim working beside her and me sitting opposite her on a stool. “So you…seduced him?”

My head fell onto the counter and I groaned. “Kinda…,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Did you guys, like,” said Nara, then stopped and cast suspicious looks over her shoulder at her busy father before leaning close to whisper, “do it?”

I coughed, clutching my chest as I turned wide eyes to her. “No!” I shouted, but the Sunday-mid-morning crowd of cafe-goers all gave me similar looks of disdain. I calmed myself and settled my gaze on her with a grimace. “I’d never do something like that.”

“Taking the moral high ground?” she asked with a laugh as she hopped down from the counter to sit beside me. “With a guy who’s only dating you to get to Vante?”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead as Mr. Kim approached with a cup of steaming red tea. I turned to him with a smile and nodded my thanks. “Sujeonggwa,” he said, turning back to his espresso. “Extra honey.”

I took a sip and eased into my seat a little. “I’m amazed you remember that, Mr. Kim,” I said with a laugh as the warm autumn tea slid down my throat.

He hummed in response, broad back turned to both me and Nara. “Your dad told me never to give you caffeine, so I always added extra honey just to give him a hard time,” he said with a chuckle.

I smiled. “Reminds me of my childhood,” I said. “When things made sense.”

Nara pinched my arm and furrowed her brow at me. “Knock it off with that depressing shit, Y/N,” she said with a sigh, fanning her silver hair out behind her. “You should be happy, shouldn’t you? You found his weakness and to top it off it’s super easy to use against him since it’s…well, you.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I said with a pout, warming my hands on the sides of my drink. “But something about it keeps bothering me.”

Nara sighed and turned to face me properly in her stool, posture poor as she met my eyes. “You’re feeling guilty,” she said.

I stiffened, looking back down to my drink with flushed cheeks. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

I turned to her, frowning. “Well what do you want me to say, Nara? That I feel like shit for using someone who’s been using me for months?”

She smiled softly and reached a hand out to pat my knee. “Yeah,” she said. “At least it’s honest.”

“I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, resting my cheek in my hand as my eyes slid to the kitchen behind Mr. Kim where Mrs. Kim was slicing persimmons. “Isn’t this like Stockholm Syndrome?” I asked, mostly as a joke.

Nara laughed. “It’s only Stockholm Syndrome if you’re trapped,” she said, flicking the side of my head with one manicured nail. “Exit’s right in front of you.”

Everyone had been telling me things like that lately. And despite that small flash of bravery with Jungkook, I was still holding myself back. I furrowed my brow as I struggled to put it to words, but the nameless sensation was elusive, impossible to grab.

With a sigh, I simply shut my eyes and shrugged. “I guess…just because someone is bad to me doesn’t mean I have to be bad too.”

“What’re you gonna do?” asked Nara softly from beside me, and I felt her rest her hand palm-down on my back, right between my shoulder blades.

“I’ve gotta tell Taehyung.”

Professor Jung concluded the lecture and shut his notebook, shouting the homework at the rapidly exiting students. Instead of following the flow of bodies like I normally would, I fought past them to find Taehyung. I emerged in front of him, scratching my arm without meeting his eyes. Why was I suddenly feeling so guilty? What did I have to be guilty for? I had to tell Taehyung about it.

Even if it felt like I was betraying Jungkook.

“Oh, hey,” he said with a soft smile from below as he gathered his things in his leather messenger bag. “What’s up?”

“You have some free time?” I asked, finally looking at him properly.

His glasses, which had been broken beyond repair the last time we’d met, were now good as new. Or perhaps, just new. He blinked at me with tender eyes and I tried to return his smile, but it felt stiff.

“Mhm,” he said, standing to join me as I led the way to the hallway. The two of us walked side-by-side for a moment before he spoke up again. “Sorry I rushed out in the morning. I had to get to work.”

I stiffened and turned to him, shaking my head. “No! I’m sorry for staying over after all that,” I said, face beet-red as the embarrassment finally caught up with me. I paused at the building entrance and turned to Taehyung, holding out the large H&M bag I’d folded his clothes into. “Which reminds me, here’re your clothes.”

He took a half-step back and furrowed his brow. “What? You don’t need to return those,” he said, his head cocked to the side.

“These are designer,” I said, shaking the bag. “You can’t just give them to me.”

He shrugged but took the bag nonetheless. I had a feeling it was more to appease me than acknowledge that I was right. “It’s not that big a deal, Y/N.”

“Maybe not to you,” I said, then sighed and shook my head. “But that’s my rent in there.”

“Then keep it,” he said, trying to hand the bag back to me.

Before he could, I slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk, bracing myself against the cold by burrowing deeper into my sweatshirt. Taehyung emerged from inside breathlessly after fighting with other students to get outside and met me on the curb with a frown.

“Seriously, keep it,” he said.

I pushed the bag gently and by accident my fingertips brushed his abdomen. His eyes went wide and he coughed a little, inching away. “Forget about the clothes. I’ve got some news about Jungkook,” I said, cringing at the way his name tumbled guiltily from my parted lips.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide. “You do? In just a few days?”

“It’s been…a long few days,” I said with a nod, sighing as I turned toward campus. “We should go someplace a little more remote. He’s always wandering around here.”

“He’s a student, right?”

“Film student,” I said, sweeping my gaze across the courtyard in search of a bobbing brown bowl-cut.

“Really? Is he any good a filmmaking?” asked Taehyung, pursing his lips.

I went still. Had I ever even seen any films he’d made? Had I ever bothered to ask? Had I truly been so enamored by the idea of him that I never paused for even a moment to figure out who he was? What kind of relationship had this been anyway?

A sham on both sides.

I cleared my throat and made my way down the cement stairs. “Let’s get outta here.”

I sat shivering on a bench, awaiting Taehyung’s return. Once we’d found a quiet place to sit overlooking several weaving Hongdae streets, Taehyung had insisted on buying some of the spicy rice cakes from the vendor nearby. Not keen on interacting with anyone while I composed my thoughts, I opted to sit down and wait. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw his back turned to me, waiting in line behind a couple as they took their sweet time ordering. As if sensing I was looking, Taehyung turned to peek at me and mimed a gagging face behind the couple. I laughed as he slouched and tapped the face of his watch with a frown.

Before I could offer a response, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and fished it out, quick to read the text.

Coconut: u busy?

Y/N: Mhm. Why?

Coconut: miss ur dumb face >:(

Y/N: You saw my dumb face on Sunday.

Coconut: that was DAYS ago

Coconut: i need a recharge

Coconut: i feel…

Coconut: my strength…

Coconut: draining….ack!

Y/N: Stop spamming. I’m with a friend.

Just as Taehyung returned, I pocketed my cell phone with a sigh and turned to him. “Boyfriend?” he asked, eyeing me as he offered me a toothpick.

I took it and speared a rice cake, eating quickly with a frown. “Yeah. He’s shaking me up.”

Taehyung chuckled and nudged the food my way once more. Without a word, I took another rice cake into my mouth. He laughed. “You said you had something to tell me about him?”

I nodded. “I figured out an angle,” I said, but my voice was low and I felt chilly despite the warm rice cakes.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide and he focused on me properly. “You did? How?”

“I had him over to my family home and I saw some texts on his phone,” I said with a sigh. “It feels kinda dirty though.”

“After everything he’s done?”

“Maybe he has a reason.”

“Reason enough to hurt Vante?”

I went quiet, simply watching my lap, before I shook my head and shrugged. “Forget it,” I said, fiddling with my hands. “Doesn’t help anyone to get into an ethical debate.”

Taehyung sighed and nodded. “You’re right,” he said, then glanced at me through his thick lashes. “So…your angle?”

I ran a hand through my hair and met his eyes slowly. “He has feelings for me,” I said.

Taehyung’s brows raised. “You sure about it?”

“Pretty much,” I said, then let my eyes focus on something distant, something not really there. “He’s having a hard time separating his personal feelings from whatever job he’s doing. If I’m a pawn, he’s getting reluctant to use me.”

“So…the angle is to use his feelings for you as leverage?” asked Taehyung. Coming from someone else, I might have thought he was being sarcastic. But his tone was sincere and when I looked at him I noticed his eyes had that same faraway quality as mine.

“Yeah,” I said, still scanning his face. “Even though it feels shitty.”

“It’s what he did to you,” said Taehyung with a shrug. “If he can play that way, so can you, right?”

I nodded. “I guess…I guess I have to, huh?” My phone buzzed once more in my pocket.

Taehyung, likely sensing my hesitance, turned to me and met my eyes. “Remember what happened at the club?”

My heart clenched at the mention of that night and the chilliness in my stomach gave way to something a little warmer. I set my brow. “Yes.”

“Remember that girl you saw?” asked Taehyung.

I met his eyes, the warm feeling going hot. “Yes.”

“How did that make you feel?” he asked slowly, brows low like this was the most serious conversation he’d ever had.

I turned to him. “Made me feel like he was making a fool of me,” I said, remembering the way he’d rushed to the edge of the mezzanine to watch me run away, eyes alight. Remembering Seokjin beside him. “Like they wee all making a fool of me.”

Taehyung slowly smirked. “Well, what if I told you that with this new information, there might be a way to rectify that?”

My back went straight and I eyed him. “Like revenge?”

“For what he did to you, to your pride…don’t you want to show him he can’t treat you that way and get away with it?” asked Taehyung.

I smiled, the thought of it enticing, and met his eager eyes. “You have a plan?”

“Hatching one,” he said, roughly standing to his feet and leaving the rice cakes on my lap. He smiled down at me and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I’ve got a lot of arrangements to make, but-,” he began, a knowing smile on his face that briefly made my heart race, “keep next Saturday free.”

“Next Saturday?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

He nodded. “I think I know how to rattle their entire plan and you’re gonna have to help me.”

My eyes went wide. “I am?” I asked, pointing at my chest.

He smiled and turned on his heel, eager to leave the bench and the street and likely the neighborhood altogether. “I gotta go start getting things in order. I’ll update you once everything’s set.”

“O-Okay,” I said, flushed as the wind whipped my hair around.

And with that he was gone. Quietly, I pulled my phone from my pocket and red over the message. As I did, a slow smile crept over my lips.

Coconut: The same friend who gave you those nice clothes?

He never texted that way with me. Proper punctuation, capitalization? With a chuckle, I popped another rice cake in my mouth and, still chewing, I wrote my response in seconds.

Y/N: The very same :)

Sighing, I pulled my blazer up around my shoulders and met my own eyes in the mirror. This one was snugger than the one I’d left behind at the club. I found at my pumps as they sat in the corner, one knocked over on its side and the other still dirty from running around Seoul with Taehyung. I leaned down to run my index finger along the raised ring of blisters along my ankles and hissed at the tenderness. Resigned to my fate, I grabbed for my heels but out the corner of my eye something caught my attention.

A pair of flats I’d bought for my interview at Gallery V and worn only once, sitting lonesome on the shoe rack.

I stood upright and mused over the shoes. How much trouble would they cause really? They looked professional, and I’d be much more apt to carry heavy canvases and direct tours if my feet weren’t screaming with every step. Cautiously, I picked one up and slid my toes inside. With a sigh, I eased into the comfortable shoe. I grabbed the opposite pump and slipped it on with a wince, my right knee bending to accommodate for the shorter shoe on my left foot. Even without my full weight on it, the shoe made my heel ache, fire shooting from each blister up to my hips.

I stared at myself for a long moment, touching my ascot gently as I thought. I knew Mr. Kwon would have a fit if I made one more misstep. Surely he wouldn’t fire me over shoes, but after the incident with the patron before and my wearing lingerie to work, I wasn’t so sure we were in the best standing. But he was reasonable enough, wasn’t he?

That presupposed I’d have the guts to reason with him at all…

A glimmer caught my attention and I realized with a jolt to my gut that it was the ruby necklace, glittering in the light from my window as it sat on my bedside table inside its case. I took one last look at myself in the mirror before, with a budding smile, I kicked off my heel and slipped into the second flat, grabbing the necklace on my way out the door.

“Thank you for your business,” I said gently with a bow as a patron left the building after buying a painting.

She waved over her shoulder with a grin, her kitten heels clacking against the hardwood. “Thank you for the excellent service,” she said before turning and breezing into the hall.

I smiled and laced my fingers behind my back. Beside me, Areum meandered the floor, occasionally explaining a piece or gesturing with perfect hands toward features in the gallery. Her legs looked long and powerful in her heels, but as she swiveled around to greet another patron I noticed through her nude pantyhose that her ankles were raw and red.

“Excuse me?” said a voice from beside me.

I jumped and turned to see Jungkook standing at my side, grinning down at me. The overhead lights gave his hair a halo and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was an angel. He reached out and tucked a loose hair behind my ear. Perhaps my conversation with Taehyung had really shaken me up, or perhaps something in me was really shifting, but that charming twinkle in his eye did little to move me. Instead, I simply smiled and placed a cold hand on his bicep, leaning close and watching as his skin went pink. All I could see was the image of him holding that girl close on his lap. All I could remember was the fact that he’d spent the weekend with my dad and was still intent on using me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I touched the delicate pendant resting on my clavicle.

He glanced to the photograph beside my head. “I wanted to see you working,” he said, eyes wide as he scanned the print. “This is really cool.”

“Mr. Film Studies approves?” I asked, eyeing him.

He chuckled. “How could I not?” he asked.

He was right. The photo was pretty amazing. Another black-and-white print, the piece featured a windowsill from below, Seoul spread out like wings extending in either direction before disappearing into the harsh line of the pane. Light streamed through in geometric shapes, reaching in from the window to just brush against someone’s hand, resting against white bedsheets. Apart from that shaft of light, near-darkness took up the rest of the shot.

“Vante is interested in natural forms,” I said with a nod, falling into the familiar rhythm of docent and patron. Jungkook marveled at the work with an almost fond smile. “Are you familiar with Imogen Cunningham?”

Jungkook nodded. “Learned about her in my photography class last year,” he said, still unable to look away from the photo.

I smiled. “This picture always reminds me of The Unmade Bed,” I said.

He hummed, crossing his arms. “I see it,” he said as he pointed to the single visible hand. “Like capturing a candid, natural moment.”

“Do you like to do that?” I asked, then wished I hadn’t. Wanting to know more only meant trouble.

“With film?” he asked, wide eyes on me. I said nothing, simply stared at the photo. He smiled and sighed in a way that was nearly wistful. “Yeah. Art is supposed to be mimetic, you know? It should hold a mirror to the world without flinching.”

I stiffened. Since when had he been so profound? I glanced up at him only to find his eyes affixed once more to the print. “The best art does,” I said slowly.

“I’d like to do that,” he said with a nod. “Making up stories about people that could be real, imagining what they might do or say, and then articulating it in a physical space…it’s really cool, right?” he asked, looking at me with a speculative wonder in his gaze that disarmed me.

I swallowed hard and blinked. “Um…ah, yeah,” I said, a breathy laugh following that I wished I kept inside. I scratched my arm and nodded. “That’s pretty grand.”

“I think I have a long way to go though,” he said with a sigh, wringing his hands. “I don’t understand people well enough yet.”

“But you want to?” I asked.

He smiled and nodded, reaching a hand out to adjust the ascot around my neck. “To understand art, you gotta understand human nature,” he said, then laughed and shrugged, still fiddling with my scarf. “But humans are really complicated. I wish I could understand what motivates certain people.”

“Certain people?” I asked, eyes wide and heart fluttering.

He smiled as he finally got the scarf to lay just so and let his fingers brush against the necklace. “This looks nice on you,” he said before returning his focus to the photographs lining the wall. “What else can you show me?”

I stiffened and opened my mouth to respond, but paused as I felt someone approach. Quietly, I turned to see Mr. Kwon standing near my flank, brows furrowed and expression severe.

“Hello, Sir,” I said with a bow, hands pressed against my stomach.

He returned it with a bare nod before sighing. “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asked, terse.

I stood upright and met his troubled eyes. “What is it, Sir?” I asked.

“Let’s not discuss this in front of a patron,” he said, voice low.

I took a step back slightly and blinked at him. “Is it very serious?”

“Quite,” he responded, curt.

