#i keep trying to jam these puzzle pieces together because like

[hareofhrair]

Continually frustrated by my attempts to make a cohesive playlist for Shafan because I can’t settle on a single sound for them. You can’t just put Tom Petty, Glen Campbell, Modest Mouse, and Gotye on the same fuckin playlist it doesn’t WORK.

[paracosmenthusiast]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Chapter 4: Stick Season

Subtitle: The Bear Followed You On Instagram

``

Why the fuck did I do that?

Is there a part of me that wants him back? Or is this some sort of outlandish retribution for running away from my engagement? What the fuck am I doing?

“What are you doing here?”

I look up slowly. “In my own apartment?”

He’s dressed now, thankfully, but that shirt is a little too well-fitting and it’s too hard to look away. His hair is still wet from the shower, little droplets landing on his collar. He’s standing in the hallway, a specter, a visage from the past. I have five missed calls from Kendra and the phone is in my hand ringing again.

I push away from the island counter where I was leaning and walk to the door. “I had to get away from home and this is where I ended up.”

“Down the street from–my restaurant.” He doesn’t budge from the hallway and when I look back at him his eyebrows are up.

Hmm. He doesn’t actually look that well like I thought before. Hollow-eyed and tired. I wonder when the last time he slept was. “Yeah, I guess so, Carmen. Are you going to leave or are you squatting now? Because my friend is trying to get a hold of me.”

“Yes. Sorry.” That spurs him into motion, and he joins me at the doorway.

I open the door. And he still lingers. Like the bad aftertaste of nicotine (and I can smell the cigarettes on his clothes).

“She told me she loved me. Uh, the girl who kicked me out. And I didn’t say it back.” Why is he looking at me like that? Beseechingly. Like he’s hungry for some kind of reassurance.

When I don’t say anything, he pushes forward, same tone, almost puzzled: “I said it to you.”

It clicks then, because I’ve had that conversation with myself, because I’ve felt that feeling myself, that, Oh, what’s wrong with me, what am I feeling, why is it different?

“I really wrecked it,” he says, makes some obscure hand gesture that I can’t quite catch because I’m in my own head, “I don’t know why I did that. Why did I do that?”

Without even asking me if it’s alright he puts his hand on the door above mine and pushes it closed. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Carmen, I have to get Kendra. But since it’s Carmen’s open mic time he’s still fucking talking. “What can I do to–to not do it again?”

Like a little kid trying to jam a square peg in a round hole. Can’t comprehend what went wrong, can’t understand the rules of the game, can’t see why it won’t just fit.

“So now you’re, what? Taking it out on your cooking? In your kitchen, on your chefs, maybe? Fuck me, I’m such a piece of shit, I can’t even cook this dish which anyone else would think is perfect but will never be good enough for Carmen the perfectionist, why the fuck are you all so slow?”

He presses his lips together and when he speaks it’s brusque and tense. I think I hit home with the last remark. “Yeah, a little bit.”

“And what do you call what you’re doing now?” It’s mean and I shouldn’t say it, I know I shouldn’t say it because the emotion goes straight to my head, a rush of adrenaline, I say it fast before I can take it back: “Do you somehow think you’re justified to fuck me and then air your pain out on me? What about me? What about what you did, to me?”

He drops his gaze to the floor, fast. A quick breath out and an expletive, really, like I struck him: “Fuck.”

“You said you’d never let me go,” I say. One shoulder shrug. In a weird way I don’t even feel bad for hurting him. “It’s plain and simple in retrospect to see how we unraveled, because I would’ve fought my own pain and continued to advocate for you, (for us) and I would’ve stayed in that apartment, if you had reached out to me, if you had come to me, if you had–”

I’m not sure where the words came from or really what I expected from them, but certainly not the wide-eyed shocked pain on his face like he never thought I’d say it. I keep going, continue like a ghost is controlling me. “But you let me go. Why couldn’t you say, don’t go?”

“I didn’t deserve to do that,” he says. “What if you had stayed? With someone like me who did something like that? I didn’t even–I didn’t even feel sad you were gone, because I couldn’t allow myself that, because what the fuck would that even be? B-boo hoo, poor me, I destroyed something and now I’m gonna cry about it? I wouldn’t even be justified to miss you. I couldn’t give myself that kindness.”

What the fuck? Crying over us was a kindness he couldn’t award himself? Now I know exactly what he’s going to say next, because I’ve heard it a thousand times, and without meaning to, I say it in unison with him, mocking him, he takes a deep breath and says (and I mimic him) “I’m a piece of shit.”

That surprises him too.

“Yeah, I know all your plays at this point, buddy.” I reach out and pat his arm. Gruff and awkward. “You’re such a piece of shit you can’t be held accountable for your actions, because you’re just, inherently evil, just too fucked up to ever be good, how could anyone ever expect different, so of course your relationship blew up, right? It doesn’t even hurt because you did it to yourself, because you don’t believe you can be a better man.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says. “I got it. You’re not happy about four years ago. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Yeah, because this is what you sound like: ‘It’s so hard to be a bad person, you couldn’t even understand what I’m going through because you’re just a good person with a good upbringing who’d never do such a thing,’ isn’t that right?”

“Fuck you,” he says.

I want to mock him for trying to run away from the conversation now that it’s pointed at his actual motivations, but I take a breath and I stop myself.

He’s right. That was four years ago. And I don’t know why the pain feels all weird and fresh like it just fucking happened, because it didn’t, because none of this is new.

I had four years to watch him over the internet and try to figure out why it had to happen to me. And the truth is that it happened to me because I backed down. He tried to self-destruct and I let him.

Who’s the little kid now? I let him come up and destroy my sandcastle, watched it happen, did nothing, and now I’m crying about it?

Angrily, I rub my eyes, squinch out the tears before they can fully form. “Listen, Carmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that.” He grabs my hands, startling me with the abruptness, and pulls them from my face. Less like a command and more like he’s pleading with me.

For one tense moment we remain like that, almost like an embrace, except he’s gripping me so hard it hurts, then he realizes how tightly he is holding my wrists and he gently releases his grip. I rub my forearms, wrists, just to give myself something to do. It makes it easier to get the words out.

I don’t want to tell him but I do: “I wish I hadn’t walked away and let you break everything I worked so hard to build, but I did. I’m in Chicago to flee an engagement that I broke with no warning. I am not your monument of honor. I am not your idyllic and shining good samaritan. I have done bad things too. I just don’t break as easy as you.”

I don’t think he even hears that last part.

“You’re engaged,” he says. Weakly.

“Not anymore.”

“Why are you telling me?”

Slowly, trying not to appear rude, I pull open the door, and step aside so he can leave. “Because you aren’t a villain, and I don’t accept that bizarre narrative you have for yourself, because I loved you, Carmen, I loved you, and it was impossible for me to accept what you did and it left me reeling because I–I simply couldn’t fathom how you could do that, not you, not the guy I knew. Somebody else, maybe. Somebody else could do that, sure. But not you.”

Shame-faced but only momentarily. He struggles to compose it and it kills my empathy just a little to watch that mask emerge. Obviously it takes him another moment to get his voice under control, because he steps out into the hallway before turning back to look at me. “But I did do it, didn’t I?”

He turns his face quick, but not before I see the way his lips part, not before one errant tear escapes and he has to angrily swipe it away. A little laugh escapes me before I can help it and he begrudgingly laughs, too.

“This is fucking stupid,” he says. “I should not be–why are we doing this now? Why didn’t you do this four years ago?”

“I wanted to,” I say. “It just–I don’t know. It just didn’t happen.”

Some words that I’ve wanted to say to him for years come to mind. Words I wanted to say since I got over my initial burst of rage and realized how much I’d lost. And now I can actually say them, really, right to his face. I take a breath and look him up and down. To take it in, to memorize the shape of him in the doorframe, and to picture that I’m saying this four years ago to somebody who needed to hear it most:

“Who you are is not what you did.”

–

Carmen says to Claire, how all the good things in his life fall apart, how it’s her fault, of course it’s her fault, because to him, she is little more than an idol representing what he wants from a relationship, not what actually exists - she’s a literary device, a foil to his manic depressive rages, not a supporting character, not someone with agency or aspiration. And if she weren’t around he wouldn’t have a constant reminder of how much he is hurting, always. Carmen is a terrifying monster and Claire is a sweet and delicate flower he destroys in a fit of rage so he can torture himself and feed his own masochistic cycle.

What does it feel like to love someone who loses sight of who they are? Of what they want? Of why they’re still here, still hanging on, still waking up every morning? Are you the sweet and delicate flower who says chin up and fix your makeup and move on because a real man would treat you better? What kind of standard does that set for people who want to be better (when the path to redemption is so perilously long and disheartening?)

And what if you aren’t the delicate flower? What are you, if they have idolized you, and you are not a flower but some kind of monster, yourself?

What if even though everyone says you can find “a better man” you grit your teeth and put your hands in the mud because you don’t want a better man–you want this man, for better or for worse?

And how much does it hurt, when you have to trade your pain for forgiveness without any trace of righteous indignation, when you don’t get to explode the way they do on TV, when you don’t get to make a scene? When do you get your gratification?

You don’t. You have to let it go. It might feel good to scream and break things now but how will it feel when the glass you shattered in a fit of rage cuts the both of you? When no amount of glue and tears and heart-to-hearts will put it back together again? 

–

“And then he said what?”

“And then he said Yeah, okay. And kinda laughed and then he left and I stopped watching him through the peephole like a fucking serial killer would and then I went to pick up my phone to answer you. We’ve been over this.”

Kendra doesn’t care that we’ve been over this. She also doesn’t care that we are discussing something totally personal in front of a MOVING COMPANY and I don’t necessarily want to hash out my little backslide last night in front of all these burly men who keep giving me sidelong glances.

In fact, Kendra is perched at the small table and chairs that the moving guys brought in first, and she’s totally unbothered by their presence during our conversation. “I think it’s really interesting, personally.”

An accusation leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “You weren’t anywhere near as drunk, so why on Earth didn’t you tell me it was Carmen Berzatto that I was hitting on?!”

Kendra purses her lips. “One, I was busy with my own action. And two, I thought you knew! You guys were so buddy-buddy! And I was busy with my own thing at the time!”

“Yes, your own ‘thing,’ and how is she this morning?”

Kendra snorts. “You’re so fucking lucky she has so much patience. I can’t believe you ignored me for AN HOUR to hook up with your ex.”

“I didn’t–” I did all of those things. “Well, fuck me, Kendra. It was really fucking weird, that’s all.”

“Sounds really steamy.”

“Kendra–”

“In the shower… On the bathroom counter… Out on the couch…”

“Shut the actual fuck up.” I reach out, as I can physically silence her but realizing the futility of the motion I stop and grab my phone instead. Checking my notifications (like anything will be there) to distract myself from looking at my evil friend.

@Theoriginalbear started following you.

I slapped my phone face-down on the table and looked up at Kendra.

Her eyebrows were up. I could tell she wanted to laugh but she wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to freak out, first.

I turn my phone back over to check again. @Theoriginalbear started following you. When I open up Instagram to take a closer look, the profile picture is the front of the restaurant down the street, and when I open the profile, there he is. In a picture with a few other people, in a picture next to various fancy dishes, in a picture with a group of people all wearing the same navy shirt (I can’t make out the text on it) but entitled “throwback Thursday–”

And then in my haste to scroll down I double tap the photo and like it.

Fuck!

I slide my phone across the table to Kendra. “Take this away from me before I do more damage.”

“Why? What did you–Oh my god, you’re joking. This is so cute. Y’all are so cute. It’s sickening.” Kendra is giddy before she’s even fully picked up my phone. “He wants you back so bad!”

I frown. “Please don’t say that. It’s a delicate situation. And, in case you somehow forgot, I’m actually fleeing my home so I can escape from my own delicate situation? I don’t need to get entangled with somebody new right now.”

“But he’s not new. He’s–He’s still saved in your phone contacts, and as Carmy, and he sent you a picture… It’s… What the fuck is it? A spicy picture! Sending back a like…”

I launch myself across the table in an acrobatic demonstration brought on by sheer adrenaline-fueled panic, and attempt to rip the phone out of her meddling hands.

Kendra spins away, holding the phone out with her infuriatingly long arms (Damn the tall women!) and giggling. “Oh, would you relax? I was just joking. I wish I weren’t, but he just sent you a very suspect URL. Oh, never mind. It’s for a dinner reservation at his restaurant! Yayy! You’re paying.”

I sink back into my seat, abdomen a little sore from how I’d thrusted myself up onto the table. “If you said the URL looked suspect, why on Earth did you click on it so fast?”

“Sounds great, we’ll be there… delivered… Oh, and read! Your boy is literally waiting in the chat for you. That’s cute. Or desperate. What do you think?” Kendra holds out my phone, self-satisfied like the cat that ate the canary, and I take it back although there isn’t much point because what’s done is done and she already dug me way deeper than I wanted to be dug. In fact, I didn’t want to be dug, at all.

“You’re psychotic,” I tell her.

“I’m a wing-woman.”

“When’s the reservation for?”

“7:45. It’s a little bit earlier than I would’ve liked so I guess I’ll have to order a lot to keep us there past closing.” And she gives me this suggestive eyebrow wiggle that I absolutely detest because no, we will not be doing anything of the sort.

“No way. They would all hate that. And that’s rude. We’re not doing that.”

Kendra sighs and thank God at that point the movers are asking me for directions on where to put the rest of my belongings, so I get up from the table (with my phone safely in my pocket, mind you) to help.

Later I can think about the inevitable awkwardness to come. For right now? I can just pretend that my stupid friend did not stick me in a tense situation with my ex.

Who I just fucked, of course.

Aghhhhhhh. Why did I do that?

--

“Oh, this place is nice.”

It is nice. A little internet scrutiny had shown me the interior of the original restaurant–called “the Beef”–and I can say with certainty that Carmen’s renovations left it a much more upscale joint than it had been. Of course that makes sense given the restaurant he worked at back when we were dating.

Kendra has somewhat reined herself in since this morning, and we’re both dressed according to what we’d seen online from people who had tagged the restaurant, but I still feel out of place. Under-dressed, maybe.

Kendra reaches out, putting her hand over mine to prevent me from twisting the bracelet on my wrist. “Relax, stop fretting. You look great.”

“You both look great.”

I look up, startled by the incursion, and it’s a very tall and slim guy in a nicely tailored suit. At our obvious surprise he gives a welcoming smile. “I’m Richard, I know you’re guests of Carmen’s, so you already have your first course coming out here soon, but what can I get you to drink?”

“Well, I’d love a wine recommendation,” Kendra says, without missing a beat, and I have to restrain myself from groaning at the thought of drinking any more alcohol in the next twenty four hours. Besides, if I do have more alcohol, who knows what the fuck I might do later on, clearly I can’t be trusted to make responsible decisions.

They chat about it for a minute or two, wine, and when Kendra has made her selection, Richard turns to me.

I smile. A little caught in headlights but overall not that uncomfortable anymore. “Just water is fine for me.”

Although I can’t believe he referred to us as guests of Carmen. Oh, god. Is this going to become a whole thing?

I just barely got my apartment situated and some of my things unpacked. I do not want to have to look at relocating because I somehow managed to massively fuck up and not only live down the street from my ex’s workplace, but also go on to hook up with him my very first night here.

Thankfully, Kendra picks up on my obvious distaste for the situation, because she lets me off the hook and doesn’t bring Carmen up at all. And after our first and second course come and go without him making an appearance, I start to relax a little bit.

Without the tension of potentially talking to Carmen in front of Kendra, I can start to enjoy the ambiance of the restaurant. It’s definitely way nicer than I ever would’ve thought to bring Kendra, but she conducts herself like a professional in such a manner that I’m actually impressed. Not because I doubted her ability, but because the way she ordered was more fluent and affable than my quiet attempts.

But I can’t pronounce a lot of the things on the menu. This was always Carmen’s domain and like he loved to tell me back when we were dating, it was such a substantial strangeness that he and I had ever even crossed paths, given the very different nature of our career paths and hobbies and entire lives.

Of course it hurt my feelings when he’d say something like that and it feels weirder and weirder to be here in his restaurant doing the thing I never would’ve done four years ago, eating at a fancy restaurant like I even remotely belong there,

But at this point I’m overthinking and Kendra is quietly trying to get my attention. “Hey. Hey. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I reach for my glass of water. “And a bit hungover.”

She laughs. “Just a bit? That’s impressive.”

I frown at her. “I have a great tolerance.”

“Oh, you do. I think you wanted to get that drunk on purpose last night. Lots of stress from the move and the drive, huh? Functioning alcoholism?”

“No.” I had definitely drank more than usual but that was just the combination of seeing Carmen and the sixteen hour long drive and my general disgust for how I’d left my hometown. Maybe a teensy sprinkle of self-loathing mixed in. “I just wanted to have enough in my system to sleep through God knows how many calls from my ex.”

“You know what’s hilarious is I almost forgot he existed!” Kendra is on her third glass of wine and showing literally no signs of being buzzed. Then again, she’s over six feet tall and built like a corn-fed dairy farmer, so I guess it isn’t that strange. “I had just managed to scrub that little bottom-feeding invertebrate out of my head for the time being, so I’m glad he’s making his way back into the conversation.”

“I like how you feel stronger about this breakup than I do.”

“I don’t feel stronger than you do, I just have the guts and the articulation skills to say it.” At this point, although I can tell from how she raises one finger that she wants to go on, Kendra is forced to take a pause because Richard is coming back by our table with whatever special dessert they were selling tonight.

Even though I’m normally not the type to spring for dessert, in this case I’m glad we did–it’s beautifully plated (I’m stealing phrases from Carmen shamelessly at this point so I might as well fully embrace my new reality) and once I’ve had a taste I can safely say it is fully worth the cost.

Thankfully, Kendra does not stick to her guns about trying to keep me here after closing, because once we’ve lingered over dessert long enough, Richard comes over so I can pay and Kendra doesn’t say a word about ordering anything more.

At least, it didn’t seem like she would.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Could we get–each–one of the signature drinks?”

“Absolutely. One for the road. You and I are very alike.” Richard smiles what I think is an indulging smile, but Kendra is brazenly unbothered by how long we’ve been here and grins back at him. “Which one were you thinking?”

“Oh, well, you tell me–you’ve been here a lot longer than we have, so what’s your personal favorite?”

She could work in one of these restaurants, herself. She’s always been personable, but tonight has certainly been a new experience with how comfortable she truly is given that we’ve never been to a place like this together before, least of all after a very long and tiring roadtrip.

And a long night out. Which extended into a brutal morning of moving a lot of heavy boxes and furniture.

Richard walks off with an assurance that our drinks will be out shortly, and I put my card away, pleased by the prices for the quantity and quality of food we’d received.

“You know, I really didn’t want to drink anymore,” I say.

“Yeah, but signature drinks! They’re always so fun. I love trying to think about what inspired the recipe. I wish I was a bartender.” Kendra taps her chin, scrutinizing the artwork on the wall across from us. “I think I would’ve been a really good bartender. I have good conversational skills and I really love alcohol. And the process of making alcohol. Man, why didn’t I ever become a bartender?”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe because you’re a morning person?”

It had come in handy on the road trip, since we’d left around 3:45 am (at her behest, no less) and I had adamantly refused to drive until after at least 9am.

Kendra deflates. “Oh, yeah. Well, I could do brunches.”

A little laugh escapes me. “I think that’s a very different type of bartending.

“Yeah, you’re right. Forget it, it wouldn’t even be that fun.”

I realize, then, that she only followed this line of questioning to cheer me up, and it puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. She’s a good friend.

With that in mind, it’s much easier to down the signature drink, and to indulge Kendra on her speculation about the flavors and the “subtle hints” of x or y which I’d normally hardly give a second thought to. In fact, when we get up to leave, I’m in a better mood than I have for the last two weeks. Maybe more.

We say our goodbyes to Richard and thank him for his fantastic service (when I’m standing he’s still extremely tall, even taller than Kendra) and he’s perfectly lovely showing us out and thanking us for coming. Saying we’re welcome any time. Although I find that very difficult to believe based on the bizarre and uncomfortable relationship between me and Carmen.

And we get probably five feet down the sidewalk before I hear someone calling after us. “Wait a moment!”

Kendra stiffens up like a board. “Oh gosh, I think I see the Uber going down to the corner, I’ll be right back.”

I take back everything nice I said about how she conducted herself inside, because she walks off giggling like a complete clown, stiff-legged and awkward and making herself way too obvious.

I turn around even though I already know from the voice who it is. “Oh, hey.” I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t show your face tonight.

Carmen is fidgety in the way he always used to be when he was working. I guess it makes sense that wouldn’t change. Oh, I should be flattered he somehow pried himself out of the kitchen long enough to say something to me. “What did you think? Uh–was everything good?”

I stare at him. “Yeah, it was great. Um–thanks for the reservation.”

“Oh, no. It was nothing. I’m glad–I’m glad you came.”

