#full house 2004 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pathetic-gamer · 6 months

Text

Pentiment's Complete Bibliography, with links to some hard-to-find items:

I've seen some people post screenshots of the game's bibliography, but I hadn't found a plain text version (which would be much easier to work from), so I put together a complete typed version - citation style irregularities included lol. I checked through the full list and found that only four of the forty sources can't be found easily through a search engine. One has no English translation and I'm not even close to fluent enough in German to be able to actually translate an academic article, so I can't help there. For the other three (a museum exhibit book, a master's thesis, and portions of a primary source that has not been entirely translated into English), I tracked down links to them, which are included with their entries on the list.

If you want to read one of the journal articles but can't access it due to paywalls, try out 12ft.io or the unpaywall browser extension (works on Firefox and most chromium browsers). If there's something you have interest in reading but can't track down, let me know, and I can try to help! I'm pretty good at finding things lmao

Okay, happy reading, love you bye

Beach, Alison I. Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria. Cambridge Univeristy Press, 2004.

Berger, Jutta Maria. Die Geschichterder Gastfreundschaft im hochmittel alterlichen Monchtum: die Cistercienser. Akademie Verlag GmbH, 1999. [No translation found.]

Blickle, Peter. The Revolution of 1525. Translated by Thomas A. Brady, Jr. and H.C. Erik Midelfort. The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985.

Brady, Thomas A., Jr. “Imperial Destinies: A New Biography of the Emperor Maximilian I.” The Journal of Modern History, vol 62, no. 2., 1990. pp.298-314.

Brandl, Rainer. “Art or Craft: Art and the Artist in Medieval Nuremberg.” Gothic and Renaissance Art in Nuremberg 1300-1550. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986. [LINK]

Byars, Jana L., “Prostitutes and Prostitution in Late Medieval Bercelona.” Masters Theses. Western Michigan University, 1997. [LINK]

Cashion, Debra Taylor. “The Art of Nikolaus Glockendon: Imitation and Originality in the Art of Renaissance Germany.” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art, vol 2, no. 1-2, 2010.

de Hamel, Christopher. A History of Illuminated Manuscripts. Phaidon Press Limited, 1986.

Eco, Umberto. The Name of the Rose. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2014.

Eco, Umberto. Baudolino. Translated by William Weaver. Mariner Books, 2003.

Fournier, Jacques. “The Inquisition Records of Jacques Fournier.” Translated by Nancy P. Stork. Jan Jose Univeristy, 2020. [LINK]

Geary, Patrick. “Humiliation of Saints.” In Saints and their cults: studies in religious sociology, folklore, and history. Edited by Stephen Wilson. Cambridge University Press, 1985. pp. 123-140

Harrington, Joel F. The Faithrul Executioner: Life and Death, Honor and Shame in the Turbulent Sixteenth Century. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013.

Hertzka, Gottfired and Wighard Strehlow. Grosse Hildegard-Apotheke. Christiana-Verlag, 2017.

Hildegard von Bingen. Physica. Edited by Reiner Hildebrandt and Thomas Gloning. De Gruyter, 2010.

Julian of Norwich. Revelations of Divine Love. Translated by Barry Windeatt. Oxford Univeristy Press, 2015.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. Routledge, 2017.

Kerr, Julie. Monastic Hospitality: The Benedictines in England, c.1070-c.1250. Boudell Press, 2007.

Kieckhefer, Richard. Forbidden rites: a necromancer’s manual of the fifteenth century. Sutton, 1997.

Kuemin, Beat and B. Ann Tlusty, The World of the Tavern: Public Houses in Early Modern Europe. Routledge, 2017.

Ilner, Thomas, et al. The Economy of Duerrnberg-Bei-Hallein: An Iron Age Salt-mining Center in the Austrian Alps. The Antiquaries Journal, vol 83, 2003. pp. 123-194

Lang, Benedek. Unlocked Books: Manuscripts of Learned Magic in the Medieval Libraries of Central Europe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008

Lindeman, Mary. Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2019.

Lowe, Kate. “’Representing’ Africa: Ambassadors and Princes from Christian Africa to Renaissance Italy and Portugal, 1402-1608.” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Sixth Series, vol 17, 2007. pp. 101-128

Meyers, David. “Ritual, Confession, and Religion in Sixteenth-Century Germany.” Archiv fuer Reformationsgenshichte, vol. 89, 1998. pp. 125-143.

Murat, Zuleika. “Wall paintings through the ages: the medieval period (Italy, twelfth to fifteenth century).” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, vol 23, no. 191. Springer, October 2021. pp. 1-27.

Overty, Joanne Filippone. “The Cost of Doing Scribal Business: Prices of Manuscript Books in England, 1300-1483.” Book History 11, 2008. pp. 1-32.

Page, Sophie. Magic in the Cloister: Pious Motives, Illicit Interests, and Occullt Approaches to the Medieval Universe. The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2013.

Park, Katharine. “The Criminal and the Saintly Body: Autopsy and Dissectionin Renaissance Italy.” Renaissance Quarterly, vol 47, no. 1, Spring 1994. pp. 1-33.

Rebel, Hermann. Peasant Classes: The Bureaucratization of Property and Family Relations under Early Habsburg Absolutism, 1511-1636. Princeton University Press, 1983.

Rublack, Ulinka. “Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Female Body in Early Modern Germany.” Past & Present,vol. 150, no. 1, February 1996.

Salvador, Matteo. “The Ethiopian Age of Exploration: Prester John’s Discovery of Europe, 1306-1458.” Journal of World History, vol. 21, no. 4, 2011. pp.593-627.

Sangster, Alan. “The Earliest Known Treatise on Double Entry Bookkeeping by Marino de Raphaeli.” The Accounting Historians Journal, vol. 42, no. 2, 2015. pp. 1-33.

Throop, Priscilla. Hildegarde von Bingen’s Physica: The Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing. Healing Arts Press, 1998.

Usher, Abbott Payson. “The Origins of Banking: The Brimitive Bank of Deposit, 1200-1600.” The Economic History Review, vol. 4, no. 4. 1934. pp.399-428.

Waldman, Louis A. “Commissioning Art in Florence for Matthias Corvinus: The Painter and Agent Alexander Formoser and his Sons, Jacopo and Raffaello del Tedesco.” Italy and Hungary: Humanism and Art in the Early Renaissance. Edited by Peter Farbaky and Louis A. Waldman, Villa I Tatti, 2011. pp.427-501.

Wendt, Ulrich. Kultur and Jagd: ein Birschgang durch die Geschichte. G. Reimer, 1907.

Whelan, Mark. “Taxes, Wagenburgs and a Nightingale: The Imperial Abbey of Ellwangen and the Hussite Wars, 1427-1435.” The Journal of Ecclesiastical History, vol. 72, no. 4, 2021, pp.751-777.

Wiesner-Hanks, Merry E. Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge University Press, 2008.

Yardeni, Ada. The Book of Hebrew Script: History, Palaeography, Script Styles, Calligraphy & Design. Tyndale House Publishers, 2010.

#pentiment #early modern history

424 notes · View notes

etherealily · 3 months

Text

🇭🇦🇷🇩 🇨🇦🇳🇩🇾 ~ 🇫🇪🇱🇮🇽 🇨🇦🇹🇹🇴🇳

Felix Catton + fem! reader. SFW, but discretion advised, drugs, alcohol. Dark.

This is Part 1 of a series, and I know it seems all over the place, but trust me, it's just laying the groundwork, ok?

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You've known him way too long.

════════════════════ ⋆🪽⋆ ════════════════════

JUNIOR YEAR, 2004

There was nothing louder than a house full of drunk, horny and high high school kids after the last day before summer break.

"You should take off that coat, ya know? It's a party, and the thermostat's on."

"I can't."

He raised a brow, scoffing as he took a shot. "Why not? You're in your pajamas?"

"Yeah." Felix had dragged you out of your home at three a.m for this. Three. In. The. Morning.

"What? Do they have like, cute little bunnies on them, or sm'n?"

Oh, he'd like that, wouldn't he?

"They're these... really tiny shorts and a tank top, and I-"

"Jesus, you fucking prude!", he groaned, frustrated. "You're worried about being too revealing? It's a fucking high school party - it's kinda the dress code!"

Well, okay, asshole. "Oh, yeah? Then why are you fully-"

He didn't even let you finish, as he took off his shirt and threw it on the ground. "There. Now take off your coat, you fucking square."

You took it off, taking the shot he pressed up to your lips, too. "Fuck." It shot through you like it had a vendetta.

"Right?", he snickered, nodding at you to take another. "Fucking crazy shit, man."

"BODY SHOTS!" It was like they were all trying to prove your point about the world's loudest thing being horny kids hopped up on drugs by making your eardrums bleed.

Felix swivelled his head over to you, an excited, mischeivous glint in his eye.

"No. No, Felix, no, I-"

"Don't be a fucking hard-arse, Y/N. You'd be labelled a loser."

"Better to be a loser than take part in this..."

"If you say debauchery, I'm going to kick you out."

You were, but not anymore.

"Look, the way I see it, you've got two choices. One, you let me do body shots off you. Two, I whisk you away right now and drop you back home..."

Wait, that seemed like a solid plan-

"...but not your bedroom. Your front doorstep, wherever it is. I introduce myself to your parents. Offer to sell them drugs. How's that sound?"

"You're such a cunt."

"Wow, creative. C'mon, up you get.", he instructed, folding his arms after pointing to the kitchen island.

"No."

"Okay, fine, you wanna do shots off me?"

That'd be far less embarrassing.

"Sure."

He shook his head, amused, as he hoisted himself onto the table, in the centre of the horde of cheering jocks and preps. You'd be lying if you said you weren't excited for the maturity that came with college.

