#i listened to white town's your woman and became with a sudden need to learn to play the guitar. the correlation is not existent. alas.

[mylimoji]

the thought of maybe finally deciding to learn how to play the guitar vs my paranoia that i will not commit to it for long enough to actually learn it 😭

[ficforce]

Lady Beni

Shinmon Benimaru x Reader SFW No set timeline Established relationship Shinra meets Benimaru’s other half

Shinra squinted at Benimaru from across the table, he had long finished his third helping of rice and now had nothing to distract him from the bottom right of the man’s lip. It had been split, it was to the point of being well on its way to healing and there was a whisper of a bruise there too. Someone had given him a vicious uppercut for sure. But who would be stupid enough, let alone brave enough, to injure Captain Shinmon Benimaru?

The man’s thumb brushed over the cut lightly as he read a report, Shinra squinted hard as he thought he saw an almost smile on Benimaru’s lips. “The hell you looking at, kid?”

Shinra jumped and sat up straighter, “Nothing!” He should have known the other would know when he was being watched, another minute passed and teen finally cracked, “Uh, Captain Shinmon?” A grunt of acknowledgement let him know he could continue, “Who hit you?”

“Y/N.” He was yet to look up from the report.

“Y/N?” Shinra leaned forward a little in interest, a woman had hit the Captain?

Benimaru shot him a glare and Shinra shrunk back, “Oi, don’t be so damn casual about her.”

“Waka, that’s the only name you gave him to use,” Konro chose that moment to come in and handed Shinra a wrapped bento box, “I need you to deliver that for me.”

“I’m not listening to any complaints, Konro…” He got up and put his hands on his hips, looking at the bento Shinra was now holding, “Is that for Y/N?”

Konro nodded, “Y/N’s perfecting a new technique by the river, she kept setting things and people on fire by accident. I told her there wasn’t enough space in town.”

“Wait, the Lieutenant called her Y/N too!” The boy let out a yelp as Benimaru smacked the back of his head and glared with his eyes slightly glowing, “OW! …ow… Then, what should I call her? Who is she?”

Benimaru gave a shrug and shoved Shinra with his foot to get him moving toward the door, “You don’t get to call her anything, don’t even look at her - you’re not worthy.”

Shinra grumbled as he saw the Lieutenant hide a laugh behind his hand and shake his head fondly at Benimaru’s pout. He sighed and began walking toward the river, he remembered the place they were talking about and wondered who he was going to meet, someone strong enough to fight Benimaru and who he obviously respected very much. As he walked he was beckoned by the old lady who made daifuku, “Are you going to see Y/N-chan?”

Shinra nodded and looked over his shoulder as if he expected Benimaru to be there and beat him for hearing Y/N’s name again, with no sign of him, Shinra bent down to the old woman’s level, “Who is she?” he whispered, “What should I call her?”

“Y/N-chan?” She tilted her head in confusion, “She’s Beni-chan’s lover, they’ve been together for as long as I can remember… haven’t you met her? I suppose you haven’t, she runs the neighbourhood watch on the other side of Asakusa.” She placed a small bag of daifuku on top of the bento and pat Shinra’s head, “Beni-chan loves her more than anything - Her official title is Lady Beni-chan.” The boy narrowed his eyes at the old lady, certain that wasn’t true but then again… this was Asakusa and they were weird. He made to stand up when he sensed something seriously wrong, suddenly a whoosh of hot air engulfed the street and Shinra made sure to shield the daifuku lady until it had passed.

Bells began to ring and everyone began to get out of the way, helping each other evacuate as the block was deemed unsafe. “It’s another of the big ones!” someone yelled and accidentally bumped Shinra as he passed. A large infernal emerged from the end of the street, fire scorching the homes around it as it ambled unsteadily forward - it was another of the white clads monsters, several infernals merged together to form a giant. Before he could ignite his feet, a fiery matoi flew overhead and took out several buildings in the process. Why couldn’t Benimaru aim for the infernal?! “Damn it, Beni!” A female voice rung through the air and when the teen looked above he saw a figure on the roof above him, the sun blinded him from getting a proper look, “Learn to aim, idiot!”

“Quit complaining!” Benimaru jumped down to the ground beside Shinra, an unlit matoi in his hand, he glared up at the roof and clicked his tongue as if annoyed, “Why don’t you actually do something useful?” He goaded, “Head home and start making dinner like a good girl!”

“Why don’t you shove that up your ass and swivel?” The woman jumped down from the roof and landed gracefully to the other side of Shinra. Shinra was surprised to see that the woman was quite pretty, she looked nothing like he had imagined from hearing her coarse words. Her outfit was very similar to Hikage and Hinata’s, the only difference was that it had no sleeves.

Benimaru shove Shinra roughly and pointed at him, “I told you not to look at her, idiot!”

“Ben-chan!” The woman chided him, “He’s just a baby!”

So this was Y/N? Shinra tried to recall what the old lady had said, she had said that Benimaru and Y/N were long-time lovers and that the Captain loved her more than anything - Then why did they look and speak like they wanted to kick each other’s asses?! He watched as some sort of silent exchange went on and Benimaru took a step back, he formed a circle of flames behind him and then Y/N lifted one of her arms, her fingers forming a distinct sign before the fire around Benimaru began to change.

It shifted and grew, the man adding more firepower to it as it began to coil around him, taking on shape and life until Shinra’s jaw dropped. Y/N had created a giant snake out of the flames, hot enough to singe the stores around the Captain but he seemed perfectly safe in the centre. Y/N lifted her other arm and, with two elegant moves, the fire struck with unbelievable speed and wrapped around the infernal, crushing it in the fiery coils. He watched as its head rose and the snake-like creature looked as if it were trying to eat the monster, all the while it got hotter and hotter until nothing was left of the infernal but ashes.

The fire dissipated into the air and Shinra looked between the two in wonder and awe.

— -

That evening the twins gave a cheer all of a sudden and ran to greet Y/N as she entered the guardhouse, she crouched down to plant a kiss on each forehead and then sent them back to dinner. She looked a little tired and her hair wasn’t as neat as it had been earlier when Shinra had seen her, he also noted the bandages around her forearms and palms. She sat between Konro and Benimaru, the larger man smiling as she grinned at him and told him they had matching wraps for the day.

Before Shinra could speak to her, Benimaru filled a bowl full of rice and placed it in front of Y/N, he then proceeded to pick up a few pieces of meat he had been saving to place them with it. They were sat so close together that they brushed against the other each time they moved. “What happened to your arms?” He asked casually and poured her a drink.

“Hmm?” She finished chewing and then replied, “I added too much fuel to my kindling and scorched myself.”

“Tch, idiot.”

“Asshole.

“Klutz”

Shinra missed his mouth completely and then blushed as the woman looked at him whilst he tried to pick rice out of his shirt. He didn’t get it, Benimaru had just served her food and they were practically sat on each other but they were insulting the other at the same time. Were they really a couple? “So…uh… you’re a second-generation then?” his grin was wide and he couldn’t help but be tense.

Nobody said anything for a moment and then Y/N let out a little laugh, “You’re so stiff it’s cute!” She had heard about his nervous smiles and didn’t mind that he looked like he was mocking her, “I’m second-gen, I’m only dating Ben-chan so he can light my fires.”

“Too much information, Y/N,” Benimaru smirked behind his cup as he saw her cheeks heat up and she punched his knee in her embarrassment. He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone and muttered a small apology at making fun of her.

“Ah…” Now they were being sweet to each other, what even was this relationship? He cleared his throat a little and tried again, “So Captain Shinmon provides the firepower?”

“Not always,” she replied, “I can take control of any flame but Ben-chan’s flames are my favourite, I can really go to town with my ability and he’s not stingy, we made a pretty big dragon today!”

Shinra didn’t even think before he spoke, “I thought it was a snake…” Y/N looked mildly annoyed and her expression became a scowl as the other’s tried not to laugh too much at her, “I mean… It was amazing but it was a snake.”

“You should see her fire fox… Looks like a weird pig!!” This time the twins burst into giggles, Konro excused himself and Benimaru pressed his hand to his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She shot a glare at all of them and the only one to flinch was Shinra as he tried to apologise.

“It was super cool! I was really impressed, Lady Beni-chan!” All of a sudden the laughing stopped and he looked up nervously, “Uh… the Daifuku lady said… that’s what I should call you - The Captain said I can’t use your name so…um…” The boy’s face glowed red and his grin grew as he realised the old lady was probably picking on him.

All of a sudden laughter filled the room and Y/N reached over the table to ruffle his hair. “Call me Y/N, don’t let these assholes get to you, kid.”

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!ateez reacts: s/o trying to run away

This is: requested | I was supposed to upload this last night but Chrome became a bitch and I lost all what I wrote in a span of minutes only. Hekhek, pain. 

Hongjoong: 

Hongjoong may not be as tall as Yunho and Mingi, nor as active, energetic and hyper as San and Wooyoung. But what he lacks, is what he makes up for. Hongjoong is a man of calculations, precision and skill. 

You listened to the sound of Hongjoong’s footsteps exit the house, hear his car engine roar and slowly hear the wheels fade into the road. While you had been tied on the bed, you were thankful for him for two reasons: One, he didn’t inject you any sleeping drugs. Second, leaving the cutter behind the lamp at the bedside table. You struggled to get your hands on the cutter, your finger dancing on top of the table until you reached for it. Finally, unbinding your wrists first before your ankles. And then, making your move. 

You first went down to the basement, knowing that there is a door that leads to his backyard. However, the doors were sealed shut and lock on the inside. The keys are always with Hongjoong. You went back up and noticed how the windows all had bars and the only free door for you to use is the front door. You slowly walked towards the front door and the blue skies and cold air greeted you. The sounds of birds chirping and the leaves rustling through the wind. 

“What a dumb kitten you are.” Hongjoong voice spoke, a visible irritated look on his face as he had his back leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

And you were so sure that you heard his car pull out the driveway. 

Seonghwa: 

Seonghwa’s calm and composed exterior contradicts his wild and aggressive exterior. One minute, he would be whispering you are his and his only. And the next minute he would stab the guy who tried to get your name and number at a coffee shop the other day. RIP to the guy, he was so young. 

And that’s what you fell in love with Seonghwa. He was so cool and calm in any situation that you felt like you were safe with him. Hehe, wrong. 

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanked and dragged you down to the basement after you talked back at him. How you felt like shit instead of being comfortable around him. And it was only natural for Seonghwa to raise his hand at you and swung it across your face and give you punishment. 

Cuffing your ankles through a post. He raises his hand and gripped its hold on your under your chin. 

“Don’t be stupid and wait for me here, alright?” He leaned into place a kiss on your cheek despite your protest in leaning away. 

You watched as he ascends up the stairs, leaving you all alone in the basement. Looking around, there wasn’t a lot in his basement. It was just you and a couple of items that are tucked under a white blanket. You bend down forward and forcefully remove your feet off the cuff, grunting in the process. Once you were free, you ran up the stairs and went to the living room. 

But you heard someone knocking frantically on the front door. Cautiously and curiously you approached the door and slowly opened it. In front of you, an elderly woman appeared. 

“Mr. Park, I’m truly sorry, but have you seen my- who are you?” The elderly woman asked, her brows furrowing in confusion upon seeing your dishelved state. 

“Please, please, I will explain everything to you but you have to help me! Please!” You begged the woman. The elderly woman nodded her head but as she turned around, she was met with a knife piercing through her stomach. You watch in terror as Seonghwa lets out a soft sigh as he pulls the knife out before continously stabbing the elderly woman before shoving her lifeless, bloody body on the floor. 

“I mean how you can be more stupid?” 

Yunho: 

Yunho isn’t anything like Hongjoong and Seonghwa. In fact, you didn’t know how Yunho’s mind works. But one thing is for sure, he didn’t think much like a normal human. But, everyone in town loves him! He plays with kids in the park, helping out the elderly in crossing the street or carrying their groceries, he even gives food to the homeless. 

Dating Yunho felt like heaven. You loved watching him help the people and he always stuck close to you like a puppy. However, you felt like you were being suffocated in the relationship as the months go by. You tried to tell Yunho to be less clingy towards you. And he didn’t took what you said the right way. 