Oh, God. Kill me now. The awkwardness.

“Well,” I say. “I should get going. Kendra just–my friend–just went to go grab the Uber.”

“Really? Don’t you live like five minutes from here?”

Fuck me! “I think she was just making up an excuse to let us talk, but I still don’t want to leave her standing on the corner.”

He laughs and it… winds me. Puts me out of my body, so I’m looking down at us talking, floating, out of body existential, just watching it happen. I think it’s been so long since I heard his unexpected laugh like that and I suddenly remember that I used to tell him jokes all the time, especially when he’d just gotten off work, that I’d save images or videos to show him when he first got back, all with the express intent of teasing out that laugh.

Oh, God. I stopped being funny just because I missed the way he laughed.

“Are you okay?” He has noticed how long I’ve been silently staring at him. I clear my throat and look away, woken from the reverie. Jarred.

“Oh, yeah. Just having deja vu. Anyway, I’ll–I should get going.”

“Can I come over?”

The bluntness sends me, reeling. For a second I think I’m out of my body again, but no. Just very surprised. “Carmen, I’m–”

He puts up his hands. Like he’s showing me he’s unarmed (except I think he has all kinds of weapons tucked away in his words). “Just to talk. I–I’m sorry we left things the way we did. Earlier. It was good to talk. I’d like to talk.”

Will I keep on wondering if I say no? Will I see him on the street corners and have to avert my eyes? Is there some way that we can have this conversation and then just kind of grow apart, only present in each other’s lives by proximity and nothing more?

Fuck if I know. Why the fuck not? Why the fuck not. “You know, knock yourself out. I have shit all to do anyway.”

I start to walk before my brain really issues the command–I think my legs want to carry me out of this conversation since it seems unlikely that the sidewalk will open up to swallow me.

“I’ll be a few hours,” he calls, after me, and I wave my hand vaguely over my shoulder.

So that means I have a few hours to figure out how to apologize to Kendra and kick her out, or to somehow stash her somewhere in my apartment and hope she doesn’t pop out in the middle of conversation? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

When I come up to her, though, she’s on an actual phone call. From the high tone of voice and the excessive giggling, I would have to say it’s the lady friend from last night.

“Hey,” I say.

“Oh, shoot. Yeah, I gotta go, but I’ll see you then.” Kendra hangs up and whirls around to look at me with the excitement of a feral animal. “Guess. What.”

“You got a second date?” Could the stars be aligning?

“I asked for one because I was inspired by Carmen’s bravery, so yeah. You’ll have to make do without me for a few hours tonight and you can consider this my revenge for making me move that fucking bookshelf in the heat.”

I flush even though she literally volunteered to help me move it. “That actually works out fine for me.”

She laughs a long, theatrical, derisive laugh. “Oh, I imagine so, since he’s coming over, isn’t he?”

Fuck me! She’s a fucking telepath! “Unfortunately.”

“I expect full tea service. Sugar. Cream. Jam and crumpets. All the fixings.”

What the fuck does that even mean? “Are you possessed by the ghost of a Victorian woman right now?”

“You know what I mean.” Kendra wags her finger at me, and then starts to walk, leaving me to follow behind. “Now come on, I have to go change into something way hotter than this. And you can help.”

“I am your best wingwoman,” I say.

“Exactly. So chin up. This should only take an hour. Or so.”

Oh, god. And if I know anything about Kendra, it’s going to involve at least one full Taylor Swift album.

I glance back at the restaurant right before we turn the corner. It’s still there, people meandering on their way out, and Carmen has obviously gone back inside.

What more could he have to say to me?

--

Thanks for all the love! The masterlist will be here: masterlist

[sopejinsunflower]

2022.001.009: The Cat and The Car

a/n: this is the longest chapter so far (9k) but I feel like the majority of it is just about a cat lol pls bear with me. I promise you this cat is significant.

-------------------------------------------------

Monday blues are the worst, made even worse at the fact that the knowledge that there are seven men in the house with me no longer excites me like it did before. Should not excite me like before after what I learnt yesterday. 

I heave a sigh and drag myself out of bed to get washed and dressed. I don’t even put much effort; putting on the first thing my hand could reach (the green tie-dye hoodie perched on my desk chair) and a pair of jeans, light makeup to cover the dark circles around my eyes and my pale cheeks. I go down to breakfast without even bothering to invite them down with me, walking past their doors without another look. I felt just slightly ashamed and only hoped they hadn’t noticed the way I had looked at them these past couple of days. 

I sit down at the dining table, not even noticing that no placemats have been prepared for the other seven, or three since the oldest four should be at work, keeping my head down and munching on the piece of toast that tastes like cardboard. Mrs Oliviera comes in to pour me my cup of tea and she does a small double take when she sees me. I pay her no mind, not even looking up at her, pretending to be busy scrolling through Twitter to check on the news in case the world had imploded along with my self-esteem last night.

It hadn’t, unfortunately. I put down my phone and that’s when I finally notice the housekeeper waffling by the doorway that leads to the kitchen, twisting and untwisting her apron in her hands. I blink up at her. “What’s the matter?”

She seems to be looking down at my hoodie and I follow her gaze, checking to see if I got jam on it. Nothing. It looks clean. “Something wrong?” I ask, puzzled.

“Whose hoodie is that?” she asks through a tight voice. 

I raise an eyebrow, not comprehending. “What do you mean?”

“It’s too big for you,” she mutters, eyebrows furrowing. 

I shrug at her. “It’s just oversized. I told you, it’s just fashion.” I wash down the toast with my tea, avoiding her eyes to hide the fact that it’s a complete lie. It makes me wonder if she knows that it came from the attic, from one of the closets upstairs. Does she memorise the clothes stored there? 

Mrs Oliviera looks like she still has more to say but just then Mr Chang appears behind her, looking excited, gesturing for me to come with him. “Good, you’re awake. Hurry, come.”

Curious, I get up to follow him through the kitchen but Mrs Oliviera stands in my way. She looked a little appalled that I was about to enter the kitchen. “The landlady shouldn’t be in the back parts of the house,” she says in a sort of high-pitched, panicked tone. “It’s inappropriate and messy and you should go around-”

“Seriously,” I say, impatient because Mr Chang didn’t wait for me. “I really don’t care what the kitchen looks like and if it’s messy then shouldn’t you guys be maintaining it? Health hazard and all.” 

I push past her and go straight to the kitchen trying to find the back door that leads to the back of the house. The cook looks alarmed at my presence, rushing forward and speaking in a heavy French accent. “Mademoiselle, what are you doing here? The lady shouldn’t be back here.” For a man with his look, a constant frown on his forehead, he had a sort of pitched voice that tickled my funny bone. I try hard not to smirk, pursing my lips together. 

I look around the kitchen then, taking in the place. It’s my first time and honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting but surely not this. The place looks like one of those huge kitchens in a high-end restaurant; the floors wiped clean, the pots and pans that hang over the multiple stoves gleaming, the variety of silver Japanese knives sticking to the wall look like they could cut with just a touch, the stainless steel island in the middle of the room looks like it’s never been used, spotless and shiny. 

There are two industrial refrigerators and two huge freezers next to them, humming quietly in one corner. Cabinets line the walls, both the top and bottom halves, and an array of kitchen appliances are arranged neatly on one side of the wall - a microwave oven, a fancy coffee maker, two air fryers, blenders of different sizes and kinds, a huge rice cooker. There was even a deep fryer in another corner. The kitchen is bright and there’s a pot of something on the stove that smells heavenly.

“I’m just passing through,” I explain as I look around in awe. The place looks like it could cater to a meal for twenty. Had there been more employees back in the old days, back when my grandaunt had been alive? “I really don’t know what the fuss is about but the kitchen is amazing! Why can’t I come in? What if I want to cook things for myself?”

There’s a look of horror on Jean’s face and he squeaks out, “Nononono, that is my job, mademoiselle. My job. Is my cooking not to your liking? Is there something I should change? Just let me know and I can do it ten times better!”

I laugh, unable to take him seriously when it looks like his moustache is talking instead of his mouth. “No, that’s not what I mean. Not at all. Sometimes I just want a cup noodle or instant ramen-”

“I can make them! I can make anything you want!”

~~~

With each raised note of the cook’s voice, Jin and Jungkook are both doubled over each other, laughing so hard that snot is coming out of Jungkook’s nose and Jin has tears down his reddening cheeks. 

But Taehyung and Hoseok have it worse, holding their stomachs as they roll around the floor, laughing so hard no sound is coming out of their opened mouths. Jimin is holding on to Namjoon’s arm, the bigger man had caught him before he toppled over to the side, holding him steady by the waist. Laughter among the seven of them has the same effect as a domino set; when it hits one, it hits all of them in one fell swoop. Literally.

 They can’t help but focus on Jean’s thick, handlebar moustache that covers his mouth, wriggling with every word the cook speaks. Combined with his unsuitable high-pitched voice, Jimin could barely stand anymore, laughing so hard his stomach hurts. They had almost forgotten about Jean, about why exactly they avoided the kitchen back then, mostly to not offend him. Jean is an excellent cook, would’ve been a Michelin star chef if he had had worked in a restaurant, but Namjoon can just imagine the chaos his kitchen would be in if he had been in charge of one. 

Like Ollie, Jean’s family had also served the manor. Most of his skills came from his father and grandfather and the ones before that, secret recipes or personal creations passed down from one generation to the next, perfected each time a new cook steps up. And like Ollie, Jean is also very much privy to the reality of the seven men in the attic. But unlike Ollie, he had been thrilled to learn about the men coming back downstairs. He doesn’t know you that well yet but what he sees, he likes and he has high hopes. For what, he’s not quite sure yet but something tells him there’s a shift in the air the day you arrived.

Yoongi is the only one still upright, crossing his arms over his chest with a gummy smile on his face, trying his best to not get carried away. He’s more entertained with you struggling not to laugh too much, your face and ears growing red, the smile on your face only growing wider and wider while the cook’s frown only deepens, his moustache growing more animated as he chastised you, the lady of the house, for even thinking of lifting a hand in his domain. 

Yoongi casually walks over to you, standing behind you, attracted by your lighter mood, watching your shoulders shake quietly. You’re wearing Hoseok’s old hoodie, something that didn’t escape them, the sheer size of the garment making you a lot smaller than usual. Yoongi isn’t one to show much emotion, he’s very shy about it, very private. But he can’t help the desire to swaddle you in his arms. 

But instead, he settles on just touching your face, grazing the back of his fingers against your rounded cheek. The coldness that zings through you at his touch is enough to sober you up a little.

~~~

“Okay, okay,” I say, raising my hand in a give up gesture, rubbing the cold spot on my cheek. It must be from a gust of wind blowing in from the opened back door. “I won’t come in here again.”

Jean, the cook, points to me with the wooden spoon he had been holding in his hand. “Tell me what you want and I’ll make it, okay? Anything, anytime!”

I nod furiously, wrestling to get the smile off my face. “Got it. I’m just going to…” I trail off, pointing to the opened back door with my thumb. He waves me away, returning to the bubbling pot on the stove. Mrs Oliviera is nowhere to be seen. As I’m heading towards the door, something in the wall catches my eye. I pause, staring at what looks like a mini elevator but with doors that open horizontally. 

The cook is busy tending to his soup. I walk closer to the wall, noticing the two buttons next to it with arrows pointing up and down. I’ve seen the dumb waiter upstairs but for some reason the one upstairs only had the down button and pressing it doesn’t really call it up for me to inspect. The doors open quite easily, revealing a tiny elevator box, but the door handle bangs against the top wall if not caught in time. The cook throws me a confused angry look, raising the wooden spoon above his head in a what-are-you-doing gesture. 

“Sorry,” I mouth, shutting it closed once more and hurrying out the back door where Mr Chang had reappeared, curious to know what is keeping me. I join him outside the house and he immediately leads me towards the greenhouse. Just as I thought that he had wanted to show me a new flower or a new plant, we passed right by the greenhouse, heading straight towards the employee’s quarter. 

“Where are we going?” I ask, a little breathless from keeping up with his big, excited strides. “Not the greenhouse?”

Mr Chang shakes his head. “No. We’re going to the vegetable patch.”

I’ve never been to the employees’ quarter before but I’ve seen it through the trees from my window. From the look of the chimney, I had guessed it was a cottage of sorts but as we neared the building, I realised it’s actually a lot bigger than that. It’s gated in by small white picket fences and the vegetable patch Mr Chang referred to isn’t exactly a patch. It’s a whole garden that spans the front yard of the employees’ quarter from end to end, minus the small footpath that leads up to the front door. 

The whole look about the place is very warm; the door is painted red with white-panelled windows sandwiching it. Ivy creeps up the orange brick walls, creating a sort of drape over the top of the door. From the front, it doesn’t look too big, but from the sides, the house extends quite far back, more than enough for a shared house for three people. There’s also a small shed to the side, in the corner of the yard, and Mr Chang leads me there.

He pauses at the shed door, looking back at me with concern in his eyes. I raise my eyebrows at him. “What is it?”

He shifts his gaze upwards, almost as if he’s searching through his brains on what to say. Then he looks back at me, forehead creasing. “Do you remember that cat you saw?”

“The white one by the tree line?”

He cocks his head to the side but then nods. “Remember I told you that I was going to catch it because it keeps using the vegetable patch,” he gestures to the garden behind us, “as its personal toilet?”

“Yes?” I’m growing more and more curious, the suspense building. I wish he would just cough it up.

“Well,” he says, trailing off and scratching the back of his head. “Remember I said it would be better if it was indoors?”

I nod again, feeling my own eyebrows furrowing to match his deeply hooded ones. “Okay, and?”

Mr Chang sighs. “Well, I don’t think you would want to keep it. I mean, I just thought I’d still show it to you before I get rid of it.”

“What do you mean get rid of it?” I ask in alarm. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I…don’t really know,” he replies hesitantly. “But something is wrong. But I think it’s better to get rid of it.”

“That’s nonsense,” I quip, determined now to prove him wrong. “Unless it’s badly injured or something. Come on, just show it to me.”

The gardener groundskeeper sighs again, relenting this time. “Fine.” He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open with a loud creak. The inside is dark but I can see a variety of garden tools kept haphazardly inside. Broken or old pots are strewn across the floor of the shed, some on their sides. Fertiliser bags are stacked on one side of the wall, so many of them that they come up to your waist in three columns. There is only a single bare bulb in the ceiling and Mr Chang is holding on to the switch looking like he’s ready for a big reveal.

In the middle of the room, I can see a metal cage, the kind commonly used when trapping bigger animals. The cat stands in the centre of it, low on its front legs, a ready-to-pounce stance that I know well enough. Its tail swishes behind it in quick movements, looking a lot bigger than the last time I saw it, though it’s probably of the distance as well as it being puffed up. 

I look at Mr Chang to signal him to turn on the light and he has this look of apprehension that I can’t quite understand. He clicks on the light and I turn back to the cat to have a proper look. Finally, I understood what he meant.  

The cat, once the light blinks on, suddenly relaxes, standing up and tilting its head up to look at me curiously. The eyes are what strikes me the most, having only seen it once on a cat on social media. They are dual-toned, each eye a prominent half-blue, half-yellow that seems to glow the longer I stare at them. The cat seems to be at ease, suddenly its purring filling up the room, loud and clear like motorwork. It has the most luxurious black coat I have ever seen, fluffy and clean, no signs of being a feral cat that’s been living in the wilderness behind the manor.

I’m about to argue with Mr Chang, telling him that there’s nothing wrong with the cat when it swishes its tail again and my mouth falls open. Tails. With an s. Plural. More than one. Two, to be specific, one of them white, a striking contrast to its full coat. Have you seen Midas the cat on Instagram? It has four ears. But two-tailed, one black and one white, is completely new. Definitely not normal. The cat chirps happily, swishing its tails more languidly. It rubs against the metal cage, mesmerising eyes never leaving mine. 

~~~

At the sight of the cat, Jin immediately pulls back, stepping away to exchange looks with the others.

It’s him. He’s back.

~~~

“It’s got two tails,” I note the obvious, not really knowing what to say. “Genetic mutation?” 

Mr Chang shakes his head but he regards the cat as if it might break out of the cage and attack him. “I don’t know but it’s not good.”

“Why is that? If four-eared cats are common enough, then two-tailed ones should probably be the same.” I squat down on the ground near the trap and the cat suddenly flops over, nuzzling the cage with its little pink nose. I reach out to touch it but Mr Chang steps forward so suddenly I pause.

“I wouldn’t touch it if I were you,” he says darkly. “It’s…bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard of the nekomata?” 

I shake my head. “Sounds japanese.”

He nods. “Yes. It’s an evil spirit, one of the worst ones.”

I stare at him as he’s grown two heads. I know my grandaunt was a cultist but I didn’t take Mr Chang to be superstitious. The fear in his eyes is real and he wouldn’t come any closer, staring at the cat in distaste. It was clear what he had meant when he said to get rid of it. I’m not about to let him kill an innocent animal for some mythical folklore just because it looks different. 

“You don’t seriously believe that, right?” I ask, incredulous. “Because I don’t.” I try to find the latch to open the trap but Mr Chang grabs my shoulder hard enough for me to turn around in surprise.

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are wide but he loosens his grip. “I mean, it’s wild and it might not like being inside.”

I chuckle softly. “So not because it’s a yokai?”

Mr Chang looks at me sheepishly, retreating back towards the doorway. He flicks his gaze back to the cat and his face changes, not really softening but at least it doesn’t look so concerned. “I don’t know, miss. I can’t help the superstitious side of me, I was raised that way. It’s in my culture. But,” he pauses, looking at the cat again who is rubbing against the metal trap. He sighs. “Well, your choice, I guess.”

I smile up at him, feeling more at ease. I find the latch and right before I release it, he speaks, the grimness back in his voice. “But I’m warning you.”

I open the trap, half expecting for the cat to bolt. But it just slinks out, coming to rub against my leg, its double tails swishing happily. I pet it, running my hand from its head, down its back and through its lush coat. I touch its tails and it feels normal enough, the fur fluffing up at the ends. I pick it up into my arms and stand up, cradling it. “Well,” I say, looking up at Mr Chang. “What’s one more spirit in the house, right? At least this one’s cute.”

The gardener looks a little confused but he leaves the shed and waits for me to come out.

~~~

Jimin looks at the cat in your arms, his lips pouting.

“I’m cuter,” he mutters sourly. The cat turns and makes direct eye contact with him. Jimin just pulls a face at it. He jabs a finger at the cat, barely missing its nose. “Don’t think for a second that you’re taking my place.”

The cat makes a swipe at Jimin’s finger with its paws, squirming in your arms. You look down at the cat and laugh, catching one of its paws. “What are you doing, little one? Is there a bug?”

The cat seems to be looking at Jimin in a way that says yes, you’re the bug and Jimin sticks out his tongue at it before falling back. While you wait for Mr Chang to close the shed door, the seven men crowd around you. The cat looks at each of them in turn and Yoongi shares Jimin’s sentiment. He’s not about to let a cat challenge his spot in your heart, no way. 

Hoseok stands a little further back, arms crossed over his chest. He’s more of a dog person but this cat he tolerates. The cat’s rare-looking eyes stare deep into his own, a knowing look shared between animal and man. Mr Chang isn’t far off about it; it’s a kindred spirit, much alike to them, neither good nor bad. But in all the cycles they have lived through, not once have the cat ever been this close, never mind directly involved. 

He’s not sure if this means anything but the fact that the cat can see them in their invisible forms is a little disturbing. Ironic because there’s nothing more than they would love than to be seen, just more by you and less by a feline. Namjoon runs a finger over the cat’s head, just above it, not quite touching, and again, the cat tries to grab at him.

~~~

“What are you doing?” I laugh, readjusting my hold against the squirming cat. It’s like it’s trying to catch something, maybe an invisible insect that I can’t see with my human eyes. 

I snuggle it close. “You’re very cute, you know that?”

The cat meows, nuzzling my jaw. I find it a little strange that a wild animal is very familiar with human touch, with the only explanation being that it used to be a pet, probably a lost one or one that was thrown away. Well, it’s mine now, I think as I carry it back to the main house. And I promise to give it the home it deserves. But first, what do I even name this strange fella?

***

My Monday classes feel a little better as I plop my Macbook in front of me on the bed, the mic muted and my new pet sniffing around the room. 

On the laptop, I have another window tab opened on name ideas for black cats with dual-coloured tails but everything sounds so generic (not to mention there’s no other cases of a cat with double tails, much less one with two tails, both of different colours), nothing that gives it the right name it deserves, something that suits its peculiar look. He. It’s a he, I’ve checked. He needs a name. And, I think as I pull up Etsy on my phone, a new collar. 

I had knocked on Jimin’s, Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s doors but none of them had answered. I had been excited to introduce to them our new housemate but I guess it will have to wait until later. I wonder what kind of programs they’re in because, wow, they can’t even break away for five minutes from their online classes. My bedroom stands open and I can see straight out across to Jin’s closed door. If I lean the right way over my bed, I can see down the hall to the others’ rooms, too. 