"NO! No, just Y/N!", he ordered, shooing everyone else away.

Shut the fuck up. But it was too late. Everyone saw you.

You watched him grab the lime that someone brought to his mouth with his teeth, crane his neck slightly so that they could dab some sugar there, and then you watched the whole party - at least, those inside the house and not in the backyard with the kegs or snorting lines - turn eagerly to you.

"Go on, Y/N, don't be shy."

He huffed as you hesitated. "How would your dad feel if I sold him meth?", he asked, removing the lime and raising a brow at you.

Fuck. You leaned over, licking the sugar crystals off his neck, the mouth-watering taste immediately being soured as you sucked up and licked the trail of tequila someone had poured into his navel, and finally, sucked the lime from his lips, shuddering in the tang.

Cheers.

"Good girl, love, that was perfect, for a first timer."

As always, he'd forgotten about every time he'd forced you to do the same thing. He'd forgotten that he wasn't forgiven.

You couldn't bloody wait till graduation. You'd cut off every single person in this entire pathetic excuse for a school.

Especially Felix Catton.

THIRTEEN MONTHS LATER

You'd always thought college was a given. That was the order it went in, right? High school, Uni, job, marriage, kids, retirement, death. Simple, skeletal, and easy to follow.

Now, the mistake you'd made was assuming that each stage came with an upgraded level of maturity, as well.

You know? How after marriage, you're more rational about love than when you're a horny junior?

Well, evidently, college had missed the memo about maturity.

This was bloody Oxford. OX-BLOODY-FORD. Supposed to be refined, fancy, intellectual.

There was no reason for you to be begrudgingly sat on a mangy old couch whose stains you didn't really want to examine too closely, watching strobe lights flicker here and there, making it look like you were about to be given a fucking lap dance, with how cheap it was.

Not to mention the amount of times you had to push the coked-out bimbo to the right of you off your shoulder and the bricked-up asshole to the left of you, off... well, yourself.

All in all, this was high school all over again.

You had to be here, you reasoned, mentally scratching off your no reason thoughts from earlier. It was the end-of-first-week party, of course. I mean, the upperclassmen threw these things every year for all the newcomers, kind of like a welcoming-slash-bullying ceremony, and to not go was social suicide. To go was basically suicide.

Essentially, you were fucked.

It was sort of pathetic, really, the way you were there, desperately wanting to get up, without actually doing it, because where would you go? What would you do? Dance? That would contribute to the bullying part of this welcoming-slash-bullying ceremony. Stand still in the corner? You'd either end up drugged somehow or outcast.

At least here, people could see you. People might probably remember you, your lack of participation blurring out in their minds, but your presence vaguely familiar. And that's all that was needed, really.

'Oh, yeah, she was there at the party. Yeah, think she and the bird near her were doing lines. Yeah, she was getting it on with the guy next to her.'

As a slut or otherwise, you needed to be perceived to survive college, that was for sure.

The girl right next to you groaned against your shoulder. "You're so... soft. Thanks for putting up with me."

"I showed up way too late.", you muttered, looking around at the scanty crowd.

"Late? No, love, you're early! The main upperclassmen aren't even here, yet.", she explained, shooting up with an unecessary jolt of interest in your lack of knowledge.

"Main?"

"No one throws a party like The Upperclassmen. This isn't even anything, baby."

"There's another one, then, after this?"

"Yeah, this is the main party, and then, maybe, if they feel so inclined, an after-party. But that's invitation-only, so only if they really want to toy with you.", she told you, slowly, and diligently, just in case the cocaine in her veins had evaporated from her blood and you'd inhaled it by accident.

"I'm sor- I'm sorry, toy with me?"

This was Ox-Bloody-Ford! You were supposed to be reading Faust, commenting on Dostoevsky, or cussing out Freud. Something intellectual. Not waiting for a fucking gang of seniors who called themselves, what, the bloody Upperclassmen (like it was cool?) to decide whether you'd be their personal jester or the jest itself.

"They just want to scope out the freshmen, see if there's any worth provoking."

Pursuing, she meant.

"Where is this, uh, after-party?"

"Probably at, like, one of the Upperclassmen's homes? I dunno. Usually, they rent out some club, but this time, I think one of the richer ones rented out, like, an entire villa, so.", she informed you, shrugging.

She shook her head at the groan that followed, patting your cheek as she dragged you over closer to her, away from the creep next to you, pulling out a bottle of tequila.

"Look, there's a reason they've made everyone come to this cheap club.", she said, pouring it out into a glass, offering it to you.

You sighed, nodding as you downed a shot.

"It's supposed to be unenjoyable. It's supposed to make you want to vomit. Seriously, I faced the same thing when I was a freshman, too. Just be yourself, make the most of the situation, and you're cool. Look too chickenshit or disgusted, and you're not. Be neutral, and you're safe, but not respected. Safe is fine."

"I wasn't aware college had cliques, too."

"Life has cliques. Maturity is a very subjective word."

Cocaine had a philosophical advantage, too, apparently.

That was fair. Seven year old you would have considered this - being at a party, as a very mature thing to do, indeed.

She clinked her glass against yours, before downing her shot in one smooth go. "Trust me, sweetheart, get as drunk as you can right now."

You mirrored her, downing your own shot as the music suddenly got louder, cheers erupting from the doorway.

And god fucking damn you if you didn't disregard her entire speech about not looking disgusted, because right there, right BLOODY there was Felix Catton, dancing in like this entire night was a celebration for his sheer existence.

Fuck.

------

Please be a trick of the light, please be a trick of the-

You watched as he twirled girls around, completely off-beat, but completely smoothly, too, at the same time.

Infuriating. Oh, it was HIM, alright. How did he even get into Oxford?! And, more importantly, how was it you had no clue?

Well, that wasn't entirely fair. He was good at his studies, more or less. But you'll be damned if you sat there and admitted it.

"Is that...?"

"Yeah, he's one of The Upperclassmen. Felix Catton.", she nodded, watching with hungry eyes. "Fucking smash, smash, smash."

'Oh, yeah, you get close to him, he will 'smash, smash, smash' you. To bits.' , you grumbled internally.

"Last year, when he was a freshman, the upperclassmen loved him so much, he actually planned the welcoming party for his own batch. Crazy, right?"

"Nah, not crazy."

Made sense. He always got the free passes, the girls, the good drugs, dammit, and... well, everything. The only thing he never got was you, and your forgiveness for being a total bloody cunt unless it benefitted him, but as you watched his lying little lips wrap around a cigarette and then immediately around a girl's tongue, you realised he truly didn't give a shit.

"So you can tell, can you? That he's the most loved?"

You hid a scoff. "Oh, yeah. Clear as day."

"Right?", she gushed, biting her lip momentarily before taking another shot. "He's just got one of those faces."

Yeah, a punchable one.

"I'll tell you, girl. You manage to get in close with him, you're set for life. He's loaded, too, I heard.'

You didn't really think this was an appropriate time to mention that both of you had gone to the same rich-people private school.

"Oh?"

She nodded, gesturing at you to take your shot. "I'm telling you."

"Yeah, well, I don't need an invite to the after-party. I just don't want to find out what happens when They hate me."

She shook her head again, as if to say that wouldn't happen. "Now, shoo, my little protégé. Mingle."

You rolled your eyes, hiding a laugh as you did as instructed, obediently. She was older, of course, and wiser, and she was more used to this intricate, almost unnavigable society called Uni, so, hey. You wouldn't argue.

But she was also coked-out, a woman of very loose morals and hence sanity and sobriety.

Should you argue?

════════════════════ ⋆🪽⋆ ════════════════════

Ending up chatting and doing shots with one guy who seemed relatively non-rapey, your night didn't seem to be going too terribly - a feat you were astonished you'd actually managed.

Finally, a party that wasn't a total bust.

Your hand was under your chin as you listened to him. Normal and casual? Check.

A lopsided grin was on his face. He was having fun, too? Check.

And the lights crackled and shone above both of you. Obscure thing obliged to happen because it was a party and it was basically a law? Check.

His eyes moving behind you, confused and then almost startled? Uh... not in the checklist.

You didn't even have time to be shocked.

"Oh, Jesus FUCK!", shrieked Felix, grinning ear to ear and laughing as if this was all he'd ever wanted in life, his eyes widening as he lunged at you from behind, picking you up and twirling you around - essentially as if you weighed nothing. Harsh on your gym routines, actually. "I thought I saw you! Assumed it was a trick of the light!"

You fought a sigh.

Here's the thing about Felix.

Felix-hugs were the most bittersweet experience on the planet.

They were lovely, warm, and melting.

They were also embarrassingly intimate, mildly condescending, and had a knack for making you feel like you owed him something afterwards.

He continued squeezing, rocking you slightly, before he let go, the look of genuine joy in his eyes slightly making you second-guess whether he really was worth holding a grudge against.

His eyes moved to the guy next to you, his smile still not fading and his arm still around your shoulder. "Hey, who're you?", he asked, clapping a hand on his back.

"Daniel." A small nod. A shit-it's-Felix-get-me-out-of-here-nod.

"Right on, Danny, mate!", he chuckled, holding out his hand. "Give it here!"

Daniel made the mistake of shaking his hand, eliciting a palpably judgemental scoff from Felix. "Aren't we well-mannered?", he muttered. "You a fresher, Dan?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Major?"

"Literature."

"Figured.", he said simply, his smile never once looking anything but welcoming. But it was clear Danny had just committed social suicide. "Tell me, what is it you even learn? Shakespeare?"

"Yeah, we have, actually."

"Romeo and Juliet.", he mused, shaking his head as he looked down at Danny. "Not star-crossed lovers, just losers."

That was evidently a dig at him.

"I think I gotta go , actually.", said Daniel, looking down at his watch. "Work."

