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astroboots · 2 years

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

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The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will.

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?”

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter).

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.” You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?"

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better.

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.”

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that.

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much.

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen.

It’s chaos.

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries.

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room.

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap.

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him.

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life.

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know.

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay.

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve.

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him.

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.”

You’ll lose him forever.

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about?

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has.

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely.

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent.

You need to protect him.

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why.

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated.

It’s all very… un-Steven-like.

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either.

Definitely not Steven.

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you.

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign.

Stay away. Do not engage.

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least.

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect!

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous.

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it.

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning.

A red fucking flag.

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen.

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank.

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish?

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank.

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic—

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.”

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language.

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door.

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this.

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again.

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key.

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off.

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place?

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words.

You Is Steven okay?

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet.

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes.

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing.

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake.

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise.

Marc He’s safe.

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life.

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again.

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day.

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner.

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him.

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you.

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you.

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult.

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter.

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head.

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it.

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way.

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress.

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside.

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer.

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now.

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer.

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence.

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge.

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth.

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely."

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank.

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she?

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?”

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks.

You point to the postcards.

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth.

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her.

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him.

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious.

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says.

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?”

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second.

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or–

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them.

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss.

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to.

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window.

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before.

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.”

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst.

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression.

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly?

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him.

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies.

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing. And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time.

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you.

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half.

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear.

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said.

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well.

What reason does he have to lie to you? None.

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say.

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine.

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier.

You When’s Steven coming back?

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely?

You He has his performance review at work on Monday.

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again.

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square.

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night.

“Good morning,” you call out.

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it.

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed.

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank.

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence.

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself.

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic.

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.”

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right?

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”.

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn…

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.”

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing.

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait.

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies.

Wow, this man is blunt.

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity.

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.”

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe.

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.”

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer.

Except it doesn’t come.

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks.

“I like Switzerland.”

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted.

Marc shifts his feet slightly, redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely.

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink.

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat.

Shit…

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it.

“You’re hungry,” Marc states.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo.

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book.

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one.

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi. Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts.

Marc Yeah. He’s safe.

You When’s he coming back? We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel?

Marc No. He’ll be back.

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again.

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it. When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message.

Marc Thanks.

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗��💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!

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project-reaper · 3 months

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Moving forward into 2024!

I haven’t really had a proper chance to say Happy New Years, so this will have to suffice, with a little breakdown of what’s been going on and what’s to come!

WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO

I’ve been spending the better part of the last year working on new projects and endeavors. Both with Time Gate and outside of it. From vendoring at markets and working expo’s for the first time to working on art pieces completely outside of Time Gate, 2023 was a hell of a year and it makes me all the more hyped for 2024. That said, I’ve been carrying a weight with me through 2023 that’s made it difficult to enjoy it to the fullest - the weight of knowing that [AFTERBIRTH] is still on hiatus.

This isn’t the longest hiatus that I’ve been on, but it’s certainly starting to approach the record and I wanna get it back on track. Like getting back in shape after spending an entire winter hibernating and eating nothing but junk food, getting back into drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on a schedule is gonna be a process of rebuilding good habits and learning what I can do better to keep those habits alive and well.

The fortunate side to taking hiatuses is that it always does give me a new sense of perspective. In this case, I learned that I put myself through a lot at the start of [AFTERBIRTH]’s production. Like, way more than I realized. At the time I thought I was super capable - and I am! - but now in hindsight I can recognize it wasn’t healthy or sustainable for me to manage that sort of output all on my own. I’m still grinding away at comics like I always do with those other projects I’ve mentioned, but it’s still nothing near the amount of work I put myself through just to meet my own deadlines with [AFTERBIRTH]. I also have this thing called help now in the form of a background artist who’s been working with me on those other projects, which has been an amazing and enriching experience.

Having that time away from [AFTERBIRTH] not only gave me the breathing room I needed to recuperate from the burnout I got myself into, but also got me out of the routines I had stuck myself into, which has given me some new tricks and skills that I’m really hyped to bring back into Time Gate with me.

This does, in a way, mean that I’ve had to really reflect on Time Gate, a lot. It’s a project I’ve been writing since I was a kid, and drawing as a webcomic since I was around 18-19. It’s changed a lot in that time, but I’m finding while a lot of those changes have been reflected in the comic as it is, there are still so many more I want to make - because like the comic, I’ve changed a lot, too, both as an artist and as a person, and considering Time Gate’s always been a sort of personal extension of myself, I no longer resonate with a lot of parts of it that I’ve since outgrown. It’s not so much that I want to hide or take for granted those parts of it that are ‘uglier’, but I want the writing and art to be expressed in the best way it can be because at the end of the day, I’m trying to tell a coherent story that’s enjoyable to read and experience. I’m also the sort of person who learns best by just getting their hands dirty and learning what not to do, and boy, have I spent a lot of years doing just that through Time Gate.

GOING FORWARD

So, going forward, I’ve adjusted my schedule with my other projects to accommodate the time I need to both get back into Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] as well as prepare for the upcoming convention season. I’ve got a bunch of plans for this year’s markets with new ideas for prints and stickers and other goodies that I’m really excited to make! And I just, overall, want to pull myself out of the burnout funk. You can’t force recovery to happen on your own time but there does come a point where you gotta start taking steps otherwise you get stagnant, and I feel like that’s where I’ve been the last few months.

AFTERBIRTH FORMAT CHANGE

[AFTERBIRTH]’s format will be changing back to page format in its second season. Vertical format works for some projects and stories, but not for Time Gate. It’s been fun, but part of learning what I’m best at is learning what I’m not best at and the vertical format is too limiting for what I want to do with Time Gate in the future. Color will still be remaining!

REAPER RECOMPILED

I will also be working on the Recompiled editions of Reaper. These will predominantly be the first few volumes redrawn and rewritten to accommodate a tighter story down the road. I know, I know, “don’t get trapped redrawing/rewriting stuff”, but I feel the changes that I wanna make are so necessary that they’re part of what’s holding me back from continuing with [AFTERBIRTH] into Thread of Fate and beyond. There are a lot of really silly and otherwise unnecessary writing decisions I made back during Reaper that I currently feel aren’t working for what I’m trying to accomplish in its sequels, and let’s face it, I wrote it almost ten years ago when I was still very much learning, so it’s due for an upgrade. It'll be the last time too, because it'll be putting us on Loop 9999 and remember what Matty said about surpassing 9999-

This will be something I’ll be picking at slowly but surely. When it’s ready I’ll basically be replacing the old pages and updating any new mirror sites with only the new version (I’m currently planning on trying out NamiComi and Lemoon and of course I'll be continuing to post on ComicFury and GlobalComix).

THE BIG GREEN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM-

All of that will basically be working towards my biggest step - getting the flying fuck off Webtoons. Because let me tell you, I've basically spent the last two years like this:

Y’all know that I’m not really one to roll over and take shit from massive platforms, and Webtoons is no exception. I’ve been posting to it since 2016 and I’m very very much done with it; just like with Tapas it’s no longer the site it used to be and there’s fresh competition entering the market that I’d rather put my focus on. At the very least, I want my independence back, if I’m gonna be stuck having to market and network my own work anyways I’d much rather be doing it for my own site or platforms that aren’t constantly undercutting its creators by removing core features and not implementing necessary ones. I as well as many others have been doing our own investigating into Webtoons and we’re basically feeling like canaries in the mineshaft right now, picking up on some massive warning signs that we want to get ahead of. The worst that can happen is that I pull the same stats I pull on Webtoons somewhere else, what a tragedy that would be LMAO

LIVESTREAMING

And then of course there are my livestreams. Like learning the hard way that I shouldn’t have been drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on such a strict schedule, I’ve learned that streaming on the schedule I used to be streaming on just ain’t for me. Call it the ADHD but I’d much rather stream when I have something to legitimately talk about or showcase rather than force myself to stream even on days when I’m really not feeling up to talking. And I’d like to get back into doing actual video editing content, whether it’s speedpaints or gaming videos or commentary stuff, whatever have you. Now that I have a proper PC rig that’s actually built to do heavy duty stuff, the possibilities of what I can create are a LOT more vast and I wanna take full advantage of them!

That said, if you wanna see an example of what the streams will look like when we return, check out this lil’ time lapse demo:

Definitely couldn't do that on my old setup! It might not be regular streaming like before, but it’ll damn well be higher quality and more fun to watch haha

WELL THAT WAS A BIG WALL OF TEXT WASN'T IT

So yeah! That was a lot of words but I hope it clears up everything that's been happening on my end. Thanks for following along with my work all these years, whether it’s Time Gate or my lil’ secret projects or my streams, through all the ups and the downs. Long-term projects like these may take their toll but there’s so much joy in seeing them change and grow over time, and I want to fully embrace and reflect that growth as best as I can through what I bring you guys.

Thank you all so much, let’s make 2024 a good year <3

#time gate #comic #webcomic #project reaper #twitch #twitch streaming #hiatus #announcement

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ashlingiswriting · 2 months

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do i know you? chapter nine

gifsource

[ chapter nine — 8.5k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ] "i never fucking asked you to!" richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

just outside your apartment building stands mikey, hunched against the wind and smoking. he gives you a friendly nod and you grant him a nod in response, guarded but polite.

you never know what you’ll get with this guy. he alternates between foul moods that verge on frightening and a brilliant good temper that tempts you to shine your phone in his eyes to see the confirmation of pinprick pupils. he has moderate nights, but they’re becoming rarer and rarer.

still, his company beats the emptiness of your apartment. like a creature taken to a faraway zoo, you haven’t acclimated to your new environment in chicago, haven’t learned how to take this much loneliness; that’ll come later.

for now, you’re still standing on your separate little patches of sidewalk, familiar strangers engaged in tacit truce, when it comes flying out of nowhere.

fuck.

mikey snarls it so savagely that you look over for threat assessment, just quick enough to catch him looking up at the pitiless hard sky, profile: once-broken nose, twisted mouth, adam’s apple. wild gleam of desperate dark eye, more startling than the snarl. sudden rage from a man is no surprise, but this one looks worse. this one looks caged.

you can sympathize with that.

what? you say gruffly.

his eyes shutter, his jaw pulses. nothing.

you shrug, turn away. resume the truce.

in your peripheral, you can see him looking down and firing off a text. and you think that’s it, that’s all, but then he turns to you and says, you’re good at getting people to fuck off, yeah?

his voice is the voice of a friend, low and familiar, warm and a touch wry. his dark eyes the same. you’re looking at each other directly and it feels like a touch.

a laugh startles out of you. you’ve been pretty direct about rejecting his attempts at conversation, belligerent, sweet, or otherwise. but here he goes again, trying, and you’re tempted.

mikey turns so he’s facing you, chucks his cigarette, and sticks his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his big gray hoodie. for some reason, that does it.

yeah, you say, i’m a world-class expert at getting people to fuck off. they should be giving me tenure, the way i could teach that shit.

then you’re the one i wanna talk to.

you’ve got nobody else in this godforsaken city except patients and threats, and so it’s probably a side effect of loneliness, nothing to do with the man himself, but still: it feels good that somebody wants to talk to you.

you hesitate, fighting it. he exhales.

who’s after you? you say. debt collector? ex?

my brother, actually. there’s an odd space, flicker grimace, between brother and actually. he’s not proud of this. again, you can sympathize.

why do you want your brother to fuck off?

he says nothing, rubs his shoe against a lump of hardened gum on the asphalt. ‘s complicated.

with that, your sympathy—never in abundant supply to begin with—goes down the drain. if he’s gonna play the whiny teenager, making you beg him for his deep dark secrets, fuck it. compassion isn’t your style anyway.

okay, you say flatly. you turn towards the street, keeping him in your periphery just in case. the silence grows heavy, but you ignore it.

fuck it, he mutters. then, louder, it’s not that complicated. carmy’s the baby, and ma was always telling us to keep him out of trouble. i guess it stuck.

that’s such an innocuous way to put it, pulled from childhood. what about the rage from earlier, his trapped eyes? sense tells you to end things here. don’t be a trash bag for this man’s problems, whatever they are.

the thing is, though. it does feel good to have somebody talk to you like you’re a person.

what’s the trouble? you say.

he sighs, settles in. you ever seen a house on fire?

no, i’ve seen a helicopter on fire, but that’s…you look over at him, and you can tell it’s not the flames he’s talking about. no. you?

sort of. he pauses, and the silence is full enough that you know to wait for the coming story. so when i was little, i used to sneak down to the basement, right? i was supposed to be babysitting carmy and sugar, putting them to bed and all that good shit, but some nights i’d get bored. and they never got in much trouble without me.

they must’ve been pretty well-behaved kids, you say.

he laughs. he’s beautiful when he laughs, you can’t help but see it. not exactly.

i’m just saying, if my brother told me to stay anywhere, i would’ve been out the window by the time he’d gotten down the stairs.

mikey gestures with his cigarette at exactly the wrong moment, and the wind snuffs out his cigarette, but he’s so caught up in his story, he doesn’t even notice.

nah, i knew how to play it. sugar was going through this phase where she was fixated on us taking her seriously, so she loved the responsibility. and what was carmy gonna do about it? he was like five. he smiles, remembering. so anyway, before i would go down there, i’d put on my little light up sneakers, cause the stairs to the basement were dark and scary.

you find yourself smiling too. you can picture it.

and my mom would be down there in the dark, watching the tv, sitting in my dad’s old chair. she was usually drunk or sleeping, but sometimes i think she noticed i was there with her and she was okay with it. or, i don’t know. he laughs, short and sharp. she definitely never changed the channel on account of me. i saw all kinds of crazy shit on tv before i was twelve.

mikey pauses, then looks to you. what the fuck am i even talking about? there’s no real embarrassment in it, only appealing self-deprecation.

it works on you. you do want to know where this is going. house fire.

house fire, he echoes, pointing at you. okay, so one time i’m sitting on the floor next to dad’s chair, leaning on it, and i fall asleep. i wake up to this woman screaming. at first i think it’s real, but then i realize it’s from the tv, right? there’s a house on fire. the whole neighborhood is standing there watching, and there’s this old woman screaming, but they don’t look sorry for her. and after a second i figure out what she’s saying. she’s screaming at the firefighters to go in. and i didn’t get it, like, why is no one listening to her?

it scared him, you think. it must have. someone was in there?

i don’t know, i never found out, mikey says. mom woke up, and she saw that i was freaked out, so she got super fuckin angry and, uh. made me go to bed and all that. standing there and holding a cold cigarette, he looks tired. but when i was walking to the stairs, the woman stopped screaming. so i looked back and i saw on the tv that the house was gone. the whole thing collapsed. the roof must’ve caved in.

the silence lingers, then mikey looks across at you like a question. why should it matter whether you understand? why should you care? but your heart is in your throat.

it was right for the firefighters to stay outside, because if they’d gone in, they would have died. the roof was always going to crumble. whatever was inside the house, it was already gone.

you think you understand. so you’re inside the house.

nah, mikey says, i’m the house.

in the aftermath of christmas eve—gold chain, two generations, soup—christmas itself passes quietly without hurting much.

save for a handful of texts, completely unexpected.

> what’s the fastest way to infect people with food poisoning?

richie, of course. you don’t even bother to play coy by letting a few minutes elapse, like you had something better to do. he wouldn’t be fooled by that. he already knows better.

> it’s that bad?

> not fatal food poisoning, just the regular kind.

> it’s that bad? x2

> i think if we all threw up a lot we’d be having more fun.

> you want me to fake an emergency? pull a fire alarm, stage a bomb threat? i’ll drive the getaway car.

> your mind jumps to terrorism way too fast. you’re just looking for an excuse, aren’t you.

> seriously.

> you’re the third guy. it’s al qaeda, then isis, then you.

> seriously, get out of there. come get an unfrozen burrito, if you’re hungry.

no reply. not even three dots to show he’s drafting. with your left hand, you drum a nervous beat on your kitchen table, and with your right, you send another text.

> you can bring sugar and carmy with you.

and there they are, those three dots. you don’t know if you’re more worried about what will happen if he takes up your offer, or what will happen if he turns it down. you don’t talk about carmy to richie, though richie talks about carmy to you. he knows that. you like tina and you don’t mind his other coworkers, but you avoid the berzattos like the plague. richie knows that too. your reasons are your own, but if it really comes down to it—

> it’s fine. all the people i want to save wouldn’t fit in the car anyway.

relief. yeah, that’s relief, and you feel a little guilty for it, but it’s just easier this way: you in the kitchen and no one else.

> you have jumper cables in your trunk, don’t you? just tie pete to the top of the car like a christmas tree

> like i’d bring pete.

> cold hearted, that’s what you are.

nothing. no typing, no read 7:12pm, nothing at all. after fifteen minutes, you give up and toss your phone on your bed. drink your tea, though it has gone cold. try not to think about whatever’s happening in that other kitchen. try not to think about how close by it is, or how far.

the day after christmas, you’re so busy thinking about richie that you almost deliver yourself to the feds on accident.

walking to your boss’s house without an invitation is never a good idea, doubly so when your boss deals his displeasure in blood, but after so long without pay, work, and news about your carbon monoxide poisoning patients, you’re desperate. the idea is that you’ll barter your knowledge of howie and kevin’s stupid shenanigans in exchange for information. maybe you’ll even ask for severance pay.

that’s why you’re thinking of richie. you’re trying to keep calm, and he’s something to look forward to. you wonder how he’s doing ice fishing with carmy. will they get frostbite? maybe. will they catch anything? doubtful. will they end up shouting? definitely. will—

you’re just about to take a left onto the caruso’s street when you see it: about nine or ten houses down, there’s a gaggle of suburban moms gawking at the caruso house, and beyond them, cop cars.

this is it.

your stomach drops, and you look away immediately, heartbeat going full jackhammer about to drill through your concrete chest. keep walking straight, past the scene. you only got one glance before the instinct to flee kicked in, but you’re pretty sure that the cops were carrying heavy cardboard boxes out to their cars. you’re not worried about what evidence they might find—tweety bird wouldn’t let contraband be stored in her pantry, not in a million years—but you are worried that the cops were all a matched set. the navy windbreakers? that’s fed fashion. that’s.

yeah. this is it.

when you get on the bus, some part of you is surprised the driver even allows it. the end’s not here, but it is coming. only a matter of time.

as you get off one bus and get on another, taking a circuitous route in a useless effort to try and allay the feeling of being hunted, your dread coalesces into nausea, the kind you get when a headache or period cramps are left untended too long. it’s physical. you focus on the fraying cuff of your hoodie, and all you want to do is lie down.

you’ve expected the world to end for a long time, so you know exactly what to do. you’ve done research. you’ve imagined it all in excruciating detail, and you’re not bothered by the unknown, except for richie.

richie’s the one unknown. imagining the end of the world with him was so unbearable that you could never force yourself to go through with the exercise of imagining it, and you kept him at arm’s length just enough to pretend that the end of the world would somehow leave him untouched. now that shit’s real, you can’t pretend anymore. when it comes to richie, you’ll be flying blind. you could kick yourself. you could k—

your work phone rings. it’s your landlady. you ignore it, but she rings again and again and again. finally, she texts you.