“We have seven other people in this house,” I say to the cat who has disappeared under my desk, sniffing around behind it. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

He meows from somewhere behind the desk in response. “But we still need a name for you. What would you like? Ajax? Poseidon? How about Phoenix?”

The cat remains quiet but I can hear the shuffling sounds of it from somewhere in the room, exploring. “Celeste? Too feminine? Alpha? Dominic? Domino? Anything? No?”

The cat reappears from behind the desk and continues towards the closet, sniffing around and leaning up against the drawers with two paws, the tails swishing. Not finding anything, he moves over towards the bathroom door, sniffing between the gap of the door and the floor. Everytime he moves from one place to another, he pauses somewhere in between, sniffs the air, purrs and then moves along. Sometimes he stops to look up at something, nose wrinkling and flaring as it smells something that I can’t before moving along. It’s an odd behaviour but I chalk it up to him being nervous in a new environment. 

~~~

The cat is one curious, strange kitty, Jungkook thinks as, once again, the cat comes up to him to sniff his fingers as it passes by towards the closet. He thinks he can even feel the wetness of its nose.

“You sure it’s the same one, hyung?” Jungkook asks Jin, eyes still following the cat moving around your room. “It’s impossible, right?”

Jin, sitting on the edge of your bed, shrugs. “I don’t know. It looks similar. The same weird eyes.”

“And same tails?” Taehyung puts his hand just above the cat’s twin-tails as it passes by, the fur barely touching him. 

“That, I’ve never seen before,” Jin says, frowning. “Or not that I’ve noticed.”

“I guess you would notice if a cat has two tails,” Namjoon chuckles as it stops in front of him, staring up at Namjoon as if it understood what he said. Namjoon nods at it, adding, “Right?”

The cat moves on towards the bathroom door. Hoseok watches it for a while before turning back to Jin. “It’s not real, right? What Chang said? The nekomata thing.”

Jin laughs. “I don’t know. Some people don’t believe in ghosts either.” He raises his arms up in a here-we-are gesture before dropping them again. “But this cat has always been outside, in the forest.”

“Like a forest spirit?” Taehyung adds.

Jin frowns at him but chuckles. “I don’t know, spirit or not. But it, or its ancestors, because I’ve seen this cat before, a long time ago, before…” He doesn’t finish his sentence but jumps back to the initial one. “Well, it’s never been indoor. I mean never actually been on the property but I’ve seen it around, mostly on the edges of the forest.”

Yoongi nods along to Jin’s words. “Me, too. It feels like the same cat but…if I say it’s impossible then what are we?”

“Is this going to change anything?” Jimin holds out his hand as the cat passes by him to jump up onto your bed, avoiding his touch. You’re still spewing name suggestions, talking to the cat, trying to see if it resonates with any one of those spectacular ideas. Personally, he had liked Poseidon and Nova and Phantom and Prism and Opal- scratch that, he had liked almost all of the ones you suggested. Except for Birdie. It’s just going to give the cat an existential crisis, Jimin thinks. 

Again, Jin shakes his head. He doesn’t bother to answer it in words, watching you play with the cat by moving your hand from underneath your bed cover and watching the cat pounce on it. It looks young but Jin can’t shake the feeling that something is off about it, neither in a good nor bad way, just off. It’s an unsettling feeling, creeping slowly in the back of his mind, something he can’t put his finger on just yet.

“I’d name you Genie if we don’t already have one Jin in the house,” you say fondly, tickling the cat’s fluffy tummy as it stretches out in the middle of the bed, completely at ease. “Very handsome,” you add, which makes Jin’s ears turn red, “just like you.”

 Jin’s face falls into an unimpressed look and the others laugh. The cat perks up at the sound of their laughter, looking around the room at them.

~~~

“What is it, boy?”

I look up in the general direction of where he’s looking but I can’t pinpoint anything that could have caught his attention. The abrupt way he sits up is like there was a loud noise and it surprised him but not scared him. After a few seconds of looking around my room, he goes to grooming himself. I shrug it off, going back to focus on my Zoom class, completely losing the plot already. 

During lunch, I search through my phone for the nearest vet and a pet store where I can get pet supplies. I found the nearest vet about thirty minutes away. Mind you, I don’t mention anything about the cat to Mrs Oliviera, a little too scared to, actually. If Mr Chang came with me about it being some mythical creature, then I’m not sure what can of worms I might open with the housekeeper once she sees the twin-tailed cat that is yet to be named. I figured maybe I should check him for a microchip first before I can officially adopt him and name him.

As Mrs Oliveira comes around to refill my glass of water, she pauses to turn away and sneezes. She tries to fill my glass again, only to turn around and lets out another sneeze followed by another one. I look up at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says dismissively. “Just an itchy nose.”

“If it’s a cold then you should just take the rest of the day off,” I suggest, watching her walk away with another bout of sneezing. 

She shakes her head but her eyes are watery. “No, no. I’m fine. It’s not a cold. Probably just hay fever. I’ll take my medication and I’ll be right as rain. Finish your lunch. Your class will start soon.”

I’m a little amazed that she remembers my schedule, honestly, but didn’t have the chance to say anything more as she quickly makes her way back into the kitchen. I scarf down my food and rush back upstairs to check on the cat. He probably needs to go to the bathroom soon and the longer I wait around, the more prone for accidents to happen. But I still have two more classes to get through. 

I scoop the cat up and open the bathroom door. “I know you probably won’t get it but if you need to go, at least do it in here, okay, buddy?”

The cat stares at me, his dual-toned eyes almost hypnotising. Somehow he looks like he understands. I put him down and he goes to check out the bathroom. I go back to the laptop on the bed and the cat comes back out five minutes later. He stretches out next to me and takes a nap, resting his little head on his front paws. 

I run my fingers through his soft fur once. “You’re a chill little dude, aren’t ya?”

~~~

Yoongi turns to Hoseok, ripping his eyes away from the cat laying down next to you. “I think you’re going to have a tough competition.”

Hoseok gives him a wry smile but regards the cat in a way that can only be interpreted as distaste, his mouth turning down in the corners. The cat’s strange eyes open up in two slits, locking gaze with him practically challenging before it closes them again, stretching slightly and turning its head towards you.

“I can’t tell if it likes us or not,” Jungkook comments mildly, sitting down on the floor on the side of the bed so he’s eye-level with the cat. He reaches out to touch the twin tails but the cat curls itself up, tucking its tails close to its body. 

Taehyung chuckles. “I think it doesn’t.” He’s stretched out next to you on the other side of the bed, leaning against the pillows with his hands locked behind his head. Occasionally, he listens in to the lecture, nodding along with you and peering into your notebook as you write. You keep pushing the long arms of the hoodie up to your elbows and then pulling it back down again everytime Taehyung brushes against you, the goosebumps raising your little hairs.

Then the cat sits up, stretches and jumps down from the bed. It prowls around the room, sniffing. It goes into a corner of the carpet and paws at it suspiciously. Jin stares in alarm, ready to spring to his feet if the cat does what he thinks it’s about to do. Taehyung taps on your shoulders, or tries to. “Hey, I think the cat needs to go to the bathroom,” he says but you don’t even budge, eyes focused on the lecture slide on the laptop.

The cat continues to paw at a spot on the carpet and all seven of them jump to attention. Hoseok lets out a silent curse and Taehyung tries to grab at your arm. All you did was rub at the spot, looking up only briefly towards the opened window. Jimin and Jungkook run forward towards the cat, attempting to make it move. 

“Shoo, shoo,” Jimin says, waving his hands frantically. “Not here!”

“The bathroom, the bathroom,” repeats Jungkook in a panic. The cat looks up at them, hesitates for a bit and then moves along in the direction Jimin is directing him. 

~~~

I look up to see the cat circling around on the carpet, looking around the room every now and again as he moves towards the bathroom. He pauses and moves, pauses and moves. 

Does it need to go?

~~~

“Come on,” Jimin urges, corralling the cat with his arms, squatting down a little so he’s walking with his knees bent. “Come on, this way.”

Jungkook scoots down in front of the bathroom door, beckoning the cat with his hands. “This way, kitty. Good kitty. That’s it.”

The others watch in awe and amusement as the two guide the cat towards the bathroom. Jin is beaming wide. “Oh, good job, guys. Keep going.”

“Almost there,” Namjoon adds, a huge smile on his lips, teeth showing. 

~~~

“Do you need to go?” I ask, watching the cat expectantly as it walks over to the bathroom. “Yeah, you can use the bathroom for now.”

I giggle to myself, excited at the fact that the cat is a very smart one. “You understood me, didn’t you? Go on, in the bathtub preferably so it’ll be easier to clean up.”

I lean on the edge of my bed, watching just in case.

~~~

“Well, you heard her,” Jimin says, working hard to chase the cat towards the bathroom. “In the bathroom. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Jungkook steps inside, still trying to make the cat follow him towards the bathtub. “Come here, kitty kitty. Follow me. Over here.”

Taehyung joins you as you step off the bed and quietly follows it towards the bathroom. He can sense your excitement, your face radiant, expecting the cat to go where you just told it to, completely unaware of the hard work Jimin and Jungkook are putting in.

~~~ 

I step over the carpet lightly so as to not scare the cat, hoping and hoping that he knows where to go to do his business.

Just a little more,  I think. 

~~~

Jungkook steps into the bathtub, calling out to the cat. “Come. Here, kitty. Inside.”

The cat pauses just outside of the tub, tilting its head up at Jungkook questioningly. Jimin is right behind it, waving his hands in small gestures. “Go on. Into the tub. Follow Jungkookie.”

~~~

The cat pauses just outside the tub and I stop to watch from the doorway. 

I send up a small prayer, hoping that he will go in and feel comfortable enough to go. “Go on,” I whisper to myself, also hoping that it was more of a number one than a number two. The cat, though, keeps looking from the tub to me then back again.

~~~

The cat stops right in front of the tub, unmoving, staring from Jungkook to Jimin then back again. 

Jungkook taps the lip of the tub, trying to coax the cat to come but it wouldn’t budge. “Come on, kitty. Come here. Over here, kitty.”

Jimin scratches his head. “Maybe it won’t go in because you’re there, Jungkookie. Maybe you should come out first?”

Jungkook obeys, climbing out of the tub and trying to make himself as small as possible in between the tub and the wall. He pats the tub again. “Come, kitty.”

The cat, surprisingly, jumps onto the edge of the tub, tails swishing in the air. It looks at Jungkook, sniffing at his hand. Gently, Jungkook makes a shooing motion with his hands, trying to chase it into the tub. “Inside, kitty. You can go inside the tub for your toilet. Go on.”

As Jungkook shoos, he tries to move out of the corner he’s in, slowly inching out as to not scare the cat. He manages to pull himself out of the nook but his hands accidentally bump into the kitty, pushing it inside the tub. Jungkook gasps at the contact, surprised that he had felt the cat’s fur on his skin. He turns to Jimin, eyes wide but the latter hadn’t seen what happened.

~~~

“Yay, good boy!”

I punch the air and step inside to see if the cat is doing what he needs to do and immediately shiver. There’s a cold spot in where I’m standing but I just easily move forward, closer to the tub when another cold pocket hits me, sending shivers down my spine. 

~~~

Jimin does a little full-body flutter as you step through him to look at the cat, only for you to walk through Jungkook next who lets out a tiny tremble before joining Jimin by the door. 

They watch you coo and croon at the cat. “You’re such a smart boy. You knew where I told you to go.” The cat must have been holding in a full bladder because, even from the doorway, Jimin and Jungkook can hear the shhhhh sounds of the cat peeing while you watch like a proud mother. 

Jimin lets out a relief sigh. He turns to Jungkook and holds out a hand. “Good job, partner.”

Jungkook shakes it, nodding in acknowledgement. He’s still thinking if he had really felt the cat or if it was just his own imagination. Sometimes it’s easier to realise a phantom feeling especially when you’ve experienced that feeling before. Everybody knows what it feels like to touch a cat and if you imagine running your hand in cat’s fur, you can feel it. That’s how Jungkook is rationalising the situation. That’s also why the phantom limb syndrome is prevalent among amputees, right?

Jimin retreats back into the bedroom but Jungkook lingers, watching you pick up the cat and put it outside of the tub as you clean up the contents. The cat slinks past him and Jungkook subconsciously steps away. He doesn’t want to deal with all these questions if he’s honest. He’s not good with thinking, prefers not to. Thankfully for him, Taehyung comes forward, crouches down and starts tickling the cat’s chin. Like Jungkook, he falls back in surprise once his fingers touch the cat’s neck floof.

He cranes his neck to look up at Namjoon. “Hyung,” he says, eyes bugging and mouth hanging open. “I can touch him.”

Namjoon furrows his eyebrows, not comprehending. “Yeah? I suppose you can.”

Taehyung’s eyes only widened even more. “No, hyung. I can touch him.”

Now, Namjoon is completely baffled by the younger man’s bewilderment of wanting to touch the cat and telling him that he can. Taehyung only reiterates himself, this time turning to Hoseok, Yoongi and Jin in turn. “I can touch him.” 

He offers no further explanation, the words eluding him like trying to catch fish with his bare hands, slipping right through his grasp the moment he thinks he got them. So he resorts to only communicating with his expression, hoping that they understood him enough to get what he meant. 

Yoongi steps forward and gets low on the ground next to Taehyung. He doesn’t speak but reaches out a hand to pet the cat’s head. He pulls his hand back quickly, looking up at Namjoon and Jin in the same surprised expression. “I can feel him,” he says. “I can feel his fur.”

~~~

I step out of the bathroom to find the cat sitting in the middle of the bedroom, just sitting there and looking at nothing in particular, tails swishing behind him.

He seems to be leaning into something, the posture cats do when they’re getting neck scratches; eyes closed, purring softly. And then he opens his mouth.

~~~

“Holy hell, what the fuck was that?”

Yoongi and Taehyung have both scooted back so fast their backs are pressed against the side of the bed. Hoseok is almost climbing Namjoon, grabbing the other man’s arm so tight Namjoon flinches when his nails dig into his flesh. The cat lets out another meow, or he thinks it’s a meow. 

It’s loud and gruff, a combination of a mewl of a cat and the chirp of a leopard. “Whoa, boy,” you laugh, standing there with a mixture of surprise and mirth on your face. “What was that?”

Jimin circles around to stand in front of you in a protective stance, putting distance between you and the cat. Twin-tailed, strange eyes, an even stranger voice and the fact that they could touch it; Jimin doesn’t trust it. He wants the cat out of the house and as far away as possible from you. They know nothing of the cat, never appearing in past cycles before and yet here it is, suddenly planting itself in your life. It makes him uncomfortable, insecure. He doesn’t like it. 

The cat turns around, eyes looking straight at Jimin as if it knows what he’s thinking. For some reason, Jimin couldn’t look away.

~~~

The cat turns around facing me but he’s looking at a spot not quite me, but somewhere higher. 

I look up towards the ceiling but can’t quite pinpoint anything. I shrug, chalking it up to him just being a strange cat. I rub the cat’s head as I pass by towards the bed, checking that the Zoom class is finished. It’s ten minutes until the next one starts so I decide to get ready, leave the online class running once it starts and take the cat to the vet. 

I have the Uber app searching for a car nearby while I braid up my hair and throw on a cap. The lecturer is droning on on Zoom but it’s taking Uber longer than expected. I head on downstairs and go to find Mr Chang, asking for a box. He produces one large enough to put the cat in for transportation but doesn’t seem to agree with me bringing the cat into town by myself. 

I laugh at him. “Well, then, you can come with.”

He regards the box long and hard before he firmly shakes his head. “Sorry, miss. I have a lot to take care of in the yard.” 

I don’t push him, already expecting the answer. “I think I might need to go up all the way to the main road if I want to get a car to take me into town,” I sigh, checking the car app. “Or maybe I’d have to do it the old fashion way, get Mrs Oliviera to call me a taxi.”

Mr Chang breaks into a smile, his concern for the cat wiped off his face. “You don’t need a taxi,” he says, “if you have a driver’s licence. Do you?”

“I do but I’d need a car to go with that,” I reply sarcastically. 

His smile turns into a wide grin. “We do have one. In the garage.”

I stare at him. “There’s a garage?”

~~~

Yoongi completely forgot about it.

Standing there as Mr Chang opens the garage double doors and revealing his first ever lover, his eyes immediately soften, his heart bubbling with the emotions set aside for as long as the red vintage beauty has been neglected. Dust motes swirl in the air in the sunlight that washes in through the opened garage but the paint still gleams.

Yoongi looks at Mr Chang and he immediately understands who has been taking care of his baby.

~~~

Mr Chang looks overly pleased as he checks for my expression after revealing the car. 

I got to give it to him, though. It’s a thing of beauty, the red paint gleaming in the sunlight, the silver fenders twinkling and reflecting the light back in my eyes. The convertible top is up and I peer in through the window at the red-white interior, unable to stop myself from gawking. It’s completely breathtaking. 

“Whoa,” I breathe, and that’s all I could say. 

“Yes, whoa,” Mr Chang says with a small chuckle. He opens the driver's door and gestures for me to sit. “Go on.”

I do, sliding into the seat and feeling myself sinking into the leather. I run my hands over the steering wheel, eyes looking wildly around at the vintage dashboard and the analogue metre gauges. There’s a slight musk inside the car, nothing unpleasant but something I’m sure I’ve smelt before, like a favourite childhood scent that immediately gives you a sense of comfort and safety yet you can’t really remember what it is if someone asks you. 

“Like what you see?” Mr Chang teases as he leans against the door. “It’s vintage. 1960-”

“Chevy Impala,” I finished for him, catching myself by surprise. I look up at him but the gardener-cum-groundskeeper only sees my excitement.

“You know your cars, huh,” he comments lightheartedly. I don’t respond, not even sure how I knew but he’s already talking again. “I’ve been taking care of it since I was young and my father before me. He had been very fond of this car.”

“It’s your father’s?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s…a friend’s. We just help maintain it. A car needs to run for it to have a long life. My father used to take it out for a short spin on the property when...er, well, when he can.”

~~~

…when I wasn’t around to be able to, Yoongi thinks, finishing out the actual sentence Mr Chang had initially planned to say. 

Yoongi remembers that first day he brought the beauty home, sitting proud in the driver’s seat, an elbow leaning against the door as he drove leisurely down the gravel road to the front of the house, a smug grin on his face and a pair of newly-bought shades on the bridge of his nose. You had been waiting by the front door, snorting and laughing at him but proud all the same because you had picked the colour. The other guys just stood there, arms crossed, unbelieving that he had actually gone and bought the damn car.

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Namjoon mouthed, shaking his head but it had been good-naturedly, proven by the smirk on his face that went along with the shaking of his head.

But what the others thought about his purchase didn’t matter to Yoongi. All that mattered to him in that moment, as he cruised slowly to a stop, was the look on your face, a soft smile playing on your lips, your eyes sparkling with all the love you had for him, no judgement, no sarcasm and not even focused on the new toy he was driving. Just him.

“Hey there, lover,” you had greeted him as he stepped out of the car. “Red looks good on you it seems.” Yoongi remembers everything. He remembers the way he had taken your hand, light in his, and guided you to the passenger side.

Now, he approaches the driver’s side, standing there, a slight longing of wanting to be behind the wheel again as he watches you put your hands on it, testing the grip. It’s amazing, isn’t it, love? He thinks. The wheel feels good, reliable, doesn’t it? Like it’ll take you to places you’ve never been before, safely. That’s what I wanted to do, why I bought the car. For you, my love. For you. 

You look up and for a moment, Yoongi is taken aback as you look straight at him. His breath catches in his throat and his stomach does a flip. “This is amazing, Mr Chang,” you say breathlessly and his heart falls. Yoongi swallows a hard lump in his throat and steps back.

~~~

“Right?” Mr Chang replies. He leans in and flips open the sun visor above my head to produce a key. He slides it into the ignition carefully and turns, the engine starting up with a loud, luscious purr.

“Listen to that,” he says, with a grin. “It’s a total beast, isn’t it?”

I can tell that he’s very excited about the car. The pristine condition of it is an obvious proof of how much love and care he had put in in place of his father’s friend. The owner of the car would’ve been proud to know that they’re baby is being taken care of so well. The keychain dangles against my knee and I look down to see a coin-sized basketball, the colour and details worn with time. I squish it in between my fingers, rolling it around.

Three letters on the back of the ball are almost invisible now but I can still make them out: MYG. Is that the initials of the actual owner? I wonder what it stands for but something itches in the back of my mind the longer I stare at the alphabets. What was his or her connection to my grandaunt? It must be significant considering this vintage car that would have fetched for millions was left here on her property.

“You think you can take this baby downtown to the vet?” Mr Chang’s question rips me out of my thoughts and I look up, releasing the keychain. 