I glanced at Jungkook who was avoiding looking at me, presumably to preserve my dignity. But by then, a familiar anger was beginning to take shape in my stomach. “Sir, this is my friend. He’s not looking to buy anything. Please, if you have something to talk to me about I’d much rather discuss it here rather than leave Areum to work the floor alone,” I protested, leaning back.

Mr. Kwon sighed and gripped his nose bridge. “Y/N, you really must learn to respect the dress code,” he said, eyeing my shoes.

There it was.

Something was beginning to splinter in my brain. Perhaps it was my patience. I inhaled sharply and glanced down at my feet. “Sir, I’ve been experiencing a lot of pain in my feet because of the heels.”

He met my eyes and shook his head, vaguely woeful. “I know it’s inconvenient, but we have to maintain a very professional affect.”

I crossed my arms, something I’d never have done even a few days ago, and furrowed my brow. “My shoes don’t affect my professionalism, Sir. In fact, the uniform heels are extremely uncomfortable and likely lower my work performance,” I said, eyeing him. “Significantly.”

“We just had this discussion, Y/N,” he said, his tone tense as his eyes darted around the gallery.

I bit my tongue. I wasn’t usually this uppity. Normally, I’d take the critique and move on. But this time, I couldn’t quite sate my outrage. And as I quietly lifted my hand to readjust my loose ascot, my fingers once again swept over that tiny pendant. And I remembered something Mr. Kwon himself had said to me during our last discussion.

People only have the power you give them.

I stood up straighter and met his eyes in a flash. “The male employees here don’t have to wear uncomfortable clothes to be considered professional.”

“That’s…,” began Mr. Kwon, but he only shook his head and cleared his throat. “That’s not the issue at hand.”

“But it is, Sir,” I said, my protests tumbling freely from my lips as I became more and more enmeshed in my out upset. “It all leads into the same issue. It’s absolutely unfair for the female employees to be held to a higher standard than the men, expected to work long hours on our feet in heels that give us blisters. Even Areum’s ankles are red. This has nothing to do with professionalism.”

He stiffened and furrowed his bushy brows. “Y/N-,” he began, but I shook my head.

“And furthermore, what about my flats is unprofessional? I’m wearing pantyhose as required, my blazer is buttoned in the center, my ascot is angled properly to the left, my blouse covers my chest, my hair is out of my face, and what’s more I just made a large sale,” I said, my words zooming quickly and nearly bleeding into one another. “If I remember correctly, last quarter I made more sales than any of our other employees. Just think of how many sales I could make if I could wear comfortable shoes.”

Mr. Kwon stood blinking at me for a long moment. He wasn’t a bad man. By no means. Just…old school. And perhaps it was time someone taught him a new thing or two. So as he stared at me, and the brief compulsion to apologize and retract my complaints emerged in my brain, I quickly quieted the urge down with a steadying inhale. I crossed my arms and raised my brows, awaiting a response.

Eventually, he closed his mouth and cleared his throat once more, eyes flashing toward Jungkook before resting once more on me. “Perhaps you’re right. It may be useful to begin implementing a more reasonable dress code.” With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway toward his office.

For an infinite moment, I simply stared after him agape, eyes transfixed on his wake as my thoughts ran miles faster than I could account for. My cheeks were hot with adrenaline and, while they still ached slightly from past abuse, my feet felt fine.

“Holy shit…,” said Jungkook beside me.

I was once again aware of his presence and turned to him with wide eyes, finding him marveling at me. A smile was playing with the edges of his lips and there was a fondness in the way he scanned me from above that I wasn’t quite expecting.

“What?” I asked slowly, unable to process even the simplest of thoughts.

He scoffed and rubbed his jaw, cheeks flushed. “That was…,” he began, then shook his head and let out a breathy chuckle.

“Reckless? Stupid? Uncalled for? Rash?” I asked, eyes going hazy as they focused on nothing in the distance.

He was quiet for a moment before, without looking at me, he said, “Hot.”

With my bag slung over my shoulder, ready to brace the hazy autumn evening, I felt a hand gently touch my elbow and nearly leapt out of my skin. Turning quickly, I found Taehyung staring surprised at me in the near-empty break room, his round eyes wide.

I caught my breath and gave him a smile. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked.

He righted himself and released my arm with a soft chuckle. “Ah, just a delivery,” he said, holding an envelope out to me. The card stock was thick, expensive, and had been obviously opened and resealed with a proper wax stamp. “It’s the plan I was talking about,” he added with a wink.

I stiffened and stared down at the thick envelope, running my fingers over it. “So fast?” I asked.

He nodded. “I had to get things together quickly since we’ve only got a week and a half.”

“God,” I said, smiling slowly. Did this envelope truly contain my salvation? “It’s only been a few days. How involved is this plan anyway?”

Taehyung chuckled, like he knew something I didn’t which was probably true. He rubbed the back of his neck with a shrug. “More involved than you’d think.”

“Am I gonna have to do anything crazy?” I asked, my voice hushed, as I scanned the break room and the hallway for any peeping coworkers.

Taehyung placed both hands on my shoulders and forced me to look at him. “Nobody’s listening in,” he said with a smile that briefly made my heart race. “And I’d never ask you to do anything I didn’t think you’d approve of.”

I exhaled slowly and nodded, holding the envelope close to my chest. “Alright,” I said quietly.

Taehyung smiled, nicking my chin with his knuckles, before turning on his heel. “I’ve gotta get back to work, but if you’ve got any questions-,” he began, then stopped and furrowed his brow. “Wait, you don’t have my number.”

I laughed and began fishing my phone from my bag, but Taehyung was quicker. He grabbed my hand and pulled a pen from the pocket of his massive coat, leaning down to get a better look at my skin. Suddenly, I felt flushed. Watching the top of his head as he wrote, I struggled not to squirm under the ticklish feeling of his pen sliding across my palm.

For a moment, I mused from my slightly elevated vantage point. His face was actually very well-proportioned. It was difficult to see past his big glasses and his shaggy hair, but he really was handsome. Perhaps there was something to that old movie trope about the shy girl with glasses becoming a total babe when she took them off.

Suddenly, his eyes flashed up to meet mine and I stiffened. It was almost as if I’d been caught ogling him, like he could read my thoughts somehow, but when he spoke I knew my mind was still safe. “What’s that face about?” he asked.

I sighed and tilted my head to the side, thinking. “You’ve got a really good face,” I blurted, unable to stop myself from saying it.

His cheeks flamed scarlet and he stiffened, taking a step back from me with wide eyes. “I-I-where did that come from?” he asked with a breathy laugh.

I shrugged and glanced down at my palm. He’d taken so long because beside his number he’d drawn a little doodle of himself, big glasses and shaggy hair and all.

I smiled at the drawing before meeting his eyes again. “I’ll save your number,” I said.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright,” he said, then offered a smile and made his way out into the hallway where he eventually faded from my view.

Slowly, I turned my attention to the envelope, pulling it open and fumbling with seeking fingers to find whatever was hidden inside. First, I found a letter on thick paper, bent into a trifold. I gave it a long, slow, stunned read.

You are cordially invited to attend Ori Technologies’ first annual charity ball.

Time: 19:00

Location: Coex Convention & Exhibition Center, Grand Ballroom

Attire: Formal

I gaped at the invitation, struggling to reason with the beautiful, scrawling font, the words that seemed to sit on top of my brain rather than seeping in like oil on water. Once I regained my senses, I returned to the envelope. I pulled out a sticky note, likely from Vante himself and likely the reason he’d opened the envelope in the first place.

Bring a date.

Without any further explanation, I knew precisely what he meant. This ball was the talk of Seoul, and I’d only heard about Vante attending the other day from the radio. So much information was demanding my attention, and yet I couldn’t focus on a single thing.

Except for that note, the thing that made it all make sense.

Without wasting another second, I rushed out across the floor and into the still-open elevator, already planning my route to Jungkook’s apartment.

The commute felt longer than usual, perhaps since I had something so important to do, but after what seemed like eternity, I arrived outside Jungkook’s door. Perhaps I could have called him first, but my brain had been too scattered to think of doing something like that. So instead, I stood slightly out of breath, clutching a wrinkling envelope in my fist as I raised it to pound on his door.

Jungkook was quick to answer, swinging the door open, but his eyes were downcast, looking at something in his own hand. When he lifted his eyes to meet mine I could see he was distracted, like his mind was unplugged from his body.

“Oh,” he said, giving a smile that felt too forced even for me. “Hi.”

I returned it and began smoothing the envelope on my thigh. “Jungkook, I have some crazy news,” I said, unable to contain the excitement in my voice. But what was I excited for really? The ball or what was to come of it? Guilt briefly seized my heart, but quickly fled as I glanced up and saw Jungkook’s expression go dark, brows furrowed. “What is it?” I asked.

He rested a white-knuckled hand on the doorframe, not meeting my eyes as he obviously stewed over something. “Y/N, have you been honest with me?” he asked.

I stiffened and scanned him, searching for anything that might allude to my undoing, but found only frustration in his expression. “What do you mean?”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, turning to face me with knitted brows. “What’s this, Y/N?” he asked, opening his palm for me to see what he’d been holding.

I glanced down and saw, with a shock that stole all the warmth from my body, my student ID sitting perfectly in his outstretched hand.

The one I’d given the bouncer at that club…

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1296

slight trigger warning

In the past year, have you lost weight or gained weight? How much? Gained, for sure - but in the sense that I’m back to my normal, healthy weight. I lost SO MUCH weight post-breakup I can’t even bear to look at photos of me back then. Skin and bones. Couldn’t even wear my clothes properly for a while.

Have you ever seen someone in public who you THOUGHT you knew, but you weren’t sure if it was them? Did you do anything or did you just forget about it? This happens a lot but I never act on it just to avoid any awkward situations. I don’t like impromptu meetings anyway.

What year was the last car you rode in/drove? I wanna say 2014 or 2015 because afaik it had been new to the market at the time my dad got it for me.

How much alone time is too much for you before you start going crazy and want to be around people? Obviously this doesn’t apply anymore now because of Covid, but normally, I like taking a day or two to recharge and that’s usually enough time for me to start wanting to see people again.

The last time you burned your tongue or mouth, what were you eating? Rice.

Honestly, are you shallow? Yeah about some things, like how I don’t have the patience to discuss theories or philosophical concepts. But beyond that I don’t think I would call myself shallow.

Can/could your parents tell when you were lying? My mom definitely can but I’ve noticed she’s not the type to press so she lets it go most of the time. I observed it when she asked about my hickey or the time she saw a packaging for a vape pen in my room lol – she questioned me, I lied (both times) in such a lame way, I knew she didn’t buy it but let me off the hook anyway. Besides clothes, shoes, and accessories, what’s your favorite thing to shop for? K-pop merch lol a big fucking dent to my bank account honestly

Have you ever experienced a natural disaster? (Flood, tornado, hurricane, etc.) Yes, they’re a normal occurrence here.

If you have/had any facial piercings, what side are they on? Any reason you chose that side? If you don’t have any, if you had to get a facial piercing what would it be and what side would it be on? I don’t have any piercings other than the ones on each of my ear.

What, would you say, is your sexiest/most provocative article of clothing? So I have a two-piece set where the top is a literal bralette slash crop top looking thingy. I don’t feel comfortable showing off that much so in the three years I’ve had the set, I’ve only worn the bottoms hahaha. I just pair it with my other tops that suit it.

Do/did you have attendance problems in school? I wouldn’t say so. I rarely cut class from grade school to high school; then in college I always made sure to not go over the maximum cuts I was allowed in a class because doing so would have had an implication on my final grade.

Is there a specific time you eat lunch every day, or is it always different? I don’t eat lunch every day. I don’t eat regular meals at all to be honest. Two days ago, I realised that I hadn’t had a warm meal in two days. My eating habits are really bad. < Yeah, I can definitely relate to the first two sentences. I tend to skip the normal lunch time but I’ll go downstairs to fix up a bowl of something by either 1 or 2 PM, and since I’m also working it will usually take me a whole afternoon to finish it, and by then I’ll be too full to have dinner.

Who’s your favorite non-immediate family member? (Not your mom, dad, or siblings)? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side.

How old was your mom when she had you? Do you want to be older, younger, or around the same age as her if/when you have kids? She was 26 going on 27. Yeah that definitely seems like the ideal age, but I don’t think that’s happening for me considering I’m 23 now and have no interest in being in a relationship again anytime soon.

Does/did your parents ever go through your computer or cell phone? No, but my childhood diary they did.

What song reminds you the most of a particular day in your life? Why is that? Buwan by Juan Karlos generally reminds me of Nacho, but it also always brings me back to a particular morning. It was 2 days after his death, I went to his wake the night before and I was driving to school at like 6 AM since I had a 7:30 that day. I was stuck in traffic and the sky was gloomy and the song started playing and I just allowed myself to let it all out in the car.

#survey #surveys

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eat-pray-and-love · 7 years ago

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Time and again...….A Short Story.

One monsoon in the 1970s my grandfather died. His portrait hung in the pooja room along with the pictures of Gods, demigods and our Gurus. He was sitting on a wooden chair staring quite blankly ahead in the frame. Apparently it was a sketched portrait of an artiste whose name I never got to know. His hair was neatly combed and his forehead revealed a frown that appeared both confused and baffled as if questioning the artiste as to why he needed to sketch him at all. But of course my grandfather never questioned any decisions. He remained silent in the portrait…in death and throughout most of his life. Dadu silently endured the pain from an ailment and even though the house was bursting at the seams with a dozen people, no one even noticed.

In an early memory I am sitting reluctantly with a plate of boiled up ‘death time food’ which the elders called Hobishi….to me it sounded very Japanese. Rukmini will come and eat you up whole , someone says while passing by with familiar ferocity. Most of us were scared of Rukmini . She was maimed and scarred all over, her face distorted after an acid attack, carrying a sack like bag over her shoulders. Stories reveal that her father maimed her in order to enhance the sympathy of passers-by who would drop a penny or two in her aluminum bowl ….a source of income. She was the Francis Drake of our time.

I rushed for refuge to the long window, which gave me an aerial view of the rickshaws waiting in line and their drivers….or should I say pullers. This was my favourite haunt. I considered this window the best place in the house. It even had a jutting inward platform so thoughtfully constructed to allow me to stand and get an elevated perspective of the world below unseen.

Forced into an unwanted afternoon nap, I lay looking at the ceiling with its thick heavy beams clothed in dust and cobwebs. It was in this room that my grandparents started their life with their two sons. There were dusty frames in the room of people standing, a seated woman and many others that I didn’t recognize. My grandparents used to introduce these framed people to visitors time and again.

There was an enclosed veranda with a dilapidated railing and we were forewarned not to lean against or on the railing. In one part of the room lay a bed and in the other part a folded ‘bedding’ rolled up straight along with a jute mat. We were privileged and so occupied the bed. I would play many games with my cousins in that room.

My thoughts wandered from the nooks and crannies of the house to the kitchen which was surprisingly at the entrance on a sectioned off balcony. My grandmother cooked behind a partition dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. The room was never thought of as a kitchen. There was a sack of coal in the corner of the kitchen along with a huge metal drum with a little brass tap and a miniature iron bucket placed strategically below to hold the spill. The misty water in the bucket had to be emptied out onto the open drains nearby time and again.

In front of the kitchen was a make to do dining space. It was definitely different from the modern dining rooms with a rosewood dining table and formal sitting rooms which we strangely called drawing rooms of the house that I grew up in…..in a different part of the world.

In the early years of my childhood, all meals came from this kitchen of my grandmothers. My mother on a yearly vacation, my aunts and others would cook sometimes together, chatting and sharing anecdotes while being assisted silently by Amola.

Amola was a little older than I was at the time. She wore long floral printed dresses. My grandmother found her slow and often caught her unawares smiling to herself, lost in a different world. While mopping, we would exchange furtive glances and in our own way, we found time to be together. Around 4 pm, when the rest of the house was taking a nap, after a sumptuous meal, Amola would come to me smiling and we would play ludo and snakes and ladders on a colourful board laughing and chatting in careless yet hushed whispers, always careful not to wake up the adults. Amola strangely called me Didimuni though that was not my name.