> please come up to the office as soon as you can. we have discovered irregularities with your october and november payments, and unless this is fixed soon, we’ll have to explore our legal options.

your landlady was not the one who typed that message. if she’d been the one typing, it would’ve looked something like get your ass up here, give or take a few typos.

so yeah, there’s cops after you. this is it.

when you call your brother from a newly purchased burner phone, he answers immediately. what’s up?

it’s julie.

okay, he says very flatly. one nice thing about your family: minimum talking, minimum fuss. he doesn’t say a thing about the years past. he just repeats, what’s up?

i’m probably going to prison for a while, you say.

how long?

should i be insulted that you’re not surprised?

he says nothing. you don’t know what you expected, really, but you hate that you’ve become the talkative one.

stifling your annoyance, you say, like ten years max? it’s not like i killed someone, but i’m in with some assholes. i don’t know, i haven’t talked to a lawyer yet.

silence on the other end.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, nausea swelling. you can picture him, your one and only sibling, even though you know the picture must be outdated: broad-shouldered like you are, annoying, tall, decked out in some kind of colorless athleisure and the eternal baseball cap, slanted eyes narrowed even more than usual in judgment and exasperation.

are you there? you finally say.

you need bail? he says abruptly.

god, you want so badly to give him a shove, knock the stiffness out of him. no. no money. not from you, not from mom, not from anyone. that’s why i’m calling. if anyone finds out about this, just keep them out of it, yeah?

yeah.

that’s where you should shut up, unless you want feelings leaking into it, but today’s a day of helplessness and this conversation is no exception.

you say, a little desperate, i don’t want anyone near this one.

i got it, pebbles. with his particular mix of sardonic affection and condescension, the fog around you lifts, and there he is standing in front of you. you can see him clearly: pissed off at you now and probably forever, but still family. not much. but not nothing.

suck my dick, you say, awash with relief.

he snorts. and adieu.

you hang up on each other at exactly the same time.

i’m not telling you that.

you’ve worn your lawyer down to a thin veneer of professionalism through which her palpable annoyance has begun to show. and you’re not even sorry. it gives you a certain satisfaction, a sense of getting your own back—her steely, emotionless affect was getting on your nerves before.

you put all your remaining money into her retainer check because she’s not just a lawyer, but an effective one, according to your research. so it shouldn’t matter that you don’t know what she thinks of you. shouldn’t matter, but it does. you want to know her judgment, one way or another. maybe it’s because this is the first time you’ve told the full story to anyone.

or at least, as close as you’re ever gonna get to the full story.

i’ve already explained confidentiality to you, she says.

i already knew that you’re not gonna snitch on me unless i’m about to commit another crime, you say. but i’m still not telling you.

all right. let me get this straight. she spreads her hands out flat on her desk, and her wedding band clacks against the dark wood. there’s not a strand of her gray hair out of place, and her brown eyes have lost their annoyance. back to professionalism. disappointing. you’re here because you believe you witnessed federal agents bagging evidence at your employer’s house, and you believe your employer has been arrested. your employer is giovanni caruso—

hold up, you interrupt. giovanni? that’s his name?

you call him old caruso, son’s name is jack, there’s a limited number of organized crime families in the area and i happen to be acquainted with that landscape, generally speaking.

you snort. that’s so fucking funny.

if your lawyer finds you more annoying than before, she doesn’t show it. you have been working for caruso for over a year and a half in an off the books capacity as a doctor. you received biweekly payments to be on call between the hours of eight in the evening and eight in the morning, and during that time, you treated multiple gunshot wounds and other injuries, including broken bones, stab wounds, and carbon monoxide poisoning. while your clients were cautioned not to tell you their names or explain how they received their injuries, you do feel that you know enough information to be of interest to the police. you are not willing to testify.

on account of not wanting to die, yes, you say, adopting a professional tone to exactly match hers, dangerously close to mocking. you’re being an asshole for a reason. she’s tried to persuade you to testify before, and you don’t want her to try it again.

she continues unperturbed. you have been threatened with violence on multiple occasions to that end, sometimes with a weapon. so far, understandable.

now the lawyer spreads her hands out on the desk in a summary gesture.

now all of this is not necessarily as dire a predicament as you thought when you said you might ‘get ten years’. if you had proof you were coerced, i could get your sentence reduced even more, but as things stand this seems like a set of offenses that would land you around two or three years, five at the worst. you do have a medical license, so they can’t get you on practicing without. you never directly participated in any of the presumably violent crimes leading to the injuries, and you never procured the drugs and medical supplies yourself. other than the payments to your bank account, there’s not much of a paper trail because you took no notes, used neither laptop nor smartphone—yeah, you didn’t tell her about the michael and richie phone, because that would require telling her about michael and richie—and cycled through burner phones instead. so again, it will be hard for them to nail you on specifics, unless they have multiple witnesses.

i sense a ‘but’ coming, you say.

but i need to understand why you got into this in the first place.

with that, you snap. it’s been a day, and she’s using the words of a counselor with the expression of a robot. why the fuck do you care?

ma’am, she says, that glimmer of irritation just barely showing, you are paying me to defend you. i would rather not enter that fight with one hand tied behind my back.

you’re an idiot.

of course she doesn’t care about whether you’re good or bad, clever or stupid. there’s no judgment to be had. all she cares about is how defensible you are. you really are an idiot, and you’re so relieved.

with that, it flows freely.

i fucked up, you say. i was a resident at ui—university of illinois—and i was on my second to last year, everything was good. but then the carusos tried to blackmail me into getting them the medical files of one of my patients, so i freaked out and quit. it’s hard to convey to her just how much your world ended, without sounding melodramatic. in the end, you keep it brief. i burned all my bridges. but then i had no job and nothing else to do, and they knew it. shit happened, and now here we are.

she doesn’t hesitate. caruso tried to blackmail you with what?

no. that’s all, that’s it. she only gets the one word.

i can’t do my job if you’re being obstructionist.

i’m not tell you that—i’m not telling fucking anyone that. i’d rather go walk onto state street bridge and blow my brains out. there’s no way she knows what you’re talking about, but some of it must creep into your voice, because she does stop for a moment and think before pressing you again, this time with a slightly milder tone.

is it sex, violence, or money? she says.

none of the above. some money was involved, but not more than a month of rent.

you paid, or someone else paid?

all right, that’s it. you charge by the hour, right? you say.

in your current arrangement, yes.

well, the retainer’s all i got. so. you pat your hands on her desk in a brisk, final gesture. i’m gonna fuck off now, you have a think, and then tomorrow i’m gonna swing by and you can tell me what i need to know about turning myself in. in the meantime, i’m gonna go get a burrito.

for a split second, you think she’s going to argue with you, and you can pinpoint the exact moment when she resigns herself to having an unreasonably stubborn client.

you do that, she says.

as far as you’re concerned, she got the whole story. it ends with prison, the way it was always going to end. it starts the way it was always going to start too: you fucked up.

so you’re inside the house.

nah, mikey says. i’m the house.

he immediately goes digging in the pocket of his sweatpants to get his lighter, refusing to look at you. the shame is how you know this is real.

it hits you then: he’s the one you want to talk to. you distrusted him before because he was so transparently on the brink of falling apart, but now you can see that that’s just something you have in common. you’re the house. you’re the fucking house. and here he is, someone who knows what that feels like, and there’s nothing else between you. what are the chances?

what about you, mikey says, relighting his cigarette. do you have any younger siblings, or is it just the one?

the question comes unexpected, and you realize that he knows you have an older brother—that you’ve talked about your family, that you’ve been drawn in that much and that easily.

just the one, you manage to say.

ping, goes a little notification sound, and there it is, saved by the bell. he gets out his phone, and you point at it.

what? he says.

i got good news and bad news.

he looks back down at his phone, grimaces at the text, then puts it away. okay. what’s the good news?

you can’t help yourself. who asks for the good news first?

he shrugs, smiles, wide open and easy. i do.

for a second, you’re both smiling at each other. but then comes your next words.

good news is, i haven’t spoken to my family since 2019. when you say it like that, you can almost make it sound like something to be proud of. so. i really am the one you want to talk to.

shit, mikey says, looking at you.

it’s the first time you’ve thrown him off kilter, and you enjoy it.

you really are the one i want to talk to. he switches his cigarette from his right hand to his left so he can shake yours. i’m mikey.

his hand is callused and cold, but his grip is firm. it doesn’t feel perfunctory. it skitters electricity up your arm that you promptly ignore.

i know, you say.

his smile is harder to ignore. you never said what your name was, though.

you only vaguely remember rebuffing him the first time you both smoked outside together. it feels so far away now.

julie, you say. you only realize that you gave him your real name once it’s too late to take it back. his hand is warm, engulfing yours.

good to meet you, julie.

likewise.

he lets go first.

you wanna hit me with the bad news? he says.

you stick your hands in your coat pockets. bad news is: if you want him gone, you have to want him gone. you say you want him gone, but you’re still texting the kid. what’s he supposed to think?

so you’re saying i should block him? you can tell from mikey’s voice that he already hates the idea.

i’m saying you already know what to do.

i don’t! he’s almost laughing, like the whole thing is so desperate, it’s funny.

yes you fucking do, you say. you just haven’t ended it because you don’t actually think things are over for you. there’s a chance that you wake up a different person tomorrow, and that’s enough reason to postpone the end of the world, right?

he’s not laughing now. he’s not angry, either. the whole weight of his attention is on you, and he’s gone so perfectly motionless, you know you’ve hit bullseye. yeah. you really are the one he wants to talk to.

so, you say, the reason you want your brother to fuck off is not because you think you’re gonna sink to the bottom of the ocean and drag him down with you. it’s because you don’t want him to watch you floundering around, gasping for air, trying to survive. cause it’s fucking embarrasing.

okay, he says slowly, so you think i’m, what. being dramatic? it’s not a rhetorical question. he’s locked in, he’s really asking. you think the house isn’t on fire here?

you lift your shoulders an inch, wound tight, focused. honest, but not only honest. trying hard to say it right so he understands.

i don’t know you, you say. i don’t know the situation. all i’m saying is, if it’s only shame, then you’ll stay floundering in the in-between forever, fuckin miserable, never in and never out.

mikey is listening so intently, you think maybe he does hear you. maybe he does understand.

and, you know. don’t do that, you say. just let the kid in, if it’s shame. it’ll hurt, but it won’t kill you.

what if it’s not shame? mikey says. what if the house is on fire?

you hesitate. you love him?

he’s my brother. there’s years in his voice, decades. you can hear every second of them, and all you can do is nod.

yeah, you say. look away. take one last drag on your cigarette, then snuff it out before it can burn you. chuck it in the makeshift ashtray, and throw away your empty cigarette box too.

wordlessly, mikey passes his to you. you’re used to menthols, not whatever the fuck these are, but you take it because he offered. the taste is his, and the slow exhale.

is watching you, but before you can gather up enough courage to look back—he’s close now, which makes looking at him feel like a risk—his phone goes off and you try to tell yourself that that feeling is relief.

this fuckin guy, he mutters, then types a reply.

you smile to yourself over the rough affection in his voice. a private smile, all yours. you’ve lost track of time out here with him, and you’ve got no desire to find it again.

carmy’s not giving up, huh, you say.

what? it takes a second for his mind to catch up. oh, that’s not carmy. that was richie.

he’s so funny. you know you just say random names sometimes like i already know who they are?

richie’s my best friend, he explains.

and are you shaking him off too? you’re aware that this is a lot to ask, and you want the answer precisely because it’s a lot to ask.

to your surprise, mikey laughs.

richie? no. he holds out his hand, and you pass the cigarette back to him. richie’s not a guy you can shake off. his wife’s been trying to leave him for like a year, but he keeps hanging on. he’s that kind of guy.

you attempt to withhold the judgment from your voice when you repeat, for a year?

he shrugs. on and off, but it takes two to tango. it’ll work out.

okay, companionship only goes so far, no matter how much you like mikey. you’re not about to stand here and let a man tell you that keeping a woman in a marriage against her will is a good fucking thing.

it takes two to tango, but it only takes one to leave, you say. and i bet she has her reasons.

look, whatever she has, richie’s not a quitter, mikey says. fuck, i couldn’t shake the guy if i had a gun to his head.

you smoke in stony silence, thinking to yourself that this richie sounds like an absolute fucking nightmare. for a while, your thoughts and mikey’s veer off on such diverging paths that you’re almost about to make your excuses and go back upstairs, the feeling of camaraderie gone. and then.

hey, mikey says. there’s an odd note to his voice, nearly gentle. how did you shake your family, can i ask? what did you do?

you look over at him and hold that look for a long moment, fighting the urge to swallow.

there’s a lot you can give to mikey, and you’ll find out just how much in the coming year. but that. you’ll never give him that.

instead, you give him what you think he needs, what you’ve turned over and over in your mind during so many sleepless nights: the conclusion you finally came to, long ago.

you gotta make absolutely sure the house is on fire, you say. because if you’re not, if you leave your brother and live on, then you’ve done something unforgivable and you’re not even dead enough to escape.

there’s only one more thing you need to do before you turn yourself in, and despite the overwhelming urge to duck it—be a coward, find a way—you force yourself to walk all the way to richie’s apartment building. the exercise is supposed to wear you out, take some of the fight out of you, but it fails. now you’re just waiting for him with sore legs and recurring nausea.

you don’t have to wait long. one second, you’re grimly watching the smoke from your cigarette drifting upwards, and then there’s a flicker of motion down the street. you look, and there he is. richie’s coming towards you in long strides, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, a man on a mission. he’s clearly spotted you.

hey, he calls, when he’s still stupidly far away. what’s going on?

it’s okay, you want to say, but the words won’t come. as much as you’ve kept hidden from richie, you don’t like lying to him much. so you just put out your cigarette in case you need to leave quickly, and you wait.

when richie finally reaches you, he’s evidently curious, but you speak first.

how was ice fishing?

not too bad, weirdly enough. he settles in and lights himself a cigarette before continuing. maybe he’s under the illusion that this is one of your normal companionable nights, just happening in a different location. turns out carmy still sleeps better in a moving car, so i actually drove the long way home and i think it did him some good.

feels like it did richie some good too. he tried to take care of somebody and for once, it worked. you’re glad. he needed it, after that hell of a christmas.

you can sense his weary contentment, and you know you’re about to ruin it.

that’s good, you say quietly, and at the same time, richie says, what?

looking up into his face, your heart sinks right along with your hopes. his blue eyes are sharp enough.

goddammit, but he’s caught on. he knows something isn’t right, and you’re not asshole enough to try and claw back an ease that’s gone for good.

i gotta go away for a while, you manage to say.

how long is a while? he says, uneasy.

you can’t do this.

hey, he says, a little softer, and you have to look away. you shouldn’t have even come. you shouldn’t have even fucking come. five minutes with him, and you’re already fighting to keep your face under control.

can we go upstairs? it’s fucking cold. you feel exposed, visible to anyone who might drive by, and you can’t shake the rising urge to hide.

yeah, richie says. yeah, we can go upstairs. it’s not that cold out compared to your countless nights spent outside together, and he knows it, but he just opens the door for you.

the elevator ride is long and painful. you can practically smell the worry coming off him in waves, festering, so you don’t make him wait. as soon as his apartment door is shut and locked behind you, you say, how long i’m away kinda depends on the prosecutor.

you, uh. he runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. fuck. what are the charges?

we’ll see. i, uh, i have this feeling there’s feds involved. tomorrow i’m going to turn myself in.

fuck, he says again, hard. he runs his hand from his forehead back over his skull, then just stands there for a second, head half bowed and hand gripping the back of his neck. you want to comfort him, but shouldn’t. you want to run, but can’t.

instead, you take this opportunity to get in one last long stare. richie is the same as ever. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he smells faintly of smoke. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real.

richie says, what can i do?

he looks at you, and though his voice is subdued, you can tell he’s dead serious. thank god. you thought you’d have to beg for it, but here he is, offering. you really want to know?

he nods once, tight. anything.

that one hurts, because he knows just how much a person can ask of him, and he’s standing there offering it anyway.

i want you to stay out of it.

dead silence. a muscle tics in his jaw. why?

i don’t want to make things messy. i don’t want to cause trouble, and there’s—you try to eke out a laugh, downplay it. but your laugh is raw and you can tell in his eyes that you’ve only made things worse. there’s some fuckin trouble in this.

okay. he digs out his phone, swipes a couple times, and then points at the round blue logo of the jpay app. you see this? his voice is tight. i don’t know what makes you think you’re so special, but this isn’t the first time i’ve had a friend catch a charge and it probably won’t be the last. so you don’t need to look so freaked out, you’re not gonna infect me. i’m fine. i can help.

fucking richie. the one night you need him to be unreasonable, and here he is making arguments, using logic and shit. exasperated, you try to argue your way out of this.

you were dealing coke just a few months ago.

richie scoffs. so what?

fak found out about that, didn’t he? you give him a look. fak, richie. fak. fucking—

he raises both hands, palms spread in irritation, voice rising. would you stop saying fak?

irresistible. fak.

i don’t—

come on.

okay. he gestures widely, in an exaggerated motion used to indicate he’s the sole light of reason in a dark world of total bullshit. maybe i've been exaggerating a little. maybe fak’s not the worst guy in the world. i mean, he can be a lot. clingy, sure. but a snitch? nah. he told carmy, but carmy’s not a cop, so that's different. it’s fine. we’re fine.

i'm just saying. if fak knows and carmy knows, other people probably know too.

it’s not even relevant, richie says. so i moved a little weight, who cares?

look, i’m not trying to be a dick, but i don’t think the cops were were hunting that hard for you. if they start digging into me, that’s gonna change. cause i’m not a snitch either, and i know they’re gonna want me to flip, so they’ll leverage whatever against me, and… yeah, you can tell he’s not finding this convincing. a bad feeling is growing in the pit of your stomach. just get it over with.

there’s one surefire way to make him flinch, and you push that launch button, voice casual.

you helped michael get painkillers too, right? you say.

takes a second, but he finally admits, yeah. i knew a guy.

michael was not keeping it neat and tidy, you know what i mean? it takes so much effort to seem this careless. but it works. he looks a bit more like he should—guarded, almost suspicious.

what are you saying?

i’m saying i knew he was using within a month of meeting him. and. you can tell you’ve hurt him a little, but still, your arguments aren’t working, your wild swings aren’t working, he’s not listening to you, nd desperation wells up in you. is there nothing you can do? just, can you please stay out of this. you didn’t mean to say please, but it burst out of you. i don’t know what’s gonna go down, and i just want everyone clear of this. i know they’re coming for me, i know i’ll lose, and i don’t—i don’t want you anywhere near it all.

richie is silent for a moment, thinking hard.

you rub your thumb over your wristbone. can we just…

what’s your plan? he says. that’s what i wanna know. like, you’re not fighting here, and i don’t get it. what happens after you turn yourself in? you’re not gonna get a deal if you don’t talk, so what? you’re just gonna sit there and take the twenty-five to life?

twenty-five to life? you echo. richie, what the fuck do you think i did?

after one long moment of the both of you staring at each other, he hums a little james bond.

your face lifts into a wide, incredulous smile. you think i’m. he does. he absolutely does, look at him. you could kiss him. you could shake him. you start to laugh.

his face twists like he just got pinched hard. no, i—what do i know, man, i don't know that much about the law or whatever, i just—

twenty-five to life!

—don't get fucking offended, okay?

i'm not offended.

i'm just a well-read guy with a very active imagination, and maybe i got a little carried away, but—

his shoulders are up by his ears, he’s so defensive.

richie, you say firmly. i'm not mad.

what? there he is. finally listening. eyes looking directly at you, electric blue, raw current.

you hold that silence a little longer than you need to, just to feel it. then, deliberately giving each word its own due weight, you say, you thought i’d killed somebody, and you were gonna help me?

richie shrugs helplessly.

i thought you had your reasons, he says. i always think you have your reasons.

that shakes you to the core.

goodwill, you already knew you had his goodwill. but faith? jesus. you’re the last person on earth that anyone should believe in, but richie doesn’t know how wrong he is and you can’t tell him, so you just to stand there under the weight of his belief and try not to crumble. at this point, prison would be a fucking mercy.

you have to get out of here.

it'll be five years at worst, you say. your voice sounds strange even to your own ears, but you keep going. the feds will be shaking me like a fruit tree hoping some juicy information tumbles down, but everything i did was pretty boring. you think of the factory, the bodies laid out like so many logs. nonviolent, anyway.

doesn’t seem very james bond to me, he says you fuckin drama queen.

bottom line, you say, the thing is enough of a mess already, so just let me do my time and we can hang out after. i don't want you anywhere near this. you start heading for the door. i gotta go anyways, i have—

you serious? he cuts in, suppressed and flat. warning bells are going off in your head, but you walk on.

dead fucking serious, you say, unlocking the front door. i don’t even want anyone to know that we’ve met.

dead silence, and then, richie says, well maybe you don’t get a fucking choice.

you turn and meet his eyes. there it is again, that stomach-churning nausea that you thought you’d managed to quell. the plummeting feeling of having no control. it stops you in your tracks.

what? you say.

i mean, i’m not going anywhere, so fucking deal with it? the life has come back to his voice, and with it, all the anger. his blue eyes are sparking with it, he’s gesturing, he’s gathering momentum, and you try to stop him but you already know it’s useless.

richie—

look, i don't run when things get bad, i’m not that guy. i’m here. he smacks one hand into another. like i’m in it. that's the whole fucking point.

the point of what?

you know what i’m trying to say.

the point of what, richie?

his face twists. oh, don't do that. don't do that thing where you act like you know everything that goes on in my head.

but i fucking do, though.

yeah, well i fucking hate it.

if you hate it so much then why did you give it to me then?

his voice goes higher. i'm not just gonna drop you!

i am literally begging you to drop me. somehow, you’ve crossed the room, you’re up in his face and he’s not backing down and the words are flying so thick and fast as you talk over each other that you can barely make out yours, much less his. i want you to drop me, i specifically—i did so much shit so that you could drop me, i was so fucking careful—

i never asked you to!

i got rid of my phones and i stuck to my rules and—

i never fucking asked you to!

if you get involved, it's gonna be fucking awful and it won't help, it won't even help, if that's what you think—

i can help! i'm not, fucking useless, like. you guys always—

that one, you hear. you guys?

why don't you ever fucking talk to me? he says, like the words are getting torn out of him.

who the fuck do you think you’re talking to right now? for a second, you just look at each other. breathing hard. when you finally speak, your voice is quieter. richie, you are the only person i ever fucking talk to. but it doesn’t matter. there’s nothing anyone can do.

i don't believe you.

you don’t know how to get around that. after a beat, you say, okay, what is it, richie. cruel. what is it you're gonna do that's gonna help. you asked me to explain my plan, now it’s your turn. you tell me how you’re gonna help me with this.

fucking…he looks up for a second, and then back at you. i know what you’re doing.

you don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing at this point, but the way he’s looking at you is frightening. you could almost believe that he knows. and honestly, you don’t want to find out.

what am i doing, you say.

he turns and walks away, towards the bed. after a second’s hesitation, you follow. he sits down on the bed so he can crank open the window, light up, and smoke out of it. you stay standing. you really don’t know why you haven’t left yet. you were supposed to ages ago.

sit down, he says.

fuck you.

fucking sit down.

no.

jesus. he exhales, slow. you can see him settling a little. do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans?

what is this, storytime?

patiently, he repeats, do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans.

to make spaghetti.

he points at you. exactly. but the reason he was making spaghetti is cause he’d just gotten mikey’s note. deep breath. this isn’t a story he’s happy to tell you. see, mikey had left him this note on the back of a the spaghetti recipe, but i—i didn’t give it to carmy until there was this day. syd and marcus were gone. shit had gotten bad.