"Don't be a stranger, Dan-zo!", he called out behind him, before turning back to you, at his arm. "He's definitely going to keep getting stranger.", he remarked, clutching you closer to his side once more. "Who even handshakes anymore?"

"Loads of people."

"Not you, right, love? Gosh, don't tell me you sucked a hand-shaker's cock. He's not shag-material."

You grimaced. Did he always have to be so crude?

"Why are you flinching like we're in third grade? What, are you, like some, virgin prude or sm'n?", he scoffed, pearly teeth attempting to hide behind the soft glow of his cigarette.

"I'm not a bloody virgin!"

This had always been one of the subjects of Felix's obsessions back in high school - he preferred his girls experienced.

He couldn't be bothered to have to teach and accomodate and- ugh. Too much work.

And you'd always sort of... accepted it. I mean, he was Felix.

So now, when he lazily suggested you were a virgin - perfectly fine for a 19 year old by the way - you panicked. Played into his preferences.

He tousled his hair, the pink and green of the lights in the club choosing the beads of sweat on his bare torso to illuminate, of all things. Then, he turned to look at you, drink in hand, invisible steam coming out of your ears.

His mouth slowly opened as he released a puff of smoke on your face, and he gaped at you, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. "You are a virgin!", he exclaimed, gasping as he did so. "Oh, my god, with a body like that, you're still a bloody virgin?"

"No, no, yell it louder, yeah? Don't think they heard you all the way down in Australia!"

He grinned, scrunching up his nose as he tapped yours. "Come off it, no one heard that. You're eighteen, you know? It's, like, illegal to not have had sex."

"That's not how it work- you're just taking the mick outta me, aren't you?"

"Slightly.", he teased, shrugging as he kissed your cheek, as if that would wipe the frown off your face. "Oh, cheer up, we'll find you someone to shag by the end of the night! And not a hand-shaking twat. Trust."

"I don't want somebody to shag!"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Spoken like a true virgin."

"Alright, shut up, okay? I'm perfectly fine as I am."

"Where'd you run off to, anyway?", he inquired leaning against the bar stool as he took a long drag of his cigarette. "After my senior year. You didn't really contact me."

Take a wild guess why, you absolute arse.

"You didn't contact me."

"'Cause besides your name, I didn't really know you outside of school. What was your excuse? I thought we were friends. You coulda looked me up - hell, you could've asked one of the teachers for my details, yeah?"

He was not upset, not at all. He was simply bored, so he thought he'd provoke you a bit. What had Coke-Girl said? Oh, yes, toy with you.

"I didn't contact anyone after they graduated.", you muttered, downing your drink with electrifying determination. "You're not special."

He pouted distractedly as he exhaled some more smoke, his eyes fixed on one spot on the floor. "Hey, you know what we should do?"

Kill one another?

"What?"

"Have a proper reunion, like proper-proper. There's an after-party at this villa I rented out, in like, a couple hours. You should come."

It's an order. Not a request, not an invitation. Not like you'd give him the satisfaction of blind compliance, though. That had always been your thing, you and him, he'd ask you to do something, you'd say no, he'd ask again and again until you said okay to shut him up.

From outside, it'd be somewhat endearing - comical, even - to observe. But you weren't on the outside. You were smack-dab in the middle of this annoying exchange.

"It's already twelve."

"Yeah, I know it's a bit early for a party, but-", he huffed, scratching at his forehead with the hand that still held the cigarette.

"But c'mon. Our reunion is a... special event, wouldn't you agree? Summat to be celebrated, yes?"

His shoulder nudged yours and suddenly you were in high school again, Felix trying his best to convince you that injecting unknown stuff into your bloodstream would be the 'maddest experience of your life'.

"Come on, Y/N, don't be a fucking prude.", he mumbled next to your ear, raising a brow devilishly.

That was a silent warning. Essentially, he'd tell everyone you were a virgin if you didn't humour him. "It'll be just like old times. You'll do body shots off me. Maybe now that you're more mature, you'll let me do them off you?"

"Look, Felix, thanks for offering, but I'm not coming to-"

He shushed you, shaking his head as he took out an opaque little container from his pocket and then shook it, watching the pills plop one-by-one onto his palm. "What do they do? No fucking clue.", he rhymed under his breath, sing-songily, as he glanced up at you, expectantly.

"Oh, no, no, I can't-"

"Pussy."

"That doesn't work on me anymore, Catton."

His cheeky grin suddenly gave way to a scowl. "Why have you changed so much? What happened?"

What the hell was he on about?

"We used to be like best friends! Tom and Jerry!"

"Tom tries to kill Jerry."

"No! No, no, no! They're best mates! Tom just does that to like, make sure his owners don't find another cat who actually wants to kill Jerry!"

He wasn't even high yet, he was talking like this? You'd made a good call on the pills.

"Okay, so assuming I'm Jerry in this... analogy, you've only been a cunt to me because you're afraid someone else is going to actually be a cunt and take your place?"

He popped one of the pills into his mouth, sucking at it so tantalizingly you couldn't help but envy it, for a moment.

That thought was another reason you were glad telepathy wasn't real.

"You make it sound so crazy."

"Maybe 'cause it - What is that, like a... hard candy or summat?", you huffed, watching him suck torturously on the thing.

He nodded. "Yeah. Try one."

"So they were never real?", you asked, accepting a dark purple one you assumed to be grape flavoured.

He shook his head. "Me and the mates sometimes do that. Distribute them. See who acts high. Loads of fun."

Your assumption was proved right. It was grape. "You're a sadist, y'know?"

"And you haven't answered my question, y'know? What happened to you? To us? We were like... this tight!", he whined, crossing both his middle fingers over both his indexes.

"Felix, I don't know if you know this, but I hated you in high school."

"WHAT?", he scoffed, evidently very offended. "No, you didn't!"

"O'course I did. We'd known each other since we were five, then you suddenly hate me all of a sudden in middle school, then the last year of high school, I'm suddenly your puppet you can bring along when you're bored and lonely and wanting to look charitable?"

"That's not even remotely true, alright? I'm a very kind person."

You sighed. "Sure."

"I don't like being called a bad person, Y/N.", he declared, frowning. "Take it back."

"No."

"TAKE. IT. BACK."

"NO. I. WON'T."

His hand slammed melodramatically down on the bar stool, repeating the words as screams now, submerged under the loud waves of music. You still refused to take back the fact that Felix was not the super kind, perfect, individual that everyone thought he was, and that seemed to irk him.

Because who was he if not the nice one? The one whose attention was a blessing?

"You enjoyed it, though, like a little popular-adjacent... fame-sucker! You'd never have been anywhere without me!"

You gasped in sardonic offense. "Oh, no, what ever would I have done without you? Gotten a good sleep schedule?"

He rolled his eyes. "Uncool." He pointed his cigarette at you.

"You're uncool, Y/N.", he taunted as he backed away, shaking his head and tutting.

As Coke-Girl had said, you'd just been marked for the hermit life by an Upperclassman. Brilliant. Fucking great. You rolled your eyes, flipping his ungrateful arse the bird.

After the party, about two hours later, however, he caught up with you, grumbling as he shoved you into his car and broke his rule of only shagging non-virgins, and you broke your rule of only shagging non-Felix-Cattons.

════════════════════ ⋆🪽⋆ ════════════════════

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Shame was not something Felix really felt much.

Hooking up with a random girl in a club bathroom and moaning someone else's name? Awkward, yes, but not really shame-inducing.

To each their own. A bathroom hookup was degrading enough, anyway.

Then he came out of the bathroom. Shame still eluded him.

But barely a half hour later, he was on his knees at the dorm of the person whose name he'd moaned, his face pressed into your stomach, the stain of his tears growing increasingly on your shirt , and shame introduced itself to him by slapping his face ten times, five on each cheek.

Felix Catton had never needed you. He had never really needed anything.

You, in turn, had never needed him.

Your disdain for him was evident to everyone in the entire university - which you didn't mind. So what if he'd essentially marked you for the hermit life? You were actually doing fine. You still got to go to parties, you still had a good social life, it was lovely.

[Point : You.]

But here's the thing about Felix Catton.

He didn't seem to really know how being mad was supposed to work. Evidently, no one had ever not wanted to be around him before.

And that is where the problem lay.

Because no matter how many times you yelled at him, no matter how many times he yelled back, he'd be at your door just like tonight, drunk and on his knees, undoing your belt buckle while muttering an impressive mix of profanities and apologies.

"God, love, just fuck me blind already."

"Did you miss me, too?"

"You can't keep fucking doing this to me, I'm going insane."

A few gems from the last three times he'd come crawling back.

And he was Felix. What would you do? Push him away? Laughable.

He knew you wouldn't. [Point : Felix.]

════════════════════ ⋆🪽⋆ ════════════════════

This time, however, something was off. This time, it felt... different.

You were so fucking patient this time that he almost insulted you just to get a reaction. Why weren't you kicking him out? Why were you also not letting him in? Why did you let him stay like that, waiting for him to say something?

"Y/N, say something.", he mumbled against your torso, his eyes still wet and stinging.

"Like what?"

Was that fatigue he sensed in your tone? You sounded utterly spent.

"Anything."

"We can't- I can't keep doing this."

"What?"

"This… this vicious cycle of you come, we fuck, we're cool for, maybe, two weeks - if we're lucky - and then you throw a fit at me like I'm the one who keeps crawling back and then call me a cunt! And then every time you're on a bender-"

You stopped to take a breath, clenching your jaw.

He'd expected you to push him away, but the most you did was stop stroking his hair. That was a shame. He'd quite liked that.

He didn't like the fact that you allowed him to hold onto you so tenderly while you recounted all the non-tender things he did. It was cruel and it was smart and it was working.

"This is our, what, fifth time here?"