You woke up cold and shivering. The place was dark and you were barely able to move your body as it felt sore and aching all over. You then noticed a foul odor besides you, turning your head, you let out a scream afterwards. It was the dead, rotting body of the guy who you immediately realized as the guy who catcalled you in your campus. 

You didn’t know how and why but you struggled to getting your limp body up and crawling out of the room. Extending your hand out and then opening the door, you noticed how the house was quiet. The only thing you could hear was your ragged breath and your body sliding on the wooden floor. You plucked up your courage and dragged your body through the front door, as it was the closest to you. 

You were so close to the front door when all of a sudden Yunho came from upstairs, jogging down the stairs as he saw your body before yanking your ankle and then dragging you back. 

“Hey Officer Song! It’s me Yunho! Sorry about the screaming, its my girlfriend and she just saw a rat in the living room. What’s that? Really? That’s great! I’ll get back to you. Nice talking to you officer!” 

Yeosang: 

Unlike Yunho, Yeosang is a combination of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa. He learned the art of skill and mastery of calculations from Hongjoong and the art of calm and composure from Seonghwa. 

You and Yeosang go to the same prestigious university in Seoul. Even taking the same course (Web Design). And you weren’t sure how Yeosang had a crush on you since there’s still a hundred of people of people under your course. Yeosang was a shy and cute boy yet smart. That’s what everyone mostly knew him of. 

And it slowly started out with him buying you coffee, doodling on your textbooks with his little creation called Hehetmon and going on study dates at the library or the coffee shop inside your campus. And one day, you gave your sweet yes to Yeosang’s proposal of being his girlfriend. 

It was supposed to be that way but Yeosang one time caught you talking to a guy. He didn’t like how close you are with the guy and how you were laughing with him. He made a note to himself on finding out who is the guy you were talking to. But to you, the guy you were talking to was just your partner for an upcoming requirement. 

That night, Yeosang silently entered your home. He lets out a soft gasp as he takes in your almost naked state in bed before leaning in to smell your scent. He dips down as he starts to bind your wrists together first. Much to his dismay, you woke up. 

“Yeosang? What are you doing?” You asked, looking at how he binded your wrists and ankles. Writhing underneath him. 

“Stop moving around, bitch. You’re making things worse for me.” You have never heard him cuss but that was a first. He placed a tape on your lips to muffle your sounds, pulling out a syringe and then injecting it on your thigh. Slowly you felt drowsy before darkness consumed you. 

Hours later, you awake with a sore feeling on your lower back and upper arms. Blinking your eyes, you realized that you were binded on the chair, in front a table and Yeosang sitting on the opposite of you. 

“What did I ever do to you?” You spoke groggily to him, blinking more. “I hate you. I want to break up with you.” But Yeosang lets out a sadistic laugh. 

“Breaking up with me? Why, were in this together. Remember? Why should I let you go when I finally have you with me? Soon, you’ll realize that you are mine and you won’t need anyone else. Just like Wonho.” 

Your blood ran cold. Wonho. The guy you were working in a requirement. 

“What did you do to him?” You asked. But Yeosang only smiled sweetly at you. “Wonho? Um, well, let’s say that I worked everything out for you and you’ll be getting the perfect grade. Wonho? Hm, let’s just say that he magically disappeared.” He stood up and placed a recorder in the middle of the table. Playing the recorder as he left the room. 

“YN~ Yeosang loves you! Let’s stay together forever, alright? I love you.” Was what Yeosang said in the recorded and oh god was it on loop. 

Needless to say, you didn’t get to sleep afterwards. And maybe, just maybe, staying with Yeosang is a good idea. 

San: 

Very much like Seonghwa. But worst.  

San is a sweetheart. There’s no denying that. And you were very oblivious to the fact that he has a crush on you. You’ve always mistaken his flirtiness with kindness that you would make his pick up lines as your jokes. Of course to San it hurts, but seeing you happy is what matters. 

Everyday, San lived with the guilt of not being his and yours. He feared everyone would take you from him and it kept him on edge for most of the day. It drove him mad until he could no longer take it. He decided to kidnap you and take you to his home. 

And now here you are, on the run, you managed to successfully escape his home and now you needed a ride to take you back to the city. From what you have learned, you were in Namhae, and it approximately takes you 3 hours to get back to Seoul. You were in the brink of walking back to the city when a car pulled up in front of you. 

“I’m sorry. I can assure you that I am no creep but do you need a ride? I was just driving to visit my parents in Incheon.” Finally. Incheon was a bit close to Seoul, and you decided to take up on his offer. Climbing inside his car. But as he was about the reverse, a bullet pierced through the windows of his car. Hitting him square in the head. 

“If you wanted to go to Incheon, why didn’t you just tell me, baby?”

Mingi: 

Mingi loves to shoot range. It’s his past time and hobby. It all started when his father first time brought him to a shooting range in the province in his pubescent teen days. “One day, this will become useful.” was what his father told him. 

Despite Mingi’s tall and muscular physique is a child that still lives inside him. Sometimes it comes out, him being clumsy, active and playful. But there are moments wherein he can become mature. 

Mingi knew you love him dearly. But these days, he wasn’t sure if that was still the case. His insecurity grew day by day until he eventually ended up like San: living with the fear of you possibly leaving him one day. 

On the other hand, you were slowly falling out of love with him. And you found yourself in the presence of someone new. One Friday night, you had lied to Mingi on the phone how you were heading home when in fact, you were taking a cab somewhere else with your new guy. After hanging on the phone, it took you both a few minutes before finally a cab pulled up in front of you. 

The driver got out and moved in front of you. Was that Mingi? No. You were so sure that it wasn’t him. You turned around and found him aiming gun point at your new guy before blasting his brains out. 100 points to Mingi for bloodshed. 

“So, this is the guy you were leaving me for?”  

Wooyoung: 

“IF YOU LOOK BACK, YOU’RE MINE” 

You remove one of your earphones and looked back at Wooyoung. “What did you say?” but you watched as he jumped out in joy at the open space. Wierd. 

Wooyoung is a reallyyyyy clingy boy. And boy did he love to pester you about your boyfriend. You found it weird, why would he always ask for details about your boyfriend? Everytime you asked him why, he would just shrug. And of course you never gave him the details that you wanted. That’s just weird. 

Your boyfriend meant everything to you. And recently, he was so happy talking to you about how he made a new friend. You were really happy how he was so happy that he made a friend that you told him to invite him to dinner one night. 

And that night finally came. You were in the kitchen while cooking and any minute the guest would arrive. You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your wasit. You leant your back on his chest, submitting to his touch. 

“If you look back, you’re mine.” You let out a soft gasp and then you turned out. Coming face to face with Wooyoung before blacking out. 

Jongho: 

Jongho was someone is very different from your boyfriend. Jongho was soft and understanding and always was willing to listen to your rants about your everyday life. Whereas your boyfriend kept you under his toxic behavior or leaving you and then showing up a few days. Always partying and hooking up with random girls. 

You oftenly wonder why you could never get away from your boyfriend. You mind kept telling you to leave all the toxicity behind, but your heart says to endure the pain as he told you that he is willing to change for you. And he mentioned that a year ago and there was still no new change. 

It was just you and Jongho inside a coffee shop, sitting near the window where you would tell him about your day and what were the things you did. And seeing Jongho being immersed with what you have to say made you so happy. Although your momentarily happiness was cut short when your toxic boyfriend came in and told you to come with him. 

You wanted to stay with Jongho but you found yourself going with your boyfriend. And Jongho was not okay with that. 

He followed you and your boyfriend through the dark alley. There wasn’t a lot of people in the area and Jongho took this for his advantage. 

“Jongho?” He came up both from behind. Laying a hand on his shoulder before tackling him on the ground, beating your boyfriend up like a pulp. 

“Jongho! Stop it! Stop it!” You pleaded, pushing him away by his shoulder. When he stood up, you looked at the bloodied face of your boyfriend who looked like he was half dead. 

“Were you really going to leave me there for this guy, Y/N?” Jongho’s question and uneasy calm voice shook you. 

“You couldn’t leave him because the sex is great, isn’t it? I know you. That’s why you can’t leave him. And there’s a part of you that’s still holding onto him. What about me? Don’t you think I deserve a chance as I’m the one who’s with you all this time?” 

The guilt kicked in and Jongho’s words started to brim tears in your eyes. You were unsure, that’s true. However- 

“If you leave me one more time, I will not hesitate to do the same thing to your parents. They’re old, right? It would make beating and killing them easier.” 

[karlyfr13s]

Oathkeeper Chapter 2

It was supposed to be a CS one-shot, but then the CSMM crew got ahold of me and now we’re in multi-chapter mode. Thanks to the ladies for their inspiration, enabling, and cheering me on. Looking at you @teamhook, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @gingerpolyglot (tell me if you want added, and coach the newbie in where these actually belong).

A HUGE thank you to @veryverynotgood who is the most radiant beta and gives me flails that keep me going through the self-doubt. 

Links in case you missed Chapter 1 or prefer to read on ao3

Note: the rating is now M due to violent imagery.

Killian’s first week in Storybrooke was unconventional and more than a little confusing. Everyone in the whole bloody town seemed related, or at least so interconnected there may as well be blood involved; it drew attention to him and he spent most days certain he was being watched.

Certainly there were fewer eyes on him than on the young Lost Boy, Felix, and for that Killian was grateful. He observed the woman everyone called Granny as she put the lad to work with a nearly endless list of chores, always under her watchful, scrutinizing eye. In want of conversation one evening, he’d inquired about the choice to take on someone such as Felix. That had earned him a derisive snort and an eye-roll that rivaled Emma Swan’s when Granny explained in no uncertain terms that she was well-equipped for the job.

“Listen, Captain,” she leaned on the bar as he sipped a rum, “if I can raise Ruby through puberty as a damn wolf, I can handle one scrappy Lost Boy. What he needs is a strong guiding hand, and a good dose of responsibility--that Pan let those kids run wild.” Killian tipped his glass to her at that assessment, knowing all too clearly how the lads were deceived and used throughout their time in Neverland. “Structure, Hoo--it’s Killian, right?” she amended quickly. “Kids need structure and routine. You’d do well to remember that.”

Not for the first time, Killian wondered exactly how much Granny overheard and knew as she watched her patrons come and go. In fact, she was the only one in town who referred to him by his given name, most simply opting for Hook or Captain if they were being pleasant. Or ‘the pirate’ if they happen to be Emma’s father, he added. His ponderance was abruptly interrupted when the door crashed open and an exasperated looking Emma quickly crossed to the bar and sank down one stool from his own.

“This one calls for a whisky on the rocks, Granny,” she huffed, casting a sidelong glance at Killian’s own glass. “You too, huh? Must be going around today.” He watched as she shucked her red leather jacket, tossing it aside on the barstool between them and he gave her a moment, offering a quick clink of his glass once her own libation arrived.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Killian kept his voice light, noting the tension in the set of her shoulders and jaw.

She heaved a sigh and he made a valiant effort to focus on her stunning green eyes rather than the assets her movements showcased in that moment. “The short version? I’m sick of my mother,” she tripped on the word, “trying to be my life coach. I’m tired of inane ‘loitering’ reports from the surliest dwarf, and I cannot seem to get--” her momentum was immediately interrupted by the door and a sudden call across the diner.

“Ems, there you are!”

“--a single minute of quiet,” Emma finished lowly while Neal sauntered over and leaned against the counter, placing himself between Killian and her.

“So, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You know, you, me and Henry? Or maybe just you and me if Regina has--”

“Neal, I’ve had a long day. I am going to enjoy this drink, maybe a second, and then I am eating whatever I rummage out of the pantry at Mary Margaret’s since she and David are out on a date.”

“So you have the place to yourself?”

Killian understood the insinuation and clenched his jaw. He started counting backward from ten while he listened to Emma try to redirect Neal’s plans, and when he heard the other man’s second attempt to garner an invitation he reset the clock and started the count at twenty. Perhaps she cares for him, he reminded himself. She is tired and had a difficult day, but that does not mean she has chosen not to be with--

Her voice was suddenly raised and Killian felt like he was about four steps behind the conversation as he snapped to attention on the words she spat at the man across from her.