i remember, you murmur.

i was in the front, and i heard people yelling fire, so i came running into the kitchen and carmy was watching it all burn. just standing there. not moving. his eyes were open, but it was like he was asleep.

and that’s why you gave him the note?

yeah. i know i should’ve done it before. but.

he looks up at you, and you can see him appealing to you for some kind of mercy. maybe comfort. this is the thing he’s ashamed of. you understand that, you understand him, you understand shame better than anyone else, and there’s a sick comfort in it, knowing he’s that much more like you. at least he was able to change course in the end. you never did.

you don’t tell him that, though, because you’ve realized something else.

this is the thing he’s ashamed of, which makes it usable.

so i’m carmy, in your off-base and condescending metaphor, you say, callous. you're gonna come and save me? you're gonna put the fire out.

his eyes darken. no, you're not carmy.

no?

you're mikey.

fuck you.

so fucking selfish, he says bitterly. it’s as close to hate as you’ve ever heard from him. but you’ve gone so far, you’re not stopping now.

richie, what the fuck do you want from me?

you know what i want! his voice goes quiet when he adds, did really you think there’s anything that could keep me away from you for five fucking years?

you know what he means.

can’t put words to it, can’t accept it, can’t fucking bear it—won’t—but you do know, you know exactly what he’s trying to say to you, what he’s trying to give.

you don’t deserve it, but it’s not for you anyways, it's for michael. it's all for michael, and it would be beautiful if it wasn't such a fucking waste to love a man when he's dead. richie’s gonna throw everything he has onto the fire in the hope that it will quench the flames. that just makes it his pyre, but he’ll never see it.

okay, you say. my turn at storytime.

you sit down next to him on the bed, accept his cigarette. take a drag, then lean on the wide wooden sill as you breathe smoke out into the cold. lull him into it. relax his guard.

you thought you inherited me, right? you say. conversational. no heat. you were gonna take care of me for him, that was the plan. i’m mikey.

that’s not what i meant.

you have it backwards, is the thing. you can feel yourself sinking into it, talking like you have time, matter of fact, cruelty showing at the edges. like you’re an entirely different person, which is, of course, your goal. michael didn’t give a shit about me. i was just there. i was just a woman who happened to be conveniently close by, and lonely, and he fucked me. and that was fine, that was convenient for me too, but he got worse and it got out of hand. he got hard to be around. i found out he’d started stealing from me, so i broke up with him. he found a way to get back into my apartment anyways, and he guessed the code to my safe and stole pretty much everything. so i told him tina shouldn’t call me for help next time he overdosed. i told him he could finally die, for all i cared. and he did.

you’re looking at the sheets. you’re still able to talk, somehow. you feel numb, detached, like you’re watching yourself say it.

the only reason you know me is because i felt guilty. i was gonna take care of you for him, that was the plan, but now this is getting out of hand and i’m fucking done with it. so here goes. it wasn’t just money he stole out of my safe. go take a look in the police report. i’d bet my life that there was a sig p365 in his hand when they found him. that was mine. i’m the reason he’s dead. you want to be loyal to someone? be loyal to him.

you crush the cigarette against the fake wood of the headboard. ash falls on his pillow.

playtime’s over. stay the fuck away from me.

this time when you leave, he doesn’t stop you.

on the train, hollowed out and swaying, you are approached by an elderly woman. her eyes are rheumy, concerned.

are you okay? she says.

hm?

you’re shaking.

you look down at your hands in your lap. she’s right.

there’s nothing else to say.

[ next chapter pending ] [ masterlist ]

a huge thank you to all readers.

taglist: @garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned, @fancyvoidtragedy, @justficsandstuff, @fromirkwood — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky

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defilerwyrm · 1 month

Text

Oh, Alcohol.

Barenaked Ladies saved me from a life (and possibly death) as an alcoholic.

Let me explain:

My first official, tax-paying job as as a mutuel teller at a horse track in the mid aughts. I worked for $8.15/hour most of the year and during live season (when races were taking place at my track) they bumped it up to $8.50. During live race nights, I could easily pull in $100 in tips in a night.

You would have thought that a nearly-homeless college dropout trapped in a relationship he didn’t yet fully realize was extremely abusive would have squirreled that away to make a better life for himself, but no. My coworkers (including The Ex From Hell) liked to go drinking at the restaurant/bar across the highway from the track after live race nights—twice a week—and I, being starved for company and having TEFH as my only ride home, went with them.

It was always a jolly old time. I drank so many mudslides & flying grasshoppers and ate so many mozzarella sticks you wouldn’t believe. My regular bartender and I (and that phrase should set off alarm bells in your head already) developed a new drink! It’s still one of my favorites. Here, let me share it with you:

AQUA VELVET 2 parts blue curaçao 2 parts Midori (melon liqueur) 1 part pineapple juice spritz of Sprite Shake with ice, strain, serve cold in a hurricane glass.

Fucking incredible drink.

But yeah. I drank pretty heavily every night we went out. Drank until I got loose and loopy and extremely homosexual. Drank until I didn’t care about the dysphoria I was trying to ignore and the mental illness & traumas I couldn’t afford to get help for. Until, for just a few hours, I was happy.

And then one night as “Closing Time” by Semisonic played on the speaker system and I received my solo bill, I really looked at it and realized I’d spent literally all of my tip money for that day’s work. I spent over $100 on alcohol in one sitting—in 2007 or 2008 money, on an $8.50/hour wage. Moreover, I’d drank over a hundred dollars worth of booze specifically for the goal of getting drunk and staying that way.

As a sidebar, one of the many things wrong with me is moderate/severe OCD. My most intrusive symptom is endomusia—music stuck in my head…every…waking…moment. As in, I can tell when I’ve woken up because that’s when the music starts. (In a fascinating twist, my father and brother both suffer this, too.) Any little thing that I see or hear or think about could set off a new song playing on repeat in my head.

And in that moment, looking at that staggering total on my receipt for the night, I heard Barenaked Ladies jamming their way through a syncopated bridge:

I thought that drinking just to get drunk was a waste of precious booze

Had it not been for that song, I would not have known that drinking to get drunk on a regular basis was a classic sign of alcoholism. But because I knew and loved that song, and because I had that moment of crystalline clarity at something like one in the morning, I realized that I had a fucking problem and I needed to stop.

I am immeasurably lucky that I came to this realization before my alcoholism developed into an actual dependency instead just of a deeply stupid bad habit I did for fun twice a week. I don’t take for granted that it could have been the end of me if not for that single moment. As much horrific shit as has happened to me in my life, holy fuck have I ever gotten some lucky breaks.

I don’t drink much nowadays, and haven’t for almost a decade. I don’t really like how it makes me feel most of the time. I just finished a top shelf margarita before writing this, in the safety of my own home, and it’s—I think the second alcoholic drink I’ve had this year.

So yeah. Music saves lives, y’all.

#cw alcohol #alcoholism #addiction #true story #about me #don’t mind me

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brighttears · 8 months

Text

Battery II Charged

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series masterlist

No physical description

Summary: On the road, your ease lasts only a couple hours before your luck runs out. An overhead confession from Joel leaves your head spinning.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: mention of Joel’s pill abuse, mention of death, suicide, and grief

A/n: not super exciting tbh, good stuff’s at the end. i’m gonna be fucking with some cannon stuff just so i’m not just rewriting scenes from the show so some things are changed/missing! don’t worry Joel stops being an ass like halfway through this and then we will have soft Joel from now on (mostly, probably)

—

You’ve been up for hours before anyone else wakes, Tess being the first, wandering into the room, obviously having just opened her eyes.

“Hey.” She says when she sees you.

“Hey.”

“Coffee?”

“You have coffee?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckles, strolling into the kitchen to start a pot.

“Thanks,” you say as you get up from the couch, stretching.

“Joel’ll be up soon. Just has to shake off those pills.”

“Does he take those a lot?”

She nods, “Can’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

She turns to you, resting her elbows on the counter behind her. “Let’s just leave it as I can’t blame him.”

You nod. Not your business. Just as long as he doesn’t take them on the road. “Are they coming with us?”

Tess shakes her head, “Nah, he’s not stupid.”

As if on cue, Joel emerges, looking lost. He glances at you, double takes, eyes still almost half shut, and then shambles over to Tess, placing his hand on the handle of the coffee pot.

“It’s not done yet. Just put it on.” Tess tells him. He grumbles incoherently and then goes to slide into a seat at the table, rubbing his hands over his face. “You gonna be good to get outta here soon?” He nods slowly, face still in his hands.

“I can help you guys get packed up if you want,” you offer.

“Sure, you can help me get some stuff together. It’s all under the floorboards in the bedroom.” Tess answers.

Joel speaks up, audibly groggy, “No. She doesn't need to touch anythin’. I can handle it fine myself.”

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, and Tess chuckles.

“Whatever you say, sir.” You salute him. Joel stares at you, then looks to the floor, shakes his head, and peels himself out of his seat to trudge into the bedroom. You ignore the scraping of furniture on the floor and choose to join Tess at the table.

“Is he always like this?” You whisper, sipping the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had, granted you haven’t had one in at least a decade.

She shakes her head, making a face as she sips from her own mug, “He’s better once he warms up to you. But, he’s kinda just that kind of guy, you know? He’s a good guy, and he can be sweet, but, world’s really fucked with his head, you know how it is. He was a whole different person before.”

“You knew him?”

“No, but I knew his brother. He told me what he used to be like. Huge softy, if you can believe it.”

You nod and sip, trying to picture that in Joel. “So, what’s the whole story with him and his brother?” You whisper.

“Well,” she sighs, “they were together from day one. I met them a few years ago, we ran with a crew for a while, met some Fireflies, and Tommy wanted to split and go with them. They kind of had a falling out, Joel and I stuck together, came here. They were communicating through the radio towers but Tommy stopped responding a few weeks ago. That's when we started looking for a car, go out and find him. Just got a tip he might be somewhere in Wyoming, so that’s where we’re going.”

“You think he might be somewhere in Wyoming?” You repeat back, giving her a leery look. You’re not in love with that plan—Wyoming is very far and a big state, there might already be nothing to find there. But, on second thought, you don't really care. You’ll be in a car with two capable people, and that is more than you can ask for. You’re fine just being along for the ride.

“You got anything better to do?”

“Nope.” You chuckle, and she returns one, smiling into her cup.

Yeah, you guess you are friends. The thought almost makes you choke on your coffee; a whole year with nothing like this, only passing faces, fake friends created for the sole purpose of getting something out of it, and, well, Rat King. But now, you’re exchanging an honest smile and chuckles with a woman over coffee. What a lucky break, to have met Tess.

Ruining the moment, Joel plods back into the room, filling up a mug and choosing to lean against the sink rather than take a seat at the table with you.

“I’m not infected, you know.” You say to him. “Not contagious with anything. And if I smell, you smell worse.”

“Fuck are you talkin’ about.” He says into his mug, squinting.

“You’re acting like if you come too close I'm gonna put a knife to your throat.” You stare at him in all his beheaded glory, marks from the sheets not yet faded from his cheek. “I don’t bite.”

Joel just stares back, then, finally and reluctantly, he takes a seat across from you at the table.

“Ok, I’m serious,” Tess says, setting her mug down, “you two better not keep this shit up. It started off cute, but now it’s getting real fucking annoying.”

“Cute?” Joel says, screwing his face up, and you say over him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright, alright,” Tess puts her hands up, “we’re gonna cut this shit out now. You two, shake hands.”

“What?” Joel screws his face up again. You sip your coffee, looking between them.

“Shake her hand.” Tess gestures, raising her eyebrows at him. Joel moues. It’s been nothing more than irritating so far, but now, it’s starting to hurt your feelings a little. You haven’t done anything wrong. For god’s sake, he should be on his knees thanking you for what you're doing for him. What is it about you that’s so wrong?

Finally, he offers his hand, and you shake, his hold firm and warm.

A shock suddenly runs through you as if he was a live wire, and you feel like your skin is melting in the most delightful way possible. The moment of contact is over in a second, but you feel that something inside of you has shifted. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but it feels like trouble. You set your hand on your leg, but it’s as if the warmth from his hand has been transmitted through your skin and onto your thigh. You quickly take your hand away to place on your mug, warm like it’s supposed to be. Your eyes are stuck on each others, but neither glares. Just, stuck. His are brown like dark bark in the sun, rich, deep, pretty. You look down at the table.

“Alright, we got that taken care of?” You hear Tess.

“Yeah.” You answer, eyes still on the table. Joel clears his throat before he copies your response, his tone devastatingly unrevealing. You will your gaze back up only to be caught in his again, and you look around at the wall, down at your coffee, and back up, all in a second, only to be caught again. He holds it for a moment before looking down at the table. Whatever this feeling he’s giving you stinks to high heaven of trouble.

“Alright, good, then let’s get the fuck outta here.” Tess concludes.

You bring the battery back up on your back while Joel and Tess carry the rest of everything you’ll have for a while, abandoning your coffee, not even bothering to place the mugs in the sink. This place will be left exactly as it is, but neither of them seem to mind leaving all of this behind. You leave the apartment and then follow the two wordessly through a maze that eventually leads out past the gates, ending in emerging from a literal hole in the ground. Once outside, still crouching on the ground, you take a deep breath of fresh air, free from smoke and ash and stink. The dawn is breathtaking, being seen for the first time in years, half of the sky barely past midnight's shadow, pulled up like a shade by blood orange leading down to the peachy halo of the sun somewhere behind the toppled buildings, speckled and tangled with green. A flock of birds pass overhead, dancing in the smearing sky. You could laugh.

“Focus,” Joel hisses, looking at you over his shoulder, also crouched, scowl back in play, though it’s understandable in the stress of the moment. You nod. He’s right. Plenty of time for this later. Right now, you’re still not quite in the clear.

The three of you scamper silently through the badlands between the Boston QZ and freedom. As you venture out, though, your excitement begins to fade, realizing that you’ve been looking through rose colored glasses for a while now. The QZ is a shithole, but out here is just a much wider shithole. There's less people, no rules, but neither of those pluses are as good as they had been sounding in your head. Less people, because they’re mostly dead or infected, the rest being not much more than animals who know how to talk sweet. No rules, means, well, no rules, no morals, just the loose goal of ‘survive’, which translates to fight dirty, do anything you can, anything to survive. Live to fight another day.

“How far’s the car?” You ask, the first to speak.

“Not far.” Tess responds, distracted as she scans your surroundings. You're in the city now, the remains of it at least, weaving around crashed cars and large, rocky craters, twenty years of weather and neglect preceded by bombings and a storm of hysteria. You were expecting Joel to say something like ‘We’ll get there when we get there’, but he stays silent, eyes also scanning around. You seem less fazed. Are you not scared enough? Or have they just been inside longer than you have? You do feel like an animal in its natural environment, ears knowing what sound to look at, eyes knowing what movement to check, agile feet over the broken mounds of rock and glass and all of the other debris out in the open broken world.

“The car’s supposed to be at the church on Park Street. Few minutes walk from here.” Tess finally answers you.

“I know where that is.”

“Good for you.” Joel says.

“Fuck off.” You reply.

“Excuse you,” Joel looks at you, screwing his face up.

“Hey,” Tess interjects, shooting both of you a look, “Jesus, I feel like the parent of two disobedient kids. Knock it off.”

Joel huffs and looks at the ground. You smirk to yourself, seeing him again as a pouting dog being checked by his owner.

It’s silent until you reach the church, red brick with a steeple reaching high into the sky. Parked directly in front of it, as if on display, is an old Dodge Caravan, white with fake wood siding, dusted with dirt, wheel wells caked in dried mud.

“This thing looks like it’s from the 90s,” Tess comments. “You think it’ll run?”

“It better.” You say, shoulders aching with a vengeance from the battery still hanging from them.

“You said that right.” Joel adds gruffly.

You stop at the front and lower yourself to the ground to unload the battery from your bag. Finally free of the thing, you stretch your shoulders back with a deep sigh.

“Surprised your back’s not broken by now.” Joel says as he comes to squat next to you, looking over the battery.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he glances at you, “jus’ maybe we shoulda traded bags.”

“I can handle it.” You retort, though he sounds honestly well intentioned, “I’m not weak.”

“Wasn’t callin’ you weak. What, I can't say anythin’ without it bein’ an insult?”

“That’s all it’s been so far.”

Joel just sighs, then stands to open the hood of the car. You stand to look inside with him; all looks right, though you’re not sure you know enough to make a judgment.

“How’s it look?”

“Looks fine.” Joel says, then bends down to take his pack off and dig through it, pulling out a couple tools which he sets on the ground before hefting the battery up and into the empty space under the hood, grunting with its weight.

“You came prepared, huh?”

“Sure did.” Joel mumbles as he picks up the tools and leans over the engine to start working on it.

“How do you know how to do all that?”

“Used to be a mechanic.”

“I thought you were a contractor.” Tess questions, coming up beside you.

“Before that.” Joel replies, “When I was in high school.”

“I can just see you now,” Tess chuckles, “jumpsuit all covered in oil, you name embroidered on the little pocket.”

You laugh at the thought—Joel leaning over a car, jumpsuit tied around his waist as he works, dirty white t-shirt straining against his back muscles and those broad shoulders—”Fuck,” you say to yourself, startled by your own thoughts.

“What?” Joel looks back at you, panic in his eyes.

You dart your eyes away, shaking the thoughts of him out of your head. “Nothing, nothing, sorry.”

“You sure?” Tess asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, yeah, it was nothing, really, sorry. Is the car ready?”

“Just about.” Joel replies as he leans in close to continue with a wrench.

“You sure you remember how to do it right?” You say, recovering yourself. He pauses to glare at you but doesn’t respond.

“Let’s hope he does.” Tess says.

He glares at her too, then states, “I know how to do it. Just give me a damn minute.

“Alright,” Tess chuckles, raising her hands defensively, then steps back to examine the van. She slides over the side door to step inside, “Damn, look at this thing. We could sleep in here.”

You come over to peek next to her, “How the fuck did you score this?”

“Beat it outta someone.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Must have been a good beating.”

“It was.” Joel calls from the front, then drops the hood down and comes around to get into the driver's seat. A pair of keys fall into his lap when he drops the visor down, and he takes a deep breath before easing the keys in and turning the ignition. The van roars to life, and you all laugh with delight, Joel clapping his hands and whooping.

“Hol–ly–shit,” You laugh, half of it being at Joel’s sudden enthusiasm, “look at that.”

“Look at that.” Joel repeats, and you watch his grin through the front mirror.

Just as he catches you, Tess says, “Alright, let me out.” You step back out and she walks around to get into the passenger seat, “Alright, grab your shit and let’s go before our luck runs out.

You and Joel nearly bump into each other as he gets out and he mumbles a sorry before you both go to gather your things. He hands you your bag and you mumble back a thank you. The relief from having a working car must have flooded all the resenting sarcasm out of you, and you actually almost smile at each other as you both get back in. You flump onto the backseat, sighing as you rest against the cushion, rolling your aching shoulders again.

“Thank god I don’t have to carry that thing anymore. N’ I’ve got plenty of room in my bag for all the shit we have to pick up now.”

“What’s our first stop?” Joel asks, adjusting the mirror to look at you.

“About twenty miles west.”

“What am I lookin’ for?”

“Gas station. BP. Next spot’s just the same, gas station about thirty miles west from that one.”

“Alright, perfect, we’ll see if we can find some gas.” He says as he puts the car in drive and starts out, rounding the corner, “We’ll be there in no time.”

You lean back in your seat and let yourself smile. It all worked out. With a car, dare you say, it looks like smooth sailing from here.

“Lemme see if I can find some music,” Tess says, digging through the glove box. “Oh, shit,” she chuckles, pulling out a CD, “Don fuckin’ McLean. Were you ever into him?” She asks Joel.

“Shit, is that American Pie?” He asks hopefully, glancing at it held out in Tess’s hand, “Oh shit, put that on. I love this album.”

You chuckle from the backseat. Such a wholesome little moment, and as Tess slides the CD in and the music starts to play, an air of ease falls over the cabin. Morning sun cascades through the windows and you squint through the dirty pane, watching your surroundings start to speed up past you. On the road again, heading somewhere far, finally free again. No more curfews or guards, no more fucking ration cards or deals in basements. You look ahead to the front seat at your new companions, catching a small smile on Tess’s lips. All you can see of Joel is his shoulder and his hair, wavy and stroked with silver. In the mirror, his eyes are locked on the road, but his brow is relaxed, and there might even be a smile of his own hidden under it. Leaning back in your seat and looking back out the window, the music in your ears for the first time in many years filling you up with giddy warmth, you think you could get used to this.

—

The next couple hours are in fact smooth sailing, both stops being stress free and bountiful, two crates, found exactly where you’d left them, full of food, guns, and ammo next to you on the seat with two red jugs full of gas on the floor below them.

The car breaks down just past the border of Massachusetts.

“Shit.” Joel seethes, waving the gray smoke away from his face as he slams the hood shut. “T’s done.” He announces, looking at you and Tess.

“Fuck.” She mutters, closing her eyes and dropping her head.

You watch the fumes slinking out from the hood. It was foolish to think this thing would take you all the way across the country. Of course it would break down within two fucking hours. Why not?