I shake my head, nervous. “I don’t think I should. It’s too-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The gardener is shaking his head. 

~~~

“Come on, baby,” Yoongi mutters. “You know you want to. You’ve done it before.”

“I forgot about this car,” Jin says to Yoongi. “I remember that first time you brought it home.”

Namjoon snorts. “It was so fucking red I thought it was the most ridiculous thing.”

Yoongi smiles. “And then everyone wants to take it out on a spin.”

“But you wouldn’t let me drive it,” Jungkook pouts. 

“Yes, I did.”

“For like five minutes,” Jungkook argues but not really seriously. “And only down this street to the main gate! You wouldn’t even let me go past thirty!”

They all laugh as they reminisce, nostalgia kicking up the memory dust. But Yoongi is just a bit more sentimental than usual, hanging back, not really laughing but just smiling although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He had loved this car, not as much as he loves you, but close. Most of his courtings were taking you out on a drive with the top down and the wind in your hair as you drew little waves with your hand out the window. The first time he had kissed you had been in this car, too, you almost in his lap, his hand cupping your cheek gently, gently because you’re the most precious thing to him.  

He blinks a few times, regaining his composure, and turns to Hoseok. “If she goes, you go with her.”

Hoseok immediately rejects the idea. “No, hyung. You should go.”

“But we agreed that you should lead this cycle,” Yoongi says back quietly. 

Hoseok pats him on the shoulder. “We have all the time we need. And it wouldn’t change anything if it starts with you, hyung.” He nudges the older man. “Go.”

~~~

Twenty minutes later, after having to sneak around the house avoiding the housekeeper, I have the cat sitting in the box and place it on the floor of the passenger seat and me buckle up behind the wheel.

I take one last look at the gardener, making sure that this is alright. “Are you sure about this?”

Mr Chang steps away from the car, closes the door for me and gestures to the open road ahead. “Safe journey, my lady,” he says, with a slight tip of his head. “I’ll let Ollie know that you’ll be back a little late for dinner.”