We were happy following this routine for most of the days when quite abruptly she stopped coming to the house. Her beautiful young mother in a saree Amolar Ma as we were expected to call her took over the household chores with equal elan. Amola was to be married soon. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye and often wondered what this new uncertain world of marriage, would have in store for her.

The kitchen had a bottle green cemented floor while the rest of the house had a red coloured flooring. The kitchen was dark with a makeshift ‘’low power bulb’’ hanging dangerously over my granny’s head. It had a low sooty ceiling and coloured platforms with a furnace like oven projecting upwards. The cooking here was done on coal fire stoves which looked like buckets coated with thick clay. The coal that went into it was fanned and blown upon the courtyard outside until they lit to a red glow.

Refrigerators were uncommon and were the preserve of the rich and elite. Vegetables, fruits, fish were bought afresh each day. Most of the fish were bought dead but there were some varieties which were just killed and some fish were bought alive and kicking and put immediately into miniature tanks or large buckets before my grandmother butchered them. There were lengthy discussions about the fish scales, quality, size, price, etc by almost all the adults. We were not allowed to jump or play in the courtyard while the fish were being cut and sliced and finally cleaned by Amola’s Ma. It was too dangerous they said.I went to my cousin’s room. He was always seen ‘matching his routine’ as he said and packing all his textbooks into a screechy aluminum briefcase like thing which had a latch quite different to the light weight satchels that I was used to. He remained serious and silent during school days.

My mother was always observed with gracious suspicion as if her world was intruding unknown strange pastures. This was confirmed with greater fury once she had the audacity of ‘’crossing the 7 seas’’ to live with my father in the UK. She was only trusted with cutting vegetables and every morning she sat with these gargantuan bags of potatoes, brinjal, cabbages, greens etc chopping them up with a knife and on a wooden board as opposed to the ‘’bonti’’and sheets of old newspaper. She was often caught reading these newspapers until someone asked her with an alien firmness’’ do you even cook? What do you eat? Soup bread??? Tinned food?? She only smiled filled with quiet astonishment.

She would sit with these damp vegetables often chatting with her sisters husband who was a frequent visitor along with her brothers from ‘’oi bari’’ or the other house referring to her parents home. They would discuss Tagore, novels of yesteryears, debate on new literature, the changing political scenario, Gregory Pecks performance in The Roman Holiday while I played hopscotch on the red cement floor drawing the grid with an old white chalk. Amolas Ma would remind her to dip the cut potatoes into a bowl of water or else they would turn black she said. My mother looked at her and smiled feeding on her own images in her mind.

There was a widowed aunt who lived in the rear section of the house who would often would come out and help in the cooking or add to the spread with a cooked banana stem vegetable . She was an unacknowledged chef among them and it was only later that I realized that Pishi as they called her was a tenant and had relocated from Benares after her husband passed away. I eagerly watched her apply mustard oil to her hands before she cut the banana stem. She was on a restricted diet forbidden to eat anything other than vegetables and lentils. They told me it was because she was a widow. This connection between being a widow and food I clearly did not comprehend. Somehow it didn’t seem strange or wrong to anyone else.

We were in the last lap of our holidays. My grandmother never came downstairs during the tearful farewells as the taxi approached to take us to the airport. Instead she told my uncle to bring a few ‘’aerogrammes’’ or postal letters as her stock had replenished writing to us. She sat knitting sweaters for us firm as a rock yet tears rolling down her cheek. We later learnt that no one disturbed her or entered her room for a few days after we had left.

As a family we strayed much further away from India making another two countries our home for lengthy periods of time. Today I have two grown up sons …one of them living in Canada. I look forward to having him home time and again…so that he can eat rice, dal with us… with his hands, speak in Bengali, revisit our past….things we sometimes worry he will no longer do after we die.

We did visit Calcutta time and again and took back with us draw string pyjamas , tea …the best of its kind and other things special only to Kolkata as the city is now called. We have finally decided to grow old here.

After an early dinner I read the newspaper….look out of my now familiar window and sit in front of my laptop. I decide to send an email to my son in Canada. Come home son…its been a long time.

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bosstoaster · 7 years ago

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Happy birthday to @ace-pidge! I believe someone ordered some Shunkeith with a side of domesticity. What better way to celebrate than with the AU you helped me hammer out?

Enjoy!

“You’re in a good mood,” Lance commented, leaning forward against the counter. The spray bottle and washcloth to clean off the work surface were sitting out, but a few crumbs still littered the space near the till. Apparently, Hunk’s attitude was more entertaining than wiping up. “Something up?”

Hunk hummed noncommittally as he passed behind Lance, packing up some of the leftovers from the display. It was ten minutes till the bakery closed, anyway. If they got another customer in that amount of time, Hunk would happily pull them back out, but it wasn’t likely at this point.

Watching him in open amusement, Lance poured himself a coffee. “Hm, lemme guess. It’s Saturday, which means we have tomorrow off. And that means you have time to drive all the way out of town, don’t you?”

(Read More Below)

“Guilty,” Hunk replied easily, in far too good a mood to let Lance’s teasing bother him. “I was promised a meal I don’t have to cook.”

Immediately, Lance stilled, eyes wide. “Okay, that’s a nice thought, but last time Shiro brought you lunch, you had me eat it.”

Color stained over Hunk’s cheeks. “I’d already had something to eat that day.”

“Yeah, for breakfast. He managed to burn soup, Hunk. Soup.”

“Keith’s the one cooking,” Hunk finally admitted. “Or, at least, I assume so. I left him a couple of recipes. And I’m bringing dessert, so worse comes to worse we’ll have something to eat. I appreciate that Shiro tries, anyway.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Not enough to eat it.”

“You ate all of it,” Hunk pointed out, putting a lid on the cardboard to-go box full of pastries and scones. “Can’t have been that bad.”

“I just added salt until I couldn’t taste the burning,” Lance offered. “It was definitely that bad, though.”

Hunk nodded, nose crinkled. His boyfriends tried so hard, and Keith was really coming along. But neither of them really had a passion for cooking and baking the way Hunk did.

Honestly, Hunk appreciated the effort they put in. Despite their lack of personal interest, they started to learn because they knew Hunk loved it. Keith was damn good at prepping ingredients, and Shiro had at least developed a vocabulary to match Hunk’s (mostly from watching cooking shows on youtube).

They wanted to encourage Hunk’s passions, so they kept trying.

The happy mood came bubbling back, until Hunk’s feet felt like they were barely touching the ground. He moves to the few tables they managed to fit in their little shop, wiping off the tables and turning over the chairs. Apparently giving up on teasing, Lance finally wiped down the counter and worked on prepping for Monday morning.

At 6 PM on the dot, Lance marched over to the door and flipped the sign to closed. “Go on and head out.”

“Hm?” Hunk looked over, brow furrowed. “Not yet. I still need to wash off the baking sheets and bowls. I’ll be out soon.”

“No, you’ll be out now.” Lance tugged on the strings of Hunk’s apron, with the casual disregard for personal space that came from being childhood friends. “Go have dinner with your boyfriends. You don’t get to see them enough as is. I can wash the bowls up.”

Eyes widening, Hunk bit his bottom lip. “You really don’t have to do that.” Even as he said it, he pulled off his apron, folding it over his arm. “It takes long enough for two people.”

Lance scoffed and waved him off. “It’s one night and I don’t have plans. Just remember this at New Year’s when you’re drawing up my salary.” He grinned, nudging Hunk with his elbow.

“How about I give you a day off soon?”

“I’ll take that too.”

Hunk finally gave in, pulling Lance in for a tight squeeze. “Thank you so much, man. Just let me know what day you need off.” He hooked his apron on it’s spot next to the coffee machine and picked up his box of goodies, practically bouncing with each step.

Lance smiled back, watching him with open amusement. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, lover boy. You’re too much for my single heart to take.”

“It’ll come if you stop trying to force it,” Hunk pointed out, for the thousandth time. Lance ignored it just as habitually. “Alright, I’ll see you Monday.”

Waving him off, Lance turned off the front lights, then rolled up his sleeves as he headed back into the kitchen. Grabbing his jacket, Hunk stepped out into the sunshine.

One of the benefits of owning a bakery was that peak hours started and ended early. At first, Hunk had gamely kept the store open later, and they still bothered on holiday weekends. But it just wasn’t worth keeping the lights on and paying Lance to work those late hours, so Hunk had learned to close up Bread and Butter a little earlier.

Plus, it meant he got home plenty early to have a nice, relaxed dinner and get to bed at a decent time.

Well, at least, that was the plan on some days. Not today.

Beaming, Hunk pulled out of his parking spot and headed for the highway.

***

Marmora Orchards was located just under an hour outside of town. Keith had assured Hunk on several occasions that it was really a 40 minute drive, and he suspected that Shiro had made it in slightly over 30 minutes at least once. Unlike the both of them, though, Hunk thought speed limits were mostly meant to be obeyed. He’d never been in an accident and never gotten a ticket, and he didn’t plan on changing that.

Even if the idea of getting to the orchard that much faster was very tempting.

When Hunk pulled in, the sun was just starting to dip past the treeline. He grabbed his box of goodies and took a deep breath, simply enjoying.

It was nice to be outside of the city. Honestly, Hunk knew that if he asked, Keith and Shiro would happily come out to him. They did often enough, and their schedules were just more flexible.

But Hunk loved being out here. The clear sky, the lush trees, the floral scents in the air. All of it was so much more relaxing than the constant movement and noise of a city.

Part of Hunk was quietly wondering how feasible it was to move out here and commute to work. Probably not very. He started his day too early to have to drive an extra hour each way, and it wasn’t like Hunk could afford to keep the store closed more than he already did.

Still, one day. Maybe. Assuming everything stayed on course.

Hunk gave the heavy oak door a cursory knock before he let himself in. Already, he could hear the sound of unfamiliar voices, and experience let him know that Keith was listening to podcasts as he worked. “Hello,” he called, stepping inside.

“Hey!” The podcast shut off, and Keith trotted into the hallway before Hunk could finish taking off his shoes. Keith held out his hands, taking the pastry box, then went up on his tiptoes to greet Hunk with a kiss. “How was the drive?”

“Quiet,” Hunk replied. “I saw at least two people pulled over though.” He arched a pointed brow at Keith.

Snorting, Keith kissed him again, cutting off the familiar bickering before it could start. “Glad to hear it. C’mon in, you can supervise my cooking if you want. So far nothing’s gone wrong. I think.”

Hunk smiled down at him, overcome by a rush of fondness. Keith’s hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, several strands curling up messily as they pulled free of the hair tie. Judging by the size and ratty state of his shirt, it was probably one of Shiro’s surprisingly numerous band t-shirts. Hunk had yet to recognize a single logo, but when pressed, Shiro had been able to pull out actual CDs of every one of them, so he was forced to admit they weren’t jokes. There was a splatter of something on his cheek, so Hunk raised his thumb to wipe it off and taste it. Tomato sauce, it seemed.

Blinking at him, Keith crinkled his nose and tried to look down at his cheeks. “Was there something on my face?”

“Not anymore.” Pressing a final kiss to the top of his head, Hunk nodded upstairs. “You both in for the night?”

“I am. Shiro was still out, last I checked.” Keith pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text.

The jacket draped over the back of one of the living room chairs gave a suspiciously timed buzz.

Groaning, Keith dug until the pocket and pulled out Shiro’s phone. “Damn. Hey, before you get those shoes off, you mind going out back and pulling him from his babies? If he doesn’t have his phone, he’s definitely lost track of time.”

Hunk nodded agreeably, shoving his heel back into his shoe. “Alright, sure.” He shot Keith a soft smile. “You’ll be okay unsupervised for a few minutes more?”

“I’ll manage.” Keith rolled his eyes, but he grinned. “Or, if I don’t, you’ll be able to hold it over my head all night long.”

Huffing out his amusement, Hunk stepped through the hallway. “I’ll take your word on it. Be back in a few.” Opening the door to the back of the house, he slipped out and into the fields.

Luckily, Shiro’s section of the field wasn’t too far back. Marmora Orchard was several acres of land, dotted with apple trees and blueberry bushes, and walking the whole way took nearly twenty minutes without interruption. But Hunk could already see the human figure wandering from box to box on the top of the hill.

As he got closer, Hunk pulled his jacket closed and zipped it up, then pulled out the hood. On the wind, he could hear Shiro’s voice as he talked to himself, and the low buzzing of his bees.

“Now where is- there she is. Hello, Your Majesty. Careful there, don’t want you getting hurt. I think your hive wouldn’t be too happy with me, then, would they, Aeryn?” Shiro continued to chatter as he opened the frames of his bee boxes, brushing the creatures away casually, as if they weren’t perfectly capable of turning into a buzzing swarm of pain. He wore his obnoxiously bright pink gloves and the white mesh hat, but otherwise he was just in a pair of jeans and a familiar hoodie.

One that Hunk had left behind, last time.

He’d be upset, but it was hard to be mad, watching Shiro. He was just so peaceful out here with his bees, soaking up the last of the warm weather.

“If I get that back and it’s sticky from honey, I’m not going to be happy,” Hunk called, smiling softly.

Shiro started slightly, then carefully put the frame back as he waved. “Sorry, I was wearing this one and forgot to switch out before I went to work. I’ll wash it.”

Remaining a safe distance away, Hunk watched as Shiro closed the box back up and carefully checked himself for clinging bees. Then he pulled off the mesh hat and headed over at a jog. Hunk held out his arms in greeting, and he beamed as Shiro grabbed him in a warm hug.

“And why were you wearing my hoodie in the first place?” Hunk asked teasingly.

Shiro pulled back and cupped Hunk’s jaw. “Because it smells like you, and we miss you when you’re gone all week.” With that, he leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss.

Eyes closed, Hunk leaned gratefully into the kiss, his lips curled up in a smile. He missed them too, and he knew they felt his absence when he was gone.

But it was really nice to hear anyway.

“Well, if you’d had your jacket, you would have known when we texted you to come in,” Hunk teased, his hands finding Shiro’s hips.

Shiro paused, eyes wide, then patted over his pockets. “Oh. Oh! Sorry. Yeah, I lost track, or else I would have been there to greet you.” He gave Hunk another peck. “Though, while you’re out here, you want to give the bees another go?”

Biting his bottom lip, Hunk considered. Honestly, the entire idea of interacting with the hives still made him deeply nervous. He loved the honey Shiro’s bees produced, and they’d elevated some of Hunk’s recipes in a way that had local foodie blogs handing out glowing reviews.

But they were still insects and they still made that awful buzzing noise and they would still hurt if Hunk startled them, and when he got nervous he started to jerk his hands around or bounce on his feet, which would only annoy the bees, which would make Hunk even more nervous-

On and on.

Sighing, Shiro kissed between Hunk’s brows, soothing away the growing wrinkle. “Hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to. I just thought you might want to try. If you want a bee box on your roof for easy access, you’re going to need to be more comfortable with them.”

Hunk nodded, lips still pressed thin. “Lance said he’ll look after them,” he pointed out, but it was a weak argument. The bees were living creatures, and Hunk needed to be comfortable keeping an eye on them if they were going to be staying on the roof of his bakery. He could already hear the reviews and imagine the business he’d get from having honey produced on site, and it would make it simple to sell Shiro’s jars from the counter.

But-

Not today.

“Maybe in the morning?” Hunk offered, by way of compromise. “Right now, I really want to go have dinner and cuddle with my boyfriends.”

Shiro’s expression immediately softened. “I do too.” He pressed their foreheads together, then finally pulled back and offered his hand. Hunk took it eagerly as they walked down the hill back to the house.

As soon as they stepped in through the door, Shiro took a deep breath and beamed. “Smells great, Keith. You sure you didn’t sneak out to a restaurant and order take-out?”

Pausing, Keith turned around and arched a brow. “Is that a compliment to my cooking or an insult to my honor?”

“Definitely a compliment.” Shiro stepped out of his shoes and walked up behind Keith, resting his chin on the top of his head. He reached out, probably to get some of the sauce on his finger, but Keith smacked his hand with the spoon. “Ow! Hot!”

“You were about to poke the stove, don’t complain to me about hot.”