"You said it yourself, we're cool for two weeks. We should just… elongate that."

"Oh, yes, sure, great. Why did we never try that before?"

"Y/N, please. Please."

You should be pushing him away.

You should be kicking him out the door.

"Felix, you can't just keep-"

"I won't. This'll be the last time."

"And how many times have you said that?"

"I'm so sorry, love, I don't know what got- I didn't mean for it to- I'm sorry."

"No, you're not, you're just drunk."

He shook his head, groaning as he kissed up from your navel to your chest, craning his neck as far as possible, before he slowly stood. "You're wrong."

"No, Felix, I'm not."

What set his teeth on edge was that you didn't stop him making a fool of himself at any moment, almost like you enjoyed watching his desperation.

"Yes, you are.", he whined, as his lips began to give way to his tongue, reintroducing it to your throat. "You know you are."

And then, finally, finally, you rolled your eyes and grabbed his hair tightly - ouch - to push him away from your neck. Finally, a fucking reaction. "Felix."

"Y/N."

"We agreed we'd just ignore each other during Uni, and yet, here you are, acting like I owe you something."

He groaned, your logic way too much for his absolutely plastered mind. "We had a deal. When you need it, come to me. When I need it, I come to you. Mutual disdain be damned."

"Felix, that's not the-" That was the furthest thing from the fucking deal.

"I was your first, and I'm also your best! So don't be bloody ungrateful, alright, baby? So, stop acting like you hate sex."

"This isn't about sex."

"Have we been in the same relationship?", he scoffed.

Whoops. That was the wrong word. "I just mean- we're really good at what we do, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know, I was there.", you sniped. "But I stand by what I said. This isn't about sex. This is about your borderline unhealthy obsession with me."

Okay, he came here to shag the daylights out of you, not be read through and analyzed like literature. That was fucking David- wait, Daniel? Whatever- his job. Not yours.

"'M not obsessed. Just addicted."

He always knew it was about the right words with you.

He leaned down over you, forehead nuzzled against yours, and his lips magnetically drawn to yours. "Please, Y/N."

"Felix…"

"Please. You're mine, right? You can do this for me."

Shit. That would set you off again if he didn't do something about it.

"No matter what happens between us, we've got each other's backs. You're mine, I'm yours." That should pacify you.

He peppered multiple kisses on your lips, murmuring sweet nothings to you between them. He didn't want to brag, but he was very good at being persuasive.

"Felix."

"Shh."

"Felix, I can't, I'm with someone else!" Oof. Minor setback. But it's alright. This wasn't the first time you'd forced yourself to date someone else to get over him.

"Really?"

"Yes. So you should leave."

"Leave? And not fight for you? The only woman who…", he whispered once more, bringing your hands to his chest, "…gets me?" His lips were barely inches away from your eyes, the same ones he searched so deeply through at the moment.

"Gets you or gets you off?", you scoffed.

What, did you have all his possible moves written down somewhere?

"Why can't it be both?"

"Felix, leave."

"I've got with you when I was with someone else, why can't you?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because you're you! You're never with someone else! It's just that you hook up with one person more often than the rest of the population!"

Well, yeah, wasn't that commitment?

"So? I was still with someone, but I cared about you enough to take care of you."

That was a lie.

He was the one who'd shown up at your door, not caring whether he was 'cheating' or not.

But he knew that you'd blocked out most of that traumatic night from your memory, what with the trip to the ER and all, so you wouldn't refute him.

"I'm not- you're grasping at straws."

"And you're prolonging the inevitable." God, it was such a hassle not to slur those words with how shitfaced he was. "You'll always come back to me." He continued kissing you, all the while pushing you back into your dorm and closing the door behind him. Good.

"Felix-"

"Shh, you know that you're not pulling away because you've missed me. Just as much as I've missed you."

This seemed as good a time as any to unbutton your shirt. Too bad you decided tonight was the night to be a little bitch and push him away.

"Felix, seriously, stop it, mate.", you huffed, trying to swat his hands away as they curved around your hips through your shirt. "Seriously."

"I'm not your mate.", he whispered against your lips, hoping the words started on his tongue and ended on yours, his tone far too sweet for its own good. "Don't call me that."

His fingers grazed over your bra and it felt so right he had to stop and mentally consider why in the hell he'd ever even said he hated you.

"Felix, stop."

And the look in his eyes helped you finally realize what was off, this time.

He was not drunk. He was HIGH.

But it was too late. The male ego is a fragile thing, as you'd learnt.

"Fine. I'll leave. Just know I told Mum about you. She says congrats on losing the V-Card."

"You told her that?" Fuck Felix Catton.

"Yeah. Oh, oh, plus, she wants you to come to Saltburn for Christmas. We can have our proper-proper reunion there, she says. So, you're coming."

"Like hell I will."

"C'mon, you and my Mum were always close, yeah?", he cooed, tucking a piece of your hair in between two of his fingers. "Just 'cause you quote-unquote hated me in school, doesn't make that untrue."

His hand was back on your bra. "Come to Saltburn.", he murmured against your neck. "I'll make it worth your while."

"You're going to embarrass me in front of your family.", you whispered, pushing his fingers away from the clasp, eliciting a sarcastic pout from him.

"You're going to embarrass yourself. And you and I both know you won't reject the invitation."

"You're such a cunt."

"Wow, creative.", he scoffed. Déjà vu. "See you there."

FUCK.

131 notes · View notes

murdrballad · 11 months

Text

#song hye kyo #full house 2004 #mb

2 notes · View notes

minty-marshmallow · 1 year

Text

Full House (2004) [Ep 16]

[Spoiler Warning...I forgot to kinda put this on all the others oops. But also it's been around since 2004 so]

Well, ladies, gents, and everyone else in between and non gendered; we have made it to the final episode! Let's find out what happens.

Lord, he's so horrible at communicating. Why can't he just say what he thinks? He starts fighting with her and of course, she's gonna get mad and say she won't marry him. Now you gotta fix it, sir.

I love how there is a reversal and everything is kind of become full circle now. She's going to use him as a maid like he did her in the beginning.

The ice skating scene is cute. I can't believe they wrote a scene with her giving him a scarf because it's cold..yall that scarf is so thin and small it ain't gonna do anything. They could have just used like an actual one but whatever.

Aww, he's always getting interrupted. Poor thing, but I'm sure he'll get to confess soon. The episode is already half over.

Of course, he got sick and she took care of him. I like that she set up the tent to accommodate him because she knew he was so determined to go camping with her. She knew once he felt better he would still demand to go.

AHHH, he finally said it! He finally said he loved her.

I must admit, I do love a good old-fashioned kdrama where it takes them 16 episodes to kiss, haha.

It was a good ending, everyone seemed happy and that's good. I honestly thought they were gonna make her pregnant at the end though haha.

#asian drama #asian drama recap #kdrama #korean drama #kdrama recap #korean drama recap #full house #full house 2004

1 note · View note

winedarkthoughts · 4 months

Text

house of addams (5)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 5.4k

— 🍄 summary: what’s better than two nerds? three nerds, obviously.

— ☕ content warnings: jimin is a shameless flirt, mentions of death/decomposition/suicide, more scientific inaccuracies, jimin joins the league of nerds, namjoon is a sweetheart

— 🕸️ a/n: thank you so much to everyone who continues to read and comment!! your kind words keep me writing :)

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 5: triple threat

october 14, 2004

"How is it? Do I look human enough?" Jimin asks on their way out.

Yoongi pauses by the front door to assess him, raising a brow when he's able to take a look at Jimin's ensemble.

"Your glamour's solid," Yoongi replies, scanning him up and down. "Dressed up, huh?" He says it with a slight teasing lilt.

Jimin is decked out in fitted pants, a green turtleneck sweater under a black coat, his signature heeled boots, and one of his more expensive leather bags draped over his shoulder.

Jimin feigns ignorance as he looks down at himself.

"Oh, am I?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes and side steps him to slip out the front door, which opens and closes without any effort from either of them.

You don't want to talk about the dreams. They're nothing to worry about, really. Just a multitude of images and sounds and sensations. Some of them worse than others.

But even still, you don't want to talk about them.

Today, you're setting out for some more fieldwork, this time with Jimin the chemist adding to your bank of knowledge.

You pick up their coffee orders as well as some pastries from the cafe and head to the meeting site.

They're three minutes late, which you wouldn't have expected from Yoongi. Not to mention that they arrive together, cresting the hill and walking down the path like they came from the same place.

"Good morning," you greet them.

"It definitely is now," Jimin casually mumbles under his breath, but you still catch it. Yoongi does too, judging from the way his eyes widen ever so slightly ad his cheeks immediately flush.

You hand them their coffees, allowing yourself one (1) indulgent look at them before you focus your mind on work and not a pair of pretty faces.

Not that you've seen Jimin's full face. Again, he's wearing a black mask and tinted glasses, so really all you can see is his (absolutely cut) jawline, the curves and contours of his neck, and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. But this time he's wearing a black pageboy hat that hides most of his silver hair, probably on account of the cold.

The fact that he looks like a goddamn model leaving his chic apartment in the middle of Paris fashion week doesn't help your one look rule.

So you look at Yoongi, and shit it does not help.

He's wearing black skinny jeans, an oversized black button up, and a pair of battered sneakers. This time, his elegant hands are adorned with a multitude of silver rings, bracelets glint around his wrists, and several sets of dangling earrings frame his face.

His hair is fluffy with a slight curl to it. Did...did he style it?

He must catch you staring at him, because then his hands are fidgeting and he's looking down at the ground.

Clearing your throat, you grab your notebook to look over your bullet points.

"Alright, to the lake," you break the silence, leading the way while chugging your coffee.