He flicks his gaze to the passenger seat as if checking for something but looks back at me. “Drive safe.”

~~~

Yoongi settles himself in the passenger side, the box with the cat in between his legs. He runs his hand gingerly against the door, trying to feel it with his memories instead.

The other guys are standing just outside his door, and Jimin leans in through the window. “Have fun, hyung,” he says with a wink and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I can do anything,” he mumbles, bending down to check on the cat. It seems to be behaving pretty well, looking up at him curiously but sitting down on all fours calmly, like a black, fluffy version of the Sphinx Pyramid, if the pyramid had two tails, black and white intertwining behind it. It’s unsettling and Yoongi closes one flap of the box so he doesn’t have to look at it, or for the cat to be able to look at him through its blue-yellow halfsies eyes.

You shift into gear, looking a little nervous and Yoongi is starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You said you had a licence but how skilled of a driver are you? Why didn’t Chang ask this? Yoongi holds in the sigh, sitting back and resolving himself. Well, it's too late to do anything now. You release the emergency brake and Yoongi wishes that he can at least use the seatbelt or hold on to the panic bar above him, knowing that you hate nothing more than having a passenger do the latter.

Namjoon notices the fisted hands in Yoongi’s lap and he almost bursts into laughter but decides maybe to not further egg the man. He hides his face behind Jin’s shoulders. As the car starts to glide forward slowly, not one of them remembers to check the time or the sun’s position in the sky. Not one of them thinks about how far out you’d have to drive to find the vet or how long it would take for you to get back. It doesn’t even cross their minds that when you come back, the sun will be long gone.

All they think about is how much Yoongi loves the car and how much he had missed driving it; it was his pride and joy. He’s a frugal man and it had been his one and only luxurious purchase for himself. They remembered how he would spend hours just buffing and fussing with the coat, only coming back inside when you went to fetch him, whether it was sunny or snowy. They know that by having him in the car with you could make the man a little happier to at least ride in it again, even if he couldn’t drive it. 

In his panic and anxiousness, Yoongi only focuses on your driving, forgetting that he only has about two and half hours before his invisibility lets up and it’s a thirty-minute drive to the nearest veterinarian. You, on the other hand, have two stops to make. Your driving should be the least of his worries.

a/n2: introducing our new little friend! I had a friend (IG: freeddoodles) draw me this little guy that is yet to be named. I'm so excited to show him to you guys because I wanted for this one character to come to life! Yes, he's based on a Japanese folklore, the nekomata. Lmk what you think about this chapter in the comments or ask :)

Next>>

Go to Series Masterlist!

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

Taglist (open):

@effielumiere @queen-in-the-shadows @singukieee @ot7nem @thelewddreamer @jaxavance @serendididy @peacedreamer14 @uarmyhore

[sasubaeuchithot]

Do you see Orochimaru and Kabuto as a pairing? only asking as at the end of Shiten you have them talking about trying to merge their chakras or being interested in it, and orochi is speaking very fondly of Kabuto. Would be an interesting take 🤷‍♀️

I definitely don't ship them at all; they definitely feel too much like a parental-child relationship to me. but they do have a strong intellectual connection to one another. they are both always on the same wavelength, matching thoughts and vibes. merging chakras can technically be done by any two people whether they have a strong connection or not, it's just incredibly difficult. like puzzle pieces can be jammed together even if they aren't the perfect match, you know? it's just not easy. the process requires intimacy with one another. the two hosts don't have to be lovers at all, but it is immensely easier to do with someone you have a strong connection with- understanding how to slot your chakras together can feel very intimate in the same way as someone knowing your darkest secrets is. that kind of intimacy is easiest with two lovers, but platonic relationships absolutely can also have that. it's just about knowing one another on a very deep level.

but a spoiler that's not really a spoiler: kabuto and orochimaru do have a lot tougher of a time figuring it out than Sasuke and Naruto do, mainly because they dont quite have the level of trust between one another to allow the other easy access. after all, Sasuke and Naruto are canonical soulmates who've known each other's chakra since the literal dawn of chakra on their earth itself. kabuto and orochimaru both like to keep their secrets and don't really let anyone in too deep; it's one of the things they vibe with and respect in one another, but it does make the task of figuring out how to merge their chakras together much more difficult.

[washipink]

Rain by Jocelyn Samara D (Year 2: 2012)

Look, I am FIENDING this comic. I’ve already read through yet another year. This time, it’s chapter 7: Mixed Feelings through chapter 12: Drab.

Last time’s summary was super long because I had to establish our base cast, so this time I’ll try to keep it ONLY to major events.

After the very eventful Halloween party, everyone’s pretty fucked up. One of the straight classmates is VERY convinced he’s gay because he thought Ky was cute. Ky agonizes about exactly what gender she might be and how to tell Rain. Emily breaks up with her creepy boyfriend.

As for Rain and Rudy, they’re both VERY fucking confused about what that kiss of theirs means. After being prodded by pretty much everyone in the school, they have a heartfelt conversation in which Rudy says he likes Rain for who she is rather than what she is. That it doesn’t matter if she’s a girl or a boy.

I have a LOT to say about this scene in particular. If this came out today, the baby gays on twitter would have their heads explode. I can already hear the claims that Rudy is transphobic because he’s a gay boy that is attracted to a trans woman. I can already hear the Bi-Gay discourse. It’s AWFUL and if you start it on this post, you’re blocked.

I’d completely forgotten about the Rain/Rudy THING so I was pretty surprised when he spoke his heart on the matter. Once again, the comic goes out of its way to portray the messy realities of growing up queer. Sometimes, its like jamming puzzle pieces that shouldnt match together. Rain is not a man, but loving her doesn’t make Rudy straight.

That said, it is NOT heartening that their ship name is “RuIn”.

Gavin and Maria take it pretty rough, considering how badly THEY wanted to be with Rain. While it’s played for laughs for a bit, it does genuinely create a fracture between Rain and her friends that lasts for a while.

While they’re avoiding Rain, Gavin gets MORE into her somehow. Like, Gavin is HORNY horny.

Eventually, Maria reconnects with Chanel, a girl she met at the Halloween party. This is because she heard Chanel doesn’t like men, so she thinks she has a shot.

And it turns out she does. She’s REALLY friendly and ends up telling Maria to her face that she should just apologize to Rain and see what happens.

Our Queer Quartet (ft. Gavin) expands to a Merry Band of Five.

Rain’s even been getting along with Emily since the party.

It looks like everything’s gonna be fine!

Until Fara gets a call from Rain’s big brother.

You see, something went wrong for Aiken and he needs a place to crash. That means....

Rain is going to have to play pretend for a while.

And since Rain is being Ryan, he can't have a BOYFRIEND, now can he? So, Rudy must once again become Ruby. And if you ask me, he really like it. Like, he's ENTHUSIASTIC about crossdressing. There's so much gender going on in this cast.

During this chapter, Rain and Ky find out what each others deals are, kinda. It's an unfortunate accident in which Ky was going to "come clean" to Rain, but finds her in drab.

Anyway, things are going well. Rain, Aiken, Gavin, Rudy, Ky, and Fara go to the mall because things are getting crowded in the apartment... but Aiken encounters none other than Emily's creepy grown-ass-man ex-boyfriend. Who draws the connection between Rain and her older sister, who he used to be engaged to.

There are some real "Small World" connections in this comic.

Anyway, Aiken does NOT take it well. He pieces together Rain's new hair cut with the similar person Chase described. And it just so happens that the entire reason Aiken was here was that he broke things off with his fiance... because she is ALSO trans.

Aiken is... of course... transphobic at Rain. His big hang up is the idea that he was "lied to" by yet another "selfish tranny", so of course Fara chews him the fuck out.

I'm gonna allow the last page of the chapter to speak for itself.

Final Thoughts

Year 2 was way more interesting than Year 1. Now that all the major players have been introduced, Samara can ramp up the drama and let them interact in more complex ways.

I love this cast so much because every one of them feels like someone I've met. When I first read it, I didn't really have experience with anyone even remotely similar besides Aiken.

Something similar to exactly this happened to me when I was reading:

My mom borrowed my phone once and saw a page titled "Rain LGBT" in my history. She didn't read it or anything, she just saw those 4 little letters and Lost It. Cornered me while everyone was out of the room at a family gathering and everything. Aiken's reaction to Rain's authentic self really hit home for me. it's easy to tell why she's so scared to tell him. People have hurt queer people for less.

On the topic of the comedy, I'm not sure if its gotten any better or if I'm just more endeared to the characters having read so far.

In terms of Chapter count, we're already 25% of the way done.

For those of you reading along, I'll see you for Year 3.

[blueeyedrat]

Steam Next Fest, summer 2023, for real this time. I was able to fit in more games than I anticipated, which is good, since there were plenty that caught my eye. First impressions and general thoughts under the cut.

(Part 1)

Viewfinder — Another entry in the proud lineage of "first-person puzzle games that do weird non-Euclidean shit" — Portal, Antichamber, Superliminal, et al. These games are always impressive in some way (concept, tech, style), and Viewfinder carries on the tradition. The core mechanic, overlaying photos onto "real" space and having their contents become equally real and able to be interacted with, is pulled off well. The puzzles in the demo show off a lot of interesting ways it can be used, and how its basic rules and assumptions can be bent and challenged. I'm very interested in this one, and I'm looking forward to when it comes out.

Stick to the Plan — A grid puzzle game about getting a small dog from point A to point B while carrying a long, unwieldy stick. I've seen the original Game Jam version on itch.io but never got around to playing it. The game seems up my alley, though, so I'm glad it's being expanded upon. Easy to pick up the basic concept, but enough room for introducing new mechanics and gimmicks to keep things interesting.

Gambit Shifter — A chess-themed puzzle game. I don't have much to say about it, but what I do have to say is positive. It's a simple enough idea (if you're familiar with how chess pieces move on a grid) with a decent variety of puzzles and simple, stylized chess pieces. That's all you need, I suppose.

Iron Roads — A train management sim. This one didn't quite land for me. The management part (building stations and rails and bridges, buying trains, planning routes, implementing logic for train stops and the like) didn't hold my interest, and the rest of it felt a little bare-bones. It's relatively early in development so there's room to improve, but I don't think this one's for me.

Causeway — A sleek-looking puzzle game about connecting traffic lines. I expected more to it than that, but it's actually pretty minimalist: draw paths, connect input roads to output roads, let the simulation play out and hope you did it correctly so there's no overflow or collision. I couldn't find any way to adjust the camera and the interface felt a little awkward in general, especially when trying to fine-tune a road on the edge of the map or place a bunch of roads and bridges near each other. I like this one in concept, but less in practice.

Laysara: Summit Kingdom — So, uh, all of the city builders I've played in the past few years are getting sequels all of a sudden. Cities: Skylines, Airborne Kingdom, Before We Leave, all have sequels lined up. I hope I have time to play them. I also hope I have time to play Laysara when it comes out, because it pushes all the same buttons. A builder with a nice gameplay loop of making numbers go up and having everything fit together just right (but it's all on a grid, so you don't have to fit it all into place that much), and a unique gimmick or two to top it off. I've been looking forward to this one for almost a year, and I don't think that'll change any time soon.

Bulwark: Falconeer Chronicles — A sandbox city builder that shares a setting with the dev's previous work, The Falconeer (a game I'm not actually that familiar with, and have only seen in passing). As far as builders go, this is one of the most unorthodox I've played, mostly due to its control scheme. You traverse a network of connected buildings and extend that network upward and outward, rather than moving around the map independently and building from the top down (though with a useful airship, you're not entirely locked out of the latter). It's streamlined, but at the same time it feels like there's some nuance that I'm either not quite getting or can't access in this demo — supply lines and logistics, defenses, managing diplomacy and conflict with the different in-game factions, and so on. Despite Bulwark's oddities, or perhaps even because of them, I actually kinda dig it and I'm interested to see more. Mr. Sala, you have my attention.

Quest Master — A 2D Zelda-like with a focus on creating custom dungeons. It's been too long since I've dug into a good level editor. A good Zelda Maker might scratch that itch, though, especially since we've got options on that front (I should check out Super Dungeon Maker at some point, for comparison). Admittedly, this one might need some more time in the oven; no matter which control scheme you're using, the interface isn't as intuitive as I'd like and feels a bit awkward switching in and out of build mode, and currently there's no way to re-map any of the controls to mitigate this. It's got some neat ideas, though, and I'd like to see the game when it's been fully fleshed out.

Saltsea Chronicles — A point-and-click narrative game. I've had Die Gute Fabrik's previous foray into the genre (Mutazione) on my backlog for a while, and started up a playthrough after this game was announced. What I've seen so far in both games has been really interesting in terms of worldbuilding and character writing. Saltsea Chronicles seems particularly ambitious, with an ensemble cast and an episodic plot — each "episode" brings your motley crew to a different island in the Saltsea and you can choose who goes ashore to gather information, resources, mementos, etc., discovering more of the world and its inhabitants, advancing individual stories and the overarching narrative throughout. The demo episode was really well-written, and I am immediately invested in this setting and these characters. Of all the games I played in this Next Fest, this one might be the sleeper hit of the lot.

[dreamsanddrafts]

What is your Heaven?

06/30/24 

Somewhere in our city of sweat is a group of friends who were just getting together for the first time in weeks. What started as a green tea shot in the middle of a red cesspool tax bar, ended in the pink abyss that is the beloved huaraches. I missed the laughter my friends carry in their bellies, and how even when we are annoyed with circumstance, we still find it in us to try to have a good time. Bodies bounced between the music, and somewhere i forgot about the troubles that haunted june. I suppose when it is hot, life is always harder,, maybe we are melting inside,, or maybe delight dissipates with rising temperatures, the same math that makes opposites attract… i know june is finally over because the sky is painted with cloudy nights and pink cries, and my mind is finally nice. chaos opens up and i can find the center; finally rest in the beast that i battle. this last weekend was a cluster of moments most needed to transition into july. people from my past popped by this weekend, and I kept it the most collected. I think i have found some peace with the pieces that never found a place in my puzzle. I'm glad for the life i live now. I hope i learn to live in it rather than look at it… whatever that may mean to you. 

Twenty-four peaks its head around the corner, and i cannot wait to catch up. I quit my job that i hated so much, and found myself back in the same corner i was a few months ago… a new job blessed my existence, but it has also felt like a few steps back. But i remember progress is not linear, and my goals won’t work unless i do. and i think i need to retrace some steps and figure out which door i should have never opened, and learn why i did.

As of lately i have been thinking of my future,,, and how can i keep it to taste as sweet as cherries and sparkle like fireworks,,, ahh july… i wonder if years of horrible patrons and partners have turned me into something so irreversibly cynical. I wonder if i ever stopped to see if something was actually my happy place,,, because truthfully i only remember the bad of every year… of every show,, of every job, and person, and relationship.. and the good,,, that happened inside all the bad. I can find a silver lining,, but i never stay on the side that holds contentment,, i always need to find what's wrong before it finds me. rage followed anxiety. And see, i just don't care for that to be me anymore. I think the life i have been building for at least the last year has its flaws, but it finally feels so free. I love my friends, and i hope they never seek florida. Everyone i love has to leave,, maybe it’s time for me. phoenix is a hard place to love when you have to prove yourself. that is why it is so important to build and keep those personal close. i don’t know what i am saying,, but it feels fine to spill again and i have waited for this moment for so long. Till next blog…

-JAM 

[evil-ontheinside]

Why is writing Dustin literally the funniest thing? I don't know how it keeps happening but I wrote at least three different times from his pov and every time it has the best lines. Have some various snippets from my WIPs to prove my point:

"Why do you have to be so negative about this? You will not be the one in trouble should something go wrong, I will handle the consequences." He has his arms crossed in front of his chest and it might have been intimidating - especially with that dagger still in hand - but it's not because it's Michael. The Prince, sure, but also the person Dustin had seen sitting drenched in the fountain of the main plaza, looking like a wet cat and grumbling about it with the dignity of a small child. The cut-off curtains, draped over his shoulder like a makeshift cape, don’t command much respect either. ----

Dustin had been playing one of his favorite songs, approved of by all the important people at home, including the royal family. He knows it better than the back of his hand, could perform it in his sleep if he had to, had played it while being attacked by a ranger in the forest - yes Lucas, this story will be made into a song sooner or later, there is no escape. ----

Dustin knows nothing. Prince Michael, who? Wait, no, Dustin knows something. But nothing important. Yes, that sounds better. ----

“You won’t believe this.” Dustin almost chokes on his drink when he looks up and sees Hopper storm into the Byers’ kitchen. He did not just hear the chief of police Jim Hopper say You won’t believe this also known as the most stereotypical sitcom-drama sentence ever, right? “Try me,” is all Joyce answers, completely unphased, from the kitchen table where they all sit together and try to complete a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle. It’s going worse than he anticipated. At the same time Dustin triumphantly fits a piece into the right place, does he realize that this must be a normal occurrence. Jim Hopper, taken right out of the afternoon’s soap opera.  He’ll need some time to process this later. -----

If anyone asks why he decided to spend one of the last days of summer vacation with Max underneath a lonely tree in the middle of an open field? They’re studying, obviously. Or having a romantic getaway that lasted for a few hours and will never happen ever again. They had planned to make this an extended Party event but, as usual, life just won’t go according to Dustin’s plan. He had it all planned out: camping for a night in a - of course completely randomly selected, no doubt about it - field in town, a DnD campaign crafted by Eddie himself to celebrate the last days of summer and far away from prying eyes to not disturb anyone. But no, the Byers and Hoppers - soon to be only Hoppers, Dustin is more than just a little excited for that wedding. He also had that fully planned out years ago but his planning was, as usual, not appropriately appreciated - had to make an impromptu family trip to god knows where, Steve, Eddie, and Robin - this betrayal maybe left the deepest wound - had suddenly all decided to take a road trip without telling anyone else beforehand, and the Sinclairs had all been jammed into their family car and carted off to visit a dying relative somewhere in Indianapolis. This left Max and Dustin all alone in Hawkins. At least Max was always down for a little espionage to search for possible gossip. Though Max had almost ditched him when he complained - totally justified by the way - about everyone leaving them behind when they should’ve been here with them, lying in waiting for the newest information. -----

Dustin doesn’t care. The others can hide their interest for all they want but he’s here to gather information and he’s not ashamed of it. His observations might as well be for science. His curiosity doors are wide open, he can’t risk only looking through a crack if he wants the full picture. -----

What the fuck do they need an old wooden chest for? Why doesn’t Dustin have an old wooden chest? He could totally pull off an old wooden chest in his room.  Maybe, and Dustin thinks this with reluctance of the highest order, the rumors aren't as ridiculous and farfetched as they sounded at first. This family might not be quite normal. [...] A few more boxes join the wooden chest - and Dustin is still not over that. This thing looks like it was taken straight out of a medieval fantasy story. The cheek, the gall to show off their cool wooden chest in front of Dustin without considering his feelings - neatly stacked on top of it before he simply gets behind the wheel and takes off without giving them an answer as if he hadn’t even heard them.

[bratkook]

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call. 

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for. 

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do. 

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change. 

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of. 

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off. 

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same. 

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer. 

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different. 

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument. 

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be. 

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more. 

Love was never enough. 

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car. 

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. 

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore. 

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him. 

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment. 

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him. 

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you. 

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no. 

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this. 

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you. 

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child. 

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you. 

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname. 

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago. 

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night. 

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang. 

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss. 

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again. 

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life. 

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop. 

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue. 

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.” 

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone. 

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily. 

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less. 

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was. 

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him. 

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again. 

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker. 

“I miss you Kookie.” 

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine. 

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

[spencersawkward]

omg omg i know matthews birthday isnt for a couple weeks but i would die for a bday sex one shot omg

i made you wait so long for this i'm so sorry omg. one-shots usually take me longer bc i want them to be detailed!

summary: reader has plans for Matthew’s 41st birthday, but things take their own turn. 

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (male receiving), degradation, Soft!Dom Matthew with some fluff, too; fingering, creampie, implied age gap. 

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.3k

masterlist

I haul the enormous bag of flour onto the counter, grunting. it's early afternoon, and my day has been spent wrapping all of Matthew's gifts and trying to plan out the perfect birthday celebration. he's turning 41, and all I want is for him to feel as special as he feels to me. the cake is the last piece of the puzzle, and I'm hoping that my less-than-excellent culinary skills improve over the course of the next few hours.

I set out all the ingredients first, swaying to my music while I go through the recipe and decide how much I need. it shouldn't be too complicated, right? just chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. I thought I'd try to recreate the Rumple Buttercup cartoon with it, but now I'm not so sure. that might be flirting with disaster.

instead of deciding right there, I just get started on the batter. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

the air is thick with sweetness and warmth as the oven slowly pre-heats and I stir together the silky smooth chocolate batter. I pour the mix into a round baking pan, tapping it a bit to make sure it's even, before pushing it into the oven. naturally, I lick the whisk clean.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Matthew's texted me.

on my way home now!

my heart stutters in my chest as I check the time. he's definitely early; he told me this morning that he wouldn't be at home until at least seven. my eyes flicker to the cake, over the messy kitchen, and back to my screen.

early?

yep. can't wait to see you. followed by a series of heart emojis. I start to panic a little. this throws my whole schedule off; I was going to do my hair, pick up food from his favorite restaurant, set the table, litter the bed with rose petals. I wanted everything to be just right for him; it's the first time he's had a birthday with me.

and now he's going to come home to me with flour-dusted cheeks and a half-baked cake. I quickly clean the kitchen and wipe my face before running off to the bedroom, rifling through my closet for something nice. thank god I already showered this morning because there's no way I'd have time now. I find the dress I'd planned to wear, red and slinky and pretty, before dropping my clothes and changing right away.

truly, I move at the speed of light when I do my hair, scatter the rose petals, and call the restaurant to get our order started. we'll need to run out and get it, but Matthew likes going for walks, so that shouldn't be a problem.

the smell of chocolate wafts through the house while I tie an apron around my waist and get a bowl out of the cabinets. the cake needs to cool for a while, but I might as well get started on the frosting. who knows how long that'll take?

too damn long, apparently.

Matthew opens the front door while I'm halfway through my crumb coat, the soft green shade of the Rumple Buttercup colors coming along nicely. I start to panic a little when I hear his footsteps on the stairs.

"Y/N!" he calls out.

"kitchen!" I respond without moving. he probably shouldn't see the cake, but at this point it's too late. there's fluffy buttercream frosting and food coloring all over my apron. all I can do is wait patiently as he strolls into the room.

"what are you up to?" he sets his hand on my back, smiling.

"making your cake, birthday boy."

"mmm." he wraps a hand around my arm, drags it down while leaning his chin on my shoulder. "looks really nice so far."

"you like the color?" I ask.

"I do." he mumbles, starting to touch my waist. "what material is this?"

"silk."

"you know I love that." he squeezes my waist and I have to resist the blush spreading up my cheeks. he's affectionate right now, and I want to resist, but it's hard.

"what're you doing?" I question playfully in response to the drifting of his fingers down my thighs.

"I'm excited to see you."

"I'm excited to see you, too, but we have a strict schedule tonight."

Matthew groans and drops his head into the space between my neck and shoulder. his hands don't leave my hips.

"why?" he whines.

"because I want you to have the best birthday ever." I smooth off the top of the cake, sighing when he digs his fingernails into me. it feels heavenly, and the featherlight kisses he's leveling on my jaw are making me woozy.

"making me wait?" he brushes over my ass, squeezing the flesh lightly. "that's cruel."

I laugh a little and swipe my finger through the frosting.

"try this and tell me if I'm still cruel."

he grabs my hand in both of his, sliding my index into his mouth and licking it off of me. my jaw drops in surprise before he pulls away and drops it. it's unbelievably sexy.

"that is really good." he smiles, then kisses my cheek in an alarmingly innocent manner. he knows what he's doing. "don't be a tease, darling."

"you--" I stutter, trying to regain my concentration. it's futile at this point; it isn't until he moves away from my body that I'm able to keep working on the cake. he only glances with a knowing smirk, walking around the counter to sit across from me.

"how was your day?"

"my day was jam-packed with planning for a little ingrate's birthday." I joke.

"I'm not an ingrate." he protests. one look at his pout and I feel guilty for teasing. standing on tiptoes, I lean over the counter and plant a kiss on his mouth.

"you're right, I'm sorry," I sigh. "I just had a whole plan and when you came home early, I didn't have time for all of it."

"what can I do?" he offers immediately. I scowl.

"you're not gonna help me prepare your birthday celebration, silly."

"but I wanna make it easier."

"you wanna make it easier?" I ask, the corners of my lips quirking up. he nods enthusiastically and I hold his gaze. "I need to go pick up our dinner, so you can walk with me."

"ooh, yes!" he leaps up in an almost child-like manner, coming around to my side again. I nuzzle into his shoulder as I finish piping the face onto the cake. he snorts when he sees the completed project. "is that Rumple?"

"shut up, it looks so bad." I complain. my body leans into his in defeat. even though I tried, Rumple looks like he's been possessed and exorcised in one sitting: he's got crazy eyes and a lopsided face.

"no, it's beautiful," he pecks the top of my head. "he's supposed to look funny."

all I can do is turn around and hug him, giggling at the absolute monstrosity that I've created. he wraps his arms around me tightly and we start to sway a little.

"I feel like Victor Frankenstein." I laugh. he untangles our bodies to tilt my chin up and look at him.

"you're way cuter." he rubs my nose with his own. I'm smiling so big, it hurts. he makes me so unbelievably happy, I can't imagine not being by his side. Matthew is the best boyfriend in the world, and I really want everything to live up to his expectations.

our fingers thread together briefly before we get ready to go pick up our food.

...

"I am literally going to combust." I giggle, throwing my napkin onto the table. red wax drips down the sides of the candle between us, and Matthew's eyes are starry as he watches me talk.

"good?" he asks.

"amazing. how was yours?"

"could barely get it down." he gestures to the empty plate. I throw my head back and laugh more than I should. Matthew frowns. "what?"

"that's such a dad joke."

"really?" he laughs along with me until we're both just smiling brightly at each other. I don't want to step too far; we've been dating under a year, still. but I see myself with Matthew forever. we've already moved in together; I've never felt so strongly as I feel for him, and I think that he feels it, too. in our bones.

"yes, but I like dad jokes."

"come here." he holds his arms out and I get up from the table, walking over to sit on his lap. he shifts so I can be more comfortable, and I place both hands on my stomach.

"I have such a food baby right now."

"do you?" he sets one hand over the bump. I lean my head into his shoulder, curling up a little. he starts to rub my tummy gently, holding me close while we sit in a relative quiet. "I like it."

"mmm." I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck. although he could easily turn this sexual, he doesn't. we just linger, breathing and letting our food settle. I really am full; the chances of me falling asleep are higher than not.

I ask Matthew to tell me more about his day as I sit there, and the rumble of his voice in his chest is soothing. as the candle wax drips further and further down, I watch it with lethargic eyes. I've had a hard year-- Matthew's made it better. he can read me like a book, and he listens like I've got all the answers in the world. I love him. and when I head to the kitchen to slice the cake, he follows me with his arms around my waist. we move like two people who have been together a long time, like we can anticipate the next person's movement down to the flicker of their eye contact, down to their step.

"I can't believe you have room for dessert." I grab a knife from the drawer, along with some plates. Matthew kisses my head.

"I've got room for multiple desserts."

"was that a sexual allusion or are you actually hungry?" I turn briefly to gauge his behavior. if he hasn't had enough to eat, I'll feel horrible. but he leans down to my ear. it still sends a shiver down my spine.

"definitely sexual," he smirks, then retreats. "let's do this, though, first. I want a piece of Rumple's eyeball."

"just get out the candles so I can do this for you." I push him away. he heads to the cupboard and returns with the pack of candles that I begin to spear into the cake. I only put in ten because there's not room for forty-one, but he doesn't seem to mind as I light them up individually.

"go sit down! you weren't even supposed to come in here." I laugh as I lift the dish into my arms and shoo him into the other room. Matthew gives me a sidelong look, smiling for an unknown reason, before following my orders.

he pretends to look surprised when I bring the thing out to him, mouth making a pleased O shape.

"wow!" he cheers.

"make a wish, then, my love." I tell him. he inhales deeply, then blows out the candles. one or two stragglers remain, their flames flickering before he tries again and snuffs them out. I clap my hands.

"happy birthday, baby!"

he grins at me and starts to pluck the candles out of the cake. "you didn't sing to me." he says.

"trust me, that was a gift in itself." I laugh before picking up the knife. "how big a slice do you want?"

Matthew seems to think for a second on this, squinting as he examines the thing.

"big."

"alright then." I cut an enormous hunk out, making sure to get one of the maddened eyeballs on it before sliding it onto the plate and giving it to him. "enjoy."

"oh, I will." before I can move to sit across from him, he reaches out and pulls me into his lap. I let out a surprised noise, but settle in anyway on his thigh while I cut my own slice of cake. we eat together.

"it's actually pretty good." I'm impressed with myself. sure, it's not a super complicated recipe. but I still did well. Matthew wraps his arm around my waist, one hand holding his plate while the other digs the fork in.

"it's amazing." he nods through a mouthful of food.

"how's the eye?"

"how you'd expect a vitreous humor to taste." he jokes, laughing as I elbow him in the ribs. "ow!" he complains. I swipe some of the frosting off the top of his slice and tap it over his nose. he wrinkles it at the sensation.

"maybe I'll just leave." I move to get up, but he keeps me in place. his little smile, so determined in its happiness, makes my heart soften. for all of his teasing, he's weak for me, and I love it. when I lean down a little to lick the icing off, he blushes.

"when can I have you?" he asks quietly, one hand resting on the top of my bare thigh. it tightens around my skin, growing more aware of my presence in his lap. I bite my lip and mull this over, subtly draw the hem of my dress up a bit just to tease him.

"I'm thinking..." this time, he lets me get up. my fingers slide through his, dragging him with me. "now."

Matthew gets an excited grin on his face before I spin around and lead him to the bedroom. a couple candles are burning, filling the room with a deep, sensual smell that he inhales as he stops in his tracks.

"did you put rose petals on our bed?" he chuckles, staring at me with his eyebrows raised in an adoring expression. I run my palms up his chest, stopping below his shoulders. I poke my tongue between my teeth as I smile.

"yes, I did."

"very romantic."

"is it?" I lift an eyebrow. it takes everything in me not to pounce on him right then.

"consider me seduced."

"if you ever use that word again, I'm calling this off." I laugh. he silences it in a kiss, eagerly gathering my body up in his arms as he tilts his head to deepen it. a slight moan slips through me, pleased with the gentle, innocent pleasure he elicits. he's softer than velvet. when he crushes the silk of my dress in his fist, lifting it over my ass so he can touch me without barriers, he groans.

"did I pay for this?" he rolls the fabric between his fingers.

"mhmm." I hum.

"good." his breath hitches when the zipper comes down easily, the garment falling to the floor and leaving me in brand new black lingerie. his eyes move hungrily over my body, pupils dilating further as he takes in the curves of my figure.

"this is new."

I twist around a bit, showing him the back as well, his grip on my waist loosening only to allow me this movement. "you like it?"

he groans. "I love it."

I want to start undressing him, greedy for the sight of his naked body, but he reaches down and lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapping around him while he carries me to the floral-covered mattress. I sink into a rosy paradise, almost give into the alluring sensations he causes with his fingertips over my skin.

he's between my legs, teeth seeking out collarbone and the swell of my chest. it would be so, so easy to remain here, pinned down and allowing him to let loose on me. every deliberate shadow on my body is like a sunburst. but I can't.

I grab his shoulders and yank him down next to me. he peers at me with a smile, wondering what I've got in store. the answer is too loaded to fit into one sentence, so I watch him move up the bed until he's resting his head on the pillow, my legs moving to straddle him.

"taking control?" he questions. he knows I don't usually like to be on top. instead of replying, I reach behind me and undo the clasps of my bra, sliding it from my arms before tossing it somewhere else. his eyes widen and he goes to grab at my tits, but I'm too quick. I lean down, unbuttoning his shirt and drawing my nails over his chest as I lower myself to his pants.

Matthew is silent, open-mouthed at the red marks I leave behind on his smooth skin. it's intoxicating for me, too, and I work quickly to tug his bottoms down his legs, the boxers with them. when his dick is released, I let him struggle through a moment of no contact.

"let me touch you." he goes to stroke himself. my gaze flickers between the length he's now gripping in his hand and the needy look on his face. I want to fuck him right now. every cell in my body aches for him, for the pleasure that so violently rips through my veins when he's inside.

"not yet." I betray myself, and his hips buck into empty air when he sees my torso so close to his erection. when I drop my head and lick up the underside, he lets go of himself and allows me to tease him. I pause at the tip, then hold the base while I spit on it.

"shit!" he grunts as I start to swirl my tongue around him. his fingers run through my hair. "suck on it, baby."

all I do is moan, the vibration torturing him. I peek up through my lashes and see the veins in his neck throbbing while he resists the urge to fuck my mouth. I soften and lower my head slowly, inch by inch swallowing his cock. he hits the back of my throat. the slight gag that runs through me makes him sigh. it's then that I tap his hand as our signal to push my head down.

Matthew loses it. he starts to shove my mouth onto him, fucking it, one hand reaching behind him to grab the top of the headboard while he groans.

"choke on it... fuck." he moans. there are tears in my eyes from the pressure, but I keep looking at him the whole time. he's gorgeous, mouth dropped open in ecstasy while he goes between rolling his eyes into the back of his head and staring with an intense desire.

every time I gag, he lets out an unholy noise and gets excited all over again, his hips moving to meet my lips until he's on the edge of falling apart. his cock twitches and I moan, but he's not willing to finish.

"get over here so I can fuck you." his voice is borderline raspy as he forces himself to release my head. I sit up and wipe the spit from my mouth, crawling on top of him again to leave some of my favorite marks on his neck. he's mine. every bite stands to prove it, and his quick breaths let me know that he's not going to wait much longer.

his fingertips hook in the waistband of my panties and he pushes them down my thighs, purses his lips while he watches me shimmy out of them. it's wonderful, seeing the disarray in his face whenever he catches sight of my naked form. he never knows where to touch first, moving over my breasts to my waist and hips down to my legs. like he's trying to blend our bodies together by simply drinking me in.

I tense when he reaches out and sinks two fingers into me. I'm so wet, it takes almost no pressure.

"fucking soaked, huh?" he smirks. my hands steady themselves on his shoulders as he starts to pump in and out of me. I groan.

"get inside, please." I murmur nearly incoherently. he starts to go faster, his cock throbbing against his stomach. but he wants me to squirm and beg.

"oh, so you've got demands?" he teases. his fingers curl in my pussy, brushing over my special spot, and I almost gasp at the pleasure. "after making me wait?"

"I just--" I start to defend myself, but it's fruitless. he guides my face down to his, whispering in my ear.

"let me guess: you just wanted me to have a good birthday?"

"yes." a choked, desperate reply.

"let me show you what kind of present I want, then." he removes his fingers and lines himself up at my entrance, pushing me all the way down before sliding the pads of his digits into my mouth. I lick them clean while I moan. his cock is so deep inside me, I can barely breathe.

the combined pressures between my hips and on my tongue, make me give up on drawing this out. it feels so good, I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to. I rise up a bit and sink onto him again, his jaw clenched at the sensation. he lets me do this a couple times and then pauses my actions.

"get on your hands and knees." he orders. I lift myself obediently, whining slightly at the loss of contact, before he sits up and switches positions so that he's kneeling behind. I wait patiently for him to do what he wants with me. he doesn't disappoint.

softly, he pushes my head down so that my cheek rests against the pillow while he slides in from the back. it's a completely different angle and I can barely handle the way he works through the tightness, his moans louder this time.

"thought you could sit on it and I would just let you?" he chuckles darkly, pulling out and moving in. my breath rattles in my chest at the repeated, delicious intrusions. my eyelids flutter shut while he keeps talking to me in that commanding, low tone. "you're my little slut."

the moan that comes from my lips is pathetic, like a mewl. he plows into me and my face presses into the mattress.

"such a perfect little pussy," his hands lure my hips to him while he groans at the new depths he keeps finding. "so responsive for me."

"faster, Matthew." I whine. although he's not going slow, I need more. the slam of his body against mine, from this angle, creates just short of enough friction for my clit. he follows my request, however, and fucks me at an insatiable pace.

"you like that?" he grunts. I literally don't have the mobility to nod, so I shove my ass back instead to take more. he bucks. "you feel so fucking good."

I whimper and he starts to stimulate my clit by reaching around, lowering himself a bit to do so. he keeps his arm pressed to my stomach so he can feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out of me. "good girl. take it."

my fingertips fist the sheets and I whine as my orgasm approaches. he switches the pattern of pressure, finding what makes me fall apart fastest. I'm on the edge, my mouth dropping open in a silent cry. my hips start to move on their own, working against his cock as I moan his name and tumble into the abyss.

"Matthew, right there-- fuck me, fuck me--" I moan. he rams his hips so hard, the headboard slams the wall and he groans.

"you're gonna make me break you, baby." he warns. I bite my lip so hard that I almost puncture the skin, feeling like a planetary collision is occurring within my lower stomach. I'm coming up on a second climax.

"break me, then." I dare.

Matthew wraps his arm around my chest and brings me up so that I'm leaning against his chest while he whispers in my ear. "defiant little whores don't get my cum."

"but--" I complain, hips wriggling for more while he thrusts into me.

"apologize or I'll stop fucking you right now." he slows just to demonstrate the torture of not being inside me. I grasp at his hips to coax him, but he's determined. I take a shaky breath at the smooth, slow movements.

"I'm sorry." I beg. he reaches down and starts to play with my bundle of nerves again. as much as he wants to make me crash, he loves the way this feels, too.

"mmm," he hums while laying sloppy kisses along my neck. "good thing I wanna fill you up for being so sweet today."

his thrusts are uncontrolled and needy, rapid pushes between my legs that cause me to start shaking all over again. he rubs my clit and moans in my ear, spilling.

"I love you so much." he mumbles. the hand holding me to him squeezes one of my tits while I arch my spine and enjoy the slowing pace of our bodies. I moan his name.

"I love you, too." I'm in awe of how he changes for me, his attitude shifts whenever we're in bed. it's cosmic, how we fit together. and his withdrawal from my body causes both of us to collapse onto the bed with exhaustion.

I can only suck in air for a while. my limbs are like lead, in the best way.

"that was hot." he mutters. I turn to him, admiring his beautiful features, and nod lazily.

"a successful birthday, then?"

"after that cake? yeah." he scoffs jokingly and I giggle before curling into him. he traces his fingertips down my skin. "do you wanna take a shower?"

"I'm so tired." I groan. Matthew glances at me.

"I'm the one who just turned forty-one."

"shut up."

"come on, then. let's get you cleaned up."

he rises from the mattress, bringing me with him. a few stray rose petals flutter onto the ground.

[collisiondiscourse]

BKDK - Highschool Romantics Headcanons

LOVE ME some good old fashioned highschool romance shenanigans so as per my brand, lets make it bkdk!! bc tbh i havent made a hc list in a while

its second year highschool! things have calmed down significantly and for class 1-A this means that its time to celebrate their teenage years like they werent able to before

this means more movie nights--more days they get to spend having fun and being regular kids like they shouldve always been

meanwhile bkdk? after confessions and apologies made on bloody battlefields and quiet hospitals at the dead of night... its almost comical how cheesy they are

deku sneaks up on kacchan during lunchbreaks, dragging him to the training fields where he serenades him with a guitar and laughs as a small crowd of their schoolmates whoop in glee

he sings songs of youthful love and friendship, awkward voice smoothing into something beautiful and charming

in return, katsuki learns new songs. he learns to draw and to play the drums even better--living for that shocked little smile when he draws doodles of deku and dedicates especially sappy songs to him during their monthly school jamming session

they arent together at this point, technically. no one knows what they are. no one can begin to label what they have either.

but its definitely good.

its bright and its beautiful and its loud, so theyll protect it with their eyes wide open but in the meantime class 1A just sits back and watches the twin stars of UA unravel like leaves in the cool mornings of fall

they go everywhere together, always holding hands. bakugou and deku have promise rings, little matching all might insignias glinting in the sun

they won those in an arcade somewhere. no one knows what the promise is, and no one really bothers to ask

katsuki really likes lending izuku his jackets. its nothing he says outright, just the fact that he's always ready—always one arm out of its sleeve—to bundle his sweaters and drop it into the lap of the unsuspecting nerd.

"geez, is it just me or is it really co—" *flop*

sometimes kirishima worries about his best friends allowance at the rate in which he has to replace all his jackets

they brawl in the hallways, rough house on the train station, cuddle when its cold and the common room is filled with people and light

deku often likes to surprise katsuki with little gifts. he sneaks spicy candies into the other boy's backpack between classes, slips giftcards and notes of appreciation between the pages of katsuki's textbooks

in return, as he does with everything, katsuki goes big. sometimes he surprises deku with a giant teddy bear, or soft hoodies that remind him of the other. he'll get the whole bakusquad in on it and fill the hallways in the morning with encouraging yells and loud boisterous laughter

sometimes, obviously, they'll still mess up. They're still teenagers, still human.

Deku will sometimes not say things that he should and Kacchan will sometimes say things he doesn't mean.

they'll fight and yell and unsettle the dorms with how charged the air becomes. sometimes Aizawa's worried they'll go back to ground beta and increase the hero course's already abysmal annual repair budget again like they used to do when they were stressed and repressed and each other obsessed

but then bakugou will sneak into dekus balcony at the dead of night, like some sort of delinquent trying to visit their goody two shoes lover at the risk of running into their shotgun father

(which in this case, bakugou supposes, would be uraraka--the metaphorical shotgun being a very tired todoroki)

and he'll knock on the window gently, trying not to smile as izuku opens the window and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

"ka... cchan?"

katsuki lets himself smirk at last and tells deku theyre sneaking out.

phrases it like a taboo secret, even as aizawa watches from the security footage room exasperated but also kind of relieved because of all things his class has gone through, a little midnight tryst is the least dangerous of them all. its not even close to the biggest secret deku's ever had, and by god he has plenty.

but he stifles his giggles into the palm of his hand and watches as bakugou precariously sits on the metal railing, clothes a mess and leaves still stuck in his hair

"Our little secret, okay?" Kacchan jokes, red eyes glimmering with something raw and perfect. "Don't tell your dad about me."

Izuku rolls his eyes and reminds him that All Might isn't actually his father, god Kacchan! You've met my real dad!

Yet still, he lets it pass.

And then, oh so carefully yet recklessly as if they weren't the most powerful duo of their generation, katsuki reaches out and slips deku's hands in his and takes him away

takes him to a beach (Dagobah, because of course it is) in the middle of the night, the stars brighter than theyve ever been because everything looks different when youre young and in love

they lay in the sand and listen to the waves and some weird beat thats been stuck in Izuku's head. Bakugou turns to watch his eyelashes flutter against freckled cheeks and holds out a pinky.

"I'm sorry. By the way. I didn't mean what I said and I want you to be happy."

Izuku hums and they talk it out. Eventually the other boy holds his pinky out too and they link together like pieces of a puzzle.

Under the stars, the two of them make a million promises. Promises that they know they'll break, promises that they know they won't, promises that leave them uncertain and guessing.

"—but you promise, though. Right? You promise that we'll still be by each other? Us against the world forever and ever even after this. Even when we grow old?"

Their pinkies stay linked together and the two boys know for sure that it's one of those highschool promises that they will keep forever.

Deku stares into pretty red eyes that remind him of juicy apples and warm bonfires beside friends who never run out of stories to tell

Katsuki stares back into clear green eyes that remind him of calming tea and lush grass he lays down on in the familiar heat of a summer afternoon

they just. stare. stare and stare and stare and maybe, they begin to think

maybe in those eyes, i can see our future.

and its good.

its really really good.

[moonlightlullaby]

no celebrations?

summary: Corpse and reader celebrate his birthday in the most chill way. Based on this lovely request (ty again for sending it!) 

pairing: corpse husband x gn! reader

category: fluff

warnings: food ingestion; alcohol ingestion; loads of physical touch (let me know if I forgot to mention anything)

A/N: Hello (: This is such a lovely concept, I just couldn’t wait to get started hehe Also, I got a bit carried away and just went with it, so I’m really sorry if that’s not what you’d pictured. I do hope you enjoy it tho <3 Take care!

word count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Walking into our shared bedroom, I catch the sight of Corpse exiting the bathroom. As our eyes lock, my lips curl up tiredly and a long sigh I didn’t even know I’ve been holding finally frees itself. He sits on the edge of our bed and extends his hand to me. When I take it, he pulls me so I stand in the space between his legs.

“How was the day?” he asks with both of his hands on my waist. 

I hum, quirking a brow and tilting my head a bit “At least tomorrow - you know, the most unspecial, completely ordinary day of the year -” this earns a giggle from my boyfriend “is Sunday and I can just ignore all of that” I wave my hand in the direction of the adjacent room, where my laptop - filled with texts, assignments, spreadsheets and appointed Zoom calls - is. 

At my words, Corpse wraps his arms around my figure, pulls my body even closer to him and plants a kiss on my stomach through my shirt. My hands, in turn, caress his upper back and soft hair. 

Coming in contact with the string of his eyepatch in the process, I lean back slightly, which causes him to shoot up at me with a small frown and pouty lips. He sits still, though, as I carefully remove his eyepatch, and, while his eyes are still closed, I give each of his lids a peck. He smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips in a long, tender and effortless kiss. Oh finally.

The idea of quarantining together was welcomed as a blessing by both of us. It meant more time spent together after all. However, with my school and work demands and Corpse’s irregular schedule, we still barely see each other throughout the day in spite of being a few feet apart from one another. And when bedtime rolls in, we’re both so exhausted all we can do is mumble words that could be counted in the fingers of one hand before drifting off. This, of course, when my boyfriend doesn’t stay up until dawn working. Don’t get me wrong, I’m his number 1 fan and admire his passion and all the hard work he puts in everything he sets his mind to, but I’m also not going to lie and say I don’t miss his warmth at night. Hence I want to devote this Sunday to him.

After a while, I break the silence “I’ll be right back.”

I let go of his hold and take my turn to use the bathroom. After doing my night routine, brushing my teeth and getting into my cozy pajamas, I walk back in the dark room and lie down, settling myself back in Corpse’s hug like two puzzle pieces matching together.