“Come here and help me get this shit out before the car explodes.” You say, going back to open the side door and start packing whatever you can fit into your bag. You shove another gun into the back of your jeans and empty half a box of bullets into your jacket pocket. Joel is behind you when you back out, and you shove a crate into his hands, “I got most of it. Just take whatever else you can fit in your pack. Same with Tess. We’ll probably have to leave some behind.”

Joel does as you ask, kneeling to unload the contents of the crate and dividing it up for the two of them. Once everyone’s pack is filled to the brim, you leave only a few things behind, set in crates next to the car, and set off on foot.

Joel traces his finger over the folded map found in the glove compartment as you walk. “We’ll just follow route 20. Maybe take a turn at, uh, Albany, ‘bout a day's walk. That’s the next real town, pretty much just farmland for a while.”

“Great.” Tess says through tight lips.

—

At dusk, you decide to call it a day, though you’re only a few hours away from Albany. You set up under an overpass and light a small fire before nightfall takes away the option. Everyone is all deep sighs as you sit back to rest, no one used to all that walking. Your shoulders are still throbbing, a lasting consequence of that damn battery, and you pull your shirt down to see red bruises covering both sides, flashing like a mockery in the light of the flames.

“Damn, that battery really did a number on you.” Tess comments, leaning over to examine the bruising.

“I can’t decide if it was even fucking worth it.” You say, readjusting your shirt with a huff.

“Well, commendable act.” Tess sighs, resting her arms over spread knees.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not used to genuine praise.

After a moment, Joel says, “You look tired.” You look up at him and he’s staring with puppy dog eyes, probably unintentionally, but puppy dog eyes just the god damn same.

“I am.” You mumble, not meaning to be honest about it.

“Well,” he grunts as he stands, pulling his gun out, double checking it’s loaded, and leaning against the concrete wall, “I’ll take first watch. Tess, I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“This is starting to sound like you still don’t trust me.” You say.

“T’s not.” Joel says, “You just look the most tired.”

You sigh, torn between a longing for sleep and hesitancy to be in such a vulnerable position.

As if reading your mind, Tess assures you, “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna kill ya or split. We’re in this together now, and we need you sharp. Get some sleep.” She nods her head to the ground. You pause, then obey, curling up on the hard ground with your hands between your knees and pack under your head. You’re out within minutes, being more exhausted than you had realized.

—

An almost silent scuffle is enough to wake you up and tense every single muscle in your body, but the two familiar, faint voices relax them just as fast. It must just be Joel waking up Tess for her watch, chatting in between shifts. Their low tones tell you this isn’t for you to hear, but you listen anyway.

“She’s jus’… she’s just so damn… pretty.” You hear Joel. Who is? …Who else would it be, but you? At this realization, your face lights on fire. Tess starts to chuckle, but then it turns into cackling, as quiet as she can manage.

“Sh!”

You can hear the wild grin on her face as she whispers, “You have a crush on her!”

You want to squirm, twist your legs up, but you stay still. You don’t understand the impulse, but you don’t like it, either. You feel like a fucking highschooler; a callback to an alien world, but you haven’t felt anything like it since.

“No, I do not, now be quiet before you wake her up.”

“Yes, yes you do,” she continues to stifle laughter.

“No the fuck I don’t.” A pause. Then, “Shit, maybe I do.” He groans, voice muffled, “I’m fucked, aren’t I, god, I’m so fucked.”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, yes you are.” Tess chuckles.

The worst part is that you’re just as fucked as he is. It seems to be hitting you both at the same time. A crush, yes, that’s what the young aliens used to call it. A fucking crush. Maybe it’s due to time, being much, much, older—hundreds of years older, it seems—but this crush doesn’t feel like any one you’ve had before. Maybe because it’s Joel, like no one you’ve ever met. But, how, exactly? You’ve met damaged people, you’ve met people just as cold, just as standoffish. No man has exactly been this standoffish to you, though; most men you’ve met on the road have tried something within a couple days, even if it’s been in a group. Warm bodies. Hungry animals. Horny survivors.

There’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. Your mind is spinning, gyrating, tying itself into knots. Joel, Joel, what is it about him? You’ve met handsome men. You’ve slept with a couple handsome men. You even held one of their hands once. But, Joel, you’ve barely even touched.

Pretty. That’s all he said. Is he just another horny survivor? None you’ve known have confided in anyone, cared to discuss it with someone. And not anyone has ever used the word crush. Come to think of it, most of them only use the word sexy to describe you, just to say, hey, you’re so sexy, let me fuck you. That’s about it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, shit, what is it?

“Ah, Jesus,” Joel says.

“A crush, wow. Gotta say, I was not expecting that from you. I always thought you were a pork ‘er and move on, never say a word about how you actually feel kinda guy.”

“Hey, you callin’ me a slut?” Joel says. Tess tries to muffle her laughter but it burst out of her hands. “Sh!” She sounds like she has her hands pressed firmly against her mouth, but she’s still laughing.

“Yes, actually, I am calling you a slut.” She finally manages to say, “I mean, with us, it was never like that. I mean, did you have a crush on me? Because, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t call it that.”

“No,” Joel whispers. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, you know I… care about you, all that. But, yeah, y’know, it was jus’…”

“Yeah, we’re on the same page, don’t worry.”

“Jesus, Tess, this is… goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit. I mean, what should I—what should I do?”

“Don’t look at me, loverboy. I’ve got nothin’. Are you gonna tell her?”

“Fuck no.”

Tess chuckles, “Why?”

“Why on earth would I? This is my problem, not hers. You think shit’s tense now, imagine how’d it be with that piece of fuckin’ information hangin’ in the air.”

“You don’t think she likes you back, do you?”

“Of course she doesn’t.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I—well, I mean,” Joel stammers, “why the fuck would she? Look at me, I’m just some fuckin’... old man, who—who—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Joel. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good guy. You’re handsome. You’re kind. You’re gentle. You’re a fuckin’ badass. You’re—holy shit, you’re blushing,”

“Would you keep your fuckin’ voice down?”

“Aw, you’re killing me, Joel. I’ve never seen you like this. Never. She has got a fucking hold on you, doesn’t she?”

“Tess, stop fuckin’ around, and just tell me what to do.”

“Hey, I told you, I’ve got no advice on this one. Crushes are not my strong suit. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own on this one.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that. Shit, Tess, come on,” he nearly whines, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, why don’t you just sleep on it?”

There’s a pause, then Joel sighs, and you hear him shifting into place on the ground behind you.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is bad. But it feels good. But it feels bad. You’re almost nauseous with the number of wings fluttering in your chest, almost dizzy, and you realize you’ve been biting the inside of your cheek so much it hurts. Half of your brain is having a party while the other half is looking for a knife to stick in its chest. What does this mean? What’s going to happen? What do you want to happen?

What do you want?

Joel is the first word that comes to mind, and you want to bang it out of your head and into the ground. But there it is, sticking like a bullet under your skin. Should you talk to Tess about it? The only person you can talk to? Tell her you heard everything? Or should you tell Joel? Oh, god, you don’t even know how you’d broach the subject to him.

What, are you two gonna start holding hands now? What else do couples do—oh, god, couples, what, are you gonna start dating? You almost laugh to yourself but you catch it before either of them realize you’re not asleep like you’re supposed to be. This is all like an out of body experience. None of this exists.

Your mind wanders to the one time you have seen something like this—Agatha and John, who you met on the road along with a few others; the lovers, everyone always used to call them. Joined at the hip, linked by their hands almost all of the time. You used to make fun of them for their googly eyes at each other, but they never minded. They were in love, and they knew it, everyone did. Marriage without the $25 piece of paper or veil and bowtie. There was always this rosy air about them, their love was enchanting, so real, so innocent, so sweet.

And then John died. And then Agatha killed herself.

The whole group fell apart after that.

That’s why all of this, ever since the second you touched him, just that shaking of his hand, had given you such a bad feeling. Because you knew what it was, and even before you found the word for it, you knew it’d end bad.

What John and Agatha had was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, even before the world ended. They found each other, and they chose it—love, despite everything, the ugliness, the loss, the loathsome world. And it was so pure, like an angelic little bubble that they floated in. The way they touched each other, the fleeting passes over waists and arms, they way they flowed like a living duet. The way they held each other, when they cried, when they laughed, just, whenever they could. You’ve never seen people sleep so peacefully. The love was tangible between them.

And then when John died, Agatha fell apart, like an angel from heaven, like a baby bird from a nest, into a pile of feathers and blood. She was a shell. For a week. And then she killed herself. She couldn’t live without him.

You envied her before. And then, immediately, you mourned her.

These violent delights have violent ends.

Love is dangerous. A crush is a bullet with god cocking the gun.

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momolady · 8 months

Note

Do you have book or author recs? Thank you! ☺️

I’m afraid I haven’t kept up with my reading in the past few years. Last thing I read was “I’m Glad My Mom Died” by Jeanette McCurdy (so good holy shit” but I think everyone knows that book by now. So I am going to rec some of my favorite and comfort books.

This is my favorite book of all time. I absolutely love the way Peter S. Beagle writes. If you love the movie, the book makes the movie so much better. The graphic novel is also a favorite, it’s gorgeous.

I can remember reading Allie Brosh online eons ago. Her first book has the best depiction of depression I’ve ever seen. And the second book in particular means the world to me. I got it a year after my brother’s passing and her talking about her grief over her sister’s death helped me understand my grief and pain. They’re equal parts hilarious and gutting. Absolute favorites that I reread every year if I can.

Anything Carrie Fisher. Just like Allie Brosh she’s equal parts hilarious and gutting. I read this book when I found it at the thrift store I worked at and it’s stayed with me through three moves and more. Read all her stuff, she’s brilliant and I miss her constantly.

This was one of the books my mom had on the shelf she told me not to look at. I constantly looked at it. The artwork in it spoke to me and stuck with me all through my adolescence. There’s a piece of art that I believe is part of my monster fucker origin. But the story is nice and short and it’s really fun.

As a child my mom put on the universal monster movies between Disney viewings to save her sanity. Creature from the Black Lagoon was a marvel to me. The underwater scenes were my favorite. So this book and the creation of the character was the perfect read for me. Millicent Patrick is one of the coolest people to ever exist.

Two of my favorite Beauty and the Beast retellings I think Robin McKinley is pretty much on everyone’s list. Beast is a really fascinating retell from the Beast’s pov, and it still strikes me to this day. (Don’t tell anyone but I stole the Beast book from my high school back in the day).

When I turned 18 these were the books mom bought me for my birthday. Granted, this was also the woman who let me read Interview With a Vampire way too young so I dunno why she thought this would be such a shocking gift. Anyways, these books really introduced me to erotic writing and are probably the reason I’m even here today.

Shout out to @monster-bait this book is so much fun and the characters are enchanting. I really want to get her new book but I’ve been broke and I love having physical copies. (Also I haven’t been reading lately and I’d feel bad if the book just sat there).

I’d love to have suggestions and if any of you have books out there you’ve published you’d like me to read please let me know! I’d love to support my fellow writers here before I buy anything else.

#book reccs #personal

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lucy-sky · 2 years

Text

Hot Shower (Shane Walsh x f!Reader)

Here, in Alexandria, you’re stuck together as well. You really don’t mind sharing a house with him, there’s more than enough space for the both of you to feel comfortable. After many days on the road it already feels like a luxury palace. But turns out having only one bathroom in the house is a huge problem.

Warnings: SMUT, shower sex; slight banter, slight mutual pining, no plot, just porn.

A/N: First of all - yes, I remember I still have 4 requests to write, and I’m working on them as well. Sorry for making you wait, but this silly story just appeared in my head while I was taking a shower after a long bike ride, and I just wanted to get it off my system, please don’t mind me :’) Also it’s way past 2 a.m, so I apologize for all the possible mistakes and typos.

Words: 1707; gif by me; AO3 link if you prefer reading there.

God, you missed this feeling.

The moment you finally stripped off your dirty clothes, stepped inside, and the first sprays of warm water hit your skin.

Shower.

Crazy how the apocalypse teaches you to appreciate some of the little things you used to take for granted.

“Hey princess, you done?” Shane’s voice reaches you through the sound of running water, “It’s my turn now!”

You roll your eyes. Shane Walsh. Impatient as always. You think you know him well enough - you had to spend a rather long while together since that day you met in the woods. You were all alone, he was alone either, so you figured teaming up would be a good idea. It’s easier to survive when you’ve got someone who can have your back after all. You’ve already been through a lot together, like fighting a horde of walkers or sharing a narrow cot in a tiny cabin you found in the middle of the forest… And yet somehow you manage to piss each other off like no one else does. Both stubborn, both can easily start a fight. He can be pretty bossy at times, and you hate people telling you what to do. You know it often drives him crazy when you don’t agree with his decisions. Sometimes though, you think he actually likes that about you. There’s something about him you like as well. You like his fierce nature and the fact that he can also be really protective. You know you can rely on him, and he knows he can rely on you. You care for each other, but gosh… Sometimes you just really want to punch him. Hard.

“Fuck off, Walsh!” you yell in reply. “I’ve just got started!”

“You're kidding me, right? You’re gonna waste all the hot water like this! Look, sweetheart, if you’re not getting out, I’m getting in, you hear me?”

“Do whatever you want, I’m not getting out anytime soon!”

There’s silence for a while, and you already start to think you won, when the shower curtain suddenly sweeps open, and Shane steps inside.

“Walsh, what the fuck?!” you yelp, one of your hands instantly flying to cover your breasts, another - between your thighs.

“Told you if you’re not getting out, I’m getting in,” he flashes a wicked grin at you, catching your gaze as your eyes involuntary glance down his body. “You can always leave if there’s something you don’t wanna see.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” you shake your head, not wanting to give up that easily. “I mean… It’s not like you have two dicks or something, so there’s nothing I haven’t seen, you know. I just… Don’t want you to stare at me.”

“Well it doesn’t seem like you’ve got three boobs either,” he shrugs with a cocky smirk. The bastard. But no, you’ve been waiting for a normal shower for way too long.

“Alright,” you say, looking him in the eye boldly as you drop your hands down, revealing yourself. “If you have no patience to wait for a little while like a gentleman, let’s shower together.”

With this, you turn away from him, facing the wall and tilting your head up to the sprays of water. You’re glad your face is already flushed from the warmth, so the embarrassment is easier to hide. On the other hand, the look on his face and the way his eyes roamed over your uncovered body - you actually find it oddly satisfying.

The next few minutes you spend in silence. You wash your hair, forcing yourself not to look over your shoulder. The shower cabin is a bit too small, so there’s plenty of occasional touches, and you can feel the heat not just from the water, but radiating from his body as well. You hate how the thought of him standing naked behind you makes you feel. No matter how much of an asshole Shane Walsh could be, you have to admit it at least for yourself - you find him quite attractive. When you saw him fixing the car the other day, shirtless and sweaty, you couldn’t help but have dirty thoughts. Or thirsty thoughts. Maybe that’s just because it’s been a long while since you were intimate with someone and you’re pretty touch-starved at this point, you don’t know. But you nearly jump when his hand carefully reaches your waist.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?”

His voice is quiet and slightly hoarse, and you realize how close he is, your back almost touching his chest.

“Guess I’m a bit of an ass… Sometimes.”

“It’s okay,” you hear yourself saying. Shane’s fingers gently brush against your skin and it makes you shiver. “I… Don’t mind you here.”

“No?”

You gulp as he sighs deeply, tightening his grip on your waist and suddenly nuzzling into your shoulder. Slowly, you turn around to face him, and it’s a sight to see. His eyes are dark, darker than usual, pupils dilated, lips parted slightly.

“No.”

The moment this word tumbles from your lips, his hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you into a rough possessive kiss. A kind of a kiss that makes you forget how to breathe at the intensity of it all. Your arms wrap around him instinctively, and he's so big and firm against your trembling body, while his tongue is shamelessly attacking your mouth. Letting out a shaky breath, chest heaving, Shane steps closer, almost pinning you against the wall. You can feel him all hard and throbbing, and it makes you ache for him more. Now it’s you who kisses him first, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth, causing him to groan against your mouth.

“That what you want, huh, princess?” he chuckles, ducking his head, and you hiss as he suckles a hickey on the tender skin of your neck. “For how long?”

“For uh… a while,” you admit breathlessly. “You?”

“Yeah, same here,” Shane’s hand skims down your belly, the sensation of his fingers between your folds elicit a soft moan from you. “Look at that… Already so wet for me…”

“Don’t look so smug, Walsh.”

He chuckles again at that, fingers pressing harder on your clit, making you whimper desperately.

“I know you love it.”

His fingers keep moving, stroking along your slit and circling your clit, teasing until it becomes almost unbearable, his lips never leaving your neck.

“Sh-Shane,” you pant, hating how needy you sound but unable to contain yourself any longer. “Please…”

“Please what? Use your words, darlin’,” he rasps against the shell of your ear, his ministrations sending jolts of pleasure down your spine, but it’s not nearly enough.

“For Christ’s sake, just… Fuck me already!” you groan, reaching out to wrap your hand around his length. A low grunt escapes him, and you smirk at how his hips instinctively buck at your touch.

“And you’re telling me I have no patience,” he teases, but you already know he’s just as needy as you. He probably reads it in your eyes, because without any further hesitation he grips your backside, lifting you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist. Bracing yourself against his shoulder, your free hand snakes between your bodies to finally guide him where you need him the most.

He pushes inside you slowly at first, as if savoring the sensation. You gasp, biting your lip at the delicious stretch as you take him to the hilt. Shane claims your lips in a sloppy kiss before thrusting inside you. It’s deep and hard, making your toes curl, your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his shoulder blades. The pace he sets is fast, almost punishing, but that’s exactly what you need right now. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know that you’re gonna be sore after this, but right now it feels too amazing to care.

“Shit, I’m close,” Shane pants into the crook of your neck. “Touch yourself for me, c’mon, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment nearly makes you melt. Not that he didn’t call you that before - he does that quite often, mostly in a teasing way, as well as “princess”, but this time he sounds different. There’s something in his voice apart from lust and need, something barely perceptible, but it makes your heart swell. Obeying him, you reach the junction of your thighs, fingers finding the little throbbing bud, rubbing tight frantic circles, and it takes just a few more snaps of his hips to push you over the blissful edge. You cry out, throwing your head back, as the wave of white hot pleasure ripples through you, your climax deep and intense like never before. Shane manages to thrust into you a couple more times before he pulls out, hissing through gritted teeth as your shaky hand wraps around his cock again, jerking him until he spills his load all over your belly and the bathroom tiles.

For a while you simply stay where you are, close to each other, foreheads pressed together, as you try to regain your breath, both still trembling from the aftershocks. It’s like the time and place doesn’t exist anymore, but suddenly you’re roughly pulled out of your trance when water switches to cold.

“Shit!” you both groan practically in the same breath and then instantly burst out laughing.

“Guess we’re done showering for tonight,” Shane concludes, reaching to turn the water off. Then he grabs the towels, tossing one of them to you.

“You okay, princess?” once again there’s no usual mockery in his tone, just warmth. You’re pretty sure his teasing manner will return, as well as your fights and all that, but… Not tonight.

“I’m good, yeah… That was… nice,” you blurt.

“Oh yeah?”

“Lookin’ way too smug again, Walsh.”

“Am I, really?” he grins, swiftly pulling you into another passionate kiss. “Fuck that. I know you love it, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading!

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #shane on me #twd fanfiction #lucy tries to write

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disney-rapunzel-merida-vanellope · 9 months

Text

Random rambling thoughts on ✨WISH✨ before the movie comes out

- This movie is for the sleeping beauty girlies… or at least IT HAS TO BE. Any other vibe and I’m gonna be extremely disappointed. It’s already giving medieval European fairytale with gorgeous animation so they can’t fumble this bag. I’m not really sure yet what I expect from the plot but I just need a sleeping beauty energy to it idk idk. I don’t really know what I mean by it cause sleeping beauty is so contradictory in itself, it’s so epic but also so quiet and calm and simple… we’ll see

- This movie is gonna comment on astrology and the horoscope right right??? You cannot do a movie about wishes and stars and not give us a peak into the starry night the characters look upon to and study! If I don’t have a scene of asha discussing constellations then what’s the point 😒 but like even just the aesthetics in the background or something. I need it

- I know everyone knows this movie is set in Spain but the official sources say Iberian peninsula and u bet your ass that, as a portuguese gal, imma remind y’all about it cause we get so little representation while the Spanish get everything well now they’ll have to share 😭😭😭😭😭

- Asha having friends is so anti Disney princess of her 😭😭😭 those other girls only talk to animals. Tiana and Pocahontas are the only girls with a bff and that’s only 1, Asha has 7 😭😭😭 I’m not very impressed with their designs but I guess they can grow on me

- I’m guessing the movie is entirely in the kingdom and it’s nearby places like tangled and sleeping beauty, as opposed to movies like moana or frozen that force them out of their home in a long journey

- Do u guys think the Easter eggs will be subtle or Ralph breaks the internet kind of in your face? Cause disney is making a lot of promises, dozens of Easter eggs right? But I think the in your face crossover will be just for the once upon a studio short, and in the movie the cameos will be more Easter eggs and subtle. (Out of topic but have y’all seen that Lego trailer for the Disney princesses vs Gaston thing? I’m telling y’all rn, disney in gonna give up an official disney animation studios movie of the princesses all together in an adventure before 2040!! IM JUST SAYING!)