Shiro grumbled disagreeably, and brought his hand to his mouth where Keith had hit. He licked up the splatter of sauce, then beamed. “Oh, it tastes great too. Good job.” Then he dropped a kiss on top of Keith’s head.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Keith agreed, pride clear in his tone. He turned and offered the spoon to Hunk. “Did I do your recipe justice?”

Stepping over, Hunk took the tip of the spoon in his mouth, then beamed. “Perfect! You did a great job with the spices. Tasty and with a kick, but not overpowering.”

Keith’s smile grew, his eyes crinkling along the edges. “Yeah? Good to hear. Should be just about done, then. Set the table for me?”

“Sure thing.” Shiro gave him another kiss on the cheek, right under his eye, downright radiating pride. He reached over Keith to take a handful of plates, then moved so Hunk could follow after with cups.

As Shiro started to set the table, he spotted the to-go box resting in the center. “Oh, hey. We were supposed to be cooking. Or, Keith, was. I chopped some onions, which almost counts.”

“That counts,” Hunk assured him. “And those were just the usual leftovers from the end of the day. They’ll go stale just sitting around in the display, so I might as well bring them.”

Shiro hummed dubiously, but he still popped the cardboard top to peer inside. “Oh, you have the lavender and honey cookies!”

“Made from wildflower honey I bought from a strange man wandering around in a field,” Hunk offered, grinning.

Beaming back, Shiro started to reach for one, then groaned and pulled his hand back. “I shouldn’t have looked,” he bemoaned. “It’s so tempting. Your cookies are too good, Hunk.”

“I know.” Hunk chuckled, going back to placing the cups by each plate. “You want water?”

“I’ve got it,” Shiro replied. “I need to get out wine glasses, too. Dr. Holt recommended a bottle last time I was over, and this is as good a time to open it as any.”

Keith looked over from the stove. “How’s work coming on the new box?”

“Slow,” Shiro replied. “Which, really, I can’t blame them. Pidge and Matt are so in demand, and I can’t pay what the big tech companies do for their time, but they won’t let me take it over.”

“They like helping you out,” Keith offered. “Besides, you don’t need another yet anyway.”

Shiro hummed and disappeared down the hallway. A minute later he came back with a wine bottle and a corkscrew. “I know. But Janeway’s hive is starting to get pretty big. One of these days they’re going to split, and I want to be ready to go.”

“I could help build it, if you want,” Hunk offered. “I know I don’t do as much engineering these days, but I can probably be trusted with hammers and nails.”

Blinking, Shiro perked. “That’d be nice, actually. I don’t think they’ll let go of their project, but we could get one of the standard models and build it ourselves. Save the high tech one for later.” He gave Hunk a significant smile.

Hunk colored under the look and ducked his head. Honestly, he needed to decide one way or another Shiro hadn’t pushed him to make a choice, and he had told Hunk time and again that if he wasn’t comfortable, that was totally fine. But it was such a good opportunity, so Hunk kept dangling Shiro along with maybes.

He’d decide soon. Just not tonight.

Instead, he moved to the cupboard and pulled out wine glasses, offering each to be filled, then settling them next to the water. “It’d be a fun project. I don’t have time to build much anymore. I’ve missed it.”

“Sure,” Shiro replied, accepting the topic being brushed off without so much as a blink. “Maybe one weekend you can take a Saturday and we’ll just take our time putting it together.”

Chest warm, Hunk imagined pressing together to read those tiny sheets of instructions, the last hints of warm, summer sun beating down on them. Building together while watching Keith tend to his trees, maybe starting to pick the first few apples of the harvest.

It sounded perfect.

“I’ll let you know when,” Hunk replied, smiling. “If I can’t manage to take off, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.” Shiro kissed his cheek easily. “Worse comes to worse, I can drive the truck out to you, and we can spend one of your Sundays working at it.”

And miss the sunshine and Keith and the harvest?

That was the reality of Hunk’s schedule, and he appreciated them being flexible around it. But that didn’t mean Hunk liked it.

“Alright,” Keith called. “Ready to eat?”

Shiro snatched his hand away from the dessert box. “Yes, please!” He picked up his plate to go serve himself. “Whatever you want, Hunk. Remember that.” He gave Hunk’s shoulder a quick, warm squeeze as he passed.

Hunk wanted-

Hunk wanted a lot of things, if he was being honest. But mostly he wanted more nights like this, with good food and loved ones. He wanted to not be so far away from his lovers, so the creeping thought of ‘do they really need me?’ would stop crawling up after a few days of being apart.

But right now?

Right now Hunk just wanted dinner and to kiss his boyfriends.

That, he could have.

***

Later, his stomach wonderfully full of Italian food and his own baking, Hunk watched with heavily lidded eyes as the couple on screen had their dramatic end-of-act-two fight.

One one side of him, Shiro was tucked securely, his head on Hunk’s shoulder. He’d drooped over halfway through the movie, and Hunk expected the snorting to start any minute. Despite the warm weather, he still hadn’t taken off Hunk’s hoodie, so he was putting off a surprisingly amount of heat. The fingers of his prosthetic curled in slightly, hook around one of Hunk’s belt loops in a way that promised an accident later, but Hunk couldn’t bring himself to untangle them.

On the other, Keith watched with contented fascination, as if he didn’t know damn well how this movie was going to end. He had one of Hunk’s hands over his own, and he idly traced the lines of Hunk’s palms with the fingers of his other hand. It must have been a few months since he cut his hair last, because the inky strands managed to dangle all the way down to Hunk’s collar bone.

This wasn’t everyone’s idea of a perfect night. Hunk knew damn well that Lance would have plenty to say about them all drifting off before ten. He saw his boyfriends once a week if he was lucky, and he was going to spend it sleeping instead of having enthusiastic sex?

But there was time for that tomorrow. Even if they didn’t end up sleeping together, Hunk couldn’t say he minded. He loved sex with them, but that wasn’t why he spent time with them.

Being cuddled between them, Shiro’s breath ghosting along his jaw and Keith’s fingers rubbing circles into his palm, was why.

“Hey,” Keith murmured suddenly. He picked up his head enough to glance at Hunk, eyes soft and serious. “Let us know if Shiro’s bothering you about the bee box thing, okay? I know he’s hard to say no to.”

“He’s not,” Hunk promised. “I don’t feel pressured at all. It’s kind of him to offer. I know how protective he is of his bees.”

Humming his agreement, Keith settled back down. “Yeah. That and- well. We want you to have something of us while you’re in town, you know? It’s hard when you’re gone so much, but it’s nice to think that you have reminders with you. There’s a lot of distractions for your time out there, after all.”

Oh. Hunk hadn’t thought about it that way. “I miss you both too,” he admitted. “It’s hard, not being able to do this whenever I want to. We make do, but...”

Keith nodded, not needing him to finish the thought. Instead he kissed Hunk’s shoulder. “We’ll be there if you need us,” he said. “And if you want to come out just for dinner, that’s fine.”

“I know.” Hunk leaned his head over, resting it on top of Keith’s. “I’ll keep thinking about the box. I just have to accept the idea, I think. It’s a good one. And I do have you with me in town. When I bake with your apples or berries, or with Shiro’s honey, you’re with me.”

Pressing his palm to Hunk’s, Keith smiled against the skin. “I’m glad to hear it.” He paused, fingers twitching. “Love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but each time it sounded like an effort to Keith. It was clear those weren’t words he threw around often.

Just for Hunk and Shiro.

“Love you too,” Hunk replied. “Love you both.”

He closed his eyes, letting the heat of them soak into him. The movie continued to play, dramatic and predictable as ever, as the couple raced against an arbitrary clock to mend their relationship.

It wasn’t like that for them. There was no dramatic misunderstandings (not anymore), no plots and secrets (Hunk hoped, anyway).

There was just the three of them, and the hours they could take to spend together, and the hours they counted to be reunited.

One of these days, Hunk would figure out how to balance those two times better.

For now, this was enough.

#Voltron #BT Writes #Shunkeith #Will post on AO3 later today

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gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years ago

Text

【Draft】Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 1: The Quiet Kid in Class

Here’s the draft of my original piece of fiction. It’s here for backup purposes.

Enjoy.

Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side.

(Unknown)

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

Here's my first-ever original work I conceptualized from scratch. Hope you all like it. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 1: The Quiet Kid in Class

***

Somewhere inside Our Lady of Fatima School in Mandaluyong, Metro Manila...

Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Azrael. Or was it Uriel?

'Those were the Four Archangels, right?' the young 14-year-old boy by the name of Florante Galang thought, talking to himself in his mind as the rain poured all around him.

What a dreadful month this had been.

Anyway, Michael or Mikhail was the most famous archangel whose name meant "Who Is Like God". He was the greatest of God's angels and the most godlike of the four. With his flaming sword, he was the seraph who ultimately cast the angelic traitor Lucifer out of Heaven and into Hell.

Meanwhile, Raphael, Rafael, or Israfil was the archangel whose name meant "God Heals" or "God, Please Heal". The healing angel who bound the Archdemon Azazel under a desert called Dudael. The Angel of Life and Healing.

Then there was Gabriel or Jibrail. His name meant, "God Is My Strength". The strongest warrior angel of the four. The seraph that was closest to the humans who regularly appeared among prophets and holy persons. He was the Angel of Strength and Righteous Power.

Azrael or Samael, meanwhile, was the archangel whose name meant "Angel of God" but actually had the reputation of being more of the "Angel of Death". He was rumored to be the angel who killed all the firstborn sons of the Egyptians during the time of Moses as part of the Seven Plagues of Egypt.

In Jewish mysticism, he was even considered the embodiment of evil. The most demonic of the archangels who never fell from grace.

Some contend that the fourth angel of the Four Archangels was Uriel instead of Azrael, whose name meant "God Is My Light". The archangel responsible for "changing" the Orb of the Sun as the day wound down from morning to night. The Solar Angel.

Those were the strange thoughts swirling inside Florante Galang's brain for whatever reason as he stared breathless at the strange apparition of a goddess(?) with an hourglass figure, porcelain skin, and growing white wings waltzing across the long hallway of the entrance to Fatima School.

Who was this? What was this? Why was this...?

Actually, he felt like he'd been walking in that same hallway towards the exit forever until that point, with no light at the end of the tunnel. Only a black nothingness that stretched on forever, interrupted by this strange being of light before him.

The only light he could see was from this strange being before him that triggered his flight-or-flight response for merely existing.

She also sported huge dove wings on her back that spread behind her like a long white feathery banner. As though she were a valkyrie or something. Or an angel.

Were her angel wings what made him think of the Four Archangels?

He should've been thinking about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph instead, to be honest.

'Susmaryosep!'

He sometimes wondered if he was seeing the same things through his eyes that the rest of the world was seeing. After all, everyone could see color but couldn't describe them, so there was no way of knowing if the red he sees was the red other people see.

Maybe there was something wrong with his brain. His mother did say she was tempted to have him take an autism test. However, the cause didn't matter. It wouldn't change the effect.

He stood there, transfixed by her gorgon stare and her tall, svelte body. She strode, her form appearing inch by inch with every gliding step.

The feminine silhouette emerged from the shadows, revealing the horror underneath the silken black cloak of darkness.

She said nothing, but he could feel the malice in her every movement.

Her skin gleamed like pearls in the moonlight. A sensation grew inside him inexorably, rising from his stomach to his throat as he felt his soul claw its way out of his body in anticipation and dread.

Was she a "White Lady" or a vengeful spirit from beyond the grave? Was he being haunted on this rainy day (or night)?

His gaze focused right into the shining, mesmerizing eyes of the goddess staring right back at him.

Beguiling. Alluring. Dangerous. It pushed all his buttons, confusing him.

So what the hell was he looking at?

Was it delirium that made him see a strange woman that reminded him of angels instead of the embodiment of death before him?

A Biblical angel. Both awesome and awful.

She... not that gender mattered to angels... said, "Do not fear, child. It will be over soon."

She approached him with every bone and muscle from her swaying body twitching visibly under her skin.

His delirious mind going blank, he asked the apparition her name.

"Who are you?!" he asked, when he should've instead said, "What are you?"

The pitter-patter of the rain grew louder and louder. The wind blew hard, tousling his thin bowl-cut hair.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor. Prepare to die."

Oh no. Is she for real? What did he do to deserve this? How did she know his name? Her voice began to sound familiar though.

Was this the end of the line for him? More importantly, did it matter?

The juxtaposition of beauty and beast almost drove him mad. Like a surreal dream that melted into a formless nightmare. Or perhaps vice-versa.

The haze in his mind then cleared. He recognized who that person was. She was someone familiar. Even in her transformed state he could recognize her face.

She then flew towards him with dove wings and the speed of a man jumping from a skyscraper and falling to his death towards the cold, hard pavement.

Faster than he could even fathom or wonder why she was named after the Angel of Healing instead of the Angel of Death.

His life then flashed before his eyes.

***

Florante Galang's story was a typical one (apparently).

The awkward teenage boy who couldn't make friends. The absent-minded weirdo. The outcast who lived in a world of his own. The nerd who loved anime a bit too much.

'You've heard it once and you might as well have heard it a thousand times before.'

How'd he know he was such a stereotype? From the movies and TV shows he'd watch or the books he'd read. He was the "blank slate" awkward kid in such stories. The default.

Perhaps even the background character. Otherwise, a subject of mockery or wish fulfillment.

They were stories made to appeal to someone like him, after all. Or mock someone like him.

He was not someone people wished to be but what they usually ended up as from the start. An ordinary fellow that sat in contrast against the special ones. The greats.

Most everyone in Fatima High School had their own cliques and social circles, but most who studied there had formed them since grade school.

Because he was a socially inept loser and he transferred there as a freshman, he never had a chance to form bonds with most anyone.

He was, in short, the new kid in school, who then became the quiet kid in school.

'Ugh.'

Even his mother, whom he had a complicated relationship with due to their countless shouting matches and arguments that had her shaming him for being a disrespectful smart aleck (in not so many words), was the one person he was closest to than anyone else on earth.

Yes, even the closest person to him was never on the same page as him.

His mother. The woman who kept admonishing him for misbehaving and putting fear in his heart every time she grabbed a shoe or one of his father's belts (his gentle father himself never laid a hand on him) was also the person he interacted with the most.

Him and his family originally hailed from Makati but moved to Pasig around the EDSA (Epifanio de los Santos Avenue) Revolution. He could barely remember his time in Makati because he stayed there when he was 3 to 4 years old, and he only started really forming memories at around 4 years old.

He could barely remember anything about his previous residence in Makati except maybe that one time he allegedly fell down the stairs as a toddler.

He'd become acrophobic ever since that happened even though he could barely remember the event.

Every time he walked on an overpass or at the higher floors of the mall, he had to move himself far away from the railings and he never looked down, feeling a tingle from head to toe until he got back down to earth safely.

However, the phobia he had over heights was nothing compared to the dread he felt when going to school.

His family, the Galangs, arrived in Pasig around the time Manggahan Floodway... an artificially constructed waterway in Metro Manila... was first built.

He had spent most of his childhood in Pasig, watching his mother and father invest in half of a bungalow that they then slowly built into a whole house over the years by saving up for it.

His memories were hazy, but he did remember when he was about 6 or 7 years old that every Friday, from 7:00 to 7:30 PM, ABS-CBN Channel 2 would air the show, "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles".

TMNT originally aired in the U.S. from 1987 onwards while ABS-CBN went back on air in 1986, right after Ferdinand Marcos was deposed. ABS-CBN got the program later on at a time when local channels imported programs about 2-3 years late.

Nonetheless, he distinctly remembered watching it at that timeslot when he was a kid.

Even before that, he vaguely remembered watching programs of his youth that helped shaped him and his imagination, from Voltes V to Bioman and Maskman as well as Voltron and Saber Rider and the Star Sheriffs.

He remembered playing with clothespins and putting them together to form his own Voltron toy.

Programs that made him dream of a time he could become a hero himself, his imagination looking like a vague hodgepodge of pop culture references and shows he watched from childhood to his teenage years.

His father was a curious man. The Galangs had ashtrays all over the house but they were never used. He used to be a heavy smoker but he quit around the time Florante was born.

Florante never met the cigarette-smoking version of his dad, who judging from old pictures, was a thin hippie with long 1970s hair and pants to boot.