“Just go-- go, Neal. This isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. It is not happening .” Whatever expression she held in that moment must have been truly glorious to earn Neal’s melodramatic scoff as he stormed out the diner and slammed the door behind him.

Granny simply poured a healthy splash of whisky in Emma’s glass in reply before shuffling back to the kitchen as she had witnessed the whole interaction mere steps from Killian, who just now was actively working to control both his expression and the thoughts wheeling through his mind at her parting shot. What exactly was not happening between them? Where did that leave him?

Killian glanced over at Emma, her eyes ablaze as if challenging him to comment on the interaction. “Darts are quiet,” he offered congenially, smiling what he considered his most winning grin.

That earned him a quick bark of laughter. “And a little violent,” she smirked.

“Aye, that too, Swan.”

She held up her glass and they shared their second silent toast of the evening. “I could use a little of both,” she added as she got up, glass in hand and the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“I hear rumor they even sell food at this establishment,” Killian pressed his luck a bit as they collected the two sets of darts and set up.

“You don’t say?” She shook her head at him and he watched her consider the offer. “Loser buys?”

“Of course, love.” He sketched her a bow, flourishing his hand and making a show of it to cover up his surprise.

“Not your love,” she retorted, sinking a bullseye on her first try while Killian considered how grateful he was that Granny accepted doubloons. Where had she learned to play like this?

...

Granny hollered last call only moments after Emma bid Killian goodnight, a lightness to her steps as he watched her go. “Looks like that went well,” Granny called over as she wiped down the last table.

“Aye,” he tossed Granny a wink, “and she stayed for three games. And dessert.”

For the life of him, Killian couldn’t decipher Granny’s laugh at this simple observation until the double-entendre dawned on him at last. He was tired and perhaps he’d imbibed one too many glasses if he was the one missing the joke...it was then he noticed Emma’s jacket still laying across the barstool where she’d first dropped it.

“Seven hells,” he took off to the sound of Granny’s whooping call as she warned him the sheriff walked fast and he’d better work for it. Work for what exactly? Killian mused as he jogged out into the night, no easy feat in full leathers with more than a bit of drink in him. He spotted her golden hair in the lamplight down the street and called out, thinking it the better option than startling her.

She spun on her heel, wobbled slightly, and burst into laughter as she leaned against the lamppost for support--clearly he wasn’t the only to enjoy one too many this evening. Ever the gentleman, Killian held her jacket out and ignored her comment about being chased down Main Street by a pirate.

“Princess,” he began, calling far too loudly given the hour, “chivalry demands I return your cloak, lest you catch a chill on this dark night.” She shushed him less than successfully as she giggled and fell into step beside him-- Emma Swan can giggle, he mused. “As well,” he continued, voice full volume and bordering on a bellow, “I must see you safely to your door. No doubt there are ruffians about, and all manor of unsavory ne’er-do-wells, all seeking mischief against such an elegant,” he chuckled as she staggered slightly, “and graceful lady as thee.”

“You’re such an idiot, shut up! Do you want the whole neighborhood awake?” Her scolding was half-hearted at best considering her idea of a whisper could likely be heard across the street.

“Do you think they’ll call the sheriff, love” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his chest. “Surely you wouldn’t throw a man in the brig for an act of noblest courtesy,” at that he draped her jacket over her shoulders while she led the way and proceeded to spin a tale of his own unimpeachable valor as a young sailor. When they reached her dwelling, she turned to face him before heading up.

“Why do you always get it? Nobody gets it.” He raised a brow at her question. “Gets me. Like Neal,” she slurred the name and rolled her eyes. “I have a shitty day at work and he decides to make some weird pass at me through the kid ? But you,” she leaned in and poked Killian in the chest, keeping her index finger pressed against his sternum. “You’re the...the flirty pirate king and you just...throw sharp shit at a wall with me and buy me drinks. You didn’t even check out my ass more than once.”

He absolutely had, but far be it for Killian to correct the lady when this seemed to be going somewhere rather interesting.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she slurred.

Before he could suggest this was likely a bad idea as she would potentially regret whatever her next words were to be, she pulled him down by one of his coat lapels and whispered loudly, “My mom is Snow White, right? So she’s all about ‘true love’ and ‘happily ever after’,” her whisper became what he thought was an imitation of her mother, though he doubted that Snow White had ever been six whiskies and two rums deep.

“So she thinks that Neal is like...my Prince Charming, but here’s the secret: he’s not a prince! He’s a con-man, and he sure as hell isn’t charming. So whoops, Mom! Wrong bet!” She laughed and let go of his coat, poking the end of his nose and whispering something that sounded like the noise boop in the most infuriatingly impossible-to-understand gesture he’s witnessed yet. She gave him a glassy-eyed smile, and in a parting shot that left him speechless, she cupped his cheek and in a much softer tone murmured, “Goodnight, Killian.”

---

The morning arrived after less rest than he’d like, but Killian snapped awake as  the sky first began to turn a dusty rose on the horizon. This was very likely the best mood he’d found himself in for quite some time, and he mused on the past twelve hours as he fiddled with the magic hot-water dispenser until he got the temperature just right. Unlike the Jolly , Granny’s provisions in terms of hygiene were lavish and he assumed they cost her a small fortune if Ruby and the guests enjoyed them as much as he did, but Granny assured him the soaps and amenities were provided, so he took great joy in letting the warm water run over him as he lathered up, breathing in the herbal and lemon scent so unlike the harsh lye soap he was accustomed to. This world without magic had its  charms, and hot water on demand was his latest favorite.

He arrived downstairs for his other new-world favorite - coffee - and Killian was pleased to see Emma already at the counter, though she looked a great deal less chipper than he felt. “Good morning, Swan,” he sauntered up to take a seat at her left. “Beautiful morning, don’t you think?”

She grumbled something about a headache and before Killian could reply, Granny swooped in and all but insisted she sit and have breakfast. Despite her protests, Emma wound up delayed in her arrival to her post that morning as she was cajoled into a substantial pile of eggs, bacon, and toast. “Complain all you want, Sheriff,” Granny eyed her as she set a matching plate before Killian, “but you two need to soak up some of last night’s fun. Now, eat.” After obligingly refilling their mugs with steaming hot coffee, to which Emma added more than a bit of cream and sugar, Granny retreated to another table as the morning rush filled in around them.

They ate in companionable silence until Emma glanced over and opened with, “I beat you at darts, didn’t I?”

“Aye, two wins to my paltry one, Swan. I’m only grateful we chose not to wager more than dinner and drinks on the game, or my pockets would be a great deal more empty.” She smirked at his comment, and the two chatted as they worked through their breakfasts, both seeming to come alive as Granny had predicted.

He should have known it was all going far too well.

The bell above the door chimed, and the bustle of the patrons picking up coffee and pastries on their way to work or leisurely enjoying their breakfasts fell to a whisper. Killian stayed perfectly still as he heard the man limp toward the counter, the gentle thud of his cane giving him away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma roll her eyes at his clipped “Miss Swan,” and Killian stayed frozen to the spot, not trusting his reaction in front of the woman who not only was increasingly important in his life--a thought he’d sort out, or studiously avoid, later--but also represented the local law enforcement.

He heard few of the words exchanged between the Crocodile and Granny, though neither appeared pleased to be having the conversation. Instead, his pulse pounded in his head and his vision clouded as he clutched the edge of the counter. Killian had the distinct image of grabbing that gold-topped cane and flipping it, beating the man about the head until nothing recognizable remained. Until the gold handle dripped red. He could leave him on the floor of this place, twitching as the last impulses of his brain forced him to dance to a soundless tune; Killian could simply walk to the Jolly and set sail, free of the memory of this vile excuse for a man.

Except that he could do no such thing. He sat next to the sheriff in a small town diner surrounded by people who already distrusted him to varying degrees. He was trapped in a land that was not his own and had no way-- nor will --to return to his own. He was a captain without a crew, and as his mind raced through the numerous ways he could rid himself of this loathsome creature he knew now was not the time and certainly not the place. Simply put, Killian refused to put Emma in a position where she would be forced to see the darkness that lurked within him. So he let it pass, and let the Crocodile go for today.

It wasn’t long after the disruption that Emma took her leave, and Killian lingered at the counter as he mulled over what to do with his day. Most days he helped Granny with the more physically demanding repairs around the place, but he felt caged and in need of something more challenging.

“Appreciate you not taking his head off in my diner,” Granny remarked banally once the place emptied. “You have any idea what it takes to get blood out of white grout? Oh, don’t look so surprised; nothing smells quite like fear and rage rolled up in one, and I could smell yours from across the damn room.” She waved dismissively and filled two mugs, sliding one to him and keeping the other for herself. “It’s hot chocolate, and you need it. Little liquid comfort never hurt anyone, so drink up and tell me about it.”

He sipped hesitantly, but the woman was certainly right about the comforting power of the elixir before him. Killian thought about his next words as he breathed in the sweet steam from his mug, letting the cup warm his hand as he held it. “You could...smell my emotions?” He felt it best to begin with the obvious inquiry and prolong the tale of his darkest day.

“I could also hear your heart-rate skyrocket the second you knew who came through that door, so I’m guessing there’s some history there. You don’t have to tell me everything, Killian, but I need to know if I can trust you when you’re in here. Gold comes in to collect rent monthly, and every now and again he has lunch as well. I need to know you’re not going to take a kitchen knife to the bastard while I’m serving sandwiches.” She levelled a scrutinizing gaze at him and waited.

Killian set down his mug and scrubbed his hand over his face, realizing he was in need of a shave, then realizing he was further delaying the conversation. He sighed, knowing there was only one right way forward. “I will not spill his blood on your grounds, Granny, not unless he spills mine first. You have my word.” She nodded once, waiting for him to continue. And so he spent the sunny morning explaining how he lost his hand to the Dark One. While Killian left out much of the story of Milah, he could not entirely avoid her role in the tale, explaining simply that the man she knew as Gold had killed the woman Killian loved right in front of his eyes. Granny was sympathetic and asked few questions, letting him choose how much to reveal. It was cathartic, in a way - a chance to tell someone this piece of truth. A chance to be heard.

When they were finished, Granny spoke briefly of her wolfish nature, a truth which Killian enjoyed as it made her acute hearing and perceptiveness make far more sense. “I know your heart-rate also picks up around a certain sheriff,” she added as Killian slipped on his greatcoat, readying himself to find busywork on the Jolly . “And I know hers does around you.” She eyed him closely then, searching for he knew not what. “Be careful with her, Killian. I don’t know everything--I’m not sure anyone does--but I can see enough to know she’s been hurt, and that hurt hasn’t fully healed. In fact, I’m damn sure the source of it just waltzed back into her life.”

He nodded his understanding and left her to her work. Given the woman’s preternatural understanding of her patrons, he was not about to argue. He chewed her words over in his mind repeatedly as he spent the rest of the day checking that everything aboard his beloved Jolly was in tip-top shape. While his life may be constant chaos in this world, at least he could be assured his ship was as perfect as ever.

[munimuni-muna]

Victorian Series: Prologue

This is the prologue to a collection of reader inserts of all the Jojos as siblings in one big Victorian family, all fathered by Jonathan’s father in Phantom Blood.

Premise: Mr. Joestar's eight children are acting quite out of character. Unbeknownst to him are the love troubles each Jojo was experiencing

Warnings: A very worried and confused father

Photo from looper.com

It is a truth universally acknowldged that all of Mr. Joestar's children doesn't quite fit in too much with the Victorian crowd. And as a father of 8, he has learned to accept that fact. He was used to judging stares (both agreeable and distasteful ones, depending on which child they were looking at really). But he loved his children dearly, more than what societal standards might say. They're all very good people in their own way;

First there is his kind, and admittedly quite clumsy, Jonathan who is always first at the dining table. Most times he failed to wait for his other siblings to come. The behemoth is always quite hungry! Goodness knows which side of the family he got that from.