Now that you have a little more information on Sharon Mason's death, you can analyze the site with a fresh perspective. It is indeed cold, and the water is no doubt even colder.

You did a bit of research, and apparently some of the first signs of hypothermia are the "-umbles," i.e. stumbles, mumbles, and fumbles. Then, involuntary shivering, loss of motor functions, and—

"Do you think she was dead before she entered the water?" Yoongi asks suddenly.

You're doing it again, damnit. Working alone for so long has given you a habit of talking to yourself, and sometimes it's hard to know if you're doing it (very much out loud) without realizing, since no one is usually there to comment on it.

It doesn't help that the two men have already proven to be distracting enough.

"In my opinion, no," you answer. The autopsy report, as well as all of your research, flashes through your memory like so many sleepless nights.

"It's much more likely that the temperature of the water lead to her demise," you say, half to yourself. Because of the high thermal conductivity, hypothermia can occur twenty-four times faster in water than in the air. Even in non-freezing temperatures, hypothermia can cause death in as little as forty-five minutes.

"And in the moderate stage of hypothermia, one of the symptoms is irrational behavior. Like removing their clothes even though they're freezing," you rattle on, eyes on the dark undulating water of Lurking Lake.

Honestly, that's one of the only reasons you can think of as to why Mason entered the water of her own volition. Even if you were to entertain the notion of suicide, hypothermia is often a slow and painful process, and survival instincts are likely to kick in involuntarily.

But the toxicology report stated she wasn't under the influence of any alcohol or drugs that could've explained the odd behavior. It just doesn't make any damn sense.

"So," Jimin says softly, as if sensing your frustration. "What did you want me to look for?"

You shake your head to clear the cobwebs, taking a few more sips of coffee.

"Anything unusual when it comes to the lake environment," you answer. The lake happens to be the area you have the least expertise in, so you're hoping Jimin will be able to make up for it.

"Tell me about it," you invite, stepping forward to examine the waterline.

Looking at it again, you notice several things you hadn't before. There's the same curtain of fog, the same cattails and lily-pad-like plants poking to the surface, but there's also a little wooden dock a small distance away.

Almost unconsciously, you start to move towards it while Jimin and Yoongi follow dutifully.

"Well, you've probably heard that it's polluted," Jimin answers.

"So I've heard. Polluted how, exactly?" you press.

You're closer now, seeing that the little dock is half underwater, old and rotted.

"The real question is what isn't it polluted by, really," Jimin continues. "There's the lead poisoning, the PFASs, the—"

"The what?" you interrupt, rummaging around in your bag for something to write with.

A little glint sparks in Jimin's eyes, the rest of him visibly perking up.

"PFASs, or perfluoroalkyl and polyfluoroalkyl substances, they're a subset of fluorinated chemicals, so they possess strong carbon-fluorine bonds—"

"Jimin, you don't need to go into detail..." Yoongi cuts in, but not in an annoyed way, more like he's anxious that you'll get annoyed.

"No, no, please go ahead," you encourage him, pen now poised over your notepad.

You can't see it, but Jimin smiles and blushes a bit under the mask.

"So, these are sometimes called "forever chemicals," because of their strong molecular bonds that can take hundreds of years to break down," he continues, with you one step behind him jotting everything down.

"Hmm, and I'm guessing you can find many of these "forever chemicals" in pesticides," you remark.

Another smile, this time from admiration, crosses Jimin's face.

"Correct."

While you were roaming around town to interview Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's family, you found out that many of the townsfolk use a heavy amount of pesticides and herbicides on their land. You're guessing because of the strange fungus and tree rot that's been rapidly spreading.

As the three of you roam the perimeter of the water, you listen to Jimin's explanation of the other types of pollution in the lake, from nutrient pollution (or an excessive amount of nitrogen and phosphorous that cause algal growth) and the increase of TDSs (or total dissolved solids, usually due to an increase in the saltiness of the water).

You ask Jimin to collect some samples so he can test the salinity and get a more accurate sense of what specific chemicals you're dealing with.

"What about the wildlife?" you ask, watching a few tiny fish squirm between the rocks.

There's that same twinkle in his eye as he gets into it.

"Well, there's actually a pretty invasive species of leech in this lake," he says, sounding like a kid in a candy store.

He explains that these leeches can grow up to twelve inches long (jesus christ), and while different species of leeches can feed on organic material or prey on other animals, this specific species is purely parasitic.

Yoongi wanders off to examine some of the outlying plants while Jimin excitedly rambles on, with you listening intently to every word.

He has a strangely melodic voice, sweet and smooth. It's a voice you feel like you could listen to for hours.

Apparently, leeches have a numbing agent in their saliva, so the host can't even tell when it's been bitten. They also release an anticoagulant, making the host's blood flow faster, so there's even a danger of excessive bleeding after the leech has detached.

"You're quite knowledgeable on the subject," you say, allowing your interest and admiration to shine through your voice.

Jimin shrugs it off modestly, turning to continue along the path.

"I have specific interests, I guess," he replies. "I wanted to head a research project on this location, but there wasn't enough funding."

"Ah, that's a shame," you say sincerely.

"Yoongi wanted to look deeper into the local plant life mutations, but again, lack of funding," Jimin adds.

"Really?" you respond, and something in your voice must betray the way your interest snags, because Jimin looks up at you like he let something slip.

Maybe that's why the mayor recommended him to you, maybe he contributed to the push for answers.

Jimin wanders off a bit, and yeah anybody who wants to judge you for staring at him can press charges.

It's just so easy to watch him when he's focused, Yoongi too for that matter. They always put their hands in their pockets and lean forward, head tilting to the side and eyes narrowing as they hone in on whatever they're examining.

Yoongi is collecting some more plant samples, his eyes narrowed in what looks like confusion.

Jimin is staring at a specific spot in the lake, towards the center but still visible from your position.

"See something?" you ask as you walk up to where he's standing, following his line of sight.

He points to the spot he's been staring at, and you have to lean forward and squint your eyes.

For a moment, you don't see anything, just dark water and fog. Jimin seems to notice, being as perceptive as he is.

"Unfocus your eyes a little, be openminded," Jimin whispers in your ear like it's a secret.

You do as he says. It takes you a few seconds, but then you see it. The top of a wooden post sticking up from the gentle waves. And when you look closer, you can see the top of a sign. Through the water, you can make out the words DEEP WATER.

"Huh," you let out. "So the water level is rising."

"It would appear so," Jimin replies, and something in his voice suggests that he's thinking hard.

He pulls a tupperware container from some secret pocket in his coat, snapping it open.

Your attention shifts between the algae covered rocks and the tadpoles just under the surface. Then you smell something sweet.

Another look at Jimin answers why. He's pulled his mask down and is nibbling at a cupcake with swirling frosting, flecks of pure vanilla visible even from where you're standing.

It tickles something in the back of your brain.

"I should get going," Yoongi says, checking his watch. It reminds Jimin to do the same thing.

"Yeah, me too," he adds, readjusting the mask back over his face.

You check the time. It's only two p.m. Though it is Wednesday, and you remember Yoongi having to head home at a certain time during your last outing.

"Okay," you reply, expertly hiding your slight disappointment at having your time with them cut short. Just because you're eager to work through this case. No other reason.

"Let me give you a ride," you offer while you put away your notes.

"Oh, that's okay, we'll walk," Yoongi is quick to reply. "It's not far."

They gather up their things, checking their watches often like they're late for something.

"I'll get started on those tests right away," Jimin assures you, and Yoongi gives you a shy little wave goodbye.

They start on the path together, walking almost shoulder to shoulder. You watch them go.

Just before they crest the hill and disappear among the trees, you see Jimin hold up the last bite of his cupcake up to Yoongi's mouth, who takes the offering like it's second nature.

They seem to move like the tide, pushing and pulling effortlessly as if they've known each other for years. Maybe they have, it's not like you know a lot about them.

You resume your work feeling only a little hollow inside.

october 15, 2004

The next day, you're still feeling a little empty and aimless. So you go to your favorite place in town: Magic Shop Books and Oddities.

Namjoon sits behind the desk, wearing a collared shirt under a knit sweater. There's an open book in his hands, titled Morbid Fears and Curious Compulsions.

You allow yourself to watch him for a short moment, admiring how his eyes dart around the page, how he clenches his jaw occasionally when he comes to a difficult passage.

After a while, he looks up and realizes that you're there. He doesn't even flinch at the fact that you've been watching him. A warm smile crosses his face, one that makes his cheeks crease and his dimples pop out (and oh my god is he stunning).

"Hello," he greets you in that velvet voice. "Need help finding anything?"

And as much as you enjoy his company and expertise, you aren't here for research.

"I'm just browsing today, thanks," you reply, returning his smile.

You wander around for a bit, exploring more of the nooks and crannies that make this place so charming. You come across a narrow staircase towards the back of the shop, with a little sign pointing up and stating Poetry Upstairs ↑.

You start to ascend, feet padding on the rug which has been trodden on so much that the wood of the stairs is exposed through the tears in the material.

More shelves and oddities await. It's nice to browse the tomes aimlessly, giving yourself a little break from the constant tension of mapping out the case files in your head.

There's some taxidermy animals (a raccoon playing poker, a squirrel smoking a cigar), a rack of dusty, frayed vinyl records. There's even a little corner with some displayed apparel, fur coats and vintage dresses and old lace.

You comb through the racks, curiosity drawing you towards something unnamed but still itching under your skin. Then, you find an authentic leather jacket. The inner lining is a more warm material, perfect for cold weather, and the inside is crowded with little symbols stitched into the fabric.

You try it on and look in the antique mirror leaning against the wall. It's perfectly oversized, comfortable and practical. You look for a price tag but find nothing.

"How much?" you ask Namjoon when you descent back down to the counter.

He gives the jacket a once-over.