His Dad also regularly waited for him with their family car, a Mitsubishi Lancer, to take him home during the first few weeks of school. His school service wasn't ready yet and he didn't know how to commute to school as of yet.

To the good people of Pasig, his father was Engineer Galang. To Florante, he was the home tinkerer. He fixed everything in his home from leaky kitchen pipes to Florante's broken toys.

Even if was something as simple as super-gluing the broken arm of his toy Bioman toy... Blue 3, to be more specific... his father would do it.

It felt relaxing and comfortable to drive around with his father back and forth to school, but Florante took it too much for granted in retrospect. The man had office work to attend to as well.

Then again, Florante was a bit of a sheltered spoiled brat who didn't know how to commute to and from his home. He depended on his father or a school service to take him back to his residence.

Regardless, the jeepney service soon came through and his father was free to go straight to work instead of being bothered by driving his son from home to school and back again.

The thing Florante missed the most when being driven by his father was the small, inconsequential talks they had about life, school, and the future.

Small talk about what he wanted to do when he graduated high school, what his career would be, where his passion lay, and if his love of drawing and art could lead anywhere.

They also talked about what sort of games could or couldn't be played on his work laptop (Duke Nukem from Apogee, apparently). Or how Florante should stop sleeping with his work laptop in his room, replaying the Simpsons After Dark Screensaver program.

Or whatever happened to that floppy disk (the really big and floppy ones) he had containing a videogame involving a cat that might've been custom-made by one of his coworkers.

Florante also discussed with his father his dreams of becoming an animator who worked at Disney and the like.

He was even closer to one of his older sisters, the one closest to his age. The middle one. His other sister, the eldest of the three siblings, was the one with the strong, abrasive personality. The aloof eldest sister to her two younger siblings.

The middle sister was the one whom Florante talked to the most.

She was usually as meek and kind as a sheep yet sometimes as stubborn as a ram. She was the one he told his made-up stories about angels and demons. The plot he wanted to turn into his own comic book or manga or anime TV show.

He, like many other teenaged boys his age, wished he could draw or write his own stories. After reading snippets and summaries of Dante's Inferno and Milton's Paradise Lost, his mind went running wild regarding the prospect of a series about angels.

God's so-called messengers.

This was why he knew so much about the Four Archangels. He researched about them for the sake of writing his own (fan) fiction using "original" characters.

Sure, his middle sister might be patronizing him by listening to his puerile action stories of super-powered beings duking it out that she'd soon forget a day or two later, but he appreciated her effort in listening to him regardless.

Also, as lame as it sounded, making that story in his head into reality as a comic book or TV show (and making money off of it) was his biggest dream for the longest time. Again, it was a typical childhood fantasy from someone who regularly obsessed about cartoons and comics or anime and manga.

Meanwhile, he didn't have anyone to talk to at school at all. He had no friends at school. He was a friendless loser.

He could talk about almost everything to his father and sister. However, he couldn't talk about "that".

He wished he could talk to them about the bullying and shunning he suffered from school but he was too embarrassed to do so. He was already 14 years old. He should be able to handle things on his own by now.

How could he possibly reveal that he got bullied so bad that he had to act as his own snitch to the teacher just to get them to stop?

Had a teacher not seen the bullying firsthand and told his bullies to cut it out, he wouldn't even have the list as his means of mitigating the flow of abuse from what seemed like everyone.

Even then, he had a hard time making friends with any of his classmates regardless. His social life was dead. He could only make friends with his fellow "Dead Kids" and nothing more.

***

Fatima Grade School and High School of Mandaluyong was also right beside a church, since it was a Catholic school that was founded by Franciscan capuchins.

The church sat atop a hill with a steep, sloping road wherein cars can drive through. The parking area was at the foot of this hillside road. Right below the church was the back of the canteen—the kitchen area—and outside of it was a bricked walkway full of tall trees and what little dirt they were allowed to grow on.

The unexpected benefit of enrolling in Fatima School was the nearby shopping malls. They were within walking distance. Florante was no mallrat but he regularly made a beeline to these malls every dismissal time. He went there to kill time while waiting for his school service to take him home.

The actual entrance of the school was a narrow hallway with concrete pillars and seats enclosed within a chain link fence. The security guard's job was to check your I.D. before letting you inside. Right beside the walkway a separate glass door entrance to the Faculty Room and the Principal's Office for Fatima Grade School.

You needed to travel further within the campus, past the quadrangle, open-air basketball courts, tennis court, soccer field, and tree-lined park in order to reach the L-shaped high school building.

It rained that day, so he had to walk on the covered walkways to spare himself from the muddiness of the soccer field and the wetness of various puddles on the concrete ground.

It was a proper, well-funded private school. With the ached looks of his parents at the start of the year where they had to pay the tuition fee, Fatima should give them their money's worth.

Inside the high school building, beyond the muddy floor mat and within the vicinity of the hardworking custodians mopping up the soppy shoe prints of the milling students, everything was nice, warm, and dry.

Or it would've been nice, warm, and dry had the air not been so muggy. This sort of humidity was to be expected from the Philippine tropics.

What wetness he left behind on the floor mats he could feel from under his collar.

He had felt his breath gradually creep towards hyperventilation as he approached the door to his section. He then held his breath while following two of his classmates through the door.

At any rate, here he was. Back to hell he went.

There was mustiness from the hallway that reached all the way to the classrooms.

This gloomy air all around him reminded him of his first day in Fatima High. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

***

During his first day of school at Fatima High...

His enrollment into Fatima High School was a bureaucratic blur.

He had gone through the motions of waiting in line in a small, brightly lit office in order to get his papers containing his schedule before being directed to his classroom.

At the time, he pulled his hood over his face (he wore a hoodie since it was cold) as he walked through the dour campus full of milling, bright-eyed teenagers and kids, thankfully blending in with the rest of the crowd before being "outed" as a transfer student.

He was an introvert though, so he couldn't muster the courage to talk to any one of them as they all formed their little cliques and social circles.

Meanwhile, he ended up in the company of total strangers because he was the new kid in school.

Regardless, he used the map given to him at the faculty room along with instructions on how to get there.

He checked the room number on the paper slip that the office gave him, and then checked the names on the list pinned on the board hanging on the door. Sure enough, he found his name there.

This was the right classroom.

He took a deep breath (perhaps more of a prolonged sigh) before opening the door to his classroom.

The people in front of him were chatting it up, their school bags beside them. They had no lockers to speak of even though they were supposedly a private school.

He glanced at the multiple gatherings of unfamiliar faces, identifying only two of boys as students he'd seen during enrollment.

With a gulp, he held his own bag in his arms and clutched it close to his chest like a pillow. Or a security blanket. This was a move taught to him in order to avoid getting his bag snatched in places like Divisoria in Quiapo.

His eyes traveled further across the room, avoiding the gazes of the students around him and only looking directly at them if they were staring elsewhere. Otherwise, he ended up staring at the floor or his shoes instead while his head was bowed.

Since the first day of school was a time when the seating plan hadn't been planned out yet by their designated advisor, he silently searched for a seat at the back while other students who were a mix of graduates of Fatima Grade School and newbies like him started to mill inside their classroom like herded sheep.

It was there that he met her. A girl with silky long black hair and a shy smile.

The bell rang with such franticness that like in a game of "Trip to Jerusalem", he ended up sitting down on a seat right beside her.

***

Their homeroom teacher, some forgettable 40-year-old guy serving as their class advisor, did a roll call on everyone present.

He waited and raised his hand when his name was called. He then made a mental footnote to wait for the name of the girl beside him to get called.

Philippine private high schools, unlike those from the U.S., had classes held in the same classroom for the same section instead of multiple classrooms with assigned subjects and teachers.

It was the teachers that moved from section to section and room to room instead of the students. The latter setup where students went to Math or Science class was more of a college thing in the Philippine Islands.

In between classes and within the same room they'd been staying in the whole day, Florante attempted to chat up the pretty girl he ended up sitting beside with, first by introducing himself and then calling her by her name as revealed by their homeroom teacher.

Her name was Laura Reyes, by the way.

"So Mandaluyong is a lot different than Antipolo, huh?" he asked her after she mentioned where she was from. My, their school sure was a long way from her home!

"Very different," she said, not quite looking at him.

"The roads there go high up on an incline, right? Since you're near the mountains or something," he added, referring to the highlands where Antipolo was located. "Must be a long, tough commute."

"I guess," she replied vaguely. "Well, not really. It takes about 30 minutes if the traffic is clear. It's not that far away."

"Oh. Okay," he said before both went silent once more.

Uh-oh. He was running of topics to discuss with her. Dammit.

She wasn't quite giving him the cold shoulder, but she wasn't the one keeping the conversation going either.

Also, he couldn't believe Laura of all people didn't know about the tale of "Florante and Laura" by Francisco Baltasar or made the connection between their names when he joked about it earlier.

Or maybe it was for the best that she didn't, since making such references to a stranger you just met was kind of cringe-inducing.

Someone else cleared their throat. 'Her' throat.

"Hey, Laura!" said the bespectacled girl in front of them as she did a sideway glance at the two. "Who's your new friend?"

"Oh. Uh, this is... what's your name again? Flor?"

He sighed then said, "Florante."

He winced whenever people shortened his name like that. "Flor" was a girl's name, for goodness's sake!

"Oh, sorry. Florante it is." Laura smiled at Florante vaguely then turned towards the other girl. The cute one with the glasses.

Laura and the bespectacled girl had an easier time with their small talk, presumably because they attended the same grade school and weren't transfer students like he was.

He also couldn't help but feel like the other girl was giving him a wary side eye. He hoped it was his imagination. The last thing he wanted was to look creepy to the girls on the first day of school.

"...Nah, I'm staying with some relatives in Metro Manila," Laura replied to the nerdy girl asking her the same question Florante did earlier regarding the commute from Antipolo to Mandaluyong.

"Oh really? Cool. I'm from Makati," the nerdy girl replied.

Now wait a second. Why did Laura answer her question but when he asked the same thing, she didn't tell him about staying with relatives in Metro Manila? Ugh, this girl.

Beautiful as Laura was, she was also quite rude!

She didn't need to pretend to be nice to him. If she didn't want to talk to him, she could've just given him the cold shoulder like many of the girls from his old school!

"Hey, Flor!"

"It's Florante," he automatically corrected before noticing it was the girly nerd who beckoned him by name. "Uh, yeah. What is it?"

"Where are you from? What class were you back in Grade 7? Or are you an accelerant from Grade 6?"

"Accelerant?" he repeated. He was familiar with the term.

The girl later explained that when at Grade 6 or 12 years old, a student with good enough grades could skip Grade 7 and go straight to first year high school as an accelerant.

He clarified, "No, no. I'm a transfer student. This is my first day at Fatima."

"Right. Welcome to Fatima High, then!" the girl with the glasses said. "The name's Jenny, by the way. Jenny Tolentino. I'm an accelerant from sixth grade."

He nodded absently. "Florante Galang," he reintroduced himself to this mousy girl with short hair, noticing her baby doll face behind coke-rimmed glasses for the first time.

She looked of East Asian descent, but Florante couldn't for the life of him tell if she was part Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. Chinese was a safe bet.

***

The rest of the morning of his first day in school passed in the same fashion as before: With him engaging in awkward small talk with either Jenny or Laura that was interspersed with introductions, note-taking, and discussion of lesson plans galore.

The homeroom teacher had Florante, several other transfer students, and "accelerants" from Fatima Grade School introduce themselves in front of the class full of Grade 7 graduates who already had their own cliques and friends by now.

His social anxiety got him to stammer an introduction to the class, blush tomato-red, and trip over himself on his own two leather shoes as he made his way back to the seat.

He cringed and didn't meet Laura's eyes. He looked so uncool.

They then had their next class with a strict middle-aged woman for a mathematics teacher covering one of the most boring subjects of all time.

Their advisor and home economics teacher was a young woman straight out of college by the looks of it, dealing with her first teaching job and showcasing a strong aura of "substitute" teacher even though she wasn't one.

Her name was Cathy, if he recalled correctly. Or Miss (Cathy) Estrella. She was kind of cute, if a bit goofy and had a tendency to pronounce her Ls as Ws like Barbara Walters or Elmer Fudd.

After three classes had passed, he began recognizing several of the faces in their first-year section.

More and more people ended up talking to Laura even though she herself was an accelerant from the sixth grade amongst mostly seventh graders. She was particularly popular among the boys in the group: No surprises there.

Her beauty hadn't only caught Florante's eyes, apparently. The rest of the class's male population wanted to talk to her. Even the females wished to chat her up as well. She had that aura of friendliness around her.

There were several brave enough to ask her about how much she liked Fatima High so far and why she decided to go there instead of a school closer to Antipolo. Maybe even an all-girls school.

Most of her answers were mostly terse and diplomatic, like with him.

She did reveal to Jenny that she already went to an all-girls school in elementary, which was part of the reason why her parents had her transfer to a co-ed one: To help her become more prepared for a co-ed college life.

This then led him to curiously tell Jenny, "Hey, I thought Laura and you were accelerants with how buddy-buddy you two were acting. But didn't you say you were an accelerant?"

Jenny shrugged. "I am. But I met Laura earlier when our families came over to school and paid the tuition fee on the same day. She's a nice gal." She then whispered to him, "She's cute, isn't she?"

He turned away, his hand holding up his lightly blushing face while his elbow rested on his desk. "She's all right," he mumbled.

He heard Laura giggle at Jenny and say, "Hey, I'm right here! Don't talk behind my back!"

Jenny herself laughed. "No, we weren't! We were talking right in front of you! We don't backtalk! Right, Flor?"

Florante forced a smile at the Chinese-looking girl and nodded.

The Galang boy then got a better look at the nerdy Jenny. Aside from those huge tinted glasses that looked almost like goggles and seemed to belong in the 1970s, she had short, neck-length curly hair.

She wasn't bad looking herself.

She talked to both him and Laura in between subjects and lessons, but mostly to Laura, who at least talked to her in return and wasn't as evasive with her answers as she was to him or the other boys in class.

Jenny acted more like the nice girl she described Laura as, at least.

As for him, he could only smile and nod as she prattled on in between classes and teachers, telling Laura about the Fatima campus. He didn't try to keep up and figured he'd learn more about Fatima on his own.

During lunchtime, Florante ended up sitting at the far end of a full lunch table with Jenny and Laura along with several of their other new "friends", their classmates.

Florante forgot their names as soon as they spoke them, his mind focused more on Laura.

He debated to himself whether she was waving him off the same way she waved off the boys who were probably hitting on her back at their classroom.

One of their classmates, he did remember.

The one who brought up the "Florante and Laura" connection they had that made Florante's eyes light up, only for his shoulders to then slump when he turned and saw Laura tell the guy off, "Gross! Stop fooling around, Gerry! I just met him! C'mon, you're embarrassing Flor!" with a giggle.

'Gross'? Aw, come on, Laura!' Florante thought to himself, his heart sinking while he did a nervous chuckle at the cruel joke. Did he actually gross out Laura after all?

Laura and "Gerry", the jester who brought the "Florante and Laura" connection up, then laughed at the thought, all the while reassuring Galang that they were just kidding.

"No hard feelings, bro," said the tall guy named Geronimo "Gerry" (pronounced "Jerry") Jacinto who made the joke in the first place. Florante did his best to laugh things off, hiding his quivering lower lip with his hand.

Galang took a good look at the smart aleck who brought the subject up.

This person was the size of a tall rock with the mind of a sock. Comfortable to wear but once taken off, easily lost. He was also the kind of man who looked like he'd spent the last decade worrying about his penis size.

No, no, Florante was being needlessly mean to the jokester. He was big, tall, and had a huge head. Not exactly a good-looking guy but a witty and confident one. Also, among the boys there, he seemed to have the most rapport with Laura, if not the most memorable one of the bunch.

Gerry was more of a "Florante" to Laura than Florante was. Although they just met, they were already getting along famously.

On the bright side, he was glad he never made that Florante and Laura joke to break the ice with Laura.

As the chatterbox Jenny talked the ears off of the crowd of boys and girls surrounding Laura, the withdrawn Florante saw them arrive at the cafeteria.

"What are those weirdoes doing anyway?" someone at their table asked.