Second is his very cheeky rule breaker, Joseph. His actions are more questionable to him than most of his other children. He found it hard to lecture Joseph. This boy only seemed to listen to his fisticuff trainer, Lisa Lisa. And how many times did he tell Joseph not to fight in the underground arenas in town? He couldn't count anymore.

Third, (Mr. Joestar had to heave a sigh) his utterly rude but well-meaning Jotaro. This boy was born in a ship while he travelled with his beloved wife. And the name was kindly suggested by his Japanese crewmate and friend. He said it was supposed to signify a person with a pure heart, depending on how it is written in the complex characters of the Japanese. But, my oh my, how Mr. Joestar wished he'd lower his voice sometimes especially towards his siblings.

Fourth is his bubbly and spirited Josuke (his wife became quite fond of Japanese for a time). This boy is his ultimate mediator, together with the occassional Giorno who may or may not mediate, helping resolve sibling fights. He'd do anything to help his loved ones just don't mention his peculiar hairdo. Even he has to keep quiet about his opinions of it.

Fifth is his ambitious and enigmatic Giorno. He seemed to be doing really fine in law school. The boy has a dream, a political one. And it excited Mr. Joestar to see it unfold. Hopefully, the Lord could spare him a life a little longer than his beloved just to see not only Giorno, but all his children succeed.

Sixth is his only flower, Jolyne. Blast! How in the world did Joseph manage to pull Jolyne into the fisticuff world?! But if he thought about it, his daughter never really was the embroidery or baking type. She always rode horses with Johnny or play chess with him when he had time. Still, this girl never failed to greet him everytime he came home tired.

Seventh is the Joestar's resident jockey, Johnny. It seems that he's been doing well and is able to ride horses again after meeting their new Italian neighboor, Gyro Zeppeli. Mr. Joestar's happiness at the sight of him riding again instead of brooding gave the father in him joy. He always tried to please the boy before to no avail. He only had Gyro to thank.

Last is his quiet and curious Gappy. This boy disliked public gatherings, even intimate ones! And that he shared with Jotaro. Gappy's lack in social skills he poured in his passion, taxidermy. Entering his room is always a marvel to Mr. Joestar. It was full of cabinets lined with animals he neatly worked on. And he thought it uncannily awesome!

But as of the moment, Mr. Joestar found himself in a predicament. All his children aren't acting like they used to.

As the usual first person sitting down for breakfast, the most uncanny sight befell him; Gappy, who always arrived late for any arrangement, was the earliest, even before him nor Jonathan at that! Where was Jonathan? And what was the occassion?

"Ah, what is this peculiar sight?" Mr. Joestar noted as he sat down.

"Father." Gappy offered him a tight smile before focusing his gaze on his lap again. His usual bright purple eyes was splashed with what could Mr. Joestar assume to be loneliness.

"Is everything okay?" A worried father had to ask.

"Yes." Gappy answered with a heavy sigh.

What a very convincing answer. Mr. Joestar thought. Before he can inquire more upon the subject, Joseph stomped his way towards the dining table, pulled a chair, and slammed his bottom on it to join this very happy morning they currently have. He rested his elbow on the table while his cheek pressed to his palm. Mr. Joestar would scold him for his rude behavior if not for the unusual visible frustration on his visage.

"It's rare to see a pout on your face, Joseph. What's the matter?" He asked.

Fortunately for Mr. Joestar, Joseph was chatty enough. "Bloody hell!" Joseph began, and Mr. Joestar had to stop himself from spitting his morning tea. "How the hell should I have known she liked daisies more than roses?!" Joseph yapped.

"D-daisies?" Mr. Joestar was at a loss. And to his dismay, Joseph went back to sulking which didn't really help him understand what was happening.

Mr. Joestar was still in the process of understanding his two sons when another arrived;

"Good morning." Jotaro greeted as he sat down. Even Gappy and Joseph were surprised upon hearing this. Jotaro never greets anyone. That is just a fact they've all silently agreed upon. "Jonathan's not eating today. He told me to tell you."

Wait…not….Jonathan is not eating? What in God's holy name is happening to his sons?! Yes, part of him is glad that Jotaro decided to finally be polite for once. But he's not even done processing his other sons' situations yet!

"What's for breakfast?" Johnny, who just got out of his downstairs room, joined the party with a wide smile spread across his face.

Mr. Joestar gaped at the sight of his lanky blonde son actually sitting with them for breakfast. Usually, Johnny would be in a hurry to go riding with Gyro!

Mr. Joestar sat there wondering if these were really his sons. Perhaps he was still dreaming? Maybe the Lord Almighty answered some of his prayers that his sons be polite for once? Well, he couldn't say so with Joseph, but still. Oh if only his wife was still with them. What would she do?

The head of the family wasn't spared still when he saw his only girl walking down the stairs. "Jo-Jolyne?" He was wide-eyed in utter surprise. His flower was wearing a dress, a contrast to her usual boyish trousers and blouse.

"You look okay." Jotaro complimented. Mr. Joestar had to clean his ears. Did Jotaro really just say that?

"Thanks." Jolyne mumbled, face coloring a little at the sudden remark from the most unexpected person. "I didn't want to wear it." She said, crossing her arms over her chest after sitting down with them. "My valet insisted." Her face colored more at the mention of her valet.

Following Jolyne was a disheveled Josuke, wearing the same trousers from yesterday, his crumpled undershirt half tucked under it. And most shockingly, his hair was undone!

"Apple Charlotte anyone?" A familar voice asked. And when Mr. Joestar found the owner of the voice, he was greeted with the sight of Giorno. He wore a white apron, Apple Charlottes carried by hands clothed with mittens. Did Giorno…bake?! Since when does he bake?

And Josuke too. Where is his usual crisp clothing? Of all his sons, Josuke was the only one who didn't need a valet. Just what was happening?!

Mr. Joestar closed his eyes, massaging his forehead in a circular motion. The Apple Charlottes smelled divine, but his mind was somewhere else. This was it for Mr. Joestar. His mind couldn't fathom whatever phantom turned his children into this. He pondered on their change in routines; What happened in the past few months before this? He paused for thought.

Jonathan frequented the Viscount's home recently. He always brought gifts to that specific household after the summer gathering. Who was he visiting there?

And Joseph? He still trained under Lisa Lisa but is somehow more enthusiastic than ever when he's up for training. And he always complained that training was hard, but recently all Mr. Joestar hears from his son was how exciting it was. What was altered in their training module? Maybe he could ask Lisa Lisa about it?

Jotaro had two recent voyages on the same ship, The Arbella, to collect some samples of marine life for his studies. And he's about to set out on another on the very same. What sets this ship apart from the others, he wonders. He knew Jotaro had the affinity for golden pins, so maybe he has a budding interest in ships?

Josuke visited London a lot recently. And when Mr. Joestar asks about it, the boy would only give a vague answer. What worried him was his exploits and the people he surrounded himself with. At least Joseph was being blunt about his excursions. He just hoped Josuke was not in any kind of danger.

Giorno came home for a break, and he only reads books for a time. But where did the baking come from? When he thought hard enough, he remembered Giorno being quite happier than usual when his break started which was odd. For he was against taking a break from law school, wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. What triggered the change then?

Jolyne recently changed valets. None of her valets ever last long because of her excursions with Joseph. But that goes the same for the latter which is why Mr. Joestar gave up giving the brute a valet at all. But Jolyne was a woman, and a woman had to look her very best when attending social functions. But maybe her current valet is doing well then?

Johnny started hanging out with Gyro which brought about good change. But why have breakfast with them all of a sudden when he was always excited to meet his best friend?

Gappy always hung out with his childhood best friend, and they did taxidermy together. Nothing really changed. As far as he knew, Gappy's friend was now out on the marriage market. So is that it then?

Mr. Joestar had a lot to think about.

That's it for the prologue! Hope you enjoyed it.

Some notes:

I know it's very Regency, but I just had to make a Jane Austen reference for that first paragraph.😋

Taxidermy is a very normal hobby in Victorian England.

Valets are people who help their lord/lady dress themselves and accompanies them to events.

Fisticuffs = Boxing

And in case you're wondering, Apple Charlotte looks like this:

Picture from bbc.co.uk

Jonathan’s story is right here>>>> https://munimuni-muna.tumblr.com/post/635990891462606848/victorian-series-part-i-the-viscounts-daughter

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 7: Ain’t Nothing But A Horned God (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"You know, super strength and natural parkour aside, that kid is really living up to his second identity," I mused as Peter popped in right after Loki and I got dressed in our daywear clothes and were about to binge watch the Orville.

"Why do you say that?" Loki asked, eyeing Peter as well.

"If you get rid spiders the humane way and just release them into the wild again, they will still find their way back in. Hand me that newspaper over here, I can fix that."

"I thought you said he was cute, isn't that a term of endearment?" he teased.

"He lost that effect when he killed the mood I was about to build up here. The fuck you want, kid?" I barked at the energetic idiot Tony loved so much.

"Mr. Stark's not here?" Peter squeaked.

"Hell if I know, ask Friday or better yet, beat it."

My trying to get rid of the kid seemed to somehow have the exact opposite effect I had hoped for, not unlike when a person that can't deal with cats walks into a room with one in it, that cat will instantly greet the hapless person and never leave them alone. Peter apparently grew a pair and turned his attention on me specifically, seeing as he apparently had met Loki while I was in captivity.

"So you're one the team now, huh? Where you from?"

I blinked at his sudden confidence. "Lynn, Lynn, the city of sin," I sang the old tune of my town.

"Where's that?"

"Near Salem," murmured Loki beside me. "No wonder you wanted to go there yesterday, you were homesick."

"You've been in my position before I'm told so I'm guessing you know how I felt."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"That would mean admitting I actually feel things and I'm not one to catch feels here, gross."

"Have you got a superhero name yet?" asked Peter eagerly.

"I'd have to be a hero first for that to work and I'd rather not."

"Why not, its the funnest! Get to meet all kinds of people and everything!"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "That's supposed to convince me? Really? Tony told me you were clever too, Loki you're the god of lies, how could you let that slide? I hate people, if anything that'd push me toward antihero or even villain. Kill em all and then add em to the undead army, who's with me?!"

"You said so yourself that would take a lot of energy and convincing to make your victims part of your army," mused Loki.

"Sshh, he doesn't know that. Why are you still here if Tony's gone?" I asked Peter.

"He told me I'm welcome to hang out with the team in his absence," Peter replied confidently. "What were you two doing before I got here?"

"Having passionate s/m sex in every room we can get into, you look a bit too young to join but you're welcome to watch," I teased.

"No one gets to watch that," Loki stated stiffly. "That's for our eyes only. Don't you have homework that needs doing about this time?"

"All finished, Aunt May says I can't go out and be Spiderman till its done. Hey, Mr. Loki, Tony says you're not actually from Asgard but a planet of frost giants, is that true?"

"How astute of him to bring that up," grumbled Loki. "Yes, what of it?"

"What do Frost Giants look like?"

"Pete, hun, you don't go asking gods questions like that," I warned the kid, seeing Loki get all tense and serious. "Didn't your aunt ever tell you to stop sticking your nose in places it's likely to get broken in?"

Loki however had other thoughts though didn't look too pleased in acting on them as his once fair skin started to turn blue, green eyes became red and curious markings formed on his head and face. Peter looked absolutely excited being the obnoxiously curious kid he was but made no move nor questions and just tried to his best not to piss off the god while studying him at the same time. I however couldn't help but reach over to touch his face though he caught my wrist.

"You'll burn with frost bite if you touch a frost giant or one touches you."

"Sweety you are touching me," I noted. "My flesh is dead, hydra already tried extreme temps on me, no sweat."

He quickly let go despite my reassurance in fear he was freezing me with his touch, a blackened handprint remained where he held me for a moment before my necro-magic healed it and I was back to simply being a reanimated walking dead girl. I gently touched his face, my thumb brushing over the markings.

"People seem to think red eyes always means evil here," I mused. "Yet theres a fuckton of superheroes wearing red elsewhere, Tony, this little arachnid that needs to be swatted with a newspaper, Thor's cape. Red doesn't mean evil, it means power, anyone wearing red is displaying a power move."