"Twenty bucks?" he says.

"What?!" you blurt out before you can help it. A piece like this go easily go for a hundred, not to mention all the detailing.

"No way, fifty at least," you respond. Namjoon's eyes widen a bit.

"That's very generous, but you don't have to—"

"It's you that's the generous one," you interrupt. "Fifty then, alright?"

A glint of stubbornness lights in his brown eyes. Luckily, you've been stubborn since the day you took your first breath.

"Thirty-five," he counters.

"Forty-five."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Thirty-seven ninety-nine?"

You tilt your chin up in consideration.

"Fine," you say, reaching for your wallet.

He smiles triumphantly as he rings you up. As he's placing the jacket into a bag, you pretend to notice something on the shelf behind him.

"Is that real amber?" you ask, and he turns his head to what you're pointing at. You slip several bills, enough to cover the difference, into the tip jar while his back is turned.

"Yes it is!" he answers proudly when he turns back around, and his visible joy is enough to spark something in the depths of your stomach.

"Interesting," you reply, grabbing the bag and your receipt.

After you've left through the front door, Namjoon glances at the tip jar with a barely concealed grin.

"Sneaky little thing."

october 17, 2004

You're sitting in the cafe with a fresh cup of coffee and a square of cheesecake to snack on when Jimin and Yoongi enter the establishment.

Still the epitome of sleek grace, they are both dressed in black.

Jimin is decked out in a leather trench coat, wearing the same heeled boots, his hair tucked into a black cap and his face obscured by another mask. A messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, which he cradles like the contents are more precious than gold.

Yoongi is wearing an oversized coat and a bucket hat, the same skinny jeans hugging his slim legs. And no, you're not going to apologize for staring this time.

And neither is anybody else, apparently. Because every patron in the cafe has looked up, and is staring just as intently at the two men.

But Jimin pays them no mind, scanning the room like he's looking for something. He finds it when his gaze lands on your face, which is (embarrassingly) already looking at them.

He takes it as an invitation, approaching the booth you're sitting at with determination, pulling Yoongi along with him.

"Hello, ______. Mind if we join you?" he asks, though it's less of a question and more of a statement.

They sink down across from you, Jimin emptying the contents of his bag. Yoongi turns to go to the counter, muttering something about getting a coffee. Heads turn to watch him go.

Jimin spreads his notes across the surface of the table. Then he flashes three test tubes before your eyes, held between his fingers.

"See anything interesting?" he asks a little playfully.

One test tube contains clear liquid, one contains a slightly murkier liquid with sediment floating inside, and one contains a greenish sludge.

"I don't know what I'm looking at," you admit.

"This," he says, pointing to the one with the relatively clear liquid. "Is a sample taken just after we arrived at the lake. It falls under the category of slightly saline water, around 2,000 ppm."

"Ppm?" you cut in.

"Parts per million," he answers helpfully, and that's one of the things you like about Jimin. Even though he's an apparent "genius," as Yoongi put it, he never sounds condescending. He answers any and all of your questions clearly and happily.

"This is pretty normal for lake water, especially a closed body of water like Lurking Lake."

You tilt your head slightly to the side, not quite familiar with the details of a "closed body of water," and Jimin catches it instantly.

"Oh, so lakes that are formed from rivers and streams will have a constant flow of water coming in, right? But the water level of closed lakes tend to decrease because of evaporation. As a result, the salinity often increases because the freshwater is evaporating away."

"Okay, so what you're telling me is this is perfectly normal sample," you say.

"Yes, but," Jimin begins. "This one is a water sample taken just before we left the lake, so roughly an hour later."

He holds up the slightly murkier water.

"This water is highly saline, around 30,000 ppm. That's almost as much as the damn ocean."

Yoongi returns just as you try to wrap your head around what he's implying. Iced Americano for Yoongi, and a caramel latte and vanilla scone for Jimin, though you don't remember Jimin telling him his order. Maybe they do know each other that well.

"So," you start, still confused. "Two samples from the same source, but one is freshwater and one is saltwater?"

"Exactly," Jimin confirms. He lowers his mask to gnash at his vanilla scone, and you see a flash of his (the only word to describe it is luscious) lips before they are hidden again.

"That's..." you want to say impossible, but your previous work has proven that almost nothing is actually so. "Highly unusual."

You don't see it, too busy looking down at the surface of the table deep in thought, but the two men give you a look of respect for your specific word choice. Because if any other group of people in this town know that nothing is truly impossible, it's them.

"What about that one?" you ask, gesturing to the test tube with the seaweed-colored sludge.

"Ah! Now this," Jimin starts excitedly, holding up the glass so the strange stuff inside can catch the light.

"This is an isolation of the lake's main sources of pollution," he explains.

A chuckle escapes from Yoongi, making you whip around to look at him.

"Oh yeah, he stayed up all night with Melancholia, testing away," Yoongi quips fondly.

"Melancholia?" you can't help but ask. Sounds like a girlfriend.

A fierce blush flames across Jimin's face, you can tell because it reaches all the way up to his forehead.

"My microscope," he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

And is it adorable that Jimin has named a piece of his equipment? Yes, of course it is.

You offer him a non-judgemental smile, and he visibly eases up.

"Anyways, this is an amalgamation of all the substances polluting the lake. High concentrations of lead, nitrogen and phosphorous from the algae, and TDSs, though we know that's from the salinity. And I found a high number of synthetic surfactants," Jimin continues.

"Explain to me what that means?" you reply curiously, igniting the same little spark in Jimin's eyes when he gets to talk about the ins and outs of chemistry.

And the more you see that look on his face, the more you want to act clueless just so he has an opportunity to express it.

"So, a surfactant is a substance that tends to reduce the surface tension of the liquid it's dissolved in. These are most likely found in cleaning products and detergents, since their molecules break down the surface tension of water in order to allow the product to spread out and clean better, as well as attaching to dirt particles and rinsing away grease more easily."

"Okay," you say, nodding as you follow along.

"But most surfactants are skin, eye, and respiratory irritants. Carcinogens, sometimes even.”

“Okay,” you say, not sure where he is going with this.

“So, your latest victim, Sharon Mason, her body should’ve reflected the effects of these toxins since she was in the water for several weeks.”

“Hmm,” you mutter. Another mystery. You would think that Mason’s body was encased in time given how little it was disturbed.

“Could that have contributed to why she was practically untouched by the local wildlife? They could smell all the toxins in her body?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs like you’re not quite on the right track.

“Maybe, but there’s a hell of a lot more toxins in the water than there probably was in Mason’s body. Really, it’s a miracle there’s any wildlife in the lake at all,” he says.

You sip at your coffee contemplatively.

“Yoon, tell her what you found,” Jimin encourages, turning to his companion.

Yoongi clears his throat and spreads out some of his notes.

“So, you know how I mentioned that the flora in Ulthar's Grove looked dehydrated despite all the recent rainfall?" Yoongi begins.

"Uh huh." You nod along, listening intently.

"Well, the flora around the lake is not only severely dehydrated, it's dying from salt poisoning."

"Salt poisoning?" you inquire.

"Yeah, so not only does too much salt affect osmosis and draw water from the plant, it can also interfere with the chemical processes used to convert sugars into nutrients."

"Acid rain?" you think out loud, but Yoongi gives a little head shake.

"Not likely. Damage like this is almost always caused by absorption through the soil, since most plants don't absorb much from their leaves and stems."

You sink back in your seat. Fungi, tree rot, lake pollution, salt poisoning. It seems like the more you try to find solutions, the more problems you unearth. Nothing but fragments of death and decay.

You're tired today.

"So, what's next, boss?" Jimin says, voice light like he's trying to cheer you up.

"What could be causing such high concentrations of salt?" you ask to no one in particular.

"Well, a number of things," Yoongi answers. "Wastewater, excess fertilizer, mining and oil extraction."

"So mainly man-made problems," you interrupt. Yoongi offers that straight-mouthed smile.

"Unfortunately, most of the environmental problems that exist today are man-made," he supplies.

You let out a slight huff. You'll have to speak with the mayor to report your most recent findings. Now that you think about it, you remember some of your research on decomposition stating that bodies decay much slower in salt water. Maybe that was the main reason why Mason's body was so preserved.

But why the fuck would the water measure fresh at one point in time and almost as salty as the damn ocean in another?

"Fuck me blue," you sigh to yourself.

Jimin bursts out laughing just as he goes in for another bite of scone, and you thought you see a flash of sharp teeth. He's covering his mouth with his hand before you can be sure.

"Anyways, I've gotta get going," you say, gathering your things, missing the slightly disappointed look from both men as you do so.

"I guess I should get to studying too," Yoongi mutters, sticking headphones into his ears.

"Thank you both for your help, I really appreciate it," you say earnestly, giving both of them a grateful look.

"Of course! Let us know if there's anything else we can help with," Jimin replies, and you can see that he's smiling because of the ways his eyes crinkle above his mask.

You can't help but glance back at Yoongi as you're leaving, as he's diving into a boring-looking science book. It's then that you notice the little chunks of chocolate that he's spread out over the page, like it's a little reward for getting though the tedious reading.

Another tickle in the back of your brain. It's the one you feel when you feel like you're missing a connection, when you're debating on if one of the many innocuous details you can never seem to ignore are important or not.

You're aware again of the several pairs of eyes that are attached to Yoongi, most of them belonging to University students.

Why are they looking at him like that?

You've never been able to hold back the beast that is curiosity, so when you exit the cafe you linger by the entrance, waiting. Not long after, a handful of students leave with their coffees and treats now in to-go containers.

"Excuse me," you say in your best non-confrontational voice.

They stop and turn. Recognition glints in one of the young woman's eyes.

"Hey, you're the journalist, right?" she asks.