***

Sitting at the corner of the cafeteria, as far away as possible from where Florante Galang and Laura Reyes's group sat, were these pale-faced, dark, and brooding Fatima High students.

The term "Goth" was more of an American trend than a Philippines one, but that was the best way to describe these people.

'What was their problem?' Florante thought to himself. He wasn't the only one staring holes at those people though.

They weren't gawking at Laura, unlike most other students of the first year class of St. Francis of Assisi and even other classes.

Instead, everyone ended up gawking at them for a change, including Galang and Reyes.

By the way, in Fatima School, all of the sections were named after saints. Florante belonged to First Year St. Francis. As for those other people, he overheard Jenny stage whisper to Laura, "They're from St. Valentine, right?"

One of Gerry's friends confirmed, "Yeah, some of them belong to St. Valentine," referring to First Year St. Valentine of Rome.

There were five of them, four boys and one girl. They weren't talking to each other. They weren't eating either, with each of them holding trays of untouched food.

Apropos of nothing, Galang noticed they were an eclectic and diverse group from multiple high school years.

The shortest male of these Fatima students had spiky hair standing up like a black bush or a shadowy fire. He was also the most boyish one of the group.

Another one, the girl, had hair in a bun with side bangs as long as her back ponytail. She was about the same height as the bush-haired boy and had an almost elfish or pixie-like quality to her smallish face, body, and gait.

Still another, the one with the tanned skin and brusque physique, had shades colored light enough for him to claim they were glasses. Not only did he wear shades indoors—he also sported a jacket indoors too.

The happiest, smiley-faced one of them with the long, thick hair just also happened to be the palest one of the group, even though both the girl and the "midget" boy had alabaster skin themselves. He also looked like a serious weightlifter for someone supposedly so young.

Finally, there was the really tall, lanky young man. Taller than Gerry. Skinny as a rail yet as tall as a basketball player. Maybe 6'9". Maybe even seven feet. He might as well be eight feet high from the looks of him and his lengthy arms and feet.

Look at the height of that human being. If he was a human being.

However, there were in the Philippines with a height average of 5'1" so he was probably just 6'5" or something.

He definitely didn't appear like a high school student for sure. More like their guardian or butler. "He looks old for a freshman," remarked Florante.

Gerry himself corrected, "Tanga (Stupid)! Only the midget and girl are from St. Valentine. The rest are from different years. Celestino is a fourth year student."

Florante frowned but did not dare glare at the bigger Jacinto.

Instead, he repeated the name, "Celestino..." as his words trailed off while he stared the tallest student of the weird bunch.

Now that he got a better look at him, he identified that this Celestino person had half-Caucasian or "mestizo" features.

He might not even be half but full Caucasian by how white he was and how sharp his nose got.

He might even be of Spanish descent, which was a sought-after attribute among Filipinos, whether they wanted narrow noses that were "matangos" as opposed to flat noses or "pango".

It rooted from the colonial days of the Philippines when it was a colony of Spain for 300 years then of the United States of America for almost 50 years. The foreigners intermarried with the natives, and their half-white, half-Spanish, or half-American offspring tended to be treated better than the rest by society.

It came to the point that looking like a mestizo by surgery and skin whitening procedures resulted in better treatment by everyone else at large, which in turn led to such appearances being part of the standards of Philippine beauty.

It was "Colonial Mentality" in action, if you would.

Then again, if Celestino hadn't been born with that (Spanish?) family name of his, Florante would've sworn he picked that name himself because it sounded cool.

Speak of the devil, as Galang said the name, Celestino suddenly met eyes with him.

Celestino initially had shut eyes that opened into narrow slits and seemed to glow underneath his bangs that formed a curtain of hair over his face.

Florante balked at the tall, scary dude with gangly limbs and a weird stringy hairstyle that parted to the side and formed a bobcut with hair moving outwards from his head like antennae, giving his head a diamond shape.

Celestino looked at Jenny for a second before his sharp eyes flickered back to Florante.

Florante looked away first, a flush of crimson embarrassment making him drop his eyes with a shudder.This also had him almost bump into Gerry, who then jibed, "Oooh, does someone have a little crush on him?" with a pat in his back like the asshole that he was.

Jenny herself giggled with an unsure smile, looking at Florante as she asked, "You okay, Flor?"

Galang nodded to Tolentino with a nod. When the ruckus was over and people stopped staring at the strange "circus" troupe, Florante stole glances at all the five strange high school students.

Aside from the shortest kid of their group and the pale-faced girl, the rest of them looked like they could be college students instead of high school ones, or even outright teachers around the same age as Ms. Estrella. Or even older.

Even the shorter people of their group looked a bit too old to be freshmen or high schoolers. Like they were 30-year-old actors playing the role of teenagers in a Hollywood high school movie or something.

Just as they were different they were also the same in a strange way.

They were walking contradictions of themselves in terms of their inhumanly beautiful appearance that verged on the uncanny.

Uncanny because they looked like the airbrushed or manipulated photographs on a fashion magazine. Or walking paintings from the Renaissance. Perhaps even sculptures shaped from marble, silver, or bronze.

Aside from the tanned "moreno" or "kayumanggi" one that served as the black sheep in their white-fleeced herd, they shared chalk-pale alabaster skin that bordered on being albino, dark eyes with shadows underneath them, and gangly limbs that matched them more with each other than their high school uniforms.

They looked like they hadn't slept a wink for weeks or months. In fairness, all five shared perfect, straight, and angular features carved straight from marble.

Who did they remind Florante of?

"They look like The Addams Family," whispered Gerry to his friends, which had them erupt in laughter.

To Galang's chagrin, he agreed with Gerry. Took the words right out of his mouth, even.

He himself might've said, "Children of the Corn", but he doubted that present company would even be familiar with such a reference.

However, their appearances weren't the reason why Florante couldn't look away from them.

He felt something familiar about them. Déjà vu, perhaps?

They group of five then looked away from them. From all those stares.

They looked away from one another and from the other students. Like there was a bird or a plane in the distance that caught their attention had there not been a wall or a ceiling obstructing their view of the sky.

The girl rose from her seat, her tray of untouched food and unopened soda remaining still as she walked away with a stride and sashay of a model before she glided up the steps of the exit, her silhouette across the light permeating from the outside creating ghostly afterimages behind her.

Florante's eyes darted back to the four remaining males, who sat like statues or students posing for a group picture. Unmoving. Like the famous painting of The Last Supper at another angle.

After a couple of more minutes, all four of them left the table altogether in unison. They strode with the grace of dancers or athletes, including the muscular one.

The one named Celestino never looked at Florante's way again. Like he was a bug who was below his notice.

He'd later learn their names. The short guy and girl of the same age were fraternal twins: Kalantiaw and Dalisay Hidalgo.

The bronze-skinned one with the shades was known as Alonzo Estanislao. The extra pale, extra jacked one with the creepy smile and caveman hair was named Jacob "Benjo" Benjamin.

Finally, the tallest, lankiest, and oldest one of them was called Francisco "Kiko" Celestino.

What strange, old-timey names. The nicknames sounded about as goofy, cutesy, and silly as a typical Filipino nickname, but the actual names themselves sounded old. Almost ancient.

From the Year "Nineteen Kopong-Kopong", almost. Or a time before the Philippines went from a Spanish colony to an American colony.

***

Florante Galang remembered how his eyes flickered back and forth from his worn leather shoes to the table where those five weirdoes sat during his first day of school at Fatima High.

He wanted to learn more about those—for lack of a better term—Gothic or Goth kids who wore jackets and trench coats in the tropics unironically.

They didn't have a name for their "gang", but the rest of the school did.

They were called the Dead Kids mostly to make fun of them and their cringy, pretentious lifestyle. Like the way they sat around and didn't really eat during lunchtime.

He wanted to ask more questions about the Dead Kids and their gangly cult leader Celestino, but both Laura and Jenny were themselves newcomers to the school and Gerry intimidated him.

He'd eventually get additional information about them through word of mouth and small talk from the rest of his classmates as the rest of the school year unfolded.

Like info on whether or not they'd always lived in Metro Manila, Mandaluyong City, Cainta City, Quezon City, or Pasig City all this time. Maybe they moved from Makati to Pasig like his family did.

They'd apparently been around since last year. They were transfer students.

Last year, Celestino was immediately moved to his third year in high school, Estanislao and Benjamin entered first and second year respectively, and the fraternal Hidalgo twins joined them only this year as freshmen in high school.

Because the Galangs themselves recently moved to Pasig, Florante was unaware of how recently Celestino himself moved in town.

Rumors had it that they were all foreign exchange students, hence their half-foreign looks. The only one who remotely looked native Filipino was Estanislao.

The rest looked like the typical half-Chinese, half-American, half-Latino, or half-European models Florante would see on television. Come to think of it, the tan Estanislao could be half-Mexican or half-Moroccan for all he knew.

After all, the Philippines was itself a melting pot of cultures, with it being a colony of both Spain and America for years. Even centuries, in the case of Spain.

Regardless, he felt a curious surge of relief and pity for these beautiful people. As pretty as they appeared, they were considered as the outsiders of Fatima High. They were perhaps even ostracized or bullied by the rest of the student body.

Something that Florante could relate to.

The way the people around them reacted to their strange mannerisms reminded Florante of how people back in grade school treated him for being such an asthmatic crybaby.

He was relieved he wasn't the only newcomer in Fatima. And he wasn't the most interesting spectacle among all the newcomers to arrive in the high school either, so everyone's bullying was more "spread out" and such.

Thank goodness.

As the first quarter of the school year neared to a close, Galang started moving predictably further and further away from the Reyes and Jacinto group for various reasons.

He started eating more and more by himself instead of their group.

He could barely talk to any of those quick-witted smart alecks, except maybe Jenny, who probably talked to him out of pity or to help him save face. Or maybe because she was just that talkative.

During one of those numerous lonely lunch breaks, as he gazed as the supposed Dead Kids, he froze as one of them... Kalantiaw this time around... looked up and met his gaze.

At the time, Florante was actually staring at the cute wallflower Dalisay, who did remind him of Wednesday Addams from the Addams Family, only for him to get caught snooping by a set of sharp, angry eyes of a certain midget brother. The Pugsley to Dalisay's Wednesday.

Those eyes shooed him away from staring any further at the cute Goth chick sister.

Dalisay's twin brother didn't appreciate all his staring. If looks could kill, the short boy with bushy hair had flying daggers for eyes.

'Ow, the edge.' What would that midget do to him anyway? Chop him to bits? Burn him to ash? All with a stare? Jeez.

As sarcastic as Florante's thoughts were, he still stood down from the stare down like the little bitch that he was.

Come to think of it, what sort of name was "Kalantiaw" anyway? It was almost as pretentious of a name as Celestino, but at least Celestino was a family name that was passed down for generations.

Kalantiaw's parents didn't have the common sense to pick a better name for their son that wouldn't lead to teasing and bullying.

Ah, but Florante quickly realized that wasn't one to speak about being called names, teasing, or bullying. It wasn't as if he could pick on the shorter kid in real life or anything: Only in his mind.

As his wandering eyes returned to the group, he noticed that Estanislao was also staring at him. his glance holding some sort of unmet expectation.

'Oh no, not this again,' he thought, afraid of a confrontation with the Dead Kids.

He quickly ate the rest of his lunch when he should've eaten the rest of the bitter words swirling inside his head, deciding to wander around the bleachers or the tree park near the children's library where he sometimes hung out (alone) as well.

However, the lithe and agile Estanislao caught up with him.

"AH!" Florante yelped.

"Hey, you know it's rude to stare, right?" Alonzo said to Florante.

Galang gulped, stuttering, "S-Sorry, I won't do it again!" cringing as he said the words.

The taller second year student with sunglasses smiled at the shy kid. "I heard of what happened to you and your classmates. Must have been rough, huh?"

Florante's lower lip trembled, his gaze not meeting Estanislao's, only for him to meet the piercing stare of Kiko Celestino.

The "leader" of the Dead Kids had the strangest expression on his face. A furious, almost hostile one. What did Florante do to deserve such a look?

He noticed that Celestino's eyes were as pitch black as midnight in the deeper parts of the province. In places where urban development had not yet started and electrical posts, much less lamps, were at least 30 minutes away.

Bewildered, Florante looked away again in time to almost stumble face-first into the canteen floor. He caught himself with the assistance of Alonzo grabbing him by his arm.

"Whoops. Careful there, kiddo," the shades-sporting lad said. Strangely enough, Florante could hear the "grin" in his voice. "You don't want to add ammo to all your classmates' teasing of you, do you?"

Unbidden, a flashback of him playing alone in the playground while the basketball varsity team snickered at him miming Rambo putting on his red bandanna flashed in his head, making him shudder and cringe.

A basketball varsity team that included the promising tall freshman, Gerry Jacinto.

He shouldn't have done it anyway. He looked stupid, playing by himself, pretending to be Rambo in the intro of his cartoon series (he never saw the actual R-rated movies).

"SorryIwon'tdoitagain," he mumbled in one breath, apologizing once more just short of doing a Japanese bow and backing away.

"No need to apologize for that," Estanislao reassured, letting go of Galang before lowering his polarized sunglasses and giving him a cheesy wink. "But remember, Flor Contemplacion, I've got dibs on Hidalgo's sister."

"I wasn't...!" Florante said, wondering how he knew his name (kind of) when this was the first time they had talked, but Alonzo cut him off.

"You sure, Flor? Hidalgo caught you staring. Better watch out for him. And me."

As the Dead Kids again left as a unit and barely dug into their lunches, Florante surprised himself by calling out to Estanislao, "My name is not Flor! It's Florante!"

'Flor is a girl's name,' he added to himself.

***

As luck would have it—whether it was bad or good luck was anyone's guess—Florante ended up in the same club as three of the Dead Kids.

He had decided to be part of the Art Club for this school year.

The others elected to go to other clubs like the Computer Club or the Science Club. There was even a Literature Club, which was where Benjo and Kiko ended up in.

Oh sorry. Benjamin and Celestino. Why was he thinking of them in such familiar terms? He barely knew them.

Regardless, the Hidalgo twins and Estanislao ended up in the same club as Galang.

The thing about high school clubs was that anyone could join them regardless of their year. Whether they were freshmen, sophomores, juniors, or seniors (or first to fourth year) of high school, they could mingle in one class as long as they passed the initial exam.

The Art Club had the motherly figure of Mrs. Marisol Mancenido as their advisor. She looked 20 years young even though she was actually forty-something.

Her approach to proctoring the Art Club was encouraging, hands-off, and motivational.

Her "detractors" would probably claim she was too soft on the kids with the way she babied them and let them do anything they wanted in the Art Club for the sake of their "creative freedom", but she had no such detractors at Fatima High.

Everyone in the high school loved Mrs. Mancenido. She was like a Filipina Julie Andrews mixed with a young Gloria Romero.

She was the nicest teacher Florante had ever met. This was probably why he ended up in the Art Club in the first place despite having no talent in art to speak of.

It was his way to get away from First Year St. Francis. Away from the withering, cold looks that Laura gave to him after she rejected his romantic advances.

How embarrassing.

After all the nice things he'd done for her, like help her with errands like getting her photographs developed or hold her lunch tray out for her, she ended up rejecting him.

If she never saw him that way, then why'd she take advantage of him and turn him into her gopher or something? It wasn't fair.

Then again, the only connection he had with Laura was that their first names coincidentally matched the names of the romantic couple in a Filipino literary classic. The Philippine equivalent of Romeo and Juliet.

With that in mind, he found himself longing for the companionship of another female. Perhaps another one who'd also reject his advances, but at least she was much nicer about it than Laura.

Ah yes. Dalisay Hidalgo.

The Goth chick with the surprisingly soft-spoken voice.

He introduced himself to her in the clubroom one day, saying, "Hey, I'm Florante Galang. I'm from Section St. Francis."

She looked at him and nodded with a thin-lipped not-smile, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Hello. I'm Dalisay Hildago. From St. Valentine."

"Oh okay. Hi."

"...."

So he barely knew Dalisay and it was apparent by their awkward silences when together.

Perhaps starting with a more platonic relationship with Dalisay was in order, yes? He should learn from his mistakes with Laura. He was never popular with the pretty girls. They found him either too wimpy or too creepy.