"You don't wear it," Loki told me.

"Weren't you listening during my many rants? I don't make a habit of displaying what I'm capable of, that totally gives me away before I can even attack. It's all about subtlety, something spiderling here needs to work on before asking gods sensitive questions." I glared at the kid who had the grace to look a little ashamed, it was almost cute. At that point, just for funsies, I snatched the newspaper on the coffee table, quickly rolled it up and started smacking the poor boy with it. "Bad spider!" Peter made little move to defend himself though didn't seem too bothered by being whacked by a dead woman either.

"Don't break him or Tony will kick you out," Loki warned though I could tell he was just as amused by my antics as I was smacking around Peter.

"Dude can catch a bus with his bare hands while some people can barely catch them on their feet, he's fine. Ain'tcha kiddo."

"Stop calling me kid, I'm a teenager," mumbled Peter.

"Which is just another term for a kid that thinks they're an adult so really you're not helping your case here. It's adorable how easy it is for you to dig your own grave, even if it with a beach shovel."

"Maybe he's more likely to break you if you keep teasing him," Loki noted.

I arched an eyebrow at him. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

At the reference, Peter seemed to perk up again. "You've seen those movies?"

"Sweety, I might have been locked up for 5 years but even I know that everyone's seen at least one of them that's still alive."

"Why were you locked up, are you a criminal?"

"What did I tell you about asking sensitive questions, Loki, give me back my spider smasher."

"She was kept by Hydra, no you will not be beating on Tony's favorite project, especially not when there's surveilance everywhere in the tower."

I rolled my eyes at Loki and glared at him. "Meaniepants."

"Do all necromancers look like you?" Peter piped up.

My glare shifted to him then. "Look like me? You really wanna go there? I might be dead but I can still kick your ass, Spiderboy."

"It's spiderman," he grumbled.

"Not with that attitude it ain't."

He shot a web at me angrily and while I knew he never actually meant any harm and I wasn't quick enough to dodge it, I really hated spiderwebs since the first time I walked into one face first, unable to see it. Death magic rushed to the spot he hit me and essentially dissolved/rotted away whatever the hell the webs were made of so they fell apart and off me. Loki looked at me curiously while Peter looked just a little bit horrified. "Try that again, Pete, I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker." My eyes went white while blackened veins popped up around them. That got Peter more than horrified and he backed away with repetitive squeaky apologies. Seeing as he got the message, my face relaxed back to its normalness. "I fucking hate spiderwebs."

"I'm curious, if that was an enemy in front of you and not Peter, what would you have done?" asked Loki.

I turned over to the god and smirked maniacally. "Point me in the direction of one and you might find out."

"You didn't do this when we raided the Hydra base the second time."

"They weren't enemies, they're minions of them. Peter you're really cute but your curiosity is harshing my buzz here, lay off on the sugar and either buzz off or calmly wait for Tony to return. You're like ice cream to me right now, so good but so not worth the brain-freeze it comes with."

"If you're always getting a brain-freeze then you're eating it wrong," countered Peter smugly.

"There's hardly a wrong way to eat ice cream, kiddo."

"Um yeah there is, any way that's not right from a cone. Surely you jest."

"Prefer it with a spoon so I don't make a bigger mess of myself than I already do...and don't call me Shirely."

"Call me biased but I believe the spoon is the better option if we're talking the same food she was wolfing down right after she moved here," Loki noted. "I can't imagine a better way to eat it out of its original tub."

"Plus you can fend off intruders and late night food thieves with a spoon, kinda defenseless since you'd eat the cone after and then you got nothing but a sticky mess to contend with," I added.

"Hold up, that was you that ate my moosetracks ice cream?" Peter squeaked.

"Tony said he bought it and therefore it was his ice cream but he also said his helado es mi helado so not yours at all. Also Thor was the one that finished it because unlike some other Asgardians, he asked nicely."

Loki scoffed and playfully glared at me with crossed arms. "I do and take what I want, there's no need for formalities." His response was a well aimed throw pillow to the face because why else would you call them throw pillows if not for their intended purpose? "Are you sure you want to do that, love?"

"Am I sure? Kinda late to be asking that after the fact, init? But seeing as it already happened, I'm gonna go with yes I am, whatcha gonna do about it?"

"I have to ask if you're sure you wanna challenge the God of Mischief like that?" Peter asked me worriedly.

"Firstly, what's with people asking me if I'm sure, of the three of us which one here is still a virgin and learning the ropes of kicking ass and taking names? Secondly, if you're calling him that based solely on Norse Mythology he's also the goddess of eight legged foals and father of a world ending snake and thus far the only thing close to those myths is the bigass snake in his pants but that's none of my business."

Loki looked beyond amused at me both calling him out on his mythology and representation of it and that not so subtle compliment that may or may not have boosted his ego to the size of Yggdrasil and all the nine realms combined. "While I'm pleased with the last statement about me, I can very much assure I'm the master of mischief, that much of the myth is 100 percent true, Thor can attest to that and any surviving Asgardians besides him that know of me."

"Just because you are known for something specific does not make you the master of it. By that logic, I'm the Goddess of Zombies."

"Hela beat you to that by at least a thousand years," Loki argued.

I glared at my lover and eyed the nearest throw pillow in contemplation, maybe I should hold it against his face gently and then apply pressure. "Sure, if there really was just one realm of gods to go with that might work in your favor."

"What do you believe in then? Where does your faith lie if not in yourself?" he challenged.

"In my life, in my experience and in my line of work there is only kind of gods I follow in faith and those are the gods of death."

Whether he caught onto it or knew my line of thought somehow or not, I couldnt tell but his next response was damn near perfect. "And what do you pray to the gods of death."

I grinned wickedly. "Not today, bitch."

"I'm hurt you wouldn't consider praying for me on your knees," purred Loki.

"The only way to get me on my knees is by taking away what keeps me standing and at the moment you've become my reason to stand these days," I replied smoothly, catching him off guard with the claim of more mortal devotion. "Would think that's obvious considering I come alive at your touch."

We stared at each other for a long silent moment, Loki looking somewhere between admiration and something else I couldn't quite place, his eyes shining like freshly cut and polished emeralds. He also looked torn between wanting to shove me against the nearest wall and makeout or reply with a smoother, wittier comeback because this dude was as desperate to have me as he was to have the last word and prove he was the master of mischief. Men in a nutshell, doesn't matter where they're from or how hard they are to kill. Speaking of things hard to kill, the arachnaboy was still present in the room, watching the two of us verbally spar/flirt before something apparently clicked in his head and he frowned, turning toward me.

"H-how exactly would you know if I was a virgin or not?"

I cackled at his attempt to call me out and act at least a little more confident. "Elementary my dear Parker. Besides the fact you both look and act a day before you're legally of age in this country? It might have something to do with your reaction to Loki's pants snake- there it is! You look different shades of uncomfortable hearing about just the size of someone's dong. Guys usually are either confident with what they got or pretend they are long enough to snag someone to use it on and hope for the best...There's also the fact regardless of age and powers you're radiating with life unsullied, I can sense it on you. Lemme know when you are legal and I might be able to help you with that though." I winked at him, causing yet another priceless reaction from Peter and a scowl from Loki.

"I'm not overly fond of sharing."

"Don't knock til you tried it, besides, I could be six fix under by the time he's open for business, right Pete?" I nudged the poor kid with an elbow for good measure, it was too much fun messing with him.

"I'm sorry, I'm just getting so many mixed signals from you right now I gotta sit down and um wait for Mr. Stark."

I watched the kid scoot away to another room, leaving us alone for once and I grinned and relaxed, turning my attention back to Loki. "And that is how you get rid of a spider properly, if you can't kill it, make it wish it never came in."

"That whole charade was to scare him off?" asked Loki incredulously.

"He's just so precious and innocent, his ears must be burning from the naughty stuff by now. I mean yeah, if he was legal I still wouldn't mind corrupting him physically but I doubt he's got the stones to take me up on that should I be around then. Besides, there's more than one way to sacrificing a virgin these days, isn't that what you gods demand all the time?"

"I'd rather just take you on the sacrificial altar several times over till I'm the only god that can give you what you pray for," he growled.

I blinked in surprised, he was usually a little more clever and subtle in his suggestions and I somehow activated the animal in him with my incessant sexual teasing between him and Peter. "Would the couch do? I don't think the coffee table would survive despite it being solid mahogany." An uncharacteristic squeal of surprise escaped me as his response was a low growl followed closely by a master of mischief pouncing on me.

[traitorousheroes]

in the hands of a Goddess

Notes: I originally wrote this little ficlet back in June of 2016. Obviously it’s been awhile since I even worked on it, but I figured I should post ficlets in order to get myself back in the writing habit. The basic gist is my personal headcanon that Syldor worked for the Raven Queen before Vax ever did (something to do with Vax’s Fate-Touched status). IDK, I know this probably won’t be everyone’s cup of tea (because Syldor is a terrible father) but I like adding a little more nuance to characters if I can. Also, skamelar is an Old English word for parasite, if anyone gets confused. Enjoy!

At eighty-five years of age, he became Her steward.

This was not how his life was supposed to turn out. 

“Skamelar,” he hissed, ducking under the talons of the scowling vampire. The nails scraped against his blade, throwing a shower of sparks into his face. The flash of light made him blink, giving the second strike of the creature purchase against his shoulder. The vampire’s snarl turned gleeful as he brought the bloodied nails to his mouth. 

“Elf,” the vampire replied, sucking his finger clean. “So far from your home. What calls you to my domain?”

“One higher than you,” Syldor replied, holding his twin short swords at the ready. 

The creature tilted his head, examining him. Then, as if realizing a joke, he laughed. Syldor tightened his grip on his blades, before forcing himself to relax. The vampire tried to circle him, but it was easy enough to keep him in view.

“Another paladin, then?” the vampire asked. “Come to avenge your fallen brethren?”

The image of a woman, armored in black plate, came unbidden to Syldor’s mind. Her eyes, dark grey in life but clouded white in death, had stared unseeingly into the morning light. The people of the town, Wrettis, had been all too willing to point him in the direction that the travelling stranger had gone. He had barely passed within the treeline before finding her body, tossed aside like refuse for the forest to claim. 

“She was no kin to me,” said Syldor. 

That, in and of itself, was true enough. He was no paladin, no warrior bound to a sacred oath. Nor was he a cleric, the arcane magic that flowed from his fingers in direct contrast to what they would wield. Priest was not the correct term either, since he wielded a blade with far more lethality than temple service would ever require. The title bestowed on him, however, was one that he could not refuse.

“Then why stand by the body for five days?” the vampire asked, swinging a claw at his guard.

 Syldor blocked it with an ease that did nothing to betray his weariness. The vampire stepped back, the slightest hint of a limp on his right side. Considering that they had been trading blows with neither side earning a significant hit, the limp was from another wound. Perhaps a parting gift from the deceased paladin, or another older wound that had not healed well.

“My Lady commanded it,” he said. 

“Your Lady,” the creature mocked him. “You serve the same patron as her, then. The one she cried to as I drained the life from her body. She wouldn’t stop praying for her intercession. I suppose Her Raven Majesty didn’t care much for her, in the end.”

Syldor struck out at the insult to the dead woman. He scored a graze against the monster’s chest, a line of dark, almost black, crimson bubbling up from the leathers. The vampire snarled, his fangs catching the light of the waning moon. Rather than wait for him to attack again, Syldor rallied and struck. The edge of his blade sunk into the flesh of the creature’s neck, slicing harmlessly in a shallow gash across his throat.

“Even if you spoke truth, I would see you dead in justice for her,” he replied. “Do not mock the dead, skamelar, for their Queen sees you for what you are.”

“And what would that be?” the vampire asked. He reached for Syldor again, only to have his reaching claws batted away by the flat of the blades.

“One who steals life from those who hold it still. One who steals the lives of children in the night, leaving them cold and bloodless in their beds.”

The edges of the vampire’s lips curled up at the charges laid before it. “There are others who do worse than I, elf. Leave me at peace here and hunt them instead.”