~~~~~

The excitement for a new day - not any day, no, but August 8th - washes over me as soon as I open my eyes and get a glimpse of the sleepy boy next to me. 

A couple of minutes go by as I contemplate on getting up, torn between prolonging our cuddling for some more and doing something to show Corpse my appreciation for him. The latter wins and I, cautious not to wake him up, slowly unwrap my arms from him and step out of the bed. Drawing the curtains to make sure the summer daylight doesn’t disturb his peaceful state of mind, I make my way out of the room and to the kitchen. 

Wondering what to make for breakfast, I take a good look around until my eyes catch the plethora of fruits we’ve bought a few days ago. Fruit salad it is. 

Corpse has, for as long as we’ve known each other, made it very clear he isn’t too fond of his anniversary and similar celebrations - and, even if he hadn’t explained it to me, it’s rather evident how uncomfortable they make him. This year, his friends’ and especially his fans’ hype for the date - although unintentionally - has added an extra layer of unease to it all, to which I don’t intend to contribute.

Even though I don’t want to make matters worse and would never overstep his boundaries like this (because, thankfully, I’m not Betty Cooper and he isn’t Jughead Jones), I still want to celebrate Corpse. I want to celebrate his birth and his existence, which I’m immensely grateful for. He’s both the best friend I can confide in blindly and the lover I want to share my lifetime with. He sticks to his truth and dreams higher than I could ever imagine. He turns the darkness in the world and in his mind into light with his words and with his laugh. Having him in my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me and seeing him fly makes me more proud than I can put into words. 

There’s a lot to toast to, so the solution is a celebration that is so smooth and so chill - the smoothest and most chill possible - that it doesn’t even feel like one. Just log off and enjoy a laid back day together.

As I chop a kiwi and make a mental list of fun and uncomplicated things we can do that don’t require much time and many skills, in walks Corpse, in an old white tee which is one too many sizes bigger than him and in his black sweatpants. He rubs his eyes and lets a raspy “good morning”.

“Mornin- wow! They really weren’t lying when they said when you hit 24, hotness knocks at your door”

He chuckles and shakes his head “No one’s said that”

“Well, then consider yourself the muse of a new proverb, baby”

He scrunches up his nose in response before grabbing the cup of orange juice I’d placed on the counter and taking a gulp. 

“Thank you” he turns my face and gives me an orange-flavoured kiss, neither of us having ever really cared about morning breath. 

“For calling you hot? Oh save it to when I’m done with the list of cheesy compliments I have for you” I take a grape and before I can get it in my mouth, he steals it, with wrinkles on the corner of his eyes.

“Then we’d be here for eternity!” he’s not wrong.

Corpse helps me put the fresh fruits in bowls and, with them and our juice cup in hand, we head to the balcony. Sitting next to each other, we calmly eat, take in the light blue sky and the cars and passersby changing the scenery ahead of us. Conversation flows naturally.

As we empty our bowls - after stealing many bits from each other -, I twist in my seat and face him “Hey, Corpse, do you see this?” I point to the very prominent and familiar dark circles under my eyes. “Wanna help me get rid of them?” I ask, knowing damn well it’d take a lifetime for them to actually go away and not giving up regardless.

~~~~~

The bathroom is filled with chatter and laughter and the sink, with hair clips, scrunchies, a sharpie, bowls, hair products and a towel. Corpse hisses as our cool homemade face mask comes in contact with his skin. His curly hair is pushed back and held by a blue hairband and I apply the mask to his face, making sure not to leave any spots uncovered. Well, that’s what I’m trying to do, which becomes an unnecessarily challenging task when my lovely partner can’t be still for more than two seconds. 

He kept switching between dancing to Soulmate, by Mac Miller, and mouthing its lyrics. Now that I got him - after a small threat that I wouldn’t hesitate putting this weird mix we made in his pretty mouth - to keep his lips together, the (adorable, admittedly) swaying, however, continues. He stops momentarily, only to shuffle things around right after.

Something cold touches my skin, making it my turn to let out a hiss this time. The sound is accompanied by a small jump, caused by the surprise. Corpse chuckles and, when I glance at the spot on my arm the cold thing came in contact with, I realize it’s just the sharpie. All he does is give me a mischievous smile.

While I keep massaging his face and covering it with the mask, Corpse litters my body with his drawings. Smiley faces, lightning bolts, hearts, clouds... his repertoire is vast and any exposed skin he can find becomes his canvas. Each line causing me to giggle and shudder a little. With him focused on his creations, it’s 10 times easier for me to complete my task. 

“Alright, my turn” he states, smiling, and I’m quick to grab the sharpie. 

As he adjusts a matching hairband on my head, I put a dainty heart on his neck. And, as he takes the bowl in his hands, I swiftly plant a kiss on top of the drawing. At this, he sighs in content and my chest gets warmer.

I soon understand how hard it was for him to stay still as Stay comes on and all I want to do is have a little karaoke session and dance. Corpse entertains himself with my struggle and, because it’s his birthday, I’ll let it slide. So, to make the whole process easier, instead of focusing on the song, I focus on the gorgeous face in front of me. A beautiful face to a beautiful soul. 

One of the various perks of sharing an apartment with Corpse is I get to see this face in all ways: sleepy, completely clean - no makeup, no mask -, all wrinkled in the morning, red when he’s embarrassed or when he laughs too hard… His laughter. Its sound pulls me from my trance “You’re staring, y/n” 

“Well, at least I wasn’t moving around, Corpse” I reply with squinted eyes and nudge his side playfully. 

We begin collecting the things scattered across the sink and storing them in the cabinet, and the song comes to an end, giving way to Dang!

“How long do we keep these on?” 

I hum at the question and check the playlist on shuffle on my phone “How does 5 minutes and 2 seconds sound?” 

Facing him, his grin mirrors mine and he spins me around. We laugh and allow ourselves to be as goofy as possible, jamming and moving our limbs around with a green paste on our faces.

~~~~~

After washing off the masks in the shower and painting our nails - so we’re both rocking the black nail polish look -, we’ve set our minds to - finally - finish the puzzle we started two months ago. It’s a 90’s anime setting inspired composition and we’d gotten about 40% of it done before our schedules got more hectic and the game, well, pushed aside. For weeks, the pieces sat on the ground of our living room and silently judged us every time either of us stepped to the side, as we crossed the room, in order not to crush them.

Sitting around the puzzle with comfy clothes, we team up against it and indulge in the wine Corpse’s got us and the hawaiian pizza I’ve ordered. 

As the picture comes more and more to life, moments of comfortable silence and of chattery - when we talk about anything from our shopping list and gossip about our neighbours’ lives to parallel universes and the matrix - follow one another. A different playlist on shuffle is our background noise. 

Time flies and the sun’s already hidden when it clicks to us that there are only 5 pieces left. Each piece is fitted in the whole with a giddier feeling than the previous. Corpse picks the last one - deep blue with purple and black specks - and turns to me with an excited smile and an eager gaze that I’m sure are mirrored on my face. I nod encouragingly. He places it in the puzzle and celebratory sounds fill the room.

Corpse stretches his arms and pulls me in a hug, but, since we’re both kneeling and because of the distance between us, we end up falling and lying on the ground in rather uncomfortable positions. 

“Come on, puzzle, that was easy breezy! Gotta step up your game if you really wanna challenge this duo right here!”

“Oh for sure!” Corpse squeaks as we laugh at our nonsensical brag.

After a moment while we catch our breath, he rubs my back and speaks, pulling my attention to him “Not that I’m not loving this position, but what if we watched some Drag Race?”

Is this man real? If I couldn’t feel his heart beating under me or his arms around my figure, I’d be sure he’s just a figment of my imagination. “But it’s your b- don’t you wanna choose something you like more? Li-” 

“Nope,” he boops my nose “Drag Race, or maybe Love Island, would be great right now.” And people still dare say the perfect man doesn’t exist!

“You’re such a dream!” I give him a quick peck before continuing “Ok, so I put on the show and you get more wine…?” He hums in approval and stands up. Our eyes briefly jump from each other to the puzzle and back to each other, then we simply nod. A silent agreement to leave the puzzle here. We’re both too lazy to put all the pieces back in the box and too proud of our achievement to let it go just yet; besides, everything’s been sitting here for about two months, what are a few more hours?

He steps to the side, gets our glasses and makes his way to the kitchen. I lie on the couch and scan Netflix for Drag Race. Corpse comes back, placing the glasses next to the couch, and gently lies down on top of me. He nests his head on my chest and we both hum contently.  

While RuPaul announces what the winner’s prize will be, I play with his hair, letting my fingers knead his curls. His right hand flies up to meet mine and I bring our intertwined hands to my lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses. The gesture is cut by a loud laugh that escapes my lips as miss Vanjie Mateo’s iconic moment replays on the screen. 

“Hey,” Corpse’s voice makes me look right back at him “I love you. You know that, right?”

My heart melts at his words and at the way he’s looking at me right now. I nod with a smile.

“I love you too, birthday boy.”

[ghostdrew22]

Déjà  vu? || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No Pairing: Draco Malfoy x ex!fem!reader Warnings: Idk if this is angsty or not because I initially thought it was but it feels a bit like soft sadness to me? Summary: Y/N getting deja vu as you watch Draco with his new girlfriend (H/N - her name)

WORDS : 1950

Lyrics from “Deja Vu” by Olivia Rodrigo (but I got lazy and only used certain parts)

~~~

Car rides to Malibu Strawberry ice cream, one spoon for two And tradin' jackets Laughin’ 'bout how small it looks on you (Ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha)

“Draco stop!” A voice exclaims before being followed by laughter. You know that you shouldn’t turn around, that it’ll hurt too much, but it’s been said many times that curiosity killed the cat.

He’s holding the very same ice cream order, strawberry and pistachio, and sporting that familiar warm smile that used to comfort you when you got a brain freeze from the ice cream. It had been your idea, ice cream in November, and he’d hated it at first but grew to love it just because it made you happy. That very same order that you’d made him try, strawberry and pistachio, but not for the two of you this time.

It’s difficult to know what you were expecting, something new? Different? A part of you had always known, even while you were the one in H/N’s position, that your moments with Draco would soon be documented and used for a modern remake. If your relationship had been a book, theirs is the movie adaption. If your relationship had been a song, theirs is a cover band’s rendition. Maybe, deep down, you were expecting just this- to see him treating her the same way that he’d treated you.

Those pale hands, that used to fit so comfortably in the expanse of your own, are now tucked safely in-between hers. Oceans of blue that used to run over your shivering figure every November when you made this exact Hogsmeade trip, are now tracing the lines of her face and committing them to memory. Lips, cold and slightly chapped, that were once coaxing laughter from your lungs with horrible puns and crude observations, are now completely and utterly consumed with the sole objective of entertaining her the very same way that they entertained you.

It’s a bitter sight, one would think, but you can’t bring yourself to be jealous. It’s an odd sort of feeling, deja vu, to know that once this moment belonged to you, and now you have to watch it play out in front of you. You know what’s going to happen, down to the footprints that’ll stain the path back to Hogwarts, but this time it’s not you. This time, even though you know what’s going to happen next, it’s not your laughter that’ll be filling the silence as he walks back to school.

Watching reruns of Glee Bein’ annoying, singin’ in harmony I bet she’s bragging to all her friends, saying you’re so unique, hmm

“Draco’s obsessed with this muggle show called Glee. He makes me sing along with him every time we watch it.” She says with a small laugh and a shy smile.

Why, in God’s name, did you decide to study in the library today? Sitting on the other side of the bookshelf behind you, with Millicent Bulstrode, is H/N.

“That’s horrendous.” Millicent replies with a laugh. Maybe if you’d tried harder to be friends with her then she would’ve told H/N that Draco used to do that with you too, that you’re the one who introduced him to muggle tv shows in the first place.

“It’s cute, he’s so… different.”

You swallow hard and try to pour your focus back into your books. That tone, sweet and infatuated, was the tone you used only months before when you spoke about him too. Once again you’re on the other side of the looking glass, staring back at a distorted reflection of yourself. It had been you bragging, drowning quite innocently in your adoration for him and feeling the need to sing your praises out to the world.

Way back when, you were the one forcing him to learn the lyrics to all of your favourite songs. The two of you would lose track of time singing along with the actors and complaining about the unnecessary drama, it was this little world that the two of you created. But now that world, that you built on love and trust, can no longer afford to accommodate you both. Now it’s his world with her.

Without even realising it you start to wonder how it must be when he’s with her. Does she sing off-key too? Does he pepper her with kisses after and make fun of her singing? Do they binge watch episodes or only do one at a time? Does his laugh still drown out the talking whenever something ridiculous happens? Is his favourite character still Sue?

How many pieces of your time together did he take from the puzzle, to form a new one with her?

So when you gonna tell her that we did that, too? She thinks it's special, but it's all reused That was our place, I found it first I made the jokes you tell to her when she's with you

“This alcove is where I come when I want to be alone, no one really comes here.”

No one but me, you think to yourself as you stop in the hallway and overhear Draco whispering to her. Of course he took her to your alcove, why wouldn’t he?

A part of you wishes that he’d tell her that it was you who found this spot, that it was you who’d trudged along the castle one night in a desperate search for some peace and quiet. You want her to know that this was your safe space, that you were the one who invited him there and allowed him to relish in the safety that it provided. It was you who laced your fingers together with his own and dragged him behind you until you’d landed in the spot, you who had to listen to his complaints about how small and cramped it was until he finally got comfortable and fell in love with it. You were the one he used to wrap his arms around and make promises to in the silence of the night, when nothing beside the two of you existed in that alcove.

It’s all blurring together, then and now are nothing but two sides of the same rusted coin. How can you possibly distinguish between your memories and reality when the boundaries keep crossing?

You almost want to laugh at how identical your relationship was to the one they have now. Jokes that you came up with in the sludge of sleepiness, when the two of you used to hide out here on nights when you both felt sad, are now being repeated into the very same air that you breathed only months ago. Promises that you’d both agreed to back then, are being remade in the safety of the night that now belongs to them.

“I love you.”

And

“Forever.”

Are being whispered between the two of them, assurances and pacts to be together till the end of time.

But now you wonder, how long is forever?

Do you get déjà vu when she’s with you? Do you get déjà  vu? (Ah), hmm Do you get déjà vu, huh?

The smell of toast and freshly scrambled eggs wafts through the Great Hall and you struggle to resist the urge to moan out in excitement. Breakfast is your favourite meal and, really, the only meal that’s worth anything. As you plop down in your seat and start to pack your plate in your food you fail to notice, in your sheer joy, that Draco’s sitting across from you with H/N by his side.

It’s not until you’re done piling up your favourites, like an Olympic gold medalist in training, that you notice the couple sat across from you. You observe discreetly as Draco outstretches his hand all over the table to get whatever she wants to eat, and you have to struggle to focus as a wave of déjà vu washes over you.

When had you stopped being the one he arranged plates for? When had he started saving a spot beside him for her, and not you? Literally you know that the answer is roughly around 3 or 4 months ago when the two of you had broken up, but he’d stopped being yours a long time before then and you’d both known it. Little moments of love, that had been the basis of your relationship, had fizzled out into distant memories way before you’d both decided to call it quits.

“Butter or jam, Y/N?”

You’re about to answer, on instinct really, when you realise that he’s not even speaking to you.

But he said your name. Didn’t he?

Do you call her, almost say my name? ‘Cause let’s be honest, we kinda do sound the same Another actress I hate to think that I was just your type

“It was mortifying!” You exclaim as you recount the events of earlier to your best friend.

“How bad could it have possibly been?” She asks with a laugh as she settles into your bed comfortably.

“He looked her dead in the eyes, and called her ‘Y/N’, and to make it one hundred times worse, I was sitting across from them when he did it so they both immediately turned to look at me!” You cry out in embarrassment as you drop your face in a pillow. “I’ve never prayed so hard for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.” You mumble against the fabric and you hear her laugh again.

“Why are you so embarrassed? It wasn’t your mistake.”

“It’s not about that, it’s about how easy it would’ve been for us to return to our roles as boyfriend and girlfriend. I almost answered him!” You sigh. “It’s been what? 3? 4 months? And my mouth still acts on muscle memory. We’re so familiar to each other that we still act on instinct.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because your names sound so similar?” She raises her eyebrows at you and you scoff. “Really? Y/N and H/N sound nothing alike?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She shrugs, “But deep down I think all three of you know that there’s more similarities present than you’d like to account for.”

You huff in response and cross your arms. Is she right? Does Draco have a type?

Even worse, are you just Draco’s type? Nothing more and nothing less than just another girl who ticks all of his favourite boxes?

I know you get déjà  vu I know you get déjà  vu I know you get déjà vu

It’s on one morning, on one of your good mornings, that it happens.

Months of watching the two of them recreate the love that you’d had with him, suffering in silence and scolding yourself for thinking such awful things about them, finally come to a halt when you receive the acknowledgment that you’ve been so desperately craving.

She walks onto platform 9 and 3/4 in a dress, a purple dress that looks eerily similar to the one you’d worn two years before on this exact platform. She’s smiling brightly, excited for the new school year, and Draco’s waiting for her by the door with a smile that’s just as bright. When his eyes catch her own and she slips her hand into his, he stumbles backward in shock slightly. He immediately looks away from her and searches the crowd, scanning over people climbing into the train and saying goodbye to their families, in a desperate attempt to find you.

It’s too much for him, to see her standing before him and looking like a replica of you, and he needs some sort confirmation to know that he’s not imagining this similarity. The dress wraps around her waist the same way that yours had wrapped around your own waist, and it compliments her skin in a way that’s hauntingly memorable. He knows that he’s seen all of this before, and he knows that it wasn’t with her.

You’re standing a few paces away from the door, watching the scene unfold, and when his ocean blues finally meet yours, you know.

He smiles at you, the first time he’s done so since you broke up, and mouthes exactly what the two of you need to hear.

“Déjà vu.”

And then it’s over- the moment, the agony, the months of confusion- it’s all packed up into a neat box and stored away. He turns with her and they walk into the train together, happily.

You remember this, being the one in her position and walking by his side. You remember the feeling of utter joy that had consumed you, it’s all the same really.

But maybe this time when he promises forever, he’ll mean it.