Your first thought is that word certainly travels in this town. The second is perfect, run with it!

"Yes, I am," you reply, letting yourself sound a little more official. "I was wondering if I could get a few comments. You'll be credited, of course."

They comply more easily than you would've thought, given the hesitancy of the other small town inhabitants. But then again, these were college students.

You ask them about the three decedents, then about the five missing persons. They tell you more of what you already know, but you have to cover all your bases.

Though, some of them claim that there was barely any press coverage, while some claim there was some tabloid-like slander.

When you've got the formalities out of the way, you get to the questions you really want to ask. Closing your notepad, as if to say "this is off the record," you ask,

"So what's the deal with him?" You nod your head in Yoongi's direction.

"He's a complete freak," one of them quips almost immediately, and it takes you aback.

"Yeah, he lives in that creepy house on the hill," another one supplies.

"He...doesn't really interact with anyone at the university," one of them says more hesitantly. "And he talks to himself. Like a lot."

Talks to himself or talks to his plants, you wonder.

"He's just got bad vibes, like the rest of them."

That makes you pause.

"The rest of them?" you ask.

"Yeah, there's like seven of them that live up there. All creeps, if you ask me."

You've heard enough. Clicking your pen sharply, you straighten and offer them a tight-lipped smile.

Because yes, Yoongi is a little unusual, but you don't care for people who talk that way about people they don't really know. Or maybe it's because you've been called a creep one too many times. It makes you want to show them just how creepy you can truly be.

"Thank you for your time," you say, turning and leaving them standing there on the sidewalk.

october 18, 2004

It's easier to just avoid sleep. If you don't sleep, then you won't dream.

You've been particularly agitated. Maybe it was from the encounter with the college students yesterday.

You like Yoongi and Jimin, they remind you of you. So it's a little disheartening to find out that the townsfolk don't take kindly to that type of person.

And you've hit a bit of a mental dead end with Sharon Mason. More research, more deep-diving, and you can't come up with a practical reason for what led to her death, and what happened to her body afterwards.

Now, as a private investigator, you've come across many cases that resulted in lackluster, disappointing, or downright depressing conclusions.

The unfortunate reality is that humanity, including many of the things they've invented, is a disease. Religion, tradition, social constructs, willful ignorance, they're all the main purveyors of cruelty.

But that same annoying part of your brain, tucked into the furthermost back corner, won't let you let go of the notion that something is unusual about everything here. Something that cannot be explained by conventional methods.

You take an afternoon to decompress by the lake. Even though it was the location of a mysterious death and several strange anomalies, you can't help but feel that the atmosphere is somehow peaceful.

Okay, maybe you are genuinely weird.

The swirling fog is almost hypnotizing, the chill is invigorating, and you enjoy watching all the little squirming fish in the shallows. You even brought a little packed lunch and thermos of hot, frothy coffee.

It's as you're sitting along the shoreline that something unusual happens.

One moment, the air smells of musky lake water, algae and rotting wood. The next, the brisk, biting wind of the sea is whipping through your hair.

The water appears less green and more deep blue. When you look back at the shallows, they no longer house tadpoles, but anemones and small starfish.

You only hesitate a moment before you're reaching in your bag for a sample container, using a pair of tweezers to pluck up some of the organisms.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, mind reeling with possible explanations. You don't come up with many.

When you look back up at the water, a pale hand is sticking up from the gentle waves. It's held out to you, fingers curling slightly, beckoning.

Your stomach nearly falls out of your ass. The hand is only a few meters away, though you can't see anything beneath it given the darkness of the water.

A second, maybe two, though it feels like your breath has been stolen for several minutes.

The hand folds inward, and this time it's an unmistakable invitation.

Less than a blink later it's gone. The water is back to its sickly green color, and the scent of moss and festering wood is back.

Hands shaking, you linger long enough to seal the specimen container and stow it safely in your bag, then you get the hell out of there.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! I would be your best friend forever if you’d be so kind as to share some of your thoughts on the chapter! shit is starting to go down!!

NEXT UPDATE: ??

#bts x reader #bts ot7 #bts fanfic #bts series #ot7 x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts fanfiction #bts mystery #bts angst #bts poly au #bts poly x reader

160 notes · View notes

smusherina · 6 months

Text

yard work - chapter 6 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): 2004 was not a good time for the gays. homophobia persists. insecurity about weight and insulting oneself about it.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 7

You dipped into your savings and got Regina a new, fancy moisturizer. You couldn't count on her using it instead of the lard, but well. Guide a horse to water, can't make it drink, and all that.

You didn't tell her about the Homecoming prank, though. She'd been pissed about that. Not for long, because then it turned into a sort of trend at Northshore and it only boosted her popularity.

You were perhaps more upset about it. Upset you'd let it happen, upset they'd done it in the first place, upset Regina stood there with Aaron. He didn't even look like he wanted to be there.

Regina managing to turn it around for her benefit didn't stop you from feeling bad. It was the principle of the thing. You'd taken some distance from her. Everybody, actually. People just didn't feel all that great to be around. You were betraying Regina by letting her be essentially bullied by Janis, you were tolerating Regina's abusive reign over the student body, Aaron was getting on your last nerve by simply existing, and your mom's death anniversary was coming up.

You went to the Georges' less. Regina came to yours when you didn't lie about having to catch up on homework or doing a project. You did do some yard work for them since you still needed the extra cash. Just basic things like raking leaves and doing small repairs here and there. You also covered the pool with Mrs George's help.

"Whew, I forget what a chore that is every year!" She wiped at her forehead. You laid on the grass, chest heaving. You'd carried maybe seventy per cent of that thing.

"You said it, Mrs George." You managed to get out.

"How many years have I been telling you to call me Jude. Or just mom." You looked up at her. She looked so much like Regina. Or Regina looked so much like her.

She'd known your mom. Cried harder at her funeral than your dad or even yourself. You hadn't really gotten it, at that point. She'd hugged you tight and told you what an amazing woman she was, that she hadn't deserved to go yet. She sent you food for weeks after, which you appreciated because dad was too busy sorting stuff out to cook for you.

She'd been more of a mom to you than your own had ever gotten to be. Still, it felt wrong to call her anything other than Mrs George. It was weird. Word association gone all wrong. Mom meant a casket being lowered into a hole on a bleak November day, an echoing house and an empty kitchen, sad and wistful things. Mrs George meant afternoons spent running around in the backyard, eating 'till your belly was full to bursting, happiness and summer.

"Many, many years." You groaned as you got up. "Is Reggie home?"

You figured it would be weird if you didn't go say hi, at least. You didn't want to cut her out entirely. It was just hard being around her when the weight of your own actions, and inactions, weighed on your shoulders.

She smiled in a way that told you she'd noticed your deflection. "In her room."

"Great. Oh, by the way, what did you do with the apples this year?"

"I convinced Rick to donate them to the women's shelter downtown. They'll be put to good use there."

"That's awesome," You put your hands to your hips and looked around. "Anything you want me to do?"

"I'll just hose down the rose bushes, you head on inside. Avoid the living room, Rick's on a conference call." She waved you off with a smile.

You trod through the house carefully, shoes in hand. You knew the Georges were a shoes-on household, but it just never felt right for you to walk on carpeted floors with your shoes on. What if you had stepped on dogshit? What then?

"Reg?" Her door was open a crack, so you peeked in. "You decent?"

"Yes, I'm decent." You could hear the eye roll in her voice. "What do you want?"

Yikes. She wasn't happy.

You walked in and closed the door behind you. She was on her bed, reading a book on her belly. She was snacking on some candy bar.

"I just came to say hi. I put the pool cover on with your mom." You walked up to her. "What're you reading?"

"I could hear you huffing and puffing all the way up here." She turned on her side to look at you. "The Catcher in the Rye. It's boring."

"I dunno, I liked it." You climbed in hesitantly. When she didn't protest, you settled down on your side facing her, head leaned against your palm.

"You've read it?" She tossed the book on the floor next to the bed, now giving you her full attention. "Can you write my paper?"

"Depends on how much you'll pay me." You grinned and rubbed your fingers together like you were handling cash.

"Boo, you whore." She pouted. "Aren't we supposed to be beyond that?"

"I don't do charity, my friend." You flopped onto your back and crossed your arms. Shit, she had a comfy bed. So soft but just firm enough, too. You let your eyes close. You were so tired from all that physical labour.

"Get off my bed, you traitor." You opened your eyes too late. She was already on you, pushing you, and you had no time to resist until you were toppling onto the floor. You clambered down in a mess of limbs and sheets, which you'd grabbed in your desperate attempt to stay aboard.

"Reg! Your bed is actually high up! Help me!" You felt like Mufasa clinging to the face of the cliff, fingers digging into the slippery bedding. One of your legs was still on the bed, but not securely enough that you would've been able to pull yourself to safety.

"Just put your leg on the floor, dumbass." She cackled, watching you panic over such a small drop.

"No, look, it's not that- close." You lowered your leg and your knee made contact with the floor. Regina fell back, gasping as she laughed. "Shut up, you teapot!"

"No! I'm not-" She tried to stifle the laughs escaping her, the real wheezing ones she didn't let out of their cage willingly, but one look at you set it off again. "Your hair!"

You lifted your hands to your head. "It's not my fault your sheets are fucking static."

By the time Mrs George came to inform you that she'd be starting on dinner, thus signifying you should probably go, Regina had stopped laughing, if just barely.

"Have you been using the moisturizer I gave you?" You tried to analyze her face. It didn't look any less flawless than usual.

"Yeah, it's really great. My old night lotion started smelling weird for some reason. Maybe it expired early or something." You just hummed in response.

"I should probably go home and make myself dinner too."

"I'll walk you down."

You walked down the stairs and to the backdoor, avoiding the living room despite the blaring of the TV. Mr George was definitely not on a call anymore.