- I hope the musical numbers take notes from encanto in the dynamism of we don’t talk about Bruno and dreamlike sequences from surface pressure. I just don’t love when characters are forced to be stuck in reality, it feels very limited. Animation is supposed to break those restrictions. And like, not every musical number has to be like this, but I just want more than a character singing in point A, B and C u know? And I like how, for example, a character would start singing the song and then the 2nd half is a montage? Or like in when will my life begin where she starts singing, but then it’s all montage and she just sings again at the end. (Uncharted waters was a very good song with a very boring scene let’s be honest, and something like that is criminal but it would be even worse in animation)

- I’m really not sure what to expect from the plot and I haven’t really thought a]much about it but rn, if I had to guess, I’d say the movie is about a kingdom that parallels present day USA kkkk hear me out!!! The kingdom had low days of war but fought for independence and began from scratch. This family has magic and can grant people’s wishes and promises the people the equivalent of the American dream. But as generations pass, the king starts collecting more and more wishes without ever intending to grant them to the people or maybe the price of the wishes keeps getting higher. The "American" dream doesn’t exist anymore but people still believe in it cause they are powerless but hopefull. Basically the movie is gonna be about dethroning a tyrant and dismantling capitalism 😃 (look I’m not good with words or brain power but I think u understand what I mean). Maybe the king’s magic is fake, he just knows how to work with the stars own magic while no one else can. And in the end, Asha and her friends are gonna Robin Hood their way into granting the peoples wishes or just make then see that wishing only goes so far as you’re willing to work for your dream??… but like I’m serious, I really think this movie is gonna be a shade to America and is gonna go against everything bob iger represents

#disney #disney wish #wish #wish 2023 #Asha #disney Asha #Asha disney #disney animation #wish disney #2023 wish #Asha wish #wish Asha

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intrepidacious · 10 months

Text

time after time: reread edition [1]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 6.0k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, accidentally starting a time loop, banter, pretty angsty to start us off with ngl, reminder to read the fic premise. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

read the full chapter here | series masterlist | reread masterlist

wouldn't you know it, it's friday already!! this is a reread of already published chapters, so if you're new to this story, i would highly suggest not starting here and reading the actual story first. please be aware that by clicking the read more you're gonna see spoilers for chapter one 💚

how it started

welcome to the reread. i'm pretty sure this is the part of the post i'll only do once, but we'll see how it goes.

i swear to god, i only wanted to write a fun little time loop fic. it was never supposed to be this huge thing; it just kept growing. it's two years later now and i'm still writing—granted, that's after taking several long breaks because this story gives me headaches like no other, but still. i've never poured this much love into one story, i think.

and we can all blame russian doll for it.

turn back the clock – tl;dr

we start with a mission. sam, bucky and the reader, soon-to-be nicknamed twelve, are checking up on a secret lab. against all odds, bucky gets killed right before the fight seems to be won. twelve uses her time powers to prevent this from happening, loses consciousness and wakes up in her bed earlier that day. she goes through the entire day again, thinking her reset worked as intended, only for bucky to die in a different situation during the same mission and her waking up in her bed again.

behind the loop

welcome to my first running commentary on my own story. you’re gonna be sick of me really soon.

depending on how new you are to this story, you might not know that the chapter titles are all taken from movies. sadly i haven't seen most of them but the ones i have seen do feature a little in one way or another. more about that when we get to that point, though. the title cards for this story were also so fun to make because i just recoloured the actual movie posters!!

i’m gonna be honest with you, i keep forgetting that this first flashback exists. but i lowkey love it?? i like how it sets the tone for the angst that’s stitched into the very fabric of this story while simultaneously being juxtaposed with the first actual, very blunt introduction of our main cast.

the start of that mission was one of the first things i ever wrote for this fic, but the whole transition from the upstairs lab to downstairs and the actual fight scene were the last parts before posting.

“Do you think I’d pass up the opportunity to hear the two of you scream in terror when the vampire puppets creep up on you?” “Gotta disappoint you, cap,” you grin and wait for him to check the map. “I only scream when there’s good reason.” “I don’t wanna interrupt,” Bucky interrupts over the intercom, “but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on.”

writing banter is one of my all-time favourite activities. i also already knew at this point that i was gonna write a lot of it over and over again, and so i needed to vary the interjections in order to not bore everyone to bits. i like to think it worked out, but you tell me.

my beloved nightmare flashmob was such a fun antagonist to include. they will be named in the next chapter but if there are comic readers among you, i feel like i have to apologise because i definitely haven’t read enough of them to properly do these guys justice. they did seem like a logical step up from the version of the flag smasher(s) we encountered in tfatws, though. plus, there’s just enough of them to be a realistic threat to three very capable superheroes.

And then his eyes glaze over. You scream.

i’m so evil lmao

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

spoiler alert, you’ll encounter that sentence a couple of times. and i still love it. fun fact, i genuinely set my playlist to shuffle to decide on the song that was going to play to wake her up, and this was the one i landed on. and i couldn’t have come up with a better choice. honestly, look at the lyrics and tell me i’m wrong. i love how things work out sometimes.

originally, the decision to set the story on july 4th was very practical because i needed my available settings to be limited. this isn’t punxsutawney, pennsylvania in the middle of a snowstorm, this is new york city after the blip. i wanted our characters to have at least somewhat limited options what to do during their ever-repeating day. (on a sidenote, do you think we’ll ever see avengers compound again in the mcu? how long are they going to rebuild that thing? anyway.)

“Feels a little … déjà-vu-y.” “I know the type,” Sam says. “Wanna talk about it?” You do. But the time stuff is your problem to deal with, and so you shake your head.

isn’t it great to have a full ensemble of characters who absolutely will not talk about their feelings to each other? (derogatory) is it more interesting from a narrative point of view? … i suppose.

i love twelve’s rings though. are they entirely useless for the duration of this loop? maybe. but i love that she has them to physically show her how stuck she is <3 other things that i love: bucky calling sam bud. it just makes sense.

A surge of emptiness goes through you, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Time seems to still for just the blink of an eye as Bucky’s head is thrown forwards.

and there we have it. ✨dread.✨ this is such an evil way to end a chapter, wow. i had fun, though. was it fun for you?

how it's going

well, actually. i've been writing chapter seven as well as a secret bonus chapter this week, and i've made reasonable progress on both which i'm quite proud of. i really hope i can report that i got started on chapter eight this time next week, but we'll see. i think the worst of my writer's block is gone, at least. and all it took was a little self-indulgence and an external deadline. who'd have thunk.

if you made it to this point of my rambles, thank you. lmk how i can keep these interesting for you to read, and if you have any questions about the story, you know where to find me!! also: please please please consider leaving a comment or a reblog on the actual chapter. it would mean the world 💚

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #time after time

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lyricalive · 1 year

Audio

Neo-Traditionalism of Japan (Green Sanatorium)

—English fanlyrics—

Maribel: asa-turney

Renko: lori-hime

No connection, no reception.

You, my lifeline, out of range.

I write letters every morning,

Then pretend at your exchange.

Places that we haven't gone

And faces that we haven't seen

Dance behind these heavy eyelids,

Sealed away in quarantine.

This certainly feels just like the time to indulge in imagination.

But whenever I dream, it's right there... all I can see is nightmare.

Dreamscapes of hell may mirror very well those fears, when awake, that we face.

After all, you would say reality always has been the scariest place.

Soon enough, they'll calm all their commotion.

Set me free... how wishful of a notion.

Meanwhile, I'm wasting away.

I'm stuck uncounted in between.

I might go mad as they think me,

Sealed away in quarantine.

I'll tell no soul of our secret.

Do you think they'd even care?

Sometimes, it's best to keep on

These necessary masks we wear.

Lonely, lonely, I'll be lonely,

Stuck for even one more day.

Where you are, you might as well be

Forty thousand moons away.

This certainly feels just like the time to indulge in imagination.

But is that such a wise move while your dreams are the thing on trial?

Hardly do I remember the sky outside, sinking deep in my mind.

And we're not sure what's going to happen if you continue to leave it behind.

Soon enough, they'll calm all their commotion...

Soon forget the threat still is in motion.

Who has the best of the answers?

Often, those who make the rules

Can't see the truth with their own eyes,

So make judgments fit for fools.

I'll fill you in on the headlines,

All this news unfolding fast.

We seek a strange sort of progress,

Reaching right back to the past.

Four white walls, and one glass window

Overlooks synthetic green.

Still not wilting, still not growing,

Just like me in quarantine.

What comes next? Will I slip through the cracks now?

Cures unfound may fade into the background.

If we had a new vision to trust in...

Surely there'd be no problem adjusting.

I've taken all the precautions,

Sanitized and squeaky-clean.

I'll see you, then, on the flip side,

Once you're free from quarantine.

Oh, tell me -- what shall we do when

Life returns like once before?

You'd say I took it for granted.

Even now, I'm wanting more!

...Though you didn't catch the symptoms,

Could it be contagious still?

Just because you haven't felt it,

Don't assume you never will.

Close the door and then reopen,

Will we see a different scene?

Reinvent a world forgotten,

Sealed away in quarantine.

#touhou #maribel hearn #usami renko #renmerry #green sanatorium #neo traditionalism of japan #lori hime #lyrics #fandub #a song about quarantine and complacence #click pic for commentary!

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marblesphere · 2 years

Text

Yandere Gojo Satoru x Yandere Reader

Read too much CEO chinese novel. So... 🙃 Anyway, don't think too much when reading this. This is purely self-indulgent fic as usual. 🙂

!!Warning!! Yandere Gojo Satoru x Yandere Reader. Mention of locking up each other. And, implied suggestive theme, miniscule smut.

“Sawada-san.” Kurokawa Mayuko-san called.

“Yes? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Don’t be so polite. Today is my 18th birthday. As one of my best friends, you definitely have to come, okay?” She smiled widely while giving me an invitation. The invitation is made with luxury and elegant in mind, sign of wealthy people. “You are free to bring a friend with you.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

“The dress code is formal dress. If you don’t have any dress, remember to tell me. I will lend you one.” She shot me another smile and went to other classmates to give them invitation.

‘Lend me her dress?’ I blinked. ‘Her body type and height are clearly different from mine. We need to alter it if I were to borrow from her.’ My lips curled into a slight smile. ‘I wonder what kind of play she is plotting on that day?’

This classmate of mine seemed to be in a state of delusion. She declared me as one of her best friends, but her attitude clearly showed otherwise. She is clearly using me to elevate her status to other students. Often showing me her kindness by ‘helping’ me. While the others didn’t notice it, mocking tone is often used. And she always used a phrase ‘You are really hopeless without me’ while sighing, making me looks like an inept. And my lukewarm attitude to her didn’t improve my image.

I was rumored as an awful and ungrateful bitch, taking her kindness for granted. Only a handful of people that seem to notice her hidden knives in each of her sentences. Frankly, they are more impressed that I haven’t said anything about it, nor getting angry about the rumors. The thing about a rumor is the more you deny it, the more they will believe. Just leave that alone and it will die down in time. If I am easily affected with this kind of small thing, I am not fit to be Sawada heir.

“Haa…” I let out a small sigh as I closed the door.

“Rough day, Principessa?” Ijichi-san asked kindly.

“Just the usual persistent people in my class.” I answered.

“Ah, about that Kurokawa Mayuko-san, was it? Should we warn her?”

“No need. There’s no need to waste time dealing with them. Nouveau riche are all like that. Most will settle down by themselves in due time.”

“Understood, Principessa.” He chuckled. “By the way, Satoru-sama is visiting.”

“Satoru is visiting?” My ears perked up at the news. “Ijichi-san, can you drive faster?”

“We will be arriving in five. I have taken shortcut.”

“Thank you, Ijichi-san.” ~”~

“Satoruuuu!!!!” I all but tackled him, while he was sitting in seiza. A grunt is heard as a reply.

“[Name]-chan’s love tackle is getting stronger.” A big palm stroke my hair.

“[Name], manner.” Papa frowned.

“Eehhh…” I pouted but shifted my body so I am sitting in seiza position but my hand still around Satoru’s abdomen.

“How was your school today?”

“It was the usual. Kurokawa Mayuko is inviting me to her 18th birthday.”

“You are almost graduate anyway. You can go to the same college as mine.” Satoru chuckled.

“By the time I enter the college, you are already third year. we can’t spend much time together.” I puffed my cheeks. It’s not like I don’t want to go to the same high school with them. It’s just, this is mother’s wish to have me study the same alma matter as her, a prestigious all girl high school. Maki and Nobara sometime need to skip class to do their job, so they can’t go to my school.

“Of course we can spend much time together. Didn’t I come visiting today?” He teased. “We also have our annual sleepover.” He poked my forehead.

“…You have to promise me then, to spend a lot of time together with me.” I stuck out my pinkie to him.”

“Yes yes. Of course.” He hooked his to mine.

“Ahem!” Papa cleared his throat.

“Ah…” We blinked and broke into laughter. “Then, I will go to my room first. Need to find some lowkey dress for the upcoming party.” I giggled. ~”~

Kurokawa Mayuko’s birthday party is done in a grand scale. They have reserved a nice garden on the top floor of a 5 stars hotel, which I recognized the said place is the result of joint project of Sawada and Gojo. I bring Nobara with me as a protection. Though, the staff themselves are all our people. So, there will be nothing to be wary about. Not to mention, for this event, Papa and Satoru mixed in Megumi, Yuuji, Ken-chan, and Suguru. To make sure nothing will absolutely go wrong.

The two of us are wearing a lowkey light blue dress for me and a red dress for Nobara. Kurokawa Mayuko is wearing an elaborate limited edition of a brand name white dress, which almost looks like a wedding dress. Her hand is hooked in a young man's arm. He is older than us by a year, I think. He must be Yamazaki.co’s heirs. The fiancé of Kurokawa Mayuko.

I make my way to them and congratulate them, giving a small gift to her. “Oh, you didn’t have to.” She giggled happily, “Can I open it?” She asked expectantly.

“Sure.” I nodded. A pair of limited edition earrings from the brand we use often.

“Oh my, how wonderful.” She clasped her hands. “This must be very expensive. You didn’t have to get me an expensive gift. I will be very sad if you spend all your money in this. In fact, just being attending my party, I am already happy.” She grasped my hand.

“It’s nothing much. I can afford it.” I shrugged. It’s truly not much, this limited edition is only a tad more expensive than our everyday essentials.

“I will be very reluctant to wear this.” She pouted. “I am afraid it will break and get dirty. This is a first give I have gotten from my best friend.”

In other word, this must be a pair of cheap earrings, I don’t want to wear it on my body in fear of reducing my beauty. Nobara lets out a small light snort at her comment. “I have given them to you. You can treat them however you like.”

There are a lot of businessmen in this party. There are some who I recognized and some don’t. the ones I don’t recognize must be new businessmen. “There are a lot new faces.” I whispered.

“Yes. Nouveau riche spring out in cluster like fungi. Well, it’s not all bad.” Nobara nodded.

“Give me their profiles later.”

“Nanamin should have organized all of those. I will have him to give them to you later.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Let’s see what kind of show she is going to make later.”

“That kind of idiot that didn’t even notice a limited edition from that brand. Tsk tsk tsk. She must have thought you bought some cheap elaborate trinket for her.” Pure disdain coated her words.

“I don’t really care about how she thought about the earrings. It was cheaper than most limited edition anyway.”

“…Sometimes I wonder whether your sense of money have gone whacko. No… it definitely did.” She sweatdropped. “Even though they are cheaper than usual limited edition, it’s still enough to feed a small family for half a year or more.”

This birthday party is also served as a place to make connection with some veteran businessmen. And those veterans are giving me their greetings. I smile and nod at them. Seeing I have no intention to speak nor announce my identity, they also have tacit understanding with each other. So, they treat me like I am an ordinary wealthy girl.

Chairman of Kurokawa finance then makes a small speech, thanking all of the businessmen who have participated in his daughter's birthday party. And after that, he brought his daughter and her fiancé with him, introducing them to his potential connections and business partners.

A lot of new businessmen here think highly of that Yamazaki heir. Supposedly he is a legend in making. While more of old veterans are still giving lukewarm, wait and see attitude. Most of them are not interested, seeing they can't even recognize a certain someone attending their party. ~"~

Next day, all my classmates are wearing the accessories gifted to them by Kurokawa Mayuko yesterday. A nice bracelet with their initials. Only I didn't wear it. Because Satoru threw it away. He said it was cheap trash. Not qualified enough to be worn. Instead, he gave me another one. A bracelet with a very delicate and intricate design, having my first name initial, and his last name initial. He is basically saying I have become Gojo [Name]. I like it, so I wear it.

I noticed how her facial expression changed a little when she didn't spot the bracelet. "Sawada-san, why didn't you wear the bracelet? Everyone wore theirs." She spoke up.

"Ah. Someone gave me this bracelet. I like this design more, so I decided to wear this instead." I said.

"Oh? Is that so? But this bracelet didn't have your initials. I know this bracelet is very beautiful, but you shouldn't steal." She bit her lips.

"Oh?" I cocked my eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of a theft then?" I smiled. "This is a very serious case. A false accusation can be sued for defamation. I certainly didn't lack money to buy, why would I steal this? This is given by someone important to me. And in this school, I am aware no one has the name with these initials."

"O..oh… As long as you are not stealing, then it's alright. I am afraid you went down the wrong path after spending too much money for my gift yesterday." She smiled tightly.

"It's not that expensive." I replied. Thus, a small smile bloomed on her lips. She must be thinking she is right about those being a cheap fake. They are cheap, but not fake.

"Okay, please just tell me if you have difficulty. I can help you."

"There's no need. I don't like owing money or things to people." I declined politely.

And, yes. The rumor spread even further. I think no one has a worse reputation than me. On my graduation day, no one came except for papa. I told them not to come as to avoid annoying, persistent people. So, Satoru compromised. He will come and get me for our graduation party, held in a high-end club owned by Gojo. ~"~

I click the middle button and feed my pet. The virtual pet on the screen eats the food happily. "[Name], pay attention to me." The man beside me whined.

"Wait a minute." I said, still busy playing with my tamagotchi.

We are inside a high-end club, sitting in one of the most VIP rooms, celebrating our high school graduation. Satoru, Suguru, Nanami and Shoko act as our chaperones. Right now, I am with Maki, Mai, Kasumi, Momo, Aoi, Rika, Nobara, Yuuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Toge and Panda. Why is his name Panda you ask? Well, he said his real name is secret so, he gave himself Panda as a nickname and it has stuck.

"We have finally graduated." Nobara downed the juice and slammed down the glass back on the table.

"We still have college." Maki reminded.

"Please don't say that, Maki-san." Nobara whined.

"Hehehe. I am glad I can be with everyone again." I giggled.

"I can now spend my break time looking at [Name]-chan." Satoru cheered.

"I hope we won't meet that bitch again."

"Who are you talking about?" Panda blinked.

"She must be talking about Kurokawa Mayuko-san, is that correct?" Ken-chan interjected.

"Yes. That woman didn't have eyes for fashion at all." Nobara complained and proceed to tell the tale to absence members at the party.

"Ah. About that." I quipped.

"What did she do again?"

"Apparently she was thinking I stole this from some unknown people, since my name didn't match the initials here." I showed them the bracelet.

"Of course it doesn't match. Satoru used his last name instead of Sawada." Suguru snorted playfully.

"[Name]-chan is my wife."

"Why don't you use my last name instead?" I smiled.

"...Sawada Satoru… not bad. I like the sound of it. Should I change?" Satoru asked them.

"I don't care." Maki retorted.

"Neither do we." Megumi replied, causing Satoru to complain how cruel they are while clinging to me.

"There there, good boy." I buried my hand into his snow locks. Feeling the softness as I combed his hair.

"Feels good." He purred, earning disgusted looks from others.

"Do it in your room." Shoko sighed. ~"~

The first two years of our college went smoothly. Satoru didn't hide the fact we are in a relationship, in fact he has been refusing every girl claiming he has been taken, even as far as showing the silver band on his ring finger. The same ring is also worn in my ring finger. Thus, at first, I earned a lot of hate from the female population. Only after someone anonymously spread that I am Sawada heir and Satoru is my kept man, that the hate stopped directed to me. I am sure Satoru was the culprit. I mean, he has been saying that he likes being kept by me. Going by the fact that I am indeed the Sawada heir, the unwarranted hate stopped immediately, not gradually. In fact, most of them are offering apologies and I was unanimously crowned as the king of the campus.

A lot of men were trying to vie for my attention after knowing the fact. But no one succeeded. Even the news of Sawada heir being in school is also suppressed. Must be Satoru's work. He sure works quick for someone lazy.

Satoru finally graduated from college, and I was both happy and not happy. Because I can't spend time with him. I bought him a pair of blue cufflinks and a tie for him. Of course Suguru and Ken-chan too, black for Suguru and yellow for Ken-chan. For Shoko, a white doctor coat from the best material, blouse, skirt, and high heels, not to forget the make-up set.

"[Name]-chan, why did Shoko get so much? I only got 2. Shoko got a lot. Not to mention my gift is the same as Nanamin and Suguru." Satoru pouted as he rested his head on the top of my head, his body completely hiding mine from peering eyes.

"But you already got the best gift." My lip curled into a mischievous smirk.

"Oh? What is that?"

"Me." I giggled cheekily.

"...Well, it's true enough." He chortled. "Then, [Name]-chan, as my best gift. You need to give me a kiss to soothe my wounded heart." He puckered his lips.

"What a needy kept man you are." I teased, pulling him by his tie to level his face to mine and crashed his lip to mine, sucking his lower lip before forcing my tongue inside his cavern. Throughout his college years, he has successfully established himself as my one and only kept man. No one can shake his concubine position. "This enough?" I pulled back, pulling along a silver thread of saliva that was the evidence of the kiss. Maybe the smudge of a lip tint in his lip is another evidence.