Syldor shook his head slightly. The vampire sighed, although the feral gleam in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts on the matter. He dashed forward, grabbing Syldor’s right arm and trapping it between them. His foul breath made Syldor recoil just far enough to escape the fangs that struck for his throat. As he looked down on the miserable creature, Syldor flicked his left hand up, the blade finding purchase again in the vampire’s throat. 

This time there was no chance for him to escape. Reversing his grip, Syldor pushed the blade against the wound. Blackened blood streamed from the gash and splashed on both of them. His strength waning as the blood continued to pour, the vampire released his right arm. He scrabbled at the blade embedded in his throat, but it was a useless effort. Dropping the sword in his right hand, Syldor grabbed his left handed blade, and used the extra power to saw through the remains of the vampire’s neck.

The head dropped to the ground as the body collapsed. The eyes twitched as Syldor watched, before the expression fell slack and the creature truly died. The fact that the creature had not collapsed into a gaseous state in a bid to escape spoke to its youth. Syldor let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping forward as the exhaustion from the fight crept up his limbs. Reaching down, he grabbed the head by the hair, letting it swing in the air. It was more of an effort to get a hold on the leather-clad body, but soon enough he had a good grip on it. 

Dawn was cresting over the farmlands when he made his way back to Wrettis. Those who went to tend the fields fled back towards the town when they saw him. Syldor paid them no mind, dragging the corpse to the temple district of the town. A priestess, robed and veiled in black, met him at the entrance with a small bow. It was the warmest greeting he had gotten since entering the town five, now six, days before.

“I learned of your victory a few hours ago, Steward,” the woman said. 

“I have done as She asked,” Syldor replied as the priestess fell into step beside him. “As I always will.”

She nodded, and he had the faintest idea that she was smiling behind the veil.“Perhaps.”

The rest of their short walk was made in silence. The woman, as most of her fellow temple priests and priestesses, did not seem uncomfortable by the lack of conversation. The quiet was useful to him as well, letting him organize his thoughts and affairs.

Those of Syngorn would wonder at his sudden departure. It had taken less than two days to reach Wrettis from the elven city, but what he had found and the task that had passed to him had extended his leave beyond what was normal. They would question his absence, considering the others that had occurred since his eighty-fifth year. While not prone to gossip, some of the more fanciful of his people had concocted tales of a woman he held dear outside the walls of their city. Instead of denying their claims, Syldor let them talk, allowing their childish stories to cloud the true reason for his leavings.

“Your mind is troubled,” the priestess said as they mounted the steps to the small temple. The body, dragged as it had been across the fields and the city streets, was easy enough to pull into the doors of the temple.

“It is nothing to trouble yourself with, my lady.”

“I will always listen if you have need, Steward,” she said. 

Syldor stopped, watching the woman as she continued to walk forward. Her gait did not falter, but now that he was paying attention, he noticed that her footfalls made no sound against the stone. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as she came to a halt before the altar. She turned back towards him, her face hidden behind the veil. Taking a deep breath, Syldor forced himself forward. 

“He was a stablehand,” the not-priestess told him as he laid the body on the altar. “Thom was his name. He used to ride and break the horses for one of the stables in Wrettis, until one of them broke him. It shattered his leg like glass, and he lost his one true joy in life.”

Syldor looked at her from the corner of his eye. The not-priestess had her hand cupped against the vampire’s cheek, the gesture almost looking like pity that echoed in her voice. With a sigh, she dropped her hand and lifted her head to look at him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She chuckled, and again Syldor got the impression that she was smiling at him. “My Steward, do you not recognize me?”

“My Lady?” Syldor said. Again, the feeling that the woman behind the veil was smiling at him. 

“You have done well, my Steward,” the Raven Queen said. “And you have done more than I would have asked.”

“I fulfilled my duties.”

“Your duties did not include standing watch over the body of my warrior,” she said. “And yet you did anyway.”

“There was no one else,” he said. 

“And yet you could have pushed the duty onto one of the priests, but did not. Your compassion reveals itself in the strangest of ways.”

“It was my duty.”

“As you say,” the Raven Queen acquiesced. “Your duties have been fulfilled. You are free until I have need of you again.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Syldor said, bowing at the waist. 

By the time he glanced upwards, she was gone, leaving nothing but a single raven’s feather on the breast bone of the corpse. It was the work of a few minutes to light the pyre, and Syldor watched the creature’s corpse burn, even as his mind turned towards home.

[inyournightmares97]

Her Dowry (Part 2)

The handsome Mr. Park Jinyoung is proud, haughty and says exactly what he thinks. He doesn’t need anyone meddling in his life… much less a spoiled and rich young heiress who is shamelessly in love with her own fortune.

Can two such selfish people ever find comfort in each other?

Warnings: Regency!AU, pretty much a Jane Austen fanfic with GOT7 lol. Angst, Fluff, some attempts at me being posh and using big words that might seem cringey. Please don’t ask when I’ll update because I’m trying my best!

Word Count: 4.2k

Read Part 1 here!

“There is no need to be too careful with those,” you called out to the footman in a breezy tone. “Feel free to drop them if they are too heavy.”

The carriage transporting Mr. Park Jinyoung’s belongings arrived late in the morning. You had been taking a walk with your dog after breakfast in the front gardens, when you noticed the full carriage rumbling up the stone pathway to the large manor. The footmen were currently struggling to take the suitcases up to the guest rooms. You stood to the side among the rose bushes and watched in displeasure. The little Pomerian on a leash beside you noticed your distress, and pawed at your skirts desperately. 

“Come here, Snowball,” you cooed as you picked up the little fluffy white dog. She panted at you happily and licked your arm. “Do you see those packages there? They belong to Mr. Park Jinyoung. Now, we don’t like Mr. Park. So whenever you see him, I would like for you to growl at him and make it clear that he’s unwelcome here. Understood? What are you going to do?”

Snowball yipped at you happily. 

“No, growl!” you ordered firmly. The little Pomerian merely blinked up at you, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in a cheerful pant. You sighed and patted her on the head. “I really should have gotten a bloodhound like Jackson but what could I have done? You were too adorable.”

Snowball licked you again and you laughed, putting her back on the grass. She danced about your feet happily. You spent a few minutes letting her attempt to jump in order to take a treat from your hand and clapped when she reached the required height. Snowball was munching on her biscuit, when the clip-clop of a horse riding up the stone path became audible. 

Mr. Park Jinyoung had arrived on horseback. You watched silently as he rode up to the front of the manor, a classically handsome figure in a simple yet fashionable jacket. He dismounted gracefully and his dark eyes turned to you. You straightened while he approached you with a gentle smile and a polite bow. 

“Miss Lim,” Mr. Park greeted you warmly. “I see you are out on a stroll. Isn’t the weather lovely this morning?”

“It was. I’m afraid a rather ugly dark cloud is passing by at the moment,” you commented drily. Mr. Park’s eyes flickered up towards the clear sky. His lips curled into a handsome smirk when he understood that you were not referring to the weather. 

“Perhaps a dark cloud now and then is inevitable in life, Miss Lim.”

“I suppose it is. The important thing is that the cloud learns its place and does not ruin everyone’s fun by raining down upon them,” you quipped. 

You were interrupted by a sudden tug at the leash in your hand. Snowball had darted forward and was now sniffing eagerly at Mr. Park’s shoes. You tried to pull her back in horror but Mr. Park Jinyoung only laughed. It was a very charming laugh, you had to admit, but a detestable one all the same. 

“And who is this?” he chuckled, reaching down to pick up Snowball. She licked at his hands happily and you sighed. Stupid dog. Mr. Park laughed again as Snowball yipped at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled up fondly when he held her up to look at her. How could such a horrible man have such a mesmerizing laugh? 

“Her name is Snowball,” you replied. 

Mr. Park smiled as he set her down. “I see. A noble name, indeed.”

“Hardly. I named her such because she's round and white, as is evident,” you replied, tugging on Snowball’s leash to pull her back. She let out a small whine and pawed at your skirts sensing that she had upset you. “And I’m sorry to say that I don’t appreciate other people touching her. She’s a very delicate dog. I would prefer that you did not attempt to play with her.”

Mr. Park raised an eyebrow. “I am not ignorant of the fact that you clearly dislike me for some reason, Miss Lim. But asking me not to touch your dog is rather childish, is it not?”

You bristled. How dare this man! Not only did he insult your musical talent before your entire family but he also had the audacity to call you childish? How could a man who was relying on your hospitality and proclaimed himself a gentleman speak to you in such a rude manner? You glared at him and pressed your lips together tightly. 

“Then perhaps I am a very childish woman, Mr. Park. You will have to excuse me. I am afraid you interrupted my morning walk. I am sure the housekeeper would be more than pleased to show you to your rooms.”

Mr. Park sighed. “My apologies. I will take my leave, then.”

You turned away from him and pulled Snowball along behind you, waiting until Mr. Park had disappeared inside the manor to pick her up and cuddle her to your chest. “There will be no more licking Mr. Park, do you hear me?” you scolded the little dog in a hushed voice. “If you lick him once more, you will not get your daily treats.”

Snowball whined and nuzzled her nose into your hand in apology. 

--

“Dear, will you be going down to the assembly rooms this evening?” your Father asked you during lunch. You had spent most of the meal glaring at Mr. Park Jinyoung while he ate, and listening to Colonel Jackson rant about some of the antics the officers in his regiment indulged in. You were too busy brooding over your absolute hatred for the man who sat across from you to notice that your Father had spoken to you. 

“Sorry, Father. I could not hear you over Jackson’s babbling,” you snapped. 

Your Father chuckled. “I was only wondering if you intended to go down to the assembly rooms for the assembly this evening, my dear. It should be a lovely opportunity for Mr. Park to become acquainted with the society here at Portsmouth. The three of you had better go and have a dance or play some cards to entertain yourselves. Surely, it cannot be very enjoyable to spend your evenings here with me.”

You smiled at your father. “I like spending evenings here with you very much, Papa.”

Father chuckled. “Yes, but a young woman like you had much rather go and interact with the society in town, or you shall become an old maid before you know it. And it is our responsibility to introduce Mr. Park to the society here.”

Jackson smiled and nodded. “Of course! We certainly cannot miss the assembly. I will introduce you to some of the officers, Mr. Park, they’re all extremely fine fellows and they play an excellent hand at cards. The society here is almost equivalent to that in London. We lack nothing. And I’m certain you may find a beautiful woman or two to tempt you into a dance!”

Mr. Park nodded with a smile. “It sounds very pleasant. I should be delighted.”

“I will call for the carriage to take us there this evening!”

You huffed and folded your arms across your chest in irritation. You didn’t want to go to the assembly rooms. This was all because of Mr. Park. You gave him one final glare to which he responded with a simple, smug smile. 

--

The assembly rooms were where the cream of society gathered on scheduled evenings to gossip, gamble, dance and flirt. Colonel Jackson’s regiment was currently in town so there were a significant number of officers crowding the card tables this evening. Beyond the card rooms was the dining room where tea and supper was served, and beyond that was the ballroom for dancing. Everyone was dressed very fashionably but you were evidently the best-dressed woman in the room. You smiled to yourself as you smoothed down your expensive silk dress with your gloves. 

Jackson was instantly distracted by his fellow officers at the cards tables, and he persuaded a very reluctant Mr. Park to join them for a game. You merely greeted the officers politely and then moved onwards to the supper room. 

“Oh! Miss Lim!”

You turned with delight at the familiar voice. The woman who hurried towards you was one of your best friends; Miss Kim was dressed very prettily in a light pink dress and she wrapped her arm around yours eagerly as soon as she saw you. You smiled back at her. 

“Oh! What a relief that you are here, Miss Kim! I thought I was going to have to spend the evening alone and miserable.”

She giggled. “Of course I am here! My brother is in town for some business and I simply had to come and visit my dearest friend. I was going to call on you tomorrow if you did not come to the assembly rooms tonight. Oh! But we must sit down and talk. How could you not even write to me about your brother’s wedding? It was so shocking to have to see it in the papers!”