However, an obvious obstacle kept him from getting close to Dalisay.

First, there was her overprotective brother Kalantiaw. Second, there was another guy from their "friend circle" who was also after her.

They should lay off of him, man. He only wanted to be friends with Dalisay, for goodness's sake.

'Susmaryosep,' he thought, remembering the way his mother would say the same thing whenever she was frustrated before he continued with the current Art Club activity they had for that day.

They had to make their own painting using watercolors. He frowned at the way he used too much water, nearly ripping the bond paper he painted on.

Meanwhile, Dalisay's brush strokes were all clean and perfect, like her. The way she instead used black-colored paper and white paint was a stroke of genius on her part.

Nevertheless, he kept concentrating on his work and stopped himself from peeking occasionally from the screen of his hair bangs at the mysterious yet lovely girl next to him.

This was because during the whole class, he could feel the same girl's brother not relax from his stiff position on the edge of his seat, sitting as far away from them as possible yet telescopically staring holes at them like a hawk hovering over his prey.

A tiny hawk but a hawk nonetheless. Or an angry rustling black bush.

He then peeked at Kalantiaw, regretting his decision immediately.

His crimson eyes glared back, making him feel like a newspaper left out in the rain. A messy sopping pulp not even fit for wrapping around dried tinapa (Filipino smoked fish).

As he flinched away from the male Hidalgo, slinking back against his chair's backrest, Mr. Cool Kid with the tan complexion and sunglasses lounged right behind them (since there was no set seating plan).

Alonzo Estanislao was quite... smiley that day for some reason.

What an insufferable bunch. Was it too much to ask for him to make friends with one pretty girl?

The school bell then loudly rung, which made him jump. From there, the trio of Dead Kids was out of their seats. They fluidly rose and turned in their work to Mrs. Mancenido.

He stared blankly at them, with Dalisay giggling at whatever weird remark Alonzo said, only for the taller kid with sunglasses to strangely reel back from the glaring short, petulant kid brother between them.

They barely talked to Florante and yet he felt more comfortable around them than he did most of his classmates in St. Francis of Assisi.

He had his suspicions on his first day of school, but the first-year class he ended up in was a whole class full of bullies and class clowns. Galang was more often than not always the butt of their jokes. Especially when it came to Gerry Jacinto.

Gerry made fun of everything about Florante, from the way he dressed with an unironed uniform to his old undershirt being practically see-through and threadbare that one time they were changing to their P.E. uniforms during gym class.

Jacinto was so mean. It wasn't fair.

Florante felt more at ease at the Art Club than in his own class and with his classmates.

Regardless, he started gathering his things and turn in his own almost finished work.

He suppressed the anger and frustration that filled him inside, fearing that his eyes would tear up and then one or several of his classmates would notice their redness, leading to more bullying and teasing.

Or he tried his best to do so. For whatever reason, his tear ducts were linked to his temper, which made his angry outbursts come off as tantrums.

He had no other outlet for his resentment. Dammit.

***

In fairness, it was kind of his fault why the boys (and it was mostly boys) from his section were bullying him extra hard.

The outcast of First Year Section St. Francis ended up doing something he shouldn't have done to their class idol Laura Reyes earlier that year

He cringed, wishing again that the ground would swallow him up as he remembered the embarrassing thing he did.

One of his bullies dared him to draw Laura from memory, which in and of itself wasn't so bad. However, in his desperation to win over his classmates, he ended up drawing her in the nude.

Well, that wasn't exactly what happened. Perish the thought.

They had dared him to do it and he teased doing it by drawing a rough sketch with blocky shapes for her body that looked nude but was actually just how artists "built" a drawing through sketching.

Like drawing a circle first before drawing the rest of the face. Or drawing a "nude" body first before drawing the clothes.

However, one of them told (snitched to, really) Laura about it and she caught him red-handed with what looked like him drawing her nude.

"Ew. That's gross, Flor. Stop that."

"N-No! You got it all wrong, Laura! It's not what it looks like...!"

No amount of frantic explanation was enough to keep Laura from thinking Florante was a disgusting pervert, and he even had to explain himself at the principle's office afterwards when several teachers got involved in the mess.

Naturally, the many admirers of Laura Reyes dog-piled him for his cringe-inducing antics, even though it was all his bullies' fault for making him draw Laura nude and then telling on him.

Ever since then, his bullying got so bad that he had to list off names of those who bullied him to get some of his teachers to intervene.

His listing of names mitigated the bullying but made making friends in his classroom or outside of the Dead Kids difficult due to his reputation as being a snitch.

He was looked down upon for snitching on bullies he couldn't fight back against.

***

He wished he was dead. To end his suffering.

If only he could die in the place of someone else. Someone he loved. Like family or friends. Even a lover. A girlfriend. At least that would've been something noble. He'd be a hero. Instead of a bully victim.

What if he died for nothing? What worth would his life be then?

If he were to die now, he wished he could die a nobler death.

However, from his experience of having deaths in his family, death was almost always sad or embarrassing. Nothing remotely romantic, gallant, or dignified about it.

Also, a lonely, sheltered teenaged boy like him had no one to love romantically, to be honest. He barely had friends at his new school, even.

He should've never moved from one school to another. If only his old grade school had a high school to graduate to. It just got worse, though.

For most of the first and second quarter of the school year, he opted to sink deeper and deeper into his Art Club activities with his kind-of friends (more like acquaintances) known to the rest of the school campus as the Dead Kids.

The Art Club tasked them to do any sort of major project for the class as their final test, be it a children's book or comics. Florante opted for comics.

He drew the comics on his sketchbook. On the back of his notebook. On any sheets of paper he could get his hands on. He copied characters and backgrounds from published comic books and posters before he felt confident enough to create designs of his own.

He mixed and matched the clothes he copied from his big sisters' fashion magazines unto the characters he made that he based on the shows he watched and the people he interacted with.

He even drew comics made of stapled-together scratch bond paper from used printouts, drawing at the blank parts of the paper with pencil sketches and panels made with rulers and whatnot.

Not just for the Art Club. But for himself. For fun. For the attention it got him every time he drew someone's favorite anime or cartoon character.

He even featured some of his, well, acquaintances, and classmates in the scratchy, sketchy comics he made with sparse backgrounds and honestly questionable anatomy.

It was his only way of connecting with people, since he was such a socially awkward kid.

Because they belonged in a quite religious high school founded and funded by Franciscan Capuchins, the superheroes and protagonists of the comics Florante made were all based on Christian mythology, particularly about angels.

He got the idea of making comics about angels one day after reading "Paradise Lost". Or the condensed CliffNotes study guide version of it since he didn't have a copy of the original book and he found reading passages of the poem to be quite boring.

It was part of the series of CliffNotes available in Fatima High's library, which also included novels like "The Pearl" and "Canterbury Tales".

Inside "Paradise Lost" (or its complete summary, at the very least), he learned about the four most famous angels. Archangels, to be exact.

He fell in love with the idea of angels battling demons through the centuries, from the infancy of man to the present.

He also read about demons since every angel needed a demon to fight, right? Even though demons and angels were two sides of the same coin.

He then incorporated many of his classmates in his comics. He even dreamed of them becoming angels and demons in his so-called works.

Some of the characters were his friends, the Dead Kids. Others were his acquaintances and classmates he knew of but barely interacted with. Many of them were his bullies portrayed as antagonists. As demons.

It served as his way of coping. His only method of venting.

He dreamed of the stories concerning all of them in their angel and demon forms and then put them to paper. Even though some of the girls in his class chided him for drawing girls with huge boobs and questionable anatomy.

His quaint little comics served as his dream journal of sorts. His bullies ended up becoming the demon antagonists of his made-up stories, even though he never revealed their names or drew them too accurately enough for them to notice his use of their likenesses in his works.

His comics was one of the ways he dealt with the constant bullying he got from his classmates or even his so-called friends that treated him more as their mascot or gopher for drinks and odd errands than an actual comrade.

They were treating him no different than Laura did, actually.

***

Back to the relative present...

Tonight, Florante dreamed.

He dreamed of doing things he normally couldn't do. Out of wishful thinking. Dissatisfaction. Despair. Hope.

He did it to vent his real-life frustrations elsewhere.

It was during these dreams that his innermost desires were realized. Embarrassing ones he couldn't verbalize since it involved admitting to himself some shameful things.

Like the fact that he didn't have any friends in his classroom. Or the fact that he felt more like a gopher than a friend to the Dead Kids, who were supposed to be his fellow weirdoes, in his desperate bid to belong.

Or the fact that he was one of the most heavily bullied or perhaps the most heavily bullied kid in their class. A "Dead Kid" in his own right.

Regardless, his dreams served as painkillers or Novocain to his bitter, nerve-wracking reality of loneliness and despair as a friendless outcast in his own school.

He was the new kid on the block who couldn't adjust to his new school, but then again he was also bullied back in his old school as well.

Tonight, he could pretend to be "normal" for once, while his brain had clocked out and his consciousness drifted to slumber, his tears staining his pillows at memories he tried to block out.

Traces of these traumatizing past events remained in his psyche, as evidenced by the things that he dreamed about. This allowed him to connect the dots on why he was dreaming what he dreamed.

For example, the beautiful visage of Dalisay Hidalgo quickly crossed his mind, with her smiling at him and actually talking to him while ignoring her brother and Alonzo.

Like that would ever happen. But it was a harmless dream, so it was okay for him to indulge in his fantasies.

She looked so cute. Like an angel, really. A Gothic Lolita angel with a defiant fashion sense that rebelled against their plain school uniform of plaid skirts and cotton button-down blouses.

She was much nicer than Laura, whom he once unwittingly sang a sarcastic happy birthday to thinking it was her gay best friend's birthday instead. When he found out it was her birthday instead, he wished that the ground would swallow him whole.

He inwardly cringed. She must've thought of him as such a loser.

He also dreamed what any 14-year-old boy would dream about.

He dreamed about girls. He dreamed about romance. He dreamed about naughty things.

However, in between those dreams of passion and desire were dreams about his countless regrets.

He dreamed that his bullies would leave him alone. He dreamed about getting real friends, or at least getting closer to the so-called Dead Kids. Even they seemed ashamed of hanging out with him, and they were the school's designated weirdo group!

He dreamed of never doing that cringy thing with drawing Laura's face and placing it unto a nude body (or a rough sketch of one) like some sort of thirsty stalker.

He dreamed that Laura would forgive him or realize what had happened between them was a simple misunderstanding.

He dreamed of him and her becoming friends instead of her giving him the cold shoulder since that fateful day.

He dreamed that they'd fall in love, get married, have babies, and die old together.

Even if none of those dreams happened, he still wanted to become a normal high school kid that wasn't the butt of everyone's jokes, dammit!

But tonight, his dream was different.

More intense. Stranger. Like it wasn't a dream at all.

But somehow, he was aware it was all a dream. A lucid dream, perhaps?

Regardless, it was in this dreamscape where he acted upon his most violent fantasies. He was in control of himself and the events surrounding him this time around, so he got to boss around his bullies for once.

He did in the dream things he couldn't do in real life or even draw in his comics against the so-called demons of his life.

He punished them. Humiliated them.

He then murdered them. He had the power to do so now. In his dream, he had the same powers as the protagonist of his comics. The power of a lightning storm or one of those raging typhoons that regularly battered the Philippines.

Better he do it within the confines of a dream than in real life, right? He could "vent" better that way. It was a healthy, therapeutic method of venting.

However, when he woke up, his dream became horrible reality.

What he had taught had happened during midnight in his dreams had instead occurred in the early morning while classes were supposed to be going on.

He looked down and saw that his hands were covered in blood. Not his own.

'...Eh? What's going on?'

Right before him were the bodies of people on the floor. Many of them his classmates. Some of them not. Several of them burning to a crisp. Like something out of Pompeii when Mount Vesuvius erupted.

'Susmaryosep!'

Wait, what had happened here?

No, he hadn't woken up! He was still dreaming, right? This was all a nightmare!

He then saw her.

The angelic winged beauty made of floating water that reminded him of one of the four most famous angels appeared before him.

She was a breathtakingly gorgeous, angelic woman. Or the huge statue of one brought to life. She looked really familiar, though.

Faintly, as if his half-awake mind was still dreaming in shock and in pure disbelief of what had happened, he wondered what the person before him reminded him of.

He was at the mercy of a terribly beautiful sight from the ether, her strands of hair flowing upwards like they were underwater or a bonfire, her fingertips engulfed in dancing tendrils of water.

Looking at her was like dying from a siren's song, but more visually impactful rather than visceral. So like staring straight into the sun. Or Medusa's eyes.

Except this time, Medusa was an attractive young woman instead of a monster with snakes for hair.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor. Prepare to die."

Man, his mind was such a mess. How did he get there? What happened? Who was this beautifully horrifying creature? This biblical angel?

Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Azrael.

Or was it Uriel?

Anyway, those were the Four Archangels, right?

...Right?

***

To Be Continued...

The first chapter is finally done. My first completely original work not based on someone else's idea. I've had this title and this work in my head since the 1990s. I'm glad I now have the opportunity to make it into reality.

Farewell, Abdiel

#angels #gabriel #raphael #demons #philippines #fantasy of evolution #original fiction

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offtosavetheearth · 5 years ago

Photo

July 3rd 2018

The sun streamed through our window around 6, and I could not sleep anymore. One because it was so beautiful, and two because my back was killing me. Essentially I slept on wood planks last night, but I wasn’t going to complain because I was taking their beds and some of the family had to sleep outside in tents. Breakfast was the best I had ever had from any host family. I wish I could have something like it every morning. I was fed rice, sweet chicken, potatoes with cheese, beets, fresh jugo, sweetened coffee (literally the best coffee I ever had), and a giant fruit bowl consisting of peeled grapes, cut up apples, and strawberries. Everything was so good, I licked my plate clean. We met down in the community for class, and our group arrived a little early so I laid in the sun while about six other people practiced yoga. My back was killing me, but it was so nice to lay in the sun with a full belly. I could feel my skin burning, but I didn’t move because I wanted to soak it all in.

It was a very busy morning; we had to choose which activities we wanted to do and I selected cutting the grass to feed guinea pigs. Except it was much more than that. We planted baby carrot plants, chopped up grass to feed the bunnies, and fed the chickens, and guinea pigs. The bunnies and guinea pigs were kept in wood crates in the dark, and I felt kind of sad for them, but to be honest it is way better treatment than we give our livestock in the US. Next we came back to the community and they showed up how to make chi chi out of agave plants, and we all took a couple shots. I did not like it, but the alcoholic version was much better, reminding me of a kind of champagne. It was back down to the cooking area next, where we learned how to make fresh Ahi sauce, and tostada with pure cane sugar. Additionally one of the men showed us how to grind two kinds of corn, and if we did it well we would be considered a good wife. Lastly the kids of the community showed up how they played tops, a game where you fling a spinner off the string to spin on the ground. It is sad that childhood games like these are non-existent. It seems that kids are glued to their phones just as badly as adults. What happened to board games? To marbles, to card games, to hopscotch, jump rope, and just being a kid? I am so thankful I had a childhood like this, because I got the last bit of wholesome connectivity that our society had to offer. I miss those days.

The last fifteen minutes before lunch we played with the pups and took photoshoots of them draped in purple flowers. I laid on the grass again because it was honestly irresistible, and got even more of a tan/sunburn. Lunch was fried chicken, potatoes, large spoonfuls of beets, vegetables, and fresh strawberry juice. Again, delicious.

The goodbye to our homestays was so emotional. I gave Katy about three long hugs, and we all took photos together by the wall of purple flowers. Several students were crying after leaving, and I knew I would miss this special place. The Vicundo will always be in my heart.

We left around 1 pm and drove to a nearby baby’s breath plantation. Here the husband was sick again, so his wife gave us a tour. They have 125 employees including administration on 10 hectares right now. Their goal is to make higher yields of flowers on smaller acreage, to reduce the amount of maintenance required. Exporting to Europe, Russia, United States, and some of Latin America, they soon hope to export to Colombia. This is one of the first non-organic farms we have gone to, but they use the least damaging kind of fertilizer. Workers are treated quite well, paid minimum wage with provided transportation, cafeterias, doctors on site, dental, and shots/vaccines provided by the Ministry of Health. The owners even throw Christmas and world cup parties, because they believe in order to work together well they have to be a family. They try to keep about 9 workers per hectare, and hope they are giving back to the community, while also benefitting from the agricultural knowledge of their employees.