"For now." He smiled, rosy cheeks. "Give me a lot more later." He snickered, blowing at my ears. I roll my eyes playfully at him.

After the graduation ceremony finished. We plan to celebrate again. This time, we are going to play in our villa with a man-made hot spring in a residence complex near the suburb. The trip is 3 days 2 night.

Who would have thought, I will meet Kurokawa Mayuko and her best friends. This world is truly small. Kurokawa Mayuko's father owned the smaller villa here, located near the entrance, called outer block. This residence complex weas based on outer, middle and inner block. Papa owned one near a beautiful man-made lake in the inner block. This area is the most expensive. Ours is also equipped with man-made hot spring inside the villa.

Kurokawa Mayuko and her best friends plus Yamazaki corp are having picnic near the lake. There’s no rule that outer block residence can’t come in to enjoy the lake. So, Imagine their surprise when they see me there. "Sawada-san?!"

"...It has been a while." I said politely, but my tone is distant.

"Sawada-san, how did you enter this area? No, how come you are here in the first place? This is not a place where you should be?!" She gasped in overdone shock.

"Oh? Why can I be here? Do you own this place?" I asked sharply.

"Hey! Mayuko is just being nice. If someone saw you here, you would be dragged away by a security guard." Tachibana Yuriko disdainfully said to me.

"It's okay, Yuriko. If they come, let's just say she is my guest. I hope you don't mind my selfishness, Ichi." She turned to her fiancé and said sweetly.

"Of course I don't mind. Your friend is also my friend." He smiled.

"Sorry to burst your bubble. But we are not friends. We are just classmates and acquaintances at most." I told him politely.

"I…thought we are…best friend…" She said pitifully.

"Ungrateful bitch! Even all she done for you! How could you say that?" Takeda Sayuri snarled.

"I am just stating a fact. She is one sidedly have a delusion of us being friends. I remembered telling her, we are as a matter of fact, not friends. You guys were also present at the time. And what she have done to me, hm? Truly, she really done a lot for me. I will make sure to pay you back with high interest." I smiled, tilting my head to the side.

"Let's just call the security guard to kick her out." Tanaka Aiko pulled out her phone.

"No." Yamazaki heir stopped her.

"But why?" Tachibana Yuriko is displeased because she was stopped.

"Sawada-san, is it? Please apologize to my fiancée. She was nice enough to remind you that trespassing is a crime. If you apologize, we will let bygone be bygone." He looked at me, frowning.

"Then, I will say, young man. Where is the evidence that I trespassed? Why didn't she think I might be owning a villa in this area? And as a residence here, you must know that the security in this area is super strict. I can't imagine they didn't notice I sneaked in." I laid down my argument.

"This…"

"You must be bribing the guard." Takeda Sayuri blurted out.

"Oh? I don't know the guard here is easily bribed. I think having a chat with the head of the security department is in order." Suguru chuckled.

"Suguru?"

"You were gone far too long, [Name]-chan. A certain idiot is whining." Suguru patted my head.

"Sorry. I am thinking of going back earlier." I scratched my cheek.

"Who are you?" Tanaka Aiko bit her lip.

"I am [Name]-chan's cousin. So, what about this I heard [Name]-chan needed to bribe the guard to sneak in here. Besides, who are you guys? I have never seen you around here. Nobody who lives here has an uncouth mouth." Suguru shot them a dirty look.

"Pardon us. We are from outer block. [Name] is my best friends from high school. I was only worried if she didn't know where she was and was trespassing. Now that I know she has a cousin here. I am glad." Kurokawa Mayuko smiled sincerely.

"Oh? Outer block? No wonder she behaves like that. I don't care if you have guests like that inside your villa. But in public property no one will raise their voice like this. Please pay attention." Suguru smiled, but I can detect his sarcasm very clearly.

"O…oh… we are very sorry for disturbing you…" She said meekly while glancing at me.

"I am hungry."

"The breakfast is finished. That's why I come and get you. Or else that idiot will cause a scene."

"It can't be helped." I giggled. “Let’s go. I wonder what Ken-chan cooked for breakfast?”

“It’s something edible. Unlike that idiot’s cooking. He must be not blessed by God of cooking to balance his look and skills.” Suguru laughed.

“Satoru only needs to look good for being my kept man.” I added, giggling.

“Yes yes. All he needs to do is taking his beauty care so he won’t lose to younger man.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

“[Name]!!!!” A tall lanky man wrapped his limbs around me tightly.

“I can’t breathe.” My complain is muffled by his shirt.

“Where did you go?”

“Taking a walk. And met some persistent people.”

“Is it that girl again? Should we just crush her altogether? She is so noisy.” Satoru frowned.

“As long as she doesn’t cross any lines, I can tolerate her. I just need not to cross path with her. But I won’t dodge. It’s too troublesome. More importantly, Satoru.

“Hm?”

“Feed me.”

“[Name]-chan’s wish is my command.” He grinned. So feed me he did. ~”~

Two more years passed and we have successfully graduated from our college. Now, we are back in that VIP room in Gojo’s high end club with the same people. I got a message from my former high school class rep for a casual meeting. It’s said that Kurokawa Mayuko was proposed by her fiancé and they are going to celebrate with the whole class. She also has sent the time and place. This Sunday, in the previous hotel where she held her birthday party.

“So, what’s that bitch planning again?” Mai smirked.

“Showing off that she was proposed, I guess?” I blinked.

“Oh? Does she even know that you are already married way before her?” Mai snickered.

“Not a clue.” I smiled.

"Since your marriage is not publicized. I don't think a lot of people know about it. Of course, those businessmen know you are very biased to [Name]. And only a handful of observant people that notice the rings on your hand. And smart people know you are not interested in anyone aside from [Name]. And only the business veterans know how big and deep Gojo and Sawada are." Suguru chuckled.

"Right now, for most people Satoru is dubbed the useless heir of Gojo. A perfectly capable heir became a fool who ignore his own company and future just to be Sawada princess' dog. That's what they said behind you. A lot of new entrepreneurs refused to cooperate with Gojo, afraid of suffering big losses. Instead, they choose Yamazaki. His influence is expanding. And now, he is also starting to dab into entertainment industries." Shoko said.

"You two really have a bad reputation amongst the new entrepreneurs." Mai laughed.

"That's why they didn't understand why the business veterans are still cooperating with Gojo and Sawada. In their mind, the golden age of Sawada and Gojo have passed. They are thinking those old senile men has gone mad. Very ambitious." Suguru snickered.

"That's a good quality though. You need to be ambitious in business. Sadly, they are all short sighted." Ken-chan sighed in pity.

"I am fine being kept by [Name]." Satoru smirked.

"I will try my best to make money." I giggled.

“So, are you going to go to her party?” Momo asked.

“Yes. Why not? I am kind of curious what kind of play she will show me.” I nodded.

“Should I go with you?" Rika frowned.

"Don't worry. I don't think they will go that far." I assured them. "Besides, she is reserving at one of our hotels anyway." I sipped my grape juice.

"That's right. We can also sneak in as one the staff."

"Then, I will-"

"Satoru is a no no."

"Eh? Why?"

"They will look at you. I don't like it." I sulked.

"...Can I just lock you up somewhere?"

"Don't go with your crazy idea, Satoru." Suguru smacked his best friend.

"You can't lock me up. But I want to lock you up."

"I am willing!!!" He answered quickly.

"...what should we say in this situation?" Yuuta looked at the others, waiting for answer.

"Since he is willing, let him be locked up then. We will feel better too." Maki commented.

"Well… true enough…" Soon, one by one agreed with my weird proposal.

"Where will you lock me up, wifey?"

"In my house."

"Okay. Should I buy a collar and chains?" He suggested.

"Hmm… good idea. I will have them make one for you later." A not so gentle knock landed on my head. "Ken-chan, it hurts."

"Save your bedroom play for later."

"It's not a bedroom play." I puffed my cheeks.

"Then please discuss it when you two are alone." Ken-chan sighed. The others sweatdropped, wondering why the two of us are actually not in a mental asylum. But well, considering our background as mafia heirs, this is not actually so weird. At least, the victim is willing. If he is willing, he is not the victim, right?

"What time you are going to meet?" Shoko shifted the topics.

"At lunch, this sunday."

"Understood. We will make an arrangement." Ken-chan noted. ~"~

So, Sunday, still wearing a lowkey dress and accessories, I attended Kurokawa Mayuko's party. "Thank you for coming today. I am so excited to meet you guys again." Kurokawa Mayuko started her speech excitedly. "Yesterday, my long time fiance proposed to me and I said yes!" She squealed. Her best friends clapped loudly , so we followed… normally for me.

"And we are also going to have a formal engagement party next week. I will send you the invitations so, please come again. Hehe. Today I want to talk you all freely, that's why I invited you guys to this luncheon."

"Congrats. You are the first in our class to get married." Class rep smiled as she congratulated her. "We banded together buying this." She brought out a gift. A pair of earrings from the brand Kurokawa Mayuko normally uses.

'Oh? They didn't inform me at all.' I blinked, amused at the whole thing.

"Oh my. This is from the brand I uses. Thank you very much. I will definitely wear this in my engagement party. I can't thank you guys enough. You are the best." She smiled happily, tears shining in his eyes.

"No. You were always so kind to us back in high school. We want to show you that we appreciated it very much." Class rep smiled.

"It's not much, but here is my gift." I handed her a rectangular box.

"Oh, Sawada-san. You don't have to. You also have bought this with everyone."

"No. I didn't. I was not notified. So, I bought my own gift." I said politely.

"Can I open this?"

"Go ahead." I answered. This time, I gift her a diamond necklace from her brand.

"Oh my. A limited edition. Thank you very much. I am so touched that you think of me." She gasped in that overdramatic way again.

"Not really. You are inviting me to your party, so I bought a gift. I didn't think that much." I said nonchalantly.

"Show off." Takeda Sayuri muttered, but I heard clearly.

"I bet this is fake." Tanaka Aiko hissed.

"Aiko, Sayuri. Don't talk like that. Have you forgotten, Sawada-san's cousin owned a villa in Drifting Cloud inner area?"

"Drifting Cloud? You mean that Drifting Cloud?!" Gasps of surprise echoed in the room.

"Well. He did own a villa there." I nodded. Suguru indeed owns one. Papa and Satoru also own one. Somehow Satoru changed it to my name already, and so is Papa.

"How old is your cousin? Is he still single? Does he like younger girls?" Barrage of questions was suddenly fired.

"My cousin is 24 years old. No girlfriend. As for his preference. I don't know?"

"How can you not know about your own cousin? Are you afraid he won't spoil you anymore if he gets a girlfriend?" Classmate A said bitterly.

"I bet he is so ugly. I mean, if he is handsome and has money. How come he is still single?"

"True true." Right now, they came to an agreement that Suguru is ugly.

"You can believe whatever you want. They have seen how he looked like." I smiled.

"A…anyway, I want to ask you guys if you have any interesting ideas that I can incorporate to my wedding." Kurokawa Mayuko quickly steered the conversation away from my cousin.

We all sat down as they discussed amongst themselves. While I am just enjoying the dish provided, my old habit came out when I took a sip of the secretly grape juice. How they did this is beyond me. I swirl the wine glass while crossing my legs and lean back to the headrest.

"...Sawada-san… are you married?" Someone suddenly asked. The whole room quieted down.

"Oh? Why do you ask that?" I smiled.

"I mean… I noticed a ring on your ring finger. I am sorry if I guessed wrong." She suddenly became timid.

"There's no way Sawada-san is married. She must have bought the ring to show off here." Takeda Yuriko huffed.

"This ring? I have been wearing it since I graduated from my high school. You can see it in my social media." Amused smirk graced my lips.

"It's true." Classmate B showed us her phone. There's my picture wearing the same ring.

"I don't have any hobby of copying people nor showing my private life. Please do take care when talking or we will have a case of defamation." I reminded them how they accused me of stealing a bracelet and trespassing.

Tachibana Yuriko's face changes. She almost just charged to me and engaged in the act of violence if not for Takeda Sayuri holding her back.

"Then, that bracelet. Sawada-san, you told us someone important to you gave it to you. Was it your boyfriend?" Classmate C inquired.

"Let's not talk about this. Today is Kurokawa Mayuko-san's big day. It will be seen as ugly if we talk about me instead." I smiled.

"I bet she bought all herself and just pretended someone bought it for her. So disgusting." Tachibana Yuriko scoffed.

I just smile politely without any care as I continue drinking my grape juice. "Excuse me." Someone entered our room.

"Ah, manager Mei Mei-san. Thank you very much for allowing me to use this room on such short notice." Kurokawa Mayuko smiled at her.

"We are just doing business. Someone canceled it on a last minute. So it's empty, that's why we offered it to you. There's no need to thank me." Mei-san smiled.

"I see. Then I will take your words. By the way, Is there any problem? Are we by the chance too loud?" She gasped. "We are very sorry. There was just a misunderstanding between my friends. I will make sure they won't bother the other guests."

"Oh, I didn't come about that. I just wanted to ask if the meal is to your satisfaction?" I smiled when I heard this.

"Of course it's to my satisfaction. I hope we can be partners in future business." Kurokawa Mayuko answered.

"That will depend on my boss." Mei-san answered vaguely.

"I see. That's too bad." Her smile dropped.

"I heard there is a customer called Sawada-sama in this room."

"Mei Mei-san. Did…she… by chance do something she shouldn't do?" Her eyes blown wide, looking shocked, but I can see smug glint deep inside her eyes. "I will pay for whatever damage she caused. Sawada-san is… she grew up in a rather poor condition, please forgive her."

"Kurokawa-san seems to misunderstand. Sawada-sama didn't do anything wrong at all." Mei-san shook her head.

"Then?"

"A regular VIP customer of us want to give Sawada-sama a secret menu dessert. He seems to be fond of her." Mei-san motioned to the staff behind to bring in the dessert.

'Must be Satoru's work.' I giggled. "Please tell him thank you very much, Manager Mei Mei-san."

"I will."

After Mei-san left the room. The atmosphere changed again, they were now absolutely curious who the regular customer was that got hooked by me.

"Whore." I heard Tachibana Yuriko muttered, loud enough for me to hear. My hand stopped and I put the fork down.

"Yuriko-chan!!!"

"Because it's true. How come a regular VIP customer suddenly sent her something. She must have hooked them using her body. If that's not a whore, I don't know what is." She smirked smugly.

"Tachibana Yuriko. Mouth is a source of disaster. You better shut your mouth before you drag all your family to hell with you." I tilted my chin up, looking down on her.

"Ha! You think I am afraid of a whore like you?! Those old farts of your men will throw you away the second you get into trouble." She mocked.

"Ha! I overestimated you. To think you don't even understand human language." I sneered. "First, just because you are not attractive enough to get someone interested in you, you shouldn't be jealous. Second, I will sue you of defamation. Please wait for your court call." I took my purse and walked to the door. "We'll see who will get who in jail." My eyes gleamed.

"You have no evidence!!!!" I heard her yell before the door was closed.

"Capo." The staff bowed. "What should we do to her?"

"Let's get her into the court." I said.

"Principessa." Mei-san bowed.

"Satoru is here, right? Lead me to him."

"Of course." ~"~

"[Name]~~~~ I am so lonely." Satoru whined as he opened his arms.

"Yes yes." I giggled as I settled on his lap.

"What made you so unhappy, wifey?"

"I want to get her in court." My smile widened. I showed him the recording. Hehehe, I have started recording right after she picked a fight with me for the first time.

"...what did she call my [Name]?" Satoru hissed, pupils dilated, anger coursed through his pretty face.

"A whore."

"[Name]-chan, you can't say that bad word." He prodded his finger to my lips, silencing me.

"Are you angry?"

"I am seething. Can't wait to tear her from limb to limb."

"Don't kill her too quickly. Let her taste her own medicine. Doesn't she like to curse people as whore. Let her become one then."

"My wife always has some great ideas." He gave me a smothering kiss on the cheek. ~"~

Just I have said, I sued Tachibana Yuriko for defamation. I also have 'invited' my classmates as witnesses. Tachibana Yuriko glared at me all the way. Of course her witnesses are her friends. They all said it was just a misunderstanding. But my witnesses are all eagerly told the truth. They didn't exaggerate anything, just plain truth like we have 'asked nicely'. I also have submitted the recording as evidence.

By the end of the court, Tachibana Yuriko is fined 6.550.000 yen for defamation and 300.000 yen for emotional damage. Or she can serve in the jail for 4 years. Colour drained from her face. She desperately begged the judge. Alas, the judge has hammered down his hammer. She then turns to me and curses. Of course the courthouse security guard restrained her.

"Sawada-san. Can you please let go Yuriko-chan. She didn't have any ill intention. That was just a slip of tongue." Kurokawa Mayuko bit her lip.

"Slip of a tongue? You call that slip of a tongue. Figures, birds of the same feathers flock together." Nobara sneered.

"Don't be too much!!!" Takeda Sayuri yelled.

"Then, let me ask you. If someone called you slut or whore, would you stay still accepting the insult? I was taught to have a pride of what I am. So, of course I will be very insulted." I told her off.

"That… I…" Tears pooled in her eyes again.

"Besides, I think I am doing a very nice favor to you." I smirked.

"What do you mean?"

"What? You don't even know? Some best friends you are. I thought you guys didn't keep secrets from each other?" Rika mocked.

"What do you mean?" She frowned, gone were her tears.

"She was seducing your fiance behind your back of course." I smiled brilliantly. As we expected, her expression changes instantly.

"That's a l-?"

"Lie?" I giggled. "You can check his phone then. Your best friend have been sending her almost nude photo to your future husband. He didn't talk to you about it, right? Nor does he block her."

"Lie…" She staggered back.

"Mayuko!" Those two held her, preventing her from meeting asphalt.

"Don't listen to her!"

"Whatever you believe or not, it's up to you." I shrugged. "Now, I have other business to attend to. Please excuse me." I smiled and turned around. "Oh! And." I suddenly remembered something. "Don't look down on Sawada." I shot her another smile and went to my car.

"You are telling her your identity?" Nobara raised her brow.

"She won't get it. She won't even make the connection." I chuckled. "I wonder how this will play out." ~"~

"Should we deal with him now?" Megumi spoke up during the meeting.

"Yamazaki Ichiro. This kind of boring man, won't be worth anything to be partnered with." Aoi leaned back to his chair.

"Well, he successfully moved Satoru-sama from the most sought bachelor and has now become a new legend.” Mei-san smiled.

“They all know how Satoru looks like, but they don’t know how our principessa looks like. Thanks to that. All of them speculated how ugly she is. An ugly woman and a fool. Perfect match.” Suguru shook his head.

“We are perfect match.” Satoru agreed, nodding his head repeatedly.

“Yes, a match made in heaven.” Ken-chan sighed. “What should we do about him then?”

“Let him run around for few more times. As long as [Name] didn’t say anything, I won’t do anything. But if he did so much like glancing at [Name]…” His lips turned up forming a wicked smile.

“Well… he already glance at me. 2 years ago, at the lake near Drifting Cloud. I met them while they are having a picnic.” I said.

“Let’s crush him after all.” Satoru changed his tune.

“Let’s wait a little longer. I can’t wait to see how the drama will play out. This is even better than 4 p.m soap opera.” I giggled.

“If [Name] wants it, then it can’t be helped.”

“But first, let’s play with that Tachibana Yuriko.” I clapped my hands.

“Oh, what interesting idea you have?” Mai smirked. She is interested in this kind of things.

“She likes to curse people as whore. So, let’s make her into one. I heard that Yamazaki runs a night club with some interesting illegal dealing.”

“That is…”

“Prostitution of course.” Mai rolled her chair.

“Now with her in debt, she will beg Kurokawa Mayuko to lend her some money. Usually as a best friend, she will lend her without any second thought. This will enhance her status being good person. But I have planted the seed of doubt.” I twirled my chair.

“Ah. That’s why you said she seduced her husband to be.” Nobara nodded, finally understood my plan.

“Yes. But that was actually the truth, she truly did try to seduce her best friend future husband. And she did send her almost naked pic to him, claiming it’s an accident. There’s no accident like that. Miko-san leaked all of that to me. Hehehe, securing evidence have long been completed.” I laughed. “Now, Kurokawa Mayuko won’t lend her anything until at least she is certain that her best friend is not seducing her future husband. The court has told her to pay her fine within a week. At least she needs to pay a quarter portion of it. in this kind of circumstances, the fastest way is of course selling your body. Let some of them spread the rumor that Nightly Night club is owned by Yamazaki Ichiro.”

“I see. Hearing that, Tachibana Yuriko will work there. At least her boss is someone she knows. Who knows, she might even meet with the boss.” Momo continued. “You two are really evil.”

“Hehehe. Let her listen to the fastest way to make money. They used code to differentiate normal hostess and illegal hostess. Well, those illegal hostess are all serving bigshots anyway. They don’t lack money. The faster she paid me the faster we can see the show. I will leave it to you.”

“Will be done as you wish.” Ken-chan sighed.

“Thank you, Ken-chan.” ~”~

I hear from my spy that someone has taken a liking to Tachibana Yuriko, after hearing her sob story. This someone is also one of the new up and rising entrepreneur. She has the luck, okay? On her first day serving a customer, someone has taken a liking to her. According to the said man, courtesy from my spy, he said she is too pure and dignified to work as a hostess. So, he offered to paid for her debt and in exchange work as his secretary in his company.