You followed her eagerly to a pair of vacant seats. “I would have written to you if I’d known myself,” you replied bitterly. “I was completely unaware that Jaebum was even courting anyone. He merely wrote to say he was engaged and then two days later, he and his bride had arrived from London with her family in tow. Oh! It’s so unpleasant and painful! Miss Park smiles far too much and her brother is the rudest man I have ever met!”

Miss Kim’s eyes shone. “Ah! That Mr. Park! I have heard that he is very handsome.”

You pouted at her. “If you flirt with him I shall never forgive you.”

“I would never! You know that I have eyes for no man other than your brother, Colonel Jackson. I do sincerely hope that if he should decide to marry someday, you would not allow me to find out through the papers. I really may just die of heartbreak!” she cried dramatically, before the two of you burst into giggles. 

Miss Kim had been harboring a fancy for your brother for years now but he never showed her any affection beyond what he would show any other woman. She took the rejection surprisingly well, so you doubted whether her affections were very serious. “Oh! But there is a surprise for you here tonight!”

You blinked. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“Mr. Choi Youngjae is here,” she told you with a teasing smile. “That kind, gentle soul whose heart you constantly trample upon with your leather slippers. I would not be surprised if he came here tonight in the hopes of meeting you. Perhaps he will attempt to propose again!”

Your smile fell. “I should hope he does not. It was difficult enough to persuade him not to do so last season. An official proposal should only serve to embarrass us both.”

Miss Kim looked at you sympathetically. She loved you, but it was difficult for her to understand your behavior. 

“Do you really have no intention of accepting him? He is such a good and kind man. Everyone in society loves him and he seems to care for you greatly. He is among the few other eligible men in town. And you are always so determined not to go to London for the season and meet new men. Where will you find a husband if you insist on locking yourself up away inside your home like this? A man is not going to come knocking at your front doorstep.”

You bit your lip. “Then I shall not get married.”

“But why?” she insisted. “Come to London with Mother and I next month. I insist. There are so many wonderful men and I shall have my brother introduce you to them all.”

“Oh? And if there are so many wonderful men then why do you still pine after Colonel Jackson?” you teased. 

Miss Kim flushed. “Oh! True love is another matter entirely, my dear. Perhaps I should have been successful in my love if his sister had been a little kinder to me and done a better job recommending me to him… but we are not all so lucky,” she sighed as you laughed. She was constantly bemoaning that you did not do more to draw your brother’s attention to her. “How can you laugh at my despair, you terrible friend?”

You smiled. “Because I do not believe that you are truly despairing, Miss Kim.”

“Well, then!” she stood up, playfully offended. “I shall take my leave now. It is my intention tonight to extract a dance from Colonel Jackson without your help and I will be grateful if you should refrain from interfering. I would rather not end up an old maid.”

“He is at the card tables. You will have to tie him to a pair of horses to drag him away from there. Good luck, Miss Kim!”

Miss Kim giggled and hurried away to the cards room, hoping to find a seat at the same table as Colonel Jackson. You smiled at your silly friend. She had already lost a good amount of money to your brother at the card tables in the hopes of capturing his attention, but Jackson only laughed at her and took her money and never asked her to dance. 

You were watching Miss Kim disappear into the next room when you heard a pair of elderly ladies talking at a table nearby. They were sipping their tea and looking at you with distaste. As is common with elderly women who are hard of hearing, they spoke so loudly that it was impossible for you to not overhear their conversation. 

“Look; she has come alone again. How terribly inappropriate for her to attend such social events without a female chaperone. Does her father think it is appropriate to send her here with only her brothers? A young woman who has only been out in society a few years?”

The other woman scoffed. “For shame. That girl will find herself in a scandal soon enough. Nothing good comes of letting a young woman with a fortune of a dowry run about in such a loose and careless manner. Who would marry her? She has never had any decent gentlewoman to teach her how to behave. ”

You took a deep breath and clutched your handkerchief. Your eyes flickered sharply over to the elderly women, who fell silent the moment they realized that you were glaring at them. Disgusting creatures. They were so old and withered and wrinkled that they had nothing to do but comment on other women. It was not the first time they had said such things about you, nor the first time that people had commented on your lack of a female chaperone for these events. Your mother had passed away while giving birth to you and you had no aunts, no close female relatives to take you under their wing. The only woman available to accompany you to social events had been your governess; and she had left once you were too old to require one. 

You merely glared at the women and turned back to your cup of tea. They could only dream of owning the amount of money that you possessed as your dowry. You knew better than to be affected by their envious words. 

Mr. Park Jinyoung entered the supper room just as you were finishing your tea. He seemed slightly lost and uncomfortable. You smiled to yourself at the sight of him looking around blankly until he finally spotted you. Your smile fell when he made a beeline for you and took the empty seat beside yours. 

“Miss Lim,” he greeted you politely. 

You raised an eyebrow as you sipped your tea coolly. “Is it not extremely inappropriate for you to sit beside an unmarried woman such as myself at a social gathering? I believe propriety demands that we be accompanied by a chaperone.”

Mr. Park raised an eyebrow. The bored tone of your voice indicated that you did not truly care about the absence of a chaperone, but were merely attempting to find some fault in him. 

How could a woman as beautiful as yourself could be hiding so much hatred inside? It seemed impossible, but your words only became more poisonous with each conversation you shared. He sighed. 

“I am afraid it would be much more improper for me to approach anyone else at this gathering, since I have not been introduced to them. You and Colonel Jackson are my only acquaintances here. I am certain that I shall cause less offence by sitting with my sister’s new family than by approaching someone who does not know me at all.”

You sighed. Unfortunately, Mr. Park was not wrong. “I suppose so.”

Mr. Park smiled. “And is the purpose of a chaperone not merely to ensure that a young man and woman do not cross the boundaries of ordinary acquaintance? I am certain there is no danger of that here.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Certainly not. Although I wonder why you do not choose to stay by my brother’s side; he is surely the more pleasant company.”

Mr. Park sighed again, a hint of discomfort appearing on his handsome features once more. “Colonel Jackson’s company is excellent but I have no desire to lose more money at the card tables. Gambling has never caused me much enjoyment. I prefer not to push my luck, what with me having so little of it in the first place.”

“One would not look at your face and deem you a man of meagre luck, Mr. Park.”

Mr. Park raised an eyebrow and his dark eyes twinkled. You were irritated at how handsome he was and how aware he seemed to be of his own god-given charms. There was no use denying that Mr. Park Jinyoung was extremely attractive. However, once one overcame the deceptive barriers of his perfect face and handsome countenance, it was not difficult to identify Park Jinyoung’s many flaws.

“Is that a compliment, Miss Lim? I am flattered.”

“Not as much of a compliment as you might imagine, Mr. Park. I tend to place more importance in aspects of a person that cannot be covered by luck; such as manners, good-breeding and most importantly, benevolence.”

Mr. Park laughed. “Benevolence! Surely?”

“You do not believe me?” you demanded. “Or do you think my own character to be so lacking in benevolence that it is absurd for me to expect it from others?”

“Indeed; I have no idea how benevolent you are.”

“Let me assure you that I am extremely benevolent!” you insisted firmly. “A necessary quality in a woman who possesses as large a dowry and such excellent prospects as I! A woman with such a large fortune and natural beauty must do everything in her power to share her gifts with those less fortunate in this world.”

“I see you are very inclined to charity, then.”

“Indeed. We live in a world where beauty and a large dowry are the most powerful things any woman can possess.” 

Mr. Park Jinyoung's smile suddenly changed; the curve of his plump lips was more forced than it had been earlier. He nodded silently. There was a brief and unpleasant silence which was interrupted by the arrival of another gentleman at the tea table. The only person in the entire city of Portsmouth before whom even Mr. Park was preferable. 

Mr. Choi Youngjae. 

“Miss Lim!” Mr. Choi greeted you politely and kindly, with a bow. His manners were impeccable and he was always well-spoken and kind, but his sudden appearance made your stomach turn. “It is so wonderful to see you here this evening. Please; allow me to convey my apologies at being unable to attend your brother’s wedding. I was detained in London.”

You smiled politely at Mr. Choi. “Of course Mr. Choi; I am certain that my brother understands completely. There is no need for your apology.”

Mr. Choi smiled hopefully. “Yes. Thank you. I was wondering, Miss Lim, whether-”

“Mr. Choi, have you yet had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Park Jinyoung? He is the younger brother of Miss Park; or should I say Mrs. Lim now, the woman whom my brother has had the fortune of marrying. He is staying in Portsmouth for some time on business. Mr. Park, this is Mr. Choi Youngjae. A good friend of mine and a businessman who often comes to Portsmouth to do his business,” you explained hurriedly. 

The two men shook hands politely and exchanged perfunctory greetings. Mr. Choi’s eyes were fixed on you and you knew that he was hoping to speak to you alone. You could not allow that to happen. You quickly rose from your seat and gave the two gentlemen a polite smile. 

“Well; since you are now acquainted, I hope that you will find some topic of conversation suitable to both of you. I am on the lookout for my good friend Miss Kim, so I will excuse myself,” you curtsied politely and hurried out of the dining room.

The two men blinked after you in surprise. 

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Park Jinyoung could not help but feel a little pity for Mr. Choi. 

The young man had evidently approached in the hopes of obtaining your attention, but you had hurried off and left him to converse with a near stranger. It only took a few minutes of conversation with Mr. Choi for Jinyoung to determine that the man met all of your expectations in a person. Mr. Choi had manners, good breeding and plenty of benevolence. He heard of Mr. Park’s hopes to avail of certain business opportunities in the shipping industry and immediately offered his assistance. 

“I would be very glad to see you at my offices soon, Mr. Park!” Mr. Choi said welcomingly with a large smile. “We would have a much easier time discussing business there than in this noisy environment at the assembly rooms. I am based out of London for the majority of the year, unfortunately, but I do travel to Portsmouth often. How long do you intend to stay here?”

Mr. Park bit his lip. “I do not know; I am currently residing at my sister’s home on the Lims’ estate. If business goes well then I may need to look for some more permanent residence so that I do not impose upon their hospitality. If not, then I shall return to London to stay with my mother.”

Mr. Choi nodded. “Indeed; I look forward to furthering your acquaintance in either city.”

“May I ask if you are closely acquainted with the Lims?” Mr. Park asked curiously. Although he did not want to interfere in your personal business, he felt extremely curious about your evident desire to avoid such an amiable and harmless young man. It was one thing to detest Jinyoung, but what problem could you possibly have with Choi Youngjae? 

Mr. Choi blushed at the sudden question but there was something disappointed in his expression. “Ah; I have never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Lim himself, but I am acquainted with Mr. Lim Jaebum in passing and have also had the pleasure of losing to Colonel Jackson at cards. As for Miss Lim, well, I uh, I happened to meet her while she was in London a few years ago and we have continued our acquaintance since then. She’s a very charming and beautiful young woman.”

Mr. Park nodded. It was clear to him that Mr. Choi Youngjae was interested in you. He cleared his throat and smiled. “Well, am I to believe that some sort of congratulations will be in order in the near future?” he wondered. 

“Oh! No; that is, I don’t think Miss Lim has any such inclinations,” Youngjae admitted. His cheeks flushed red fiercely. “She has told me quite firmly that she has absolutely no intention of marrying and leaving Portsmouth to live far away. I… I had rather hoped that she would compromise but the truth is that my estates and business are primarily located in London and there is nothing much that can be done about that. I do travel down to Portsmouth a few days in a year but that is…”

Jinyoung blinked. “I suppose it’s not sufficient for our spoiled young Miss Lim.”

Mr. Choi’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Surely, Mr. Choi, you cannot be so blind to the fact that the woman you are pursuing is indeed rather spoiled?” Jinyoung demanded. “She speaks to people just as she pleases and has no qualms boasting of the size of her dowry in public!”

Mr. Choi Youngjae smiled. “I see you do not understand Miss Lim very well yet.”

“Don’t I?”

“Indeed you don’t,” Mr Choi replied. “It is human nature for us to be proud of what we have, Mr. Park, especially when deep down we know that there are many other things we lack. Miss Lim has been deprived of a great many things that most young ladies have. I suppose we may let her have her dowry, at least.”