After five growing seasons, baby’s breath must be replanted, and when they are babies they need 18 hours of sunlight. This is because they hail from Spain, where the days are very long, so when it gets dark the farmers turn on artificial light for 6 more hours. Using a drip irrigation, the plants are fed a combination of fertilizer and fresh underground aqueduct water. They cannot use river water because of how impure it is, but hold it in pools for emergencies.

In terms of regulations, this farms feels that none of their needs are met, but rather the rose plantations are catered to. Some of the blue baby’s breath is exported from japan for $1.06, in comparison to regular seeds costing five cents. They pay this premium because it is what is popular, and consumers are willing to pay top dollars for the best, so they must meet the demand. On the edges of this farm are polycultures of avocadoes, so the neighbors will not be exposed to their pesticides. In addition, they have African bees on the very outside, that produce some of the best honey in the world.

Our last area was the propagation area, the place where the flowers are prepared, and the greenhouse freshly cut plants are put in to bloom. The propagation area was run by a woman who had been working there for 28 years, and was filled with baby plants being carefully cared for. Preparation of baby’s breath was done in another area, and they have to cut off the stems and leaves, because that is what their consumers like. All of their workers have blood tests annually, and are safe to work around the chemicals. However women usually work in this area because they are more delicate, while men spray the pesticides because they are heavy.

Once Baby’s breath is cut, it must go into a greenhouse, where they sit in sugar water for 8 days until 85% of the flowers have opened up. Then they can be exported. At the end of the tour we ate popcorn and water before getting back on the bus. This tour was pretty cool, but definitely not in my favorite. Flowers are pretty, but I am not really interested in studying them personally.

We drove for a couple more hours before reaching Otavallo, passing the San Pablo Lake with view of Imbabura Volcano. I feel grateful that we have had the opportunity to see so many volcanoes lately, because it seemed they were always hidden in the clouds. As soon as we got to the hotel, I dropped my luggage off in a shared room with Allie, and went to get food. I found a Sicilian pizza place, and had a Hawaiian pizza with a coke. No other customers were in the restaurant, so I sat by the fire with the owner. The pizza was terrible, but it was warm and I appreciated the alone time away from the group; my social battery was dying quicker and quicker every day, and I needed my space.

I returned home early, and purchased some really cute headbands from downstairs. I love headbands, and they have a sort of South American theme to them, so I was excited. Going back upstairs, I took a hot shower in my room. The rest of the group was up very late drinking, and Brittany had to sleep in our room because one of the guys go plastered. Either way I slept good, and it was another great, adventure-packed day.

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

Text

wips tag.

i was tagged by @workofteaguk and @wonhopes to share my works in progress, since it’s really no surprise that i have ten million wips but enjoy these ones i’ve been working on so far i thought i’d share with everyone else what i have cooking up so far! also, thank you guys for tagging me (”: <333

title: i hate you, (but of course) i love you pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: exes au, fluff, humor, a dash of angst status: currently standing at 4.3k, probably about 80% done. i have two more section to write with lots more bickering between the two. (((: preview: —

“—What the fuck?” he says, finally getting a proper look at the silver on both of their wrists. His head still pounds at the sudden thought, but he suddenly recalls the pair of handcuffs that Jin was swinging around last night. They weren’t anything special, but the older man was flaunting them around with his own brand of drunken smugness. It was a rare first to see his older friend with a such a bold pair of items but an even rarer to see him so piss-drunk. How did he—

“Shut the fuck up,” he hears Y/N grumble. Without another second, you begin to turn away from him before the yank at both of their wrists stops further movement. “Ow! What the—”

“Take my wrist apart, why dontcha,” he grumbles back, attempting to yank you back to your back position. “I’d appreciate keeping it, thank you very much.”

He barely blinks his eye by the time you shoot right up in the bed, clutching your head as you turn to him in disbelief. “What the fuck?! Jeon, what did you do?”

“Me?!” he says, wincing at his own volume. “I’m innocent, I just woke up handcuffed to Chewbacca. Thanks for asking.”

“Chewbacca… this brat,” you scoff, giving his arm a shove while clutching the top of your head with the other.

“I didn’t do this,” he answers your unsaid question, feeling his heart pound. Like old times, only frustration seemed to come with you. “Maybe one of the guys did it or somethin’.”

“Fuck, I’m never drinking at the same party as you again,” you groan, shooting him another look before your head slammed back onto his pillow. “And I’m definitely going to kill Jin for bringing these stupid things, too.”

Then, it hit him and his own groaning and head-slamming ensued—god, why the fuck did he agree to a drinking competition with you?

(more wips under the cut~)

title: chatroom confessions pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: childhood rivals au, fluff, some angst status: at about 4.1k, only 20% done. i have the outline finished, i just need to go on with the act of writing this thing. preview: —

The next time you log on, he’s on.

It’s not even the same time as before.Your clock reads 8:03 PM right now.

But there it is, the little green symbol besides his username. The sight is foreboding, practically beckoning you to click the user and say something, anything.

You find some bravery in tapping on the icon, your fingers already tapping away—

[8:06 PM] peachy-keen: I don’t know or care if this is Jungkook or not but come clean already

Unfortunately, you can’t even find the rest of your courage to press send. You want to say something at the least. But what?

Do I say? ‘Hey, Y/N here. Remember me from 6th grade? Yeah, you totally crushed my little grade school heart.’ Or ‘Hey, is this Jungkook or was this one of Lisa’s friends fucking with me?’ Or-

You don’t even have a moment to finish your thought when a ding! emits from your laptop’s speakers.

[8:07 PM] blue_seagull: long time, no see

You blink, letting out a shaky breath before typing up an immediate response. Here goes nothing.

[8:07 PM] peachy-keen: uh, yeah

[8:08 PM] blue_seagull: Still don’t think it’s me?

[8:08 PM] peachy-keen: No

[8:09 PM] blue_seagull: How can I prove it?

[8:09 PM] peachy-keen: I’d have to see your face.

[8:10 PM] blue_seagull: [photo.jpg sent]

The photo looks relatively like the Jungkook you remember from the vaguest parts of your mind. As begrudging as you are to admit to the fact, he’s actually quite handsome. His mop of dark hair sitting atop his forehead is no longer the same bowl cut like seven years ago. His features have definitely filled out too. Even his smile has become even nicer than you remember. And it isn’t completely foreign anyway.

You’ve seen a photo or two from mutual friends’ Instagram photos, but you’re still not completely sold in this case. In this day and age, this could be that same person catfishing as Jungkook. You’re about to type something along those lines in your response, but you erase it and laugh after reading his next message.

[8:11 PM] blue_seagull: I’m gonna take a guess and say you think the picture is a catfish

[8:11 PM] peachy-keen: duh.

[8:11 PM] blue_seagull: okay, skype me then

[8:12 PM] blue_seagull: guk_0901

Perhaps it’s dangerous to do something like this. Skyping some complete stranger and all. But then again, it was dangerous to chat with a complete stranger too. It isn’t like there’s much to lose at this point. You heave out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders and mutter something along the lines of “Fuck it” before you give him your response.

[8:15 PM] peachy-keen: Sure, whatever.

Once you’re logged into your Skype account, you type in the username that “Jungkook” has provided you. The icon is a different photo than the one he sent you, but it’s still the same boy. Just that observation alone makes you realize just how nervous you are. Of course, this is expected. You’re actually not sure what’s going to come from this call. You don’t even know if you’ll actually be seeing Jungkook or someone else from your old elementary school.

A part of you prays it’s him, but another part doesn’t just for the sake of your own feelings. Way too many things happened back then.

At least I’ll be able to get some answers out of it… right?

You press the call icon, watching as the rings come to a halt after the first two chimes and Jeon Jungkook appears on the screen of your laptop.

Again, he’s the first one to speak. This time an almost all-knowing smile curves on his smiles as he says, “Believe me yet?”

You’re actually left a little baffled at this moment. Your lips parting slightly to say words, your mind’s racing a million miles per hour, before you say something, “Um… yeah…” You pause for a moment, calming yourself as you suddenly recollect the intent of why you logged on in the first place, “You have some explaining to do.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his features softening as he nods, “I figured.”

title: where the lines overlap. pairing: jeon jungkook | reader, park jimin | reader genre: band au + romance, angst status: standing at 2.1k, 2% done. LOL. it’s a series i have in the works, so bear with me. i’m trying to get it done right. preview: —

a year and a half ago.

You wanted to get far, far away from everything so you ran.

At that point, you were sure you had run off a good five blocks from the cursed music building, allowing your lungs to collapse and expand in random intervals. It felt like everything had collapsed around you, and perhaps it did in many respects. What the fuck could you do? Go with it? Let yourself shed the weights of your own band mates after all the blood, sweat, and tears you all spent trying to get to where you were?

That thought alone had you shaking your head, running a shaky palm through your locks as you searched for solace somewhere. It had to be there right? Or did it even exist there at all?

You couldn’t even fathom where you were because this was nowhere close to the five blocks you spent sightseeing with everyone else. You didn’t see the other music buildings or the small corner convenience stores that proved their worth during strenuous practices leaving you and the others drained—was it that hard to be perfect, after all?

Bang’s face flashed across your mind, his disappointment at the lack of practice earlier that day. There’s a deep set frown etched into his weathered skin, eyes narrowed as Yoongi tried to reason your way through the mess and how it became slits when you dared defending your mint-haired companion. The older man grunted, “Fix this; whatever the hell it is. Just fix it.” So, you ran after another screaming match with Jungkook.

You just ran the moment you could because what else could you do?

Bang was mad, Jungkook was mad, Taehyung was confused, and Yoongi was watching it unfold like a spectator, and you? You were confused, scared, and you needed air.

Fuck—, you wheezed, plopping down by the end of the path. At this point, you didn’t even care for the dirt that stained your jeans or the funny looks you received from passersby. You didn’t really care for anything right then. You just wanted your heart to stop trying to escape your chest.

You felt your phone vibrate against your leg, but you didn’t even bother looking at it. Instead you tried to familiarize yourself with the view before you. There was a cluster of vendors offering goods, all sorts of kebabs, milk teas, and even sweet creams; all of them without a care in the world. You saw an arcade filling up with children shrieking for money and for a turn on the machines. Behind you, there was a food shop, wafting the distilled air with fresh soup and customers filling the air with chatter and inquiries. It was all busy, all moving forward, and there you were, suspended in time like a ghostly spectator because like many times before you were just a nameless face.

The sky was a bright blue hue, cerulean really, with wisps of clouds peeking between passing intervals as they seemed to move while everyone else remained still down below. You could feel the sun beat against your slick skin, clinging to you like a second layer as you found your erratic heart calming down.

What you see before you was normalcy, tranquility. Things you wish you had again.

You rose from your spot, giving the scene a final once over before you willed your legs to move up the incline toward the cliff that hung over the rest of the city. There was something therapeutic in all of this though you hardly believed you deserved any relief knowing the things you knew. By the time you felt yourself stop and rest against the burning metal beneath your elbows, you were still thinking.

Dammit. Closing your eyes, you tried to will the pressing thoughts away. I should tell him shouldn’t I?

But if you did, you’d risk more than just the sake of your relationship. You’d risk his dream. The only dream that Jungkook has ever had, and you’d be the one to rip it away from him. You hoped he’d find his own aspirations… out of everyone, you didn’t think you could do that. You pushed him to do this after all.

You said aloud, hearing the hoarse edges, “Fuck—”

You swore you heard something off to your right but when you braved a look around you, it was just an unwelcome sight of visitors beneath the safety of a gazebo. It was just a family, celebrating amongst themselves. They thankfully paid you no attention, opting for the fascinations of their own food and devices than some random girl trying to figure out what her next move was.

I could just lea—

You heard your phone ring this time, vibrating against your back pocket and interrupting the daring thought—whether you actually appreciated it or feared it was still beyond you. Rather than thinking further, you decided to pull out the plastic device, hoping to God it wasn’t Jungkook.

It wasn’t, so you slid your fingertip across the screen to answer.

You released out a deep breath, “Yoongi—”

“—Lemme guess you ran off to clear your thoughts?” He wouldn’t sound worried to anyone, straight tone and all, but you heard the edge in his voice.

“I did.”

“He’s worried, y’know,” It made the reality of the situation wash over you, taking its hold on you as you tried to wrestle with the next set of words waiting to part your lips—

“I’m going to leave the city.”

“Y/N,” There was a deeper edge to his voice, a warning laced between the syllables of your own name, “where are you?”

“Enjoying the view.”

title: beneath the surface pairing: kim taehyung | reader genre: ??? status: outline is 75% done and i have barely less than 1k written so that’s maybe 1.5% done. preview: —

With the door shut tight behind you, you’re given a choice between two options: stay awake and talk about the kiss or pretend to sleep and deal with it tomorrow. Because out of all people, you know that Kim Taehyung would breach the topic no matter what as it was in his very nature go for what was uncomfortable even if he had a hard time doing this himself; and, as much as you’d like to do this, to debunk whatever happened in that split second where all you could taste was the cherry Coke on his lips, you can’t bring yourself to do it. Especially not when your mind is whirling about in discordant thoughts all seemingly screaming for more when you should be doing no such thing.

It happened. It was just the heat of the moment. You turn on your side and lean your head onto your arm. Now stop thinking about it.

But it’s like your brain wants to taunt you with a reminder of what just passed: all that plays is the close proximity of Taehyung’s visage a hair’s breadth from yours, his deep, chocolate brown eyes soft from the reminiscing over a distant past that the two of you once shared together, back when times were simpler—at least as simple as college could get—when all you two ever worried about was midterms and final examinations and the Final Reckoning enacted by your parents at the end of each school year, while the scent of mint and sugar fanned across your features. Just sitting beside him, knees brushing against one another and feeling the heat radiating from his lean body, you felt your heart thundering and your mind swimming with two simple words: Kiss him. Then you did and he did too. And it’s all that remains burned into your mind, because holy fuck we kissed.

You find yourself recalling the day when you doodled the simple cloud to him, embellishing it with his username in hopes that it would give him strength to follow his dreams like you were following yours, and you see the way he lit up and pulled you in tight. The thick scent of eucalyptus shrouded you, and yet you enjoyed every moment of it, allowing it all to put you at ease despite the fire burning in your own heart. It’s the same feeling now, burning even brighter and hotter, because under these pretenses, you actually have no fucking clue what overcame you or him to do it. All you know is you felt something with the brunet, perhaps nostalgia or connection in ways that seemed to date back to high school all tightening around your own better judgement.

It’s wrong. I shouldn’t—

Hearing a knock at the door, your heart damn near jumps out of your chest but tension soon expels from your body. All you do is stay in place as the doorknob jiggles and footsteps make its way behind you.

“Y/N?” Taehyung whispers, leaning over the bed frame. When you don’t reply and all he can see are your shut eyes, he lets out a deep sigh. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow then.”

The certainty that he would leave the room is soon dispelled the moment you hear him shuffle onto your side of the bed albeit the arrival comes after a few moments—you’re almost certain he stopped by your desk—when he grabs onto the edge of your comforter and pulls it over your legs and onto your torso. He’s careful not to touch any parts, his warm touch only grazing your shoulders as he covers you. All the while, he’s humming a song—one you’re unfamiliar with—that soothes your mind.

“Good night, Y/N… sweet dreams.”

As he turns off the lights and shuts the door behind him, you feel yourself basking in the scent of eucalyptus and drifting to sleep with a smile curved on your lips, Good night Tae… sweet dreams.

i tag: @sugaspen @jamlessness @jungnoir (idc if other ppl tagged u, i’ma still tag u) @taechubs

{ of course, you don’t have to do this!! but if you do (this goes out to anyone reading this far), feel free to tag me!!! }

#emsupdates #bts scenarios #bts au #jungkook scenarios #jimin scenarios #taehyung scenarios #i know there's a lot of bts maknae line stuff but idk i've been inspired!!

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