~~~

This was meant to be way angstier but I got lazy and ended up just wanting to write it out before I ran out of love for the idea.

Anyway, I kind of like it...

love you all,

jean <3

[sapphire374]

Soy Sol: Chapter 11 (The Cut that Burrows Deep)

Wattpad Link

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Ch.9 / Ch. 10 / Ch.12 / Ch.13 / Ch.14 / Ch.15 / Ch.16 / Ch.17

Ámbar feels like every step she takes, the more she can feel her heartbeat. It’s like she’s carrying it in her arms with nothing to guard it, out in the open alone. She opens the cold rusted handle of the entrance to the restaurant. There she is, her biological mom trembling while drinking a glass of water. Ámbar sums up all the courage inside her and takes the chance to approach her. When she grabs the seat in front of her, Sylvania can’t help but stare in shock. “Wow Ámbar, you truly have grown.” Ámbar may have brought all her walls down for the people she loves, but she puts them back up with this stranger.

“You can’t say that since you were never there for me. That’s no fair,” Ámbar chided. Sylvania chokes up and avoids eye contact. “Look Ámbar, I now know after everything that has happened the big mistake I made, but at the time it felt like the best option for you. I was young and didn’t have the means nor felt ready to take care of a child. I thought Sharon would’ve been a better parental figure instead of a young girl like myself. I later on regretted it and that’s something I shall have to carry with me for the rest of my life.”

Ámbar grips onto her purse trying very hard to hold back all her tears. She wonders why did this lady chose Sharon specifically and why did Sharon try to keep it a secret for so long? “I understand you were young, but I know that’s not the whole story because I have memories being in a different house that was NOT Benson Mansion. You saw me, you knew me, and didn’t like me enough to keep me,” Ámbar rebuked. Sylvania is showing tears now, she’s choking up with every word as her hand trembles just to take a sip of water. “It wasn’t like that at all Ámbar. I tried, I really did try to see if I was capable of taking care of a child. I noticed my arms weren’t so comforting for you. Sometimes when you love someone, so much, you have to let them go because you care,” Sylvania responded. Ámbar doesn’t know whether to believe what she’s saying or not. She wishes she can get out of these tornadoes of lies that always come chasing her. She’s sick of it all. She wants the truth. Is that too much to ask for?

Silence crowds the room, they’re breathing the same air but can’t even look at each other. Sylvania speaks up again. “I know this feels hard to believe but why do you think I came back? It was for that reason, I thought Sharon would be a better parent than me and would take great care of you. I realized I was sadly wrong.”

“Sharon? Of all people? What made you think that a woman who put a place on fire because she was jealous of her own sister would be a perfect parent for a child? Do you know she never showed me affection or love? I had to learn it all on my own. She only showed any signs of care when she needed me part of her plan that only benefitted her. You left me to a person who only cares about themselves,” Ámbar fumed.

“It wasn’t like that at all. I had no idea about her being the cause of the Benson fire and she had already adopted you before that even happened. When I met her, she was a kind woman, I was friends with Lili from work, so I had already knew the family. I assumed that Sharon had a good heart just like Lili, even though she was seemingly different. The whole time I would interact with her, she was always nice and seemed to really want a child because she always felt alone. It all just felt fitting.” Ámbar is trying to put together all the puzzle pieces in her head with Sylvania’s story. Part of her doesn’t believe it but…. It does kind of make sense. For her it justifies nothing even though she has hope.

Before she gets up from her seat, she leaves a wad of cash. “Ámbar where are you going? We haven’t even ordered yet?” Sylvania asks. “I’m not feeling hungry anymore, here’s some money for dinner.” Ámbar heads out the door with no remnants behind other than the tears that fall to the floor.

Jam and Roller

“Eyyy amigo I’m so happy for the release of your new music video!” Gastón exclaims to Matteo. They’re both drinking smoothies while watching the Youtube countdown from Matteo’s phone. These are the special moments Matteo loves to share with Gastón since he’s always been his pal for the longest. He also loves sharing it with Luna too, but they sadly haven’t hit it off as well for a while. Matteo is hoping Gastón’s plan will work for the upcoming days.

Simón heads to their tables with a fresh batch of popcorn. “Wow, how exciting! It’s even more special since you get to enjoy it here at the Jam and Roller with us!” Simón states. Matteo grins but it slowly fades when he sees Luna walk into the cafeteria and completely ignoring him. “What happened?” Simón asks when he sees Matteo’s vivid expression abruptly change. “No nothing, I just wish I got to share this moment with another person too.” When Simón turns his head and sees who Matteo is staring at, he realizes what Matteo meant.

Nina pulls out her purse and hands her phone to Luna. “I know you’re trying to pretend you don’t care but you do. Watch the video, it’ll get rid of all your curiosities.” Luna shakes her head in disapproval. “Nina, the least I want to do is watch a music video of the one I love flirting with a girl who has a huge crush on him as well. They’re practically soulmates, meant for each other,” Luna exaggerates. “Oh c’mon, I know it’s complicated, but you know that’s not true. If you’re not going to do it for him, then do it for yourself. You deserve to see why he arrived late to your date.” Luna glares at Nina and decides to take the phone.

Once the music video is out, everyone begins to cheer for Matteo. Luna sits even more depressed seeing at the ‘amazing’ chemistry Matteo and Viviana had in the music video. She can’t help but doubt herself even more when all the comments from his fans say they ship him with Viviana. “Nina, I’m not feeling so good. I think I’ll just head home.” Nina nods and Luna begins to get up from her chair and head out. Matteo notices and follows her out.

“Luna! Luna, wait up! I need to tell you something,” Matteo yells out. “Matteo not now, I’m not in the mood. Congratulations of your video, it was very nice. I just don’t feel so good okay.” Matteo catches up to her and stands in front. “Look Luna, I don’t know if you’ll listen to me now but please go to tomorrow’s concert I’m having. My manager is having me make a concert to promote the single, but it wouldn’t be the same without you. Please Luna. You never miss any of my concerts,” Matteo begs. Luna gradually smiles. “Really? You still want me there?”

“Of course, I do Luna.” Luna now can’t help but blush. “Matteo, of course I’ll go. Even though I’m still a little upset at you calling me jealous, standing me up on our date, and not believing or listening to me, I still care. Since you want me there, I’ll be there.” Matteo is surprised by Luna’s comment and begins to graciously smile too. It was a moment for them, they hadn’t had one like this in a long time. It felt needed.

Nico is in the rink sitting on one of the chairs, he seems to be working on something since he has his notebook open with his pen. Jim enters and sees him alone. “Hey there, what are you working on?” Jim asks. “Oh just a few verses, I’m trying to get ahead on the Roller Band song for the competition, but nothing seems to come into mind,” Nico says. Jim heads to the seat beside him. She sits down and carefully glances over his blank page. “Oh yeah you do seem to be having some trouble,” Jim chuckles. “If you’d like I can help, I’m use to writing songs with Yam.” Nico turns and faces Jim, “Yes of course. I need all the help I can get; it’s been a while for me since I got to write a song with the Roller Band.” They both laugh together and get working on the song.

Jazmín dashes to Delfi holding a small slip of paper. “You won’t believe what just happened?” Delfi carefully places her books into her locker after seeing Jazmín rush to her. “Is it something new for the Fundom or for your blog, Ja Jazmin?” Delfi predicts. “Nope, you’re very far off. Look at this,” Jazmín hands Delfi the note. The more she reads it, the more her eyes grow like a flower blooming in the season, keeps opening. She’s in plain shock as Jazmín nods from her amusement. “Right! I have a secret admirer!! I have to post about this on my blog!” Jazmín frantically grabs her phone from her pocket but right when she’s about to film, Delfi stops her. “No Jazmín, this is something special. Honestly, I think this is something you should keep for yourself, every celebrity likes to keep their personal life separate from their work life,” Delfi advises. Jazmín thinks for a second and says, “Nahhh I’ll still post it, plus this can even help us discover who the anonymous writer is!”

The Restaurant

Yam is wearing her golden shimmery dress that Jim helped her pick out. She’s very anxious about her date with Ramiro, she wants it to go out perfect since this was something she had been dreaming of for a while. He puts down the menu and slips his hand under hers to her surprise. He gives her a shy smile. “I had been dreaming of this for a while. Before, I would always try to move on, but I just couldn’t. My mind just couldn’t forget about you,” Ramiro admits. Yam begins to tear up. “I felt the same way for so long but never said anything worried you didn’t feel the same way. I’m so happy about this moment. I don’t care how long I had to wait, it was totally worth it.”

Throughout the whole night, Yam and Ramiro shared college stories and even old memories of each other. How Yam never stopped writing songs about him and how Ramiro would skate imagining about her. Everything went smooth till dessert came. A random man with a suit and tie approached their table and faces Yam. “You look familiar, are you Yamila Sanchez from that Ja Jazmin blog?” Yam stays startled and stutters, “uhhh yes why?” The man quickly pulls a card out of his pocket. “Hillside Records, I’m the owner. I would like to set up a meeting with you for a chance at a record deal.” Yam immediately glares at Ramiro for a response. He shows his approval and gestures for Yam to respond. “Yes I would love to!” Yam exclaims. “Great! I’m available tomorrow at 5 pm. There is one important detail I have to tell you,” the man says. “Yes, what is it,” Yam asks. “The record company is not in Buenos Aires. It’s in California.” He proceeds to hand her the card. “Think about it, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves and Yam shows her disappointment to Ramiro, she couldn’t believe how such an exciting offer can turn to something so depressing. If she took this offer, that means she would have to leave her family, her friends, and her chance at being with Ramiro.

“Look I know this is hard to think about but just follow your heart. If this is something you truly want go for it, I can wait longer,” Ramiro grabs her hand and holds it. “I don’t know what to say. I never knew me pursuing a music career would mean I have to leave everything and everyone I love,” Yam gradually lets her tears fall onto her glittery dress.

[passivenovember]

mama said to smile while I still have teeth : PART TWO

(part one)

(or) Billy gets his wisdom teeth removed and Steve understands things will not grow back in the spaces we leave for them.

--

Billy hops down from the passenger side like it’s written in a script or something. Part B of his master plan, logical in the journey of what happens next.

He swings the car door open and charges through wet grass. Neon green blades stick to the heel of his boot, lopsided smile drawn forward to inspect the ferns nestled on either side of a welcome mat that says Bless this Mess. 

It’s as if he’s been here before. 

As if he belongs.

Steve watches Billy collapse on the porch swing, arms and legs folded under him like a house of cards toppled over in the wind. He must not realize that it’s functional, or something, because Billy sits bolt upright and uses the toe of his boot to get the swing moving, once he does.

Really moving, like. Banging against the bay window his mother leaves clear for her azaleas, moving. 

Billy hollers. Makes grabby hands, like, “Push me!”

“You’re gonna get sea sick.” Steve chuckles, watching Billy shrug and take it for a ride. 

Billy brings the swing to a sudden halt, when. “How come you’re all the way down there?” he asks. 

Catching on. 

Steve watches him struggle to get his feet up on the swing. Feels his heart shudder in fondness, when Billy grins up at him triumphantly. 

“Didn’t know there were other options.” Steve says.

“There aren’t. Come here.” Billy gestures to the porch when Steve’s legs decide to fizzle out. “It’s a carnival ride. You got one on your porch, at your house, and--”

Steve claims of the second cushion when Billy removes the thumb from his mouth long enough to spell it out for him. “Cuddles.” He says.

Simple.

And his eyes are so blue. Bright. Steve doesn’t have a choice because, really, they’ve swapped sides with the rope. 

Up and left this dimension all together when the flea got squashed by the acrobat deciding that they could skip the apologies and get to the good part.

Steve realizes that he wants this. 

Billy. Scooting impossibly closer and humming the bridge to Mama Mia. “You smell good, Stever.” Billy says around the pad of his thumb. Dripping more blood down the front of his hoodie, and. Trying to get his face in Steve’s neck. 

Which should be gross, but. 

Steve just clears a path. Makes room for the warm nose that sniffs a trail up and around one ear. “You said I smelled like ass,” He accuses, sounding shaky. Star struck. 

Billy’s breath feels like fairy wings. “Wrong. I said you smell like sweet grass and have a sweet ass, didn’t you pay attention to my context clues?”

“Um.” There’s something warm on Steve’s throat. Going wet in the middle, parting and sucking and--

He pulls away. 

Billy smiles at him. tries to get in Steve’s lap but the bench moves with him and when the bench moves with him, Steve’s got a brick wall glued to his side. 

Shivering. Cold, or afraid. Nervous.

“You tired?”

Billy shakes his head. With his whole body. “Wanna hang out.”

“You can sleep for a little bit. I’ll still be there, when you--”

Billy grunts. Refuses, so. Steve rubs the side of Billy’s shoulder, instead. Fabric and muscle and heat living somewhere beneath his fingertips. “You don’t wanna go in?” 

“Nope.” Billy somehow works his way under Steve’s arm. 

Feels right, striking oil in the heartland.

--

It starts raining again. Somewhere along the way, it starts getting cold and Billy shivers, peering up at Steve like he made it happen. 

Like the heavens split open and bleeding at his command.

Steve chuckles, pushing off the swing and laughing harder when Billy squawks like an angry rooster. 

“Where are we going?” He demands.

“Inside.”

Billy seems to hate that, like. Instantly. 

“Don’t make me carry you, Hargrove.” 

“Oh, look who’s got Popeye arms all of a sudden.” Billy leans back on the porch swing, thighs spread like. He has no idea how fucking--

It doesn’t matter.

“You need to eat.”

“My stitches haven’t fallen out.”

“Yeah, and they won’t. Not for days.” Steve leans against one of the porch posts, trying not to crack a smile when Billy’s thumb finds his mouth again. “Unless you’re planning to eat your hand, we gotta get some mac and cheese--”

Billy’s off the swing before Steve realizes what’s happened. He wanders in between the ferns in their bright orange pots. Jamming a thumb at the number above the doorbell, like, “This door?”

And. “Yeah?”

“This is the one with the cheese?”

“And the mac too.” Steve winks at him, watching a warm blush spread across a sea of freckles. He cocks his head, like, “What’s up?”

“Maybe we can do inside.” Billy says harshly. “For a minute. To kiss the noodles, or something--”

“Kiss the?”

“Open the door.” Billy suggests. “Now.”

So Steve does, biting down on a smile when Billy clomps through the foyer, tracking dirt and grass and pieces of Steve’s heart across imported marble.

“This is so huge.” Billy says softly. His eyes go bright all of a sudden and he’s right in Steve’s face. “You probably have so many pillows here. And chairs. And blankets, too, like. The big ones--”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s build a fort, Stever.” Billy says desperately. He bounces a little, managing to knock more mud onto the floor beneath him. “Let’s build a house. For me and you, and the noodles if they wanna stay the night.”

Steve grins, untangling Billy’s fingers from his hair. “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Steve points to the ground. “Boots off first, though.”

Billy jerks away. “No.”

“Stop being a little shit for like, three seconds--”

“Stop being party pooper. For like. Your entire adulthood.” Billy shoots back, collapsing onto the staircase and holding his foot in one hand anyway. 

Steve holds his breath. 

Billy stares at the boot, and his foot inside the boot, like maybe the connection between them is lost. 

Steve feels like an asshole for finding it adorable, but. Billy looks up at him through his eyelashes. 

“I think I’m still high.” He theorizes.

“Yup.” Steve tugs his own shoes off, placing them on the rack by the door.

“I don’t think I can untangle the knots.” Billy says miserably. He tries, though, scowling like the laces have done it on purpose.

Steve watches him struggle, and laughs at the struggle, before holding out his hands. “Give me your foot.”

Billy stares at him. “Really?”

“Our only other option is to wait around until you figure it out, and who knows how long that’ll take.” Steve says, waiting for Billy to shoot back with something venomous. 

He doesn’t. 

He coos, instead. Like a little baby bird, pointing his toes in the air with a giggle. “I’m Cinderella and you’re the prince,” Billy declares, laughing harder when Steve drops to his knees and gets the boot off in one go. “Prince Charming, Prince--”

“You’re just saying that because I have amazing hair and you have little blonde princess curls.”

“Hey.” Billy deadpans, holding out his second foot. “It grows out of my hair like that.”

“Head.” Steve chuckles.

Billy’s mouth falls open in a silent O, brows drawn in confusion. 

Steve puts both muddy boots on the rack next to his own, smiling down at Billy’s puzzled face. “Your hair grows out of your head like that.”

“It does?” Billy asks in wonder. “I like it. Do you like it?”

And. “Yeah. It’s cute.” Steve says, holding out his hand. “Come on. Lunch time.”

Billy lets Steve pull him up, swaying a little bit at their proximity. 

He doesn’t pull away, and.

This close his eyes aren’t just blue, they’re green. And yellow. And brown, like a kaleidoscope. 

“Am I a cute person, Stever?” Billy asks softly.

“The cutest.” Steve says. Without thinking, but.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Because Billy’s high as a fucking kite, wiggling his hips and saying, “I think you’re cuter than me. Softer. Like an opil painting, or maybe a box of raspberry macaroons.”