“Wow, she is going straight to the Cinderella’s road.” I clapped.

“Pure and dignified? Which part is pure and dignified? I can’t see anything except a pile of dog shit. Even dog shit is better than her.” Satoru complained.

“If you can see her being something either than trash, I am going to dump you.” I smiled.

“That won’t happen, [Name]-chan. No one looks like girl except you. And the others (a.k.a. families and allies) look human enough.” Satoru quickly placated me before my mood went worse.

“So, how’s her relationship with her best friends?” I asked.

“According to our intel. Those 4 still hang out with each other. Though they didn’t show it on their faces. Kurokawa Mayuko and Tachibana Yuriko aren’t as close as before. That one sentence really has a big impact.” Rika reported.

“Even though she didn’t manage to seduce him, it’s a fact she tried and there’s an evidence. And Kurokawa didn’t immediately help her when she was fined. It’ll be strange if they are still close as ever. And now, Tachibana has her own wallet. There’s no need to live from her charity.” I intertwined my hand with Satoru as I play with it.

“They will come to next social party held by Tachikawa Miwako next Saturday.”

“Oh, it’s one of our business partners. I guess we need to attend to watch the show.”

“We’ll make preparation.” ~”~

A few weeks later, Tachibana Yuriko invited me out for tea, and talked about the fine. I can see her dressing in expensive brands from head to toe. “You are here.” She eyed me up and down. “Hmph! As usual, your attire is rather poor.” She snorted. “I guess this is enough for you to buy some new clothes.” She took out a cheque and slammed it on the table.

I silently took a seat in front of her. The total of her attire today is around 2.000.000 yen. Not even enough to buy a piece of glasses from our usual brand. I look at the cheque. The amount written is more than the fine. “Just write the exact amount.” I slid back the cheque to her.

“I am doing a charity for you. Look at you, didn’t even have a decent garb.” She said disgustedly,

“Oh? I am sure this is casual enough for a casual meet up.”

“The style is decent, if not because you are buying some fake knock off.” She rolled her eyes as she sipped her beverage.

“Well, I am here to talk about money, not to talk about my sense of fashion, am I? Just write the exact amount of the fine.”

“Whatever. Ungrateful bitch.”

“Careful with your mouth. You don’t want to be called to court again, do you?” She flinched at my threat.

“Whatever. I am done here anyway.” She tore a new cheque to me and got out. “I will pay for our drink.” She walked away.

“…I haven’t even ordered yet.” I blinked.

“Sawada-sama, your order?”

“Secret menu cake and yogurt berry.”

“Please wait for a while.” The waiter bowed.

“Ah, can I change place? I don’t like this seat too much. Has been contaminated by some unknown germs.” I smiled softly.

“Certainly, Sawada-sama. I will lead you to your new seat. Please.”

“Thank you.” ~”~

Saturday, the day of the show. As usual, I am matching with Satoru, the theme today is light blue. “How do I look?” I twirled in front of the mirror.

“Really pretty and cute. Enough for me to think let’s ditch today party.” Satoru wrapped his big hands around my waist from behind, placing a small kiss on my neck.

“Soap opera is best to be watched live.” I giggled.

“Can’t we just ask them to stream it live?” He pouted.

“Aren’t you adorable?” I pinched his cheeks.

“Of course I am. I am the most adorable pretty boy of yours.” He cackled.

“Hehehe. Let’s go.” ~”~

Today’s party is the showdown between Kurokawa and Tachibana. We are just coming to enjoy the show. As usual, we are crowded by our business partners so we are hidden from those pairs.

“Gojo-san, are you willing to form partnership with Yamazaki heir?”

“[Name]-chan doesn’t like him. And his fiancée is also an eyesore.” Come the reply.

“Is that so?” They finished probing our attitude about him so they changed the topic. Yamazaki Ichiro won’t live long after all.

Kurokawa and Tachibana meet with each other with their respective partner. They exchanged the pleasantries and talked about business for males as for the females, they showed off that they are indeed best friend of each other. They count as the stars today. A lot of people envied them and their luck.

“Oh, how disappointing, there’s no blood bath after all.” I muttered in pity.

“Let’s go home, [Name]-chan. I don’t like people seeing you.”

“No. Let’s stir some trouble first. I have come here after all. it’s a shame if I can’t see any show.” An evil smirk graced my lips.

“Fine.” He sighed indulgently.

“Oya, if it isn’t Tachibana-san and Kurokawa-san. Good evening.” I smiled.

“Who are… Sawada-san?” Kurokawa’s eyes widened.

“Sawada-san?” Tachibana frowned.

“I guess this is a first time meeting you in social party.” I giggled slightly.

“How come you are here? This is not the place for the likes of you to attend?” Tachibana harrumphed.

“Oh? And you are saying you are qualified enough to attend?” My smile widened. The guests have long stooped their conversation to listen to us. Sawada princess made an effort to talk, they can’t miss it. “You are using your identity as Yanagawa Kai-san’s female partner to attend this party. Unlike you, I don’t need to borrow someone’s identity to enter.”

“What kind of identity you think you have? You-“

“Tut tut.” I tutted. “Mouth is the source of disaster, have you forgotten? You were called to court because you insulted me. I think you really need to serve in the jail for some time. Let you taste your consequence.”

“Might I ask who you are. I can’t have you offend my date.” Yanagawa cut in.

“As you have heard, I am Sawada. Sawada [Name]. I think this is enough hint for my identity.”

“Sawada…. Are you the Sawada princess…?”

“Correct. I am Sawada heir.”

“If you are Sawada heir then this must be…” They shifted their line-sight to the man beside me.

“My kept man. Gojo Satoru.”

“Ke-kept man?” Kurokawa sputtered out in disbelief. She can’t believe this kind of otherworldly specimen is willing to be a kept man.

“Well yes. Because I fed him. If he is not my kept man, I don’t know what to call him? It’s quite disrespectful to call human a pet now, isn’t it?”

“Gojo Satoru… you must be Gojo heir.” Yamazaki knitted his brows.

“I am just [Name]-chan’s faithful concubine, her forever pretty kept-man.” This shameless lazy man said all of that proudly. Right now, all of his works are pushed to Suguru. Suguru is basically become the second owner already. Unless it’s emergency Suguru is more than capable of handle it. No, even if it’s emergency Suguru still can handle it. But he will throw it back to Satoru simply for him to at least work a little.

“So he said. That’s why don’t stare him too much. I know he is pretty, but he can only be pretty for me not for you.” I pointed out when these two ladies stare at him a little too long. “But, what a surprise. You two have made up. You sure are very forgiving, able to forgive someone who seduced your future husband.” I finally could get to the point.

“You!” Her face paled, while Tachibana in rage.

“Oh? Was I wrong? Surely you have investigated it by your own. Well, whatever. If you have the big heart to forgive her, then I will congratulate you. Hehe, if I were you, she will already disappear from the earth.” Just in time, a waiter came to us so, I put the empty glasses on the tray and walked away with Satoru on my tow. ~”~

“Mayuko, I was wrong for not telling you, but to be honest I don’t know what kind of conversation should I start with. You will find it weird if I suddenly say your best friend suddenly send her picture to me, and almost naked. I…”

“…It’s fine… I was wrong too. I should have confronted you sooner. The sooner we talked about this the sooner we should have resolved this. I also don’t know that she was this kind of person. She is my best friend from childhood. But…”

“Don’t worry, Mayuko. I am not angry with you. You are the only one I love from the bottom of my heart. Besides, she has already gotten together with Yanagawa heir. I have no intention of talking to her nor meet her.” He pulled her closer. Her heart becomes soft.

“I know… I trust you… sorry for investigating on my own.”

“I don’t blame you. I know you were shocked. I think I would too. From now on, we won’t keep anymore secret from each other.”

“Yes.” They share a deep kiss and tumbled on the bed for the rest of the night. ~”~

“I have never thought you were classmates with Sawada heir.”

“I thought we aren’t going to talk about another girl anymore.” Kurokawa pouted coquettishly.

“Hahaha. I was only surprised.” Yamazaki laughed.

“I didn’t even know she is Sawada heir. I mean she wasn’t standing out in high school. Except of her grade, anything about her is average.”

“I see. Well, are you in a good term with her?”

“Are you implying I should befriend with her?”

“No. it’s the exact opposite. If you were in a good term with her, I am going to advise you to distant yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Business world is a dog eats dog world after all.”

“You…don’t mean…” Kurokawa gasped.

“Yes, I am planning to swallow both Sawada and Gojo.” He leered. “You have seen Gojo heir is nothing about fool, while Sawada heir is just a sheltered lady. Having great achievement in academic has a little to no use in practical field.”

“What a shame.” Kurokawa muttered, her mind recalled how exceptional Gojo’s face was. “Ah…” She suddenly let out a small moan.

“Were you thinking about Gojo heir?” Yamazaki’s hand has long slipped into her fold.

“I…wasn’t…” Her face flushed due to his moving fingers inside her.

“After I swallow them both, I will let you play with them. You can make him into your toy.”

“…I…ahhh…only want…haa…you…”

“How lewd. I will carve into your body who is your husband.” He growled and then another round of bed tumbling. ~”~

“Right now, they must be thinking how to swallow our clan.” I rested my chin on the back of my palm, sitting opposite of Satoru.

“If they can. Hai… ah…” Satoru cut the meat into small pieces and feed me.

“Ah…” I opened my mouth to be feed. “Let them play around for a while then. The higher they climb the harder they fall. Besides, we have been collecting a lot of their scandals anyway.” I chewed slowly and swallowed the food.

“[Name]-chan…”

“What?”

“I want to cuddle.”

“We are still in the middle of the meals.”

“[Name]’s scent is almost disappeared. I want your scent on my body again.”

“After the meals, okay? I am still hungry.”

“Okay.” ~”~

As expected from the rising legend, Yamazaki Ichiro successfully expanded his empire. Right now, he has dabbed in almost all industries. As Mrs. Yamazaki, of course Kurokawa Mayuko is also in the spotlight. She was praised as a saintess of the modern world. She has set up a charity foundation, and also a lot of orphanages across Japan. Being Kurokawa's best friend, Takeda Sayuri and Tanaka Aiko also have a lot of suitors. They are most likely to be considered a link to the rising legend.

And this hot topic raising legend is slowly making his move to us. Some of our short time or long time employees have been poached to the other side. Well, let's just them go if they don't want to stay. Less problem. And such, we are also fequently meet in social party. You can see feom hee face that she is in her peak of happiness. Handsome and wealthy fiance that is loyal to her. Truly envinious (well to other people anyway). To me he is still far inferior than my Satoru.

"Sawada-san. We are going to be wedded soon. Please come. You can bring your partner with you too." She handed me her invitation.

"I will go if I am bored." I responded.

"You definitely have to come."

"Don't be jealous. Mayuko's wedding is going to be the most beautiful and grandest wedding of the century. You and your…" Takeda Sayuri made a point to eyed my house husband. "...kept man."

"Heh. But you keep eyeing him like a piece of meat." My smile deepened. "I don't like someone eyeing my property."

"Who-who is eyeing him?! Besides, he is not some object." She sneered. "You must be afraid that he will leave you." She mocked.

"Nah. That won't happen, right?" I turned to him.

"Of course. I am your private property. It has been inked on my body after all." Satoru responded.

"Crazy bi-"

"Careful, you don't want another case like Tachibana-san, do you?" I could see she ground her teeth. "Besides, you guys need to read more. Your vocabulary is too narrow." I shook my head.

"You!"

"Sayuri-chan. Don't pick a fight with her." Tanaka Aiko called out.

"Just you wait. You won't be smiling much longer." She muttered.

I don't blame her for saying this. If you notice it carefully, more than half of the guests are siding with them, especially those young ladies and gentlemen. Small portion of them is just watching the show and even smaller portion is discussing when the disaster will hit. ~"~

At the next evening party more and more businessmen crowd around them like moths to flame. Even so, they make sure to flaunt the attention they got to me.

"Hehehe. I have decided to attend your wedding for fun. Of course I won't be going with nothing. You can look forward for the big gift." I sipped the red liquid from my glass.

"Blessings from Sawada princess? This is truly a rare thing. But I guess you should keep your blessings for yourself. You will need it a lot." He flashed his (devilish, according to them) smirk to us. "Not only do you have to work to keep Sawada afloat, you will need to double your workload to keep Gojo afloat." He commented.

"Well, I don't need to work that hard. Sawada and Gojo's employees are all excellent. We are very fortunate to have them." I smiled. My eyes clearly amused at the whole thing. But whether he knows it or not. I am not sure.

"Is that so? I guess, excellent employees are hard to come by. Better make sure they can stay loyal." He nodded.

"True." I nodded. "Thank you for your advice, I will keep it in mind." I smiled.

"There's no need to be so modest. I have heard all of the Sawada princess' achievements. I am really impressed you can still hold this long. You should teach your…" He sized Satoru up and down. "...kept man one or two things. Maybe he can help you relieve some burdens." He smiled mockingly.

"Indeed. But Satoru can't be too far away from me. He will get lonely." I smiled.

"That's right. As [Name]'s loyal kept man. I have to stay by her side." He nodded proudly.

This conversation is truly funny. The rest of the families also laughed due to how proud Satoru is of being a kept-man.

"And of course. I hope Sawada's princess won't hold a grudge if I snatched the business tycoon title from Gojo and Sawada's clan." He said.

"Of course. I won't hold any grudges. Without strength no one can withstand the battlefields they called business anyway." My lips curled to a smile.

"Yes. I hope after all is done, Sawada princess can still stay in Sawada mansion playing princess, where you belong…" He let out a sneer.

"Oh?" I raised my brow amused.

"Thank you for your kind advice, Yamazaki Ichiro. But fortunately, we don't need it." Satoru smiled. But his smile is different from usual. 'He is angry.'

Not only him, all of the family members are openly glaring at him. While the guests are still talking, they keep their ears open during our conversation. Some older businessmen have long shaken their heads at his last comment, pitying the new legend will soon vanish forever.

They said the new legend is a genius, but how come they only see an idiot in front of them? Didn't he know who he was talking to? He openly insults the Sawada princess to just play princess in her mansion. In this business’ world, there is one iron-clad rule. Never, never ever provoke Sawada [Name]. The moment you provoke her, only death is waiting for you. Even though they said Gojo is far stronger and richer than Sawada. In actuality, the one who reigns on the top is Sawada [Name], because the heir of Gojo is willing to be her kept man. Letting the whole world ridicules him as a fool, just to keep her happy.

Sawada [Name] is a lowkey person. But the veteran knew she was not simple. They knew Gojo rarely helped her. And they have seen first hand how she handles the business. Rather than being tricked, she is always the one who tricks people. They have suffered a lot in the past 2 years when they underestimated her. She is really capable. And coupled with her young age. She is what you call a treasure.

Sadly, the treasure is always guarded by ferocious beasts. In this case, the ferocious beasts are the whole Gojo and Sawada clan. Not to mention she is already married to Gojo's heir. They never announced it but it can be seen from their attitude. Not to mention the low key ring they have worn in their ring finger. A pair of those can cost a company as big as Yamazaki corp.

And this idiot heir is courting death. They quickly decided to cut all partnership with Yamazaki. If not, they will definitely be dragged into the gate of hell. ~"~

"[Name]-chan…" A breathy moan sounded out from his lips, and a weird clunking noise was also heard. The sound of chains hitting each other. Satoru with his buttoned down shirt being unbuttoned, his hands are chained above his head, cheeks flushed as if being dabbed with blush on.

"Don't move, Satoru. I haven't finished disinfecting you." I tutted.

"...Why are you so far… Come closer… please…" He begged, hands making a rattling noise due to chains.

"Where do you want me to sit, hm?"

"My lap. Sit on my lap. Want to feel you." He whined.

"So impatient." I sighed helplessly. "I was only pulling back to admire my works." I rolled my eyes. By works I mean, the pretty red purple love bites that litters around his neck, jaw and collarbones. "This good?" I sat myself comfortably on his lap.

"Good. Need you so much." He nosed my neck, taking a long deep breath. "Smell so nice."

"Good boy." I hummed a random tune as I think how will they react when I give them a very big gift on their wedding day. ~"~

The time is almost ripe, we decided to hold a meeting with the head of Gojo and Sawada's current head and also the board directors. "They are publicly shaming my daughter in law. There's no way I can endure this." Kotaro papa smiled, but his hands were clenched in fists, the veins also bulging out from how hard he clenched them.

"It's been a while since I felt this motivated." Papa also smiled.

"We have been laying some traps for them. And they have discreetly poached some of our employees." Suguru said.

"Oh? You guys were poached too?" Papa blinked.

"Yes. Even if all of the employees are refusing them. They are still persistently trying to get them." Suguru nodded.

"In our side, some of our employees have resigned and work there. There are also some that have been having some second thoughts." Ken-chan reported.

"Well, Reki did tell me about this too. Yamazaki and his new allies are poaching our employees. If they want to go to their side, just let them go. They just don't need to beg when we clean all of them up." Papa said.

"Let's see how many he can poach." Utahime frowned. "Where is that idiot anyway?"

"If you are talking about Gojo-san. He is revewing every information we have gotten about Yamazaki and his co. He also needs to see if there are still some undug allies." Ken-chan answered.

"Fufufufu. We'll be having new money generator soon." Mei-san smiled.

"Won't they got suspicious if Gojo suddenly came to the company?"

"No worries. They must be thinking this useless idiot is only showing off anyway. What does he know about running company?" ~"~

True to his word. The matter of Satoru going to Gojo's company is being spread. While most of them snort in laughter or disgust, the old veterans are sweating profusely. They knew if Gojo Satoru went to his company, nothing good will happen to the others. But then they remember the whole reason he went back because Yamazaki heir was provoking Sawada [Name]. They can only lit a candle to him when disaster hit. ~"~

Our next meeting with Yamazaki and co is at our next social party. The last party they will attend before their wedding. “Good evening, Sawada princess.” They sauntered to us, the whole of them. Four bestie plus their fiancés.

"Then, I will congratulate you first." I smiled.

"Thank you very much. This is a big catch. When the time comes, I hope you can congratulate me again." He smirked.

"Why yes of course." I smiled.

"By the way, I haven't seen your partner today." He taunted.

"Satoru has been busy lately. He suddenly started wanting to manage a company, that's why he has been working hard from morning to night." I let out a small sad sigh. "I hope he is not overworking himself."

"At least he is trying to lessen your burden."

"Yes. It seems like he has taken your advice to heart. He is so adamant of trying to support me and let me enjoy life without suffering." I lamented.

"That's how he should done from the start." He snorted. The lot of them giggled.

“But isn’t he a little bit too late to start now?” Tanaka Aiko snickered.

“As long as he is happy, I don’t really care.”

“Well, you two are perfect match just like everyone said. A fool and sheltered princess.” They then laughed mockingly.

“What can I say? He is my fool. I like him the way he is. He has his own charming points, you know. He won’t be unfaithful to me. He has pretty face and eyes. Always eager to please me. Truly a feast on my eyes. I can’t ask for a better partner.” I hummed in delight.

“What’s the use of pretty face if he is useless. No shred of masculinity.” Takeda Sayuri sneered.

“Yes. Look at our partners. They can manage their businesses and spoil us well. This is what ideal partner is.” Tanaka Aiko added in.

“Are you ganging up our princess?” Mei-san stepped in.

“Manager Mei.” Kurokawa narrowed her eyes. “It’s a shame that you still insist on staying with Sawada.” She sighed in pity.

“Our princess really treats us well and I am used to my privilege here. If I move, I will definitely work to death. Of course I am staying.” Mei-san smiled her usual business smile.

“I can eat 3 delicious meals and sleep full 8 hours. Also got allowance.” Yuuji quipped, earning a smack on the head by Nobara.

“Shut up, you idiot.” Nobara hissed.

“But it’s true.” Yuuji pouted.

“Oh my, just three meals. If you come here, I can even let you eat 5 meals. Why don’t you come over here?”

“Nope. You guys smells rotten.” Yuuji shook his head innocently, eliciting giggles from our side.

“[Name]. don’t talk to strangers, you will catch their illness.” Maki dragged me behind her.

“Since that idiot is not here today. It’s our job to protect our master.” Mai sighed.

“[Name]-chan, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Worrywart Kasumi fired her questions without a pause.

“I am fine. They didn’t touch a single hair of mine.” I assured her.

“Don’t be so overdramatic. We’ll see how much longer you old blood will hold on.” Tachibana leered, eyes burning with fire.

“We’ll see indeed.” I smiled softly. ~”~

On their wedding day, a lot of medias are covering for it. Bigshots from all over the place are coming to congratulate them. Not bad, they have dug their grave deep enough. With this many medias, they can’t escape. This kind of grand scale wedding is truly envied by all of the ladies out there. And as promised, I come to their wedding bearing a very big gift. Of course I come fashionably late, right after ‘I pronounced you as husband and wife’ part.

“Yamazaki Ichiro, you are suspected to be evading tax payment. Please come with us for investigation” One of the government agents showed him the warrant. Uproar, the audience is in uproar.

“Yanagawa Kai-san, you are suspected of illegal drug dealing. Please come with us for further investigation.” Another one popped out. One by one they were called for further investigation concerning illegal prostitution, human trafficking, child labors, theft, etc.