"What're you making today?" Regina asked, standing somewhat awkwardly on the porch.

"Probably tacos. I found a great deal on some corn tortillas at the store. They're all going bad today, so. Gonna stuff myself."

"Save some for me, yeah?"

You weren't sure what she meant by that. "Sure."

You walked home and as you'd said, got started on dinner. Moving around the kitchen without Regina there in the way, chopping whatever vegetables into misshapen cubes, felt weird. She wasn't over that often, but you'd gotten used to it regardless.

It was perhaps your biggest flaw as a person, how intolerant you were to being alone. Ironic, considering how much time you had to spend alone.

If it was up to you, you would've made Birria tacos with a good cut of sirloin, but you didn't have the money for fresh cuts of beef. Besides, you hadn't even started on the stew, and that took a whole day. So, you settled on some basic ground beef filling. You had made Pico de Gallo earlier that day, so it was nice and flavourful by the time you were constructing your tacos.

Back when you'd still needed a babysitter, there had been this one Mexican lady who appeared on the roster most often. It was so long ago you couldn't remember her name. She'd made you call her Abuela. She was sweet and taught you the wonder of Latin American cuisine. From what you could understand, she'd been well-travelled and really loved food everywhere.

She stopped coming when all of your babysitters did. The last time you saw her, you hadn't known it would be the last time.

This time of year really made you a monster. A dull grey, depressing monster. You'd have to find some exciting hobby because even you were getting sick of this. Maybe cliff jumping?

A knock on your door was the last thing you expected when you were finally ready to chow down. Making such a huge amount of food took time.

"What?" You barked to whoever dared to disturb you. "Oh, shit."

"Is that how you greet all your dinner guests?" Regina asked, batting her eyelashes. She had on a deep red dress, shiny satin that licked at the curves and edges of her body just right. It reached all the way to her feet, where you could see black heels peeking out from under the hem. She stood taller than usual, but still so short you could see above her head. The dress was strapless as far as you could tell as her jacket was covering her shoulders. Sweetheart neckline and a clutch to match. She had a thin gold chain around her neck with a small R-charm on it. Gold hoop earrings, hair done up in curls.

A grin crept up onto her face as you continued to gape at her visage. "I know, right?" She posed, one hand holding the clutch at level with her thigh and one poised at her waist. "I'm so sexy."

"Yeah, uh, yes, you are." You stuttered, stunned and flustered. You wanted to touch her, feel the fabric of the dress with the tips of your fingers, grab a hold of her and press close to her. She looked so fucking good.

"Thanks, baby." She took a couple of steps forward to reach you and, nonchalant as could be, brushed her hand at your shoulder as if she were brushing off dust.

Your knees wobbled.

"I have dinner for us." You blurted out. "I, uh..." You needed to pull it together. "I'm gonna go change."

"You do that," Regina said with an indulgent smile. You shot up the stairs.

When you came back down, still tucking your shirt into your trousers and tie undone, Regina was sitting on the couch perusing a magazine. It was probably from last year or something, you didn't exactly update the stuff under the coffee table.

You coughed to get her attention. "Ready for dinner, Reggie?"

"Ugh, don't ruin the moment. Anything other than that."

"I'm Jorts and you're Reggie, that's how it's been." You reminded and gently plucked her clutch from her hands before gesturing for her to turn around. She did, looking a little confused. When you reached to take her jacket off, she recoiled.

"Um, I would like to keep it on." She said, the confidence from before diminishing.

"Oh, why?" You asked. "Are you cold?"

"No, it's just, um..." Regina George stammering. You didn't think you'd live to see the day. "I don't look like I used to before."

"What does that mean?" You checked her out, toes to forehead. Drop-dead gorgeous as always.

"I've gained a bunch of weight." She looked down as if she needed to be ashamed. "I barely fit into this gown. I had to suck in even with the Spanx. And I still look like a whale."

As much as you would've liked to be incredulous and loud about just how wrong she was, it didn't seem like the right course of action. She was being open and vulnerable with you.

"I don't think you look like a whale." You stepped close to her tentatively. You set the clutch on the coffee table. Then, just as tentatively, circled your arms around her. You slotted your fingers together at her lower back and pulled her to you so that your bellies touched.

"I couldn't hug a whale." You pointed out helpfully, leaning back slightly to still look her in the eyes. "I'd love to see the dress in its full glory."

Regina, hands fussing with unmade your tie, bit her lip in contemplation.

"Careful, don't mess up your lipstick." She rubbed her lips together at that, a smile threatening to break out.

"Fine. But you can't laugh or stare or anything."

"I swear." You put one hand on your heart and the other up. "Now turn around."

She did as you asked. "You're being awfully chivalrous."

"It's what you deserve, Reggie." You crooned jokingly, pulling the jacket from her shoulders. The dress was cut elegantly so that there were no straps, but bits of fabric hanging by her upper arms. Cold-shoulder. You hoped the jokes in your tone hid how nervous you were.

"What did I just say?" As if that little moment between you two hadn't even happened, she was right back to her normal self.

"Fine. But you'll always be my Reggie. I guess tonight we can pretend." You sighed. "Whatever you say, honey."

"Better." She turned and tugged at your tie. "Now, let's get you sorted."

"I had very little notice, okay?" You grumbled but bent down obediently so she'd have an easier time tying your tie. You'd used to play dress up mixed with house all the time. You'd nearly always been the dad and so, you had to wear a tie. Obviously. Mrs George had gotten tired of constantly being asked to do it, so she'd taught Regina.

Now, it felt a little different. For one, you were taller. Secondly, this wasn't a children's game. Maybe you were playing a little bit, pretending, but it didn't quite feel like that. There was something undeniably real about this.

"There." She said once she was finished, smoothing it out against your chest. "You couldn't find one matching the dress?"

"You're impossible to please." You chuckled. "I'll make sure to go tie shopping as soon as possible."

"Good." She liked to ignore your sardonic tone pretty often. "Now, what's on the menu?"

You tucked the rest of the shirt into your pants and, voila, you were done.

"Tacos, my lady." You offered up your arm half in jest. She hooked her wrist into the bend of your elbow with an incline of her head. Clearly, she was a girl that liked to be wined and dined.

You snuck a bottle from your dad's wine collection, hoping it wasn't some speciality. Looking at the label, it wasn't very old. Wine quality was assessed like that, right?

You ate your fills and then some, drinking wine all the while, then retreated to the couch to recover, and turned on the TV to watch while eating dessert. Sharing a pint of ice cream, curled up on the couch in fancy clothes, warm and away from the cold of late November, you wondered what had brought this on.

It wasn't an official date, that much you knew. Regina wasn't a lesbian like you. Maybe she was indulging you. That would mean she knew you had a crush on her. You hoped that wasn't true. Regina was an observant person, though. Fuck, that'd be humiliating.

It didn't feel like she was playing with you. It looked like she was having as much fun as you. Maybe she wanted to have a nice, romantic dinner without the pressure of having to impress or perform for her date.

It was nice she'd chosen you. Regardless of why she'd come here tonight, you were just glad she was with you. You'd had a lot of people leave, most of them never coming back. The exceptions to the rule were Regina and your dad. They were similar in that, but nothing else. When dad came back, he brought with him a never-pleased frown and a stifling presence. When Regina came back, she brought light.

She had her flaws. You had yours. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and Christmas would soon follow. You had no doubt that Janis had something nefarious planned for at least one of those events. Nothing was sure, things were undecided.

"I'm going for a smoke." You said when the episode ended.

"I'm coming with."

"You won't be getting one."

"I don't want it anyway. Cigarettes taste like shit."

You laughed and walked to the backdoor. Through it and onto the patio, you slumped onto the bench swing. Regina followed a lot more gracefully, heels chucked somewhere in the house, bundled up in the blanket she'd claimed as hers since the first time she slept over. She sat next to you and spread it over both your laps. You hummed in thanks and lit up.

Regina might've been a massive bitch. She had, and there was no denying it, done some awful things. And maybe it was fucked up for you to like one part of a person and not the whole of them, but did that count if you were sure that the undesirable part was all a facade?

"So..." You started. "Better than any of the dates Aaron took you to?" You couldn't help but ask. Veiled under a joke, you hoped your jealousy didn't show.

"Don't be cocky." She admonished, resembling her mom almost creepily. "He didn't really take me out."

"What? Why?" If you could openly date Regina there wouldn't be a limit to how much you'd be taking her out, showing her off to anybody who'd listen.

"How should I know?" She shrugged indignantly. "We broke up a little after Homecoming."

"What? I didn't hear about this."

"Really? I thought you would've since it was pretty big news for a while." You didn't want to admit you'd been purposefully avoiding rumours about the couple for the majority of their relationship. "He outlived his purpose."

"The Halloween Party and Homecoming." You clarified and she nodded.

You took a drag. Regina pulled what seemed like a candy bar out of her clutch. It was the same brand she'd been eating earlier today.

Considering she'd been insecure about her weight, you didn't comment on it. You took another drag. You couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something weird.

"Hey, can I look at the packaging of that?"

Wordlessly, Regina handed it over. You looked at the product info. Great, it was all in Swedish.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Cady got me a box of them. They're good for weight loss. Like, they just burn all your carbs." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked back at the product info. The numbers didn't seem like that of a weight loss product.

You didn't like she was eating something that would empty her stomach right after dinner. That couldn't have been healthy.

"You're trusting something Cady gave to you?"

She tilted her head, as if about to question you. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again.

"Shut up. Shut up."

You took a long drag.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared

(i keep forgetting to add this note. comment on this post if you want on the taglist!)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #renee rapp #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #mean girls musical #mean girls movie #mean girls broadway #wlw #fic: yard work

377 notes · View notes