Jinyoung frowned.

What could a rich and beautiful heiress with a loving family possibly lack?  

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[thawingthoughts]

To All The Boys I’m Tired of Loving...

Does this shit get any easier?

Dear Tumblr, it’s me, Becca.

It’s been a while.

I’ve been hand journaling lately, but I feel like I have too many thoughts and emotions to be limited to the speed of my carpal tunnel. 

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I broke up with the person I thought was supposed to be the love of my life in July last year. It fucking sucked, but it was the best decision I’ve ever made without question. The life I lived in those months after was more life than I had lived in my 23 years prior. I went to a foreign country, I moved, I made better friends, lost bad ones, made moves in my career and, well, fell in love again?

Which brings me to today, another fucking shitty day.

Love doesn’t suck, but navigating relationships in your 20s does. 

Today I’ve spent the day crying my eyes out over a guy who technically was never my boyfriend. I genuinely never thought that would be me. Who the fuck am I right now? 

Anyway, let’s continue. 

In August 2018 I met a boy (because let’s face it if they’re under 30 they’re not a man) who wrecked my heart. Which, like I said who the fuck am I to let that happen?

He was too good to be true, and sure enough, he was. 

In our Pete Davidson / Ariana Grande pace of a relationship, we shared a lot of life, a lot of sex, and I think more love than either of us care to admit. Much like the famous duo though, I think we were both in a lovesick rebound. Saying that doesn’t discount the validity in the emotions of the relationship, but it does give justification for its exhilarating but devasting end.

Like a deadly car crash from street racing, things went from 100 to zero, quick.

I think at the end of it though, I put him on an unwarranted pedestal because of the trauma he experienced in his life. And that’s not fair to me. 

Yes, in that relationship I had a lot of guards up. I pursued something much bigger than I had ever anticipated. I fell harder than I thought I could fall, and I was so afraid of those emotions and if they were real. 

I let a man say all the things I wanted and needed to hear. Treated me like a fucking queen in a way I had never experienced before. Listened like no one I had ever met. stupidly handsome, passionate, funny, incredible in bed...the list can go on. 

But also, let’s call the bullshit where we can now. Rose-colored glasses off. 

He’s got demons I can’t help, especially if he has no desire to help himself. His personality tends to bleed politician in order to skate around truly expressing himself. He scapegoat’s bad communication with vague statements. He’s extremely intentional in the moment but has poor follow through. Literally runs away from a confrontational situation. 

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I remember after that first date though, that I thought I had met my match. And I was fucking terrified. Never in my life had I been on such an incredible first date. And no, that’s not to say that it was like a rom-com with these insane bells and whistles, but there was a chemistry between us like I had never felt before. 

We met like any millennial in 2018, on a dating app. I had zero expectations. His profile had no info and he was roughly my age, so the fact that I had swiped right...surprised I did honestly. 

I remember I half-ass dressed up for this date, almost canceling last minute until I realized the restaurant was right around the corner from my office. 

I enter the restaurant, late, huffing and puffing and hot in the August heat (lol it’s Portland so it’s probably only 80 something degrees). I see him there and he’s in this wonderful suit and I feel like a hot mess, quite literally. We were probably there for three hours? We hit every topic that makes me wet: feminism, how Portland is so white, our shared Latinx experiences, liberal politics, I don’t even remember what else. I just remember calling my mom on my way home saying I’m fucked. Saying why the hell did God put this person in my life at this moment when I made such a fucking loud declaration to the universe that I was not ready. 

He’s the only person I ever asked out on a second date. And that date was just as great as the first. We got dessert at my favorite place in town late at night after an extremely tough day at work. 

Next his ass helped me move apartments.

Then the following week we ended up at the movies watching such a heavy movie, both needing a drink afterward. Next thing I know it’s four in the morning and we’re parked in his car outside of the movie theater. We’ve already made a seven-eleven run for gum and water.

I, being the confrontational person I am, asked him what’s his deal. In my head how does a guy pursue a woman like this without wanting to seriously date? Because, per my mantra earlier, I was not trying to date. 

He told me his story, and it eerily mirrored mine. He and his partner of three years broke up that summer because of cheating. He was trying to get back in the game. He wasn’t looking for anything serious, but having a hard time navigating the app scene. He said a lot of girls said they felt like he wanted something serious because he was so nice, but that wasn’t the case. 

I, of course, felt instant relief and also that there was a storm destined for our future. 

We were in the same boat, hurray, but knowing the person I was and who I was actively trying so hard not to be, I was going to fall. Fucking hard.

And fucking hard I fell. 

We kissed that night. It was hands down one of the, if not the, best kiss of my life. I don’t know if it was the build-up at the time, my constant experience with men who suck at kissing, or my current raw emotions, but as of right now he can keep that title. 

The following night I ask him out to dinner and took him home. We hooked up and I was blown away. So of course, like any person who has been deprived of good sex for a long time, had him over for too many late nights during the work week. 

Were either of us getting quality sleep? No. Was it the most fun I had in a long time? Absolutely. 

Then all of a sudden we were spending a lot of time together. More than just late nights, more than just evening dates. We were sharing our work days and our work lives with one another. We’d sometimes get lunch together. He was taking me to events. I met his friends. He slept over 3-4 nights a week. We shared deep stuff going on in our lives.

That shit scared me. A lot. 

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I’d been a serial monogamous. Been in three three-year relationships. All so different from one another, but all-in-all, bad. None of them ended well. I was cheated on in every single one. 

The first one I was so god damn young that I can’t fault either of us at that time anymore. We’ve learned and grown and after probably more years than I’m proud of, I forgave him.

The second was a rebound from the first; it just happened to last three whole years. We were co-dependent in a way that was toxic for both of us, but we were just college kids who hadn’t ever been in truly healthy relationships before then. I don’t know if forgiveness is the right word in this one, but I’ve learned to let go of my baggage from it.

The third one...was a nightmare. It wasn’t at first and we had two beautiful years, but that last year was brutal. He lied to me. He cheated on me. He called me a cunt. He gaslit me. He harmed my growth when I became a more independent person...the list can go on. 

The point is, I hadn’t been lucky in love yet. I had a pattern of loving hard and not receiving that equal love back. Additionally, I hadn’t truly ever been my own person yet. Moving to Portland was my first big step into becoming my own person, and breaking up with ex #3 was my second. So unfolding myself to this new person, and potentially building a life with him in this city that I had built a life for myself, fucking terrified me. 

Because of all that, I was selfish. Selfish that was not in any way fair to him. I loved the way he made me feel, the way he treated me, the sex, etc., that I refused to address the relationship that was building between us. I didn’t want to lose what we had, but I was also too afraid to let him into a bigger part of my life and my plans. 

Where I was at in my process at that time was too focused on what if it doesn’t go according to plan? What if he breaks my heart? What happens when I get a job outside of Portland? 

I set that stage of what our relationship was because I wanted to control as much as I could of what was going to happen to me. I wanted to be as calculated as possible in order to not fall victim to my past mistakes. 

By the time I had decided to fully open up though, to be as vulnerable as he’d been with me, it was too late. 

Things had changed and I was too busy worrying about me to fully see that. 

I will take ownership of my selfishness in the situation. I will take ownership in my over communication but not the clearest communication. I will take ownership of the fact that I was not in the right place for something that could’ve been so beautiful. 

BUT - all that being said, there’s some ownership I wish he’d take. Like for letting me walk all over him like that. For not being more clear on his wants and needs. For not following through on his words and apologies. For not acknowledging that maybe he was just as not ready for this as I was. And lastly, for not letting me go when he should’ve. 

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For almost two whole months we played games. And I don’t play games. 

He gave me “what, do we go back to being strangers?” and “You’re such an important part of my life and I’m not ready to lose you.” 

At first, yes I said maybe we shouldn’t talk. A week later I changed my mind on that, and the second I did I let him know. After that, I tried to be as accommodating to his state of mind, his career, and his bandwidth. I was honestly fine because at that point I had accepted where he was and where I was, and I was willing to see what our next check-in would bring. 

When I was no longer fine was when that check-in came up and he blew me off. For the first time if felt like his actions and his words didn’t align, and that hurt. We were supposed to get coffee, and I stupidly was too excited for such a mundane hang out. It had been so long since I’d seen him, and at that point, I was just happy to hear about his life. To catch up. This person had been a part of my daily life for four months and then all of a sudden dropped off the face of the planet. 

When he never reached back out about coffee that day though, I felt such a change. This amazingly incredible person I had built up in my head - shattered. 

I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Give him a full day to respond. That night I did happen to go out with some friends I’d never really spent time with before. While I was out I ran into one of his friends, who seemed to know more about my relationship than I did at that moment. 

It felt like salt being poured on an open wound. 

The next day I confronted him via text, my least favorite platform. I expressed how upset I was with him, which was hard for me to do since this was my first time being truly angry / upset / disappointed in him. He sent me a very politically correct response but did offer to meet up that night to chat.

So we did. We drove around in his car for an hour because that’s about all the time he had. And I did appreciate every moment of that hour. 

He apologized in the way every person in a fight with someone they care about should apologize. He validated my feelings, told me I didn’t have to forgive him at that moment, took full ownership of the situation, and promised to do better.

The thing is though, he didn’t do better. a pattern formed before my eyes. 

After the conversation, I sent him a long text. All of me hated sending a text like that, but I knew I had thoughts I needed to get off my chest and there was no other way to do it given our circumstances. 

No response. Which I expected at that moment because I sent the message so late.

But then a day went by, and two days, and then a week, and then two weeks. 

Wow. 

How am I supposed to believe any of these sentiments - “what, do we go back to being strangers?” “You’re such an important part of my life and I’m not ready to lose you” - ring any truth when this is the way I keep being treated? 

So we come up on week two of no response, and I end up at an event put on by his work. My office sponsored a couple tables at the event, which I went on behalf of the office but also because I wanted to get the closure I felt I deserved at that point. 

I took a big risk praying that A: he’d want to talk to me, and B: offer me a ride home so that we can actually talk. My phone was dead, I hadn’t driven there, and all my coworkers left before the end of the event. 

A buzzed me took a giant sip of wine and walked over to his table at the end of the event boldly saying “are you gonna act like you didn’t see me tonight?” 

He flashed that god damn smile of his that gets me every time and gave me some runaround. I still don’t believe he didn’t see me. I digress.

I make the rounds I need to with him in order to get to my end goal, to actually having the sit-down conversation I needed. That was hard for me since the last time I did that with him we were  “together,” and I’m sure all of those people know no different. 

Shots were fired, jabs were made, but we made it that conversation I’d been desperately seeking. It wasn’t the conversation I wanted, but the one I needed. 

That shit hit cold; not only because it was the official ending of an era of my life, but also I felt I didn’t articulate myself the way I wish I had. Which I guess is why I’ve spent three hours in the middle of the night writing all this out. 

Afterthoughts of that night: 

I am done apologizing for my faults in the situation because I’ve done that more than deserved. 

I am tired of him using the excuse that he’s made it clear where he’s at mentally as a dismissal for his mishandling of me and my emotions in this situation. 

I don't know if we’ll ever see eye-to-eye on the above statement because of our communication styles and our defensive levels for ourselves.

I tried so hard to actively avoid getting hurt in this “situationship,” yet this just as painful and torturous as all my other serious breakups. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry at but so concerned for someone at the same time. 

From a third-party viewpoint, it’s easy to objectively list out all the reasons this relationship would never work (there’s A LOT). Somehow those rationalizations don’t make this hurt any less, and that fucking sucks. 

I will never be able to listen to Miguel the same way. 

I do truly hope there is a point in our lives that we can be friends again. 

I’m done putting him on a pedestal, but he is the best person I’ve ever dated. I do genuinely hope the best for him because despite how fucked up this situation was/is, he’s a wonderful person at his core with his own demons to face. 

WHAT DID I LEARN THOUGH??

This has been hard to tap into, but I know it’s vital to think through in order to get over this situation. 

God’s timing is funny, but there’s a reason for everything. 

Do not use the apps unless you’re ready to pursue a relationship; they cause more emotional labor / drama than you