Chaos, this is the only word that can describe the situation just now. But to me this is a pleasant opening of what more to come. The bride, Mrs. Yamazaki to be is on the ground crying. “Oh my, you are already crying. I haven’t started anything yet. This is only the beginning, it’s to early to start crying.” Joyful smile plastered on my face.

“What did you do!!!” She screamed.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Lie!!!! It must be your doing!!! You are jealous of me! That’s why you are doing all of this!!!”

“Why would I be jealous of you? Satoru is far more superior than your husband. I have no desire to another man except him. No one can enter my eyes. Don’t worry, the four of you best friends will go together. I am nice enough to do that.” I giggled.

Next day, all media channels are of course reporting the disaster in the wedding. Those who were reported are all Yamazaki cohorts. “Are you happy, [Name]-chan?” Satoru smiled as his thumb brushed over the silver band on my ring finger.

“Yes. Very. Thank you, Satoru. You are the best.”

“As long as you like it.”

The news reported how the accusations are true and now they are all in deep shit. They have frantically tried to save their own skins, that they didn’t have the time to care for their partners. Which in turn, destroying their partnerships. Sadly, filing bankruptcy is the only way for them. But as expected from new legend. He still somehow managed to evade getting into jail, well his assets were drained almost to the zero to recover from the damage. He is now is on the verge of being a laughingstock in social party.

So, they changed their target. They are now attending underworld social party. “They are actually attending this party now. Wow, that Kurokawa must be strong. She has enough spare tires to help her in this situation. Do you know who he is?”

“Just a small fry. Not worth mentioning.” Satoru took my empty glass and changed it with another glass of grape juice. “No matter who they are clinging, it won’t be enough to save them.”

“Satoru did such a great job, I will reward you plenty later.” I nodded my head, laughing slightly.

“Can’t wait for it.” He purred in response, eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“Sawada-san…? How can you be here…?” A shocked trembling voice asked in disbelief.

I poutingly tear away myself from our own world. “Fancy meeting you here. I thought you are still busy running around to keep your company afloat.” I gave them a side glance.

"I have to thank Sawada princess for the big gift you have given to me. I will make sure to pay you back." He gritted out.

"Oh, there's no need. It's not like I am the one who planned this out." I let out a small giggle. "I should thank you for making Satoru works. His subordinates are all happy that workloads become lighter. As expected from my kept man. He can do anything if he tried."

"Of course. I am perfect. I need to work hard to spoil my one and only mistress." The grinning man leaned down.

“Please excuse us. We don’t like to be interrupted.” I smiled.

“You…haven’t told me why are you here?!” Kurokawa glared at me with such hostility.

“You sure do ask a strange thing. This kind of social party is a norm to me. Moreover, you guys are entering my territory. You think you can get out unscathed? You can thank God if even one of your limbs is intact.” My half-lidded eyes glanced lazily at them. “I have told you last time, don’t underestimate Sawada.” I snorted a little. “You can enjoy your little time together before you will meet your besties in wherever they are.” I smiled. “Didn’t you like to mock me how poor I am. I will let you to have a taste of it.”

“I…”

“Sawada princess. I am willing to be your kept-man.” I felt a rush and suddenly he is already up in the air, neck crushed tightly by Satoru. His face is turning blue so quick.

“Ichiro…How could you…” Kurokawa staggered back and fell down to her knees.

“Fortunately for me, my standard is not this low. My heart is small enough only for Satoru and my families. Hehe, aren’t you two in true love. You two even married already. I am not interested being in your drama.”

“How dare you covet what’s mine.” Satoru hissed, icy blue eyes turned into slits. “There’s can only be me beside [Name]. Don’t talk to her, don’t look at her, don’t even breath in the same space as her.” Each sentence, his grip tightened. Yamazaki will die in 40 more seconds.

“Satoru, don’t dirty your hand.” Hearing it, Satoru released him. Yamazaki fells down gasping for breath. “The soap opera is over. It’s time to end it.”

“Yes. Let’s end it so we can cuddle together again.”

“Okay.”

So, the story of new legend ended up like this. They become a domestic abuse drama, to which I have no interest in watching any longer. The end. ~”~

Omake

"Wifey, which color suits me the best?"

"Hmm… wearing a collar in public will get us into trouble."

"How about tattooing your name on my collarbone? Just thinking about this makes me shiver in a good way."

"But I don't like blemishes on your skin." I pouted.

"Then… you can just mark me every time we go out. Give me a big one." He smirked.

"Hmmm… okay." I nodded. "Let's settle with this." I smiled. "Now, for commemoration." I turned my body so we are sitting face to face. "Where should I mark you?"

"Here, please… I want [Name]-chan's mark so much." His breath hitched and became shorter.

"Good boy, so pretty for me."

"Yes… I am… your pretty boy… only for you…" His eyes already showed how needy he is right now. I slowly kiss his jaw, mapping around my territory before founding one to place a bright red mark on his unblemished pale neck.

"Wifey…"

"Hm?" I hummed on his neck, earning a nice small groan from his throat.

"I want the ice blue color to wear in the house."

"Okay. Let's make one and the chains too."

"Thank you, wifey. You are the best." Satoru pressed a kiss on the crown of my head.

In the end, he also inked '[Name]'s private property' on his collarbone, using erasable ink. Proudly showing it off to whoever he met.

#yandere jjk #yandere gojo #yandere reader #protective gojo #jjk amfia au #jjk ceo au #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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sopejinsunflower · 2 years

Text

2022.001.003: Nice to Meet You

You haven’t been back since.

Hoseok holds back on a sigh, looking down at his feet as he massages the bridge of his nose. A week has passed since the day you saw them in their semi-opaque state, screamed your head off and had run for the hills and there is no way for any of them to check on you or find out what happened.

He misjudged you, made the mistake of putting you side by side with Soon-hee. She had screamed, too, that first time but it only took her a few minutes to compose herself before casually asking who they were. She was sceptical but rational, even thrusted her hands through Jungkook who was still materialising, causing the kid to yelp. It’s very uncomfortable when that happens, especially when sensations are coming back. It’s the same feeling as when you feel your stomach drop.

But you were the total opposite - surprising them in the process, too, because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, they hadn’t expected that reaction - and he doesn’t think you’ll be back anytime soon. The girl has ghosted the ghosts. Ha! Hoseok chuckles to himself but without much mirth. He finally lets out the sigh he’s been holding back, rubbing a hand over his face. It’ll be a few more decades until the next girl, he guessed. And that’s being generous.

Namjoon is standing over a desk, staring intently at the book placed on top of it, the book that he had been reading the night before. He keeps one eye on Hoseok across from him, reading his friend perfectly well, but his frustration on not being able to read his book is only growing. He lost track of time last night, nose buried in the pages when the sun had risen and now he’s stuck at a cliffhanger and he’s dying to finish it. In his panic, he had accidentally shut the book, a rookie mistake that he shouldn’t be making in this day and age. They can pick up smaller things like a deck of cards but books require more energy and if he could just flip the cover-

“It must be that old housekeeper!” Jimin exclaims from the window, hands in his pockets, scowling at something he’s staring at outside. Namjoon loses his concentration and sighs exasperatedly. He goes to sit down, letting Jimin rant. “She must have stopped her from coming back. Soon-hee should’ve gotten rid of her a long time ago like we told her to.”

“You mean,” Jin says from the sofa, “like you told her to.” Jimin pulls a face but doesn’t respond. “Relax, she’ll be back.”

Hoseok perks up. “You think so, hyung?”

Jin just shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. “Mhm. Just a feeling.”

~~~

I am never going back there. Ever.

Even if there is a zombie apocalypse and the attic is the safest place to be. Nope. Not in this lifetime. Not even if my late grandaunt rises up from her resting place, claws her way through cement (yes, she’s buried in a family mausoleum from what I’ve been told) and tells me that I’d have to go back to the attic if I was to inherit everything. I would rather walk out of this house for good, take the money already in my account and just leave. Graduate, migrate, find a job and just forget about everything that happened.

I spent Friday simmering about how to explain missing classes by being sick without a doctor’s note but by the end of the evening, I resorted to sending an apology email to my lecturers and gave them half-truths; I had an anxiety attack and needed time to recover and in this pandemic and being in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t get to a doctor until I was already feeling better, which by then, no doctor would grant me any sick note. I mean, it’s not really a lie. A couple of lecturers were very understanding, one didn’t buy it at all but since I was generally a proactive student on Zoom with a full attendance before, decided to dismiss it, and two others who gave me short assignments to make up for the lost attendance. Problem solved.

Now onto the main problem: the ghosts in the attic.

My first thought is that if there are ghosts in the attic then they must be everywhere! Thankfully, the month I’ve lived here has been quite uneventful until last week. I mean, if the house is haunted, shouldn’t I be warned, at least? A cryptid letter with a dozen rules and instructions on what to do or not to do? An offering to help them find peace, move on or whatever they say that ghosts do? I don’t know. I didn’t think they existed until now!

And then I had another thought, a more horrifying one: what if they are the souls of those who died here in this house? Isn’t that how ghosts manifest? Trapped forever until someone set them free by finding their bodies or helping them solve whatever unfinished business they had? Holy fuck, there might be dead bodies somewhere in the house! What kind of life did my grandaunt live?!

Or maybe it wasn’t her but the employees. It’s a big house, anyone could easily sneak past the very busy landlady and commit heinous crimes without being undetected. Which one? The gardener who hardly ever spoke a word to me but is always with a smile and a polite nod? The cook who I see glimpses of, a gruff-looking man with that french-looking moustache, which is a little out of date, who always seems to be frowning? The grumpy, old housekeeper who insists I never go up to the third floor and who doesn’t like me much? She seems more likely but I could be biassed.

The manor ground is large and wide. Anyone can easily hide a body in the woods behind the house if they wanted to and easily get away with it. Or cemented in the walls of the house. What the fuck. Okay, I should stop. Breathe. In and out. This is not productive.

As I’m taking deep breaths to calm myself and rid of all the dark ideas creeping into my head, I’m suddenly reminded again at the bizarreness of my situation. A grandaunt I’ve never met willed everything to a kin she never even bothered to get to know nor even visited in the time that she was alive with the condition that I live in this creepy, mysterious manor house for a year until everything is released to me. A little suspicious, no? I don’t want a haunted manor, by the way.

I gaze out the window. First thing’s first: I should find out more about the house and the acres of land it came with. I hit up Google but it yielded nothing, not even Google Map could find it. It could locate the area but the house is basically unmarked. Anyone could just travel up to the area and have no clue that it’s actually private property. I remember seeing the signboards miles down the road from the main gate, warning people not to go in further lest they want to be fined for trespassing.

Then I searched up my grandaunt, Lee Soon-hee. The main result isn’t anything that I didn’t know before; a renown historical archeologist under a local university with quite the rapport among the industry. But what I didn’t know is that she had also been a freelancer in archaeomythology. Interesting.

I dig deeper, going through a few pages of the Google search to find anything related, clicking on any articles that have any mentions of the name Lee that’s connected to archaeology or history. By the second hour of pouring through websites upon websites, I learn that as much as she was a respectable historian, she was very much under heavy criticism regarding her involvement with pseudoarchaeology; a nook of “archaeology” that is driven by people’s crazy, unproven, mostly over-exaggerated conclusions of the past. It’s where the theories of Atlantis and the whole world-is-ending-in-2012 thing stemmed from. That study area.

I’m neither religious nor superstitious but I do think that there are some things that you can’t explain or prove, and the whole thing with pseudoarchaeology is compelling enough for it to have that many people dedicating their lives for the cause. Grandaunt Soon-hee, however, was more involved with the darker side of the subject, specifically cult archaeology. The more I read about her, the more the items I found upstairs make sense. Or not make sense, depending on how you look at it. She wasn’t just dabbling; she was neck-deep in it.

And still no picture of her.

That’s the oddest thing. All these articles and reports on her work, both professionally or not, never included her picture. It’s not like I can look up her LinkedIn profile either; she was ninety-three when she passed, to my knowledge. I don’t think the whole LinkedIn thing is her generation. The pictures I did find were mostly those horrible black and white, tiny panel ones that you can barely make out any features or ones where she’s turned away from the camera, almost at the last minute so her face is blurry or completely hidden behind a book or a paper or whatever that was in her hands. It’s almost like she was careful not to show her face.

Who was she?

A smattering of articles mentioned that she came from old money, which explains the manor, but there was no mention on who her family was or where they or the money came from. Just this one lady with not much of a background, who happened to be interested in the dark arts as a hobby. Even her obituary wasn’t impressive for a woman of her stature in her field of work; one paragraph, less than fifty, very bland words, like they didn’t know what to say of her now that she was dead compared to when she was alive and kicking. It’s all a little strange. She was a known archaeologist, they could have at least talked about her contribution in that field.

Huh, that’s strange.

I enlarge the screen of the obituary, zooming on the date of death. The clip is a scanned picture from an old newspaper so some words are hard to decipher and I had glimpsed over a few while reading through. If I read it right, the date of death is the year I was born, exactly forty-nine days before my birthday. That doesn’t sound correct. If she was already dead, why was she listed as my next of kin my whole life? This means she didn’t recently die, either, and that a dead woman’s name has been listed as my only living relative growing up. Was I lied to? Was there a mistake? What the hell is going on?

There’s a knock on the door and I look up to see Mrs Oliviera hovering by the doorway. I’m lying on my front on the bed with my laptop in front of me and she’s glancing at the screen. I snap the Macbook shut.

“Dinner’s ready,” she says tersely. “Since you’re feeling better, I’ll set the dining table.”

I nod but don’t move, waiting for her to leave so I can go back to my little research.

She doesn’t budge but says, “You should come down soon or dinner will be cold.”

I nod again. “Okay.”

She takes the hint and walks off, her face tight. She really doesn’t like me, huh.

I reopen the laptop but a message pops up.

It’s from Ha-ri. Have you started the media report yet?

I hit reply. No, not yet. It’s due in two weeks, right?

Want to hop on a call and discuss work division? I have some time before I have to cook dinner and Ryan’s napping.

Ha-ri is a stay-at-home mother with a one-year-old son, which means partnering up with her entails dividing up the work, doing the work individually and then compiling them together before submission, hoping that somehow it all blends cohesive enough. I didn’t mind it. It’s hard to align everyone’s schedules in a postgrad course so this is the best we can do.

I agree to the call and a few seconds later, the phone rings. We finish in twenty-five minutes, the longest call so far we’ve had in regards to assignments, and I finally get up from the bed. My dinner is probably already cold and sticking to the plate by now and I will suffer yet another disapproving look from the housekeeper for waiting too long to come down and her having to reheat everything, which she seems to be opposed to because the food is no longer ‘fresh’. Okay, but you’re not the one eating it. And why can’t I use the microwave myself? Because I’m not allowed in the kitchen.

I leave my room, walking down the hallway quietly as I keep my eyes glued to the screen of my phone, typing up a sort of summary of our workload to Ha-ri so we can refer back to the text rather than having to call again.

Ring, ring, ring.

I pause, tilting my head as I strain my ears to hear. Silence. I could’ve sworn that I heard a bell ringing somewhere. I try to focus on any sounds but the ringing has stopped.

Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe it was one of those phantom sounds you sometimes hear and mistake it for your phone ringing. It’s honestly a disease of our tech-dependent generation. I continue walking, pausing again at the top of the stairs when I hear noises. This time I’m sure it’s not some phantom noise. It’s coming from upstairs, the forbidden floor.

I tiptoe up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky spots. I can somewhat hear the tinkling of plates against each other and the typical sound of when someone is carrying a bunch of silverwares in their hands. And then I smell the food. Odd. The kitchen and dining hall is towards the back of the ground floor and the smell of cooking usually doesn't carry this far up. It doesn’t make sense but my curiosity is piqued.

I take a few more steps up and crouch down by the bannister, keeping myself low and hidden in the shadows as I lean forward to see down the hallway in the direction I heard the noise. At this point, I’m convinced the house is haunted but the logical part of my brain thinks that there is an explanation. An unclosed window and the wind blowing in, a draft, mice. But what I’m seeing as I squint through the darkness is both a relief and a shocker. Mrs Oliviera is partially up the attic, her bottom half standing on the ladder. A cart with a few plates stacked on top is waiting below.

What the hell is she doing in the attic?

I can hear muffled voices. Is she talking to herself? No. The voices are deeper and…multiple? I’m growing more and more confused. I creep closer, sticking close to the walls to stay hidden. The third floor, as it is supposedly a no-entry area, is not lit and the only source of light is coming from the window at both ends of the hallways, which is why I can see the housekeeper’s activities pretty clearly.

The voices are still audible and it’s clear now it’s not hers, but males. Are there people upstairs? Did we get guests when I was down with the fever? Why wasn’t I inform and most importantly, why the fuck are they put in the attic? We have plenty of room on the second floor, well-kept with comfy queen beds instead. Is she boarding people secretly? Broke students? Runaway teens? Her errant lovers? I scratch that last idea quickly, shaking my head. Fugitives? We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s the best place to hide from the law.

Suddenly, she reappears, face as white as a sheet, lips pursed so hard they’re gone. She hurries down the ladder as the trapdoor closes above her, softly. She crosses herself and mumbles a long prayer before starting to push the cart down the hall. I panic, too late to run back down towards the stairs because she’ll definitely catch me.

I consider coming out and pretend to be all annoyed that she could be up here when I can’t and ask her about the attic, wracking my brain for an excuse to be in the shadows and obviously spying on her. But before I can come up with anything, she turns a sharp corner and disappears. Just completely vanishes into what looked like a wall.

I wait in the dark, counting to twenty before hesitantly getting up. I follow close to the wall, keeping to the shadows, and approach the area she was last seen. I take a few steps back, standing in the middle of the hallway trying to look at it from a wider perspective. What Harry Potter shit is this?

There’s a soft thud from above and I look up. It’s coming from the attic. I’m still a little perturbed from what happened last time, replaying in my head the things I saw but, with time and the human brain’s ability to suppress, the image seemed blurry and it’s almost like my brain has been trying to purge the memory as soon as possible. The memory itself, or what’s left of it, feels unreal. Like a dream you think you remembered but don’t really.

Time to find out.

I dawdle at the bottom of the attic door, staring at the dangling rope as if it will suddenly jump to life and start attacking me like a snake. I lick my lips, waiting for something to happen that I can use as an excuse to walk away now, even half-hoping for Mrs Oliviera to yell my name from downstairs. But all is quiet and the house seems to be slowing into a slumber.

“Come on, don’t be a chicken,” I whisper to myself. “Once and for all.”

I pull the string and the ladder drops down, silent as usual. I climb up and place one hand against the trapdoor. I take a few deep breaths. “Just do it,” I say under my breath. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

With one strong push that throws the trapdoor back on its hinges, I burst through. “There’s no such thing as-”

~~~

Dinner, the only food they can eat in a day.

Jin watches fondly as the others dig in, exchanging food either between plates or straight from one’s plate to another’s mouth. It’s almost ingrained in them now to share every morsel, sometimes feeding others first before they taste their own food. Jin, especially, has a habit of dividing whatever is in his plate to the three younger ones, like a mother bird feeding its offspring. There are times when he thinks he’s being sneaky by giving Jungkook extra but the others know. They all know how much the kid eats; they do the same, too, when they think no one is looking.

Jimin is taking his time with his food, carefully rolling the pasta on his fork just to savour the taste when it’s in his mouth. He doesn’t like Ollie very much but he’s aware of how much care she took to deliver the food to them every night, making sure Jean’s, the cook, plating isn’t ruined in the process. Friday nights are the best; the food is usually a little more luxurious. Today is pasta with steak. Jean even added a couple of extra slabs. That man may not look it but he’s a softy.

While they eat, they talk. Taehyung is insisting he knows exactly how long the steak was grilled for but keeps looking at Yoongi for confirmation, who is just nodding absentmindedly. He wants to correct Taehyung but thinks it’s better to just let him be, he’s not far off. Namjoon is speaking with Hoseok, talking about a book he read while the other nods along, occasionally asking questions. Hoseok is not one to read all that much but he tries to get into it. Jungkook, on the other hand, eats quietly, face contorted in pure concentration, hearing nothing but the sound of his own chewing.

That’s when the trapdoor swings open with such ferocity the seven of them stop dead in between mouthfuls of dinner, whipping around, eyes wide in alarm.

There, sticking out of the trapdoor, is the one they have been waiting for, looking like you are ready to yell out a war cry. Both you and them stare at each other, eyes as big as the plates the boys are eating out from, neither party saying a word or even breathing.

Jimin, sitting closest to the door, struggles to get his mind turning, forgetting how to even speak, much less say hi, a stray pasta hanging from his lips. Before he can say anything, you call out. “Who the fuck are you?”

~~~

“Who the fuck are you?”

My mouth is hanging open. There in front of me sat seven drop-dead gorgeous men that I have ever seen in my life, staring right back at me, looking like they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. The one nearest to me, with a pasta strand hanging from his mouth, blinks a few times before he slurps up the noodle. He runs his left hand through his blond hair, pushing it back before standing up. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

“Hello,” he croaks out, cheeks blushing.

I stare dumbly at him as if he spoke a different language. He takes a cautious step forward, looks back once at the others then takes another so that he’s now standing over me. He holds out a hand. “I’m Jimin.”

a/n: I know that these first three are short chapters so I hope you are patient with meee T_T I'm also trying to maintain a regular once a week update on this series and will do my best to gradually make them longer at at least 5k words. Anyway, lmk your thoughts in the comments and feel free to ask me anything! xx

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