Steve chuckles, not even trying to pull away when Billy’s fingers try to force their way into his mouth. “When have you had macaroons?”

“I haven’t,” Billy admits easily. “But I always thought that maybe you tasted like one.” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but. Billy’s gone after that. Running his fingers along the wall and disappearing around the corner. 

“C’mon, Stever! I want cheese flavored kisses.”

And Steve.

Doesn’t think Billy will remember this. 

--

They order pizza instead. Steve knows that Billy’s gotta be careful with his incision marks. Not go to heavy on the fat and grease less than three hours after his surgery, but. 

Steve tries to hold blue eyes even as they slip through his fingers. Pools and rivers disappearing beneath the Earth.

He’s starting to think that maybe. 

All it would take is bat of those stupid eyelash and Steve would throw every responsible thought out the window. 

Billy says, “You got a laundry machine?” After the pizza performs its vanishing act. 

And Steve says, “Yeah, why?” 

Two seconds before Billy is stripping down naked. 

“Woah, woah, hey--”

“There’s Kool-Aid on my hoodie.” Billy says from behind a wall of fabric. “I can’t walk around with red juice on my clothes, people will know I’m a vampire then.”

“You’re a vampire?” Steve tries to look away from Billy’s stomach. 

The smooth planes of skin, soft just above a layer of muscle. He puts a hand over his eyes for good measure. Safe keeping when Billy gets the hoodie off in one go and he’s standing there. 

Shirtless.

In the middle of the room like some kind of wet dream Steve never even realized he had. 

Billy grins, curls sticking out in every direction. “They’d think it.”

And Steve’s brain is, fucking. 

Offline. Distracted. He blinks, tearing his eyes way from Billy’s chest long enough to go, “Think what?”

“That I’m a vampire.”

And Steve thinks he couldn’t be. Too tan. Too--

Alive. Steve shrugs. “I don’t think it.”

“That’s because you don’t think.” Billy tosses the hoodie onto floor. He points at Steve, like, “Can I wear your sweater?”

And Steve looks down at himself. “This one?”

“Yeah.” Billy says. “Smells like you.”

And Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. Doesn’t even consider what it might mean, pulling the fabric over his head and handing it to an asshole who examines his Kate Bush tee shirt and says, “That one too.”

Like he’s trying to make Steve catch on fire.

Steve shakes his head. “What will I wear if you take all my clothes?”

Billy shrugs, like, “Not my problem.”

And he’s uncovering truths with those eyes. Getting a little too close to the root of it, the revelation, so. 

Steve gives Billy the shirt too. 

And tries not to think about the four seconds that they’re both shirtless. Standing in a room together, just. looking. Charting unmarked skin, eyes glazing silver springs on bronze soil. 

Billy puts the tee shirt on, and the sweater over the top of that, until It’s just Steve. 

Half naked in the living room.

“I’ll go grab another shirt, and then, um.” It feels like the walls are burning down. Steve’s thoughts fall like bullet points. “We should go outside,” He says. “Wanna go sit on the swing?”

Billy frowns. “’S cold outside.” 

“Yeah, but.” Steve picks the hoodie off the ground. “I’ll keep you warm.”

--

Billy’s fingers don’t leave his skin. Don’t soothe, when they light trails of smoke over his collarbone. 

Steve leans into the touch anyway. 

Gives into the pull, anyway, when Billy grabs his cheek and brings their eyes together, looking every bit like he’s got something to say. 

Something important.

“What?” Steve asks. Wanting to touch. Wanting to--

“You know my mom threw a plate at my old man,” Billy says, eyes resting on a scar they both know is there. Hidden, like gold beneath caverns of rock. “The day she left, she. Threw my Mickie Mouse at him.”

“Your plate?”

“It was a bowl.” 

“I’m sure he deserved it.” Steve says easily. “I’m sure it was the only way to win.”

“There aren’t any winners with stuff like that.” Billy says gently. His eyes are watery again. Steve’s getting suspicious of it, like maybe that’s just how the world comes together for Billy. With water and sphere’s of blue. 

God hovering over the surface of the deep. 

Billy sighs, thumb twitching against his leg. “Neil would’ve killed her.”

And Steve hates Neil.

Knows more than be probably should. Pays attention, takes notes.

“That just means she’s resourceful, right?” Steve whispers. “Using the stuff around her to fight fair.”

“Wasn’t fair.” Billy whispers, finally looking away. Eyes studying the rain as it drips from the trees above. 

“Clean, then.” Steve shifts, rocking the porch swing as he sits criss-cross with his knees pressed against Billy’s thigh. “Even fight. Clean break.”

He wonders how he can get those eyes on him again. 

How he can be taken apart. 

“No such thing.” 

Steve doesn’t get it. “What do you mean?”

“All breaks sever the bone.”

And Steve thinks. Maybe. “Are you high?” He squints at Billy’s face, trying to see if it’s written on his forehead. 

Billy smirks. “I think so.”

“Still high.” Steve says, wanting to lift his fingers. Prod at swollen cheeks. He doesn’t, when Billy’s eyes start welling up again. “Don’t cry.” Steve suggests, sliding closer. “Don’t cry, Billy--”

“I’m sorry about--”

“I know.”

“That night. It was. I never should’ve--”

“She’s your sister.” Steve says fiercely. Because. “We were trying to protect you.” And he was. At the root of it all, deep in the center of himself. Steve turns outward again, feet planted on the ground. “We didn’t want you to get roped into our shit. With the monsters, you were.”

Billy’s staring at him. 

Watching. Steve can feel it, so. He closes his own eyes, just to even the score. To make it easier when his lips say, “You’re too beautiful to have your life cracked open like that.”

Billy doesn’t speak until he does, voice flickering like candle light behind a window covered in frost. “Life was already laying in pieces on the rug.”

And there are fingers in Steve’s hair. Brushing tears from his cheeks. Billy grabs him by the throat with more care, more. 

Love.

Than Steve ever thought he would get in this life. Billy moves him until they’re right in each other’s space. Breathing the same air, no longer running races to escape one another. 

It feels right. 

Billy smiles at him. “Thank you.”

And Steve doesn’t know what for. Doesn’t care what for, but there’s a finger on his mouth, parting his lips. Billy’s eyes burn a hole in his tongue. Clear a path through muscle and bone, until Steve is pulled forward. 

Into an embrace. 

Into a trilogy of kisses; on the corner of his eye. On the bridge of his nose. On the bow of his lip that turns biting. And bruising.

Billy asks if he can lay on Steve’s chest, because. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He says shyly. Billy kisses him once more and  and Steve.

Goes down easy.

[grey-water-colors]

After All This Time (Bucky Barnes X Fem!Reader) Part 3

I'm having so much fun writing this! I hope you all are enjoying this too. This chapter ended up so much longer than I thought it would be, but I'm fairly happy with it.

Summary: The real world is a scary place, even more so when you’re alone. You live alone in a apartment filed with the figurative ghosts of your memories. You’ve both changed since you last met your fiancé, but can love mend the gap after all this time.

Pairing: Bucky X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talk of torture and death. Mentions of triggers. Cursing? Talk of PTSD and violence. If I missed anything please let me know.

Word Count: 3,299

Part 1-Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was feeling very lucky. After some failed attempts at getting a job, she wasn’t sure how she was going to afford living. Everything was worth so much more than when she had last had to go grocery shopping.

She had decided though, that she was going to splurge on some flowers to lighten up the apartment. There was a flower shop near home that had been open when she was young all the way till she left for the war. It had been passed down through the generations and she had even been friends with the owners. A couple older than her with a little girl.

Much to her surprise, the shop was still there with the same name. Sunshine’s Flowers. Named after the original owner Sunshine. She walked inside and up to the counter where she was met with a middle aged woman.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The woman chirped.

“I was just looking for a bouquet of flowers to brighten up my dining room.”

The lady helped Y/N find a bouquet and they walked back to the counter to check out.

“And what’s your name?” The lady, who Y/N had learned was Shea, asked.

“Y/N L/N”

It was then that Shea really looked at Y/N. She stared at her for a second then lit up. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked off behind the door and after a couple minutes, then Shea returned with an older lady who looked to be in her mid 90s.

The old lady also stared at Y/N, then smiled. “I don’t know how you’ve stayed so young, but you’re just as beautiful as when you left Miss Y/N.”

Y/N stood shocked for a second, then it clicked. “Dorothy?”

The little girl had been only 10 when she had left, but time had passed.

“Oh it’s so good to see you,” Y/N turned to look at Shea. “How did you know?”

Shea smiled. “Mom keeps a picture of you two in the office. She always talked about how nice you were to her.”

Y/N smiled.

After talking for about an hour, Y/N left with two bouquets and a new job. Her next stop was the VA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I almost thought I’d never see you again,” Sam smiled.

Y/N offered a meek smile. “I got some flowers to brighten the place up a bit, if that’s alright.”

“Thank you”

After some mild chatter, Sam asked, “What was life like for you before the war?”

Y/N froze. She hadn’t expected that kind of question. She thought back.

“It almost perfect I suppose. Business was getting back on it’s feet, the depression was over by the time I was in high school. I started dating when I was 18 and by the time I was 20 I was moving into an apartment with my boyfriend. A year after we moved in together, he proposed to me. I didn’t have a job, but I volunteered as a nurse sometimes. I mostly stayed home, we could afford it though. My fiancé worked, but he also came from a well off family,” she trailed off lost in thought.

“So you loved your fiancé?”

Y/N smiled. “I loved more than anything else in the whole world.” Her shoulders dropped. “I’d do anything to have him back.”

Sam nodded and silence filled the room.

“I know someone who would understand what you went through, I could call him down here sometime for you two to talk if you’d like.”

Y/N nodded vaguely. She didn’t know how she felt about that offer.

Sam seemed to understand. “Give it some thought,” he smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had decided to go back to the VA a week later. She didn’t mind talking to Sam, he seemed to understand in a way that others didn’t. Knew what questions to ask. Of course, that could be because he worked with two people just like her.

Y/N could hear Sam talking to someone in his office as she walked in the front door. She recognized Sam’s voice, but the other was talking so low that she couldn’t really hear it. Sam’s door was partially closed, but not quite shut, which meant she couldn’t just walk up and announce herself. She started debating whether to turn around and come back later or to wait until he was done talking with someone.

Sam had implied that there was someone she should meet, and she was terrified. New people had never really worked out well for her. She shook her head before she could think back, a tactic she had taken up while in public.

Just as she decided to come back later, Sam’s door opened. She turned around thinking it was Sam, instead it was the ghost of her memories. Her heart flew to her throat, then dropped to the floor. She desperately tried to move, to think, to do anything other than stand there and gape at the person in front of her. He seemed to be doing the same thing.

Finally, her words came to her. “James?”

He looked like her James. The same face, although now there were dark circles under his eyes, frown lines where there to used to be smile lines, and a permanent tormented look in his eye that she recognized all to well.

Sam appeared behind James and looked pleased, worried, and unsure about the whole situation. “Uh, Y/N this is Bucky. Bucky this is Y/N, but I think you both have already met.”

So it was true. This was James Barnes. The man who had proposed to her. Bought an apartment with her. Had loved her for god knows how long. Yet after everything that happened, here he was.

It felt like hours had passed before anyone moved, bet then Sam ushered both of them into the room with the beat-up sofas and she curled up into her usual spot.

Sam cleared his throat. “I get the feeling y’all need to talk alone. If either of you need me, please call. We’re the only ones here so.” Sam shrugged then eased himself out of the room leaving Bucky and Y/N together.

Y/N was still in shock. She had no idea what to say or what to do in this situation. A situation she never thought she’d be in.

They sat in an awkward silence until Bucky finally spoke. “How are you alive?”

She stiffened, straight to the point then. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Bucky looked away. “I- I mean, the Winter Soldier killed you.”

She thought back to that day. While she remembered, trigger days were a little fuzzy, like watching satellite tv while it was raining. She took a deep breath before speaking. “How much of that do you remember?”

“I remember being given an order to kill you. I remember choking you. I remember feeling your windpipe collapse, then they announced you dead.” He had said it with such determination. Fact from the fiction of his thoughts.

“Then I’ll start from the beginning and fill in the gaps. We had gone on a couple missions together,” she started tentatively. He nodded in agreement.

She took that as her cue to continue. “We had gotten close. Not necessarily romantic, but we had become a sort of friends. When it was time for me to get transferred to a different facility, I put up a fight. They called me irrational and childish, but because of my outburst, we both had to be erased. By that point though, you were no longer being controlled with your trigger words, they had already started using the brainwashing contraption to wipe your memory. It didn’t work as well though, so there were some things that you would remember. They had noticed a trend in your memory that you remembered kills, and since I had helped with a couple, they needed you to have a “closure”,” she paused trying to gauge his reaction. When he didn’t say anything, she continued.

“They had you “kill” me, without my actual death. I’m not sure where you got the crushed windpipe from, but you never know what they manipulated with. I passed out and when I recovered enough, it was time for my trigger to be placed. I went into cryo and when I woke up from that, I was in Wakanda.”

Bucky let out a sigh but didn’t look any less tense. “So, you lived, and they just played us both.”

“Essentially, yes,” she muttered. It was hard to think about her time with the Winter Soldier. Frustrating now that she had all the puzzle pieces. They had both been so close, but they had never been farther apart.

“And how exactly do you remember so much? I can’t-“ A deep breath. “I barely remember anything.”

It was hard to miss the frustration in his voice, and she understood that. “Because of the technique they used to block my memories, everything was sealed away, not erased. They never actually got rid of my memories, and yours weren’t supposed to either. When they started to fry your brain, that’s where the damage started.”

“If that’s true, then how do you know all this? How do you remember so much? How do you know so much about the Winter Soldier Project anyways?”

She flinched as his voice rose with every question. She knew how incredibly unfair it was that she remembered and he didn’t, but she also knew that if Hydra hadn’t changed hands later in the 20th century, then he would have remembered just as much as she did.

“I know as much as I do because of the Project I was part of. Project Cecilia was a precursor in every way to the Winter Soldier project. Almost everything you went through; I was the reason it worked. And as I said, your memory was never supposed to be wiped.”

Bucky sat back in his seat. He looked angry, frustrated, and betrayed. Through all of this, she felt a sliver of hurt. He didn’t bring up what they were. He didn’t even ask about her well-being. She figured he had changed, but she didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know this man in front of her, just as much as he didn’t seem to know her. She wanted to reach out, to see if even a sliver of him was still there.

“Jam- Bucky?” He looked up at her with a weary look. “I… I umm…” She stumbled over her words trying to think of what to say. Then continued to blurt out something ridiculous. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

She ducked her head and scolded herself. Of course he didn’t want to get something to eat. He probably didn’t even really want to go anywhere with her. They were… strangers.

His reply startled her. “Sure, but I don’t know any good places to eat here in the city.”

She nodded and blurted out, “We can eat in my apartment.” She was going to need a bigger shovel for this grave she was digging. Did she really just invite him over to her apartment? Their apartment?

“You mean cook something?”

She nodded numbly, mortified beyond belief what she was getting herself into. He could always say no right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N had hoped that he would say no. He looked uncomfortable when he had agreed, and hadn’t spoken since they had said goodbye to a seemingly shocked Sam.

She wondered if he even remembered life before he was captured. It hadn’t occurred to her then that he had probably suffered some pretty bad brain damage and memory loss. Is that why he didn’t bring up the past?

While she was lost in thought, they had arrived at the place she called home. She snuck a peak at Bucky. He stared up at the building, but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t quite read him either.

They went inside and got into the ancient elevator and it shook on its way up.

She gave a sigh of relief when they got to door 9C. She felt at home when she slid the key in the lock and turned it with a gratifying click. She had almost forgotten that there was a guest behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She opened the door and walked through, holding the door for Bucky. When he got inside, he froze.

Everything was exactly the same as when he had left. A sense of déjà vu passed over him. It felt wrong to be here. Wrong to see everything, but not able to quite place why. Had he lived here? Why did everything look like it came from the 30’s? He was about to ask her when he noticed the far wall. It was bare, which was odd, as he somehow knew that there used to be something there.

Her voice cut through the silence. “You can put your jacket on the tree and sit wherever you want while I make dinner.”

He just nodded and did as she said to with his jacket. Instead of sitting he decided to take a look around the living room. He meandered over to the mantle where there was a pipe. It looked worn and used. Next to the pipe, was a picture frame that had been laid down to hide the picture. He picked it up and looked at it.

A slightly younger looking Y/N and Bucky stood in front of that very mantle smiling together. He had his arm wrapped around her and her arm around him. Then, like someone blowing dust off a old book, memories started to come forward.

Bucky remembered Y/N much more clearly now. Not everything, but more than before. This apartment had been their home for almost three years. Three years of love, happiness, and safety. He now knew how much he had loved the woman in the kitchen.

Y/N L/N, the girl who he wanted to take his last name. The light of his life. He felt stupid for forgetting. He turned to take a look around the room with new eyes. She really hadn’t changed anything at all. His eyes landed on his leather chair. Like he was on autopilot he walked towards it and sat down. The worn leather comfortable in all the right ways. The chair had been used by him for so long that it had molded to his shape.

As much as he wanted to bask in the renewed memories, this place also reminded him of the life that had been robbed from him by Hydra. All the pain and suffering they had caused through him. His mood shifted. Why was he here? To eat dinner with someone he used to know? He knew exactly what she had done. The upbringing they had both had. Politeness, charm, and hospitality, it was how things worked back then. It was her default.

The more he thought about it, the more it unsettled him. Y/N was living in the past. She hadn’t changed anything because once upon a long time ago this had been her safe place.

He wanted to know more, so he stood up and snuck into the hall that led to the bedrooms. He opened the door to the master bedroom. As he expected, nothing had changed.

Except, for something on the dresser. As got closer he saw it was her dog tags and sitting next to them on the chain was the engagement ring he had bought for her. It dawned on him then that what had been missing from the wall, were the pictures of them. There were no visual reminders of their relationship in the apartment. Why? If she was stuck in the past, wouldn’t she bask in the memories of him too? He had to know.

He walked out to the kitchen where Y/N was folding a sauce into some noodles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N jumped as she turned around and Bucky was there.

“Oh! You startled me. Dinner is almost ready if you want to set the table.” She pushed two plates with knives and forks on them across the small kitchen island. Bucky nodded and started to set the table. They both sat down to eat in silence for a couple minutes.

If she closed her eyes and pretended hard enough, she was back in 1940 and the US hadn’t joined the war yet.

She was so lost in her fantasy, she hadn’t heard Bucky clear his throat. A second, louder, noise came and her eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Her heart dropped. “Do you mean in New York?”

His gaze hardened a little. “I mean in this apartment.”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I wasn’t a registered live person when I got back. None of my accounts were open and I had nowhere to go.”

She was bullshitting. She could have gone anywhere in the world, but she chose this place.

Bucky shook his head. “Why are you here still then. Why are you living in a museum? You can’t find comfort here. You wouldn’t be weak enough to actually let yourself believe that nothing can hurt you here. Does this place not kill you?” He was yelling by the end. His hands gripping the sides of the table, his vibranium arm leaving minuscule marks on the old wood.

By the end of his mini rant, Y/N was looking at her hands in her lap, desperately trying to keep the tears from leaving her eyes. She looked like a child being scolded by her mother.

Bucky loosened his grip on the table, his anger leaving him when he saw a crystal tear fall to her lap.

Her shoulders were shaking as she cried. Guilt piled onto his shoulders, and he did the only thing he felt he could.

He ran.

Y/N just sat at the table staring at her plate as the door slammed behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did what!”

Both Steve and Sam were waiting for Bucky to get home. When he did, they ambushed him on how it went. Sam was excited that Bucky even went out. Steve concerned for them both. Bucky wasn’t the same person, and he suspected that she wasn’t either.

When Bucky told them what happened, Steve all but exploded.

“I yelled at her,” Bucky mumbled.

“And did she yell back at least,” Sam asked seemingly hopeful that she had tried to stand up for herself like he knew she could.

“She cried,” Bucky whispered, just loud enough for them to hear.

Steve turned to look at Bucky, “Jesus Buck. Why?”

“Steve you should see the apartment, it looks exactly the same. She acts like she did back then. She does everything but dress like it. She’s hiding in the past.”

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s arm. “That’s how some people cope with trauma. They live like they’re back in a time where they were happy. With as many triggers as she has, I would almost expect that. We can’t take away someone’s coping mechanism just because we don’t agree with it.”

“You have to go back and apologize Buck,” Steve sighed, and with that, Steve left.

Sam let out a small sigh. “She’s just as lost as you are. She told me about her fiancé before the war. I didn’t know that it was you then, but she loved you with everything in her heart, and from where I was standing during that conversation, she still loves you. You gotta give her a chance.”

“I’m not the same person Sam. She loved the old me, back when I was whole. She doesn’t want this mess now.”

“Do you know that for sure? Did you give her a chance to decide that herself, or did you make up her mind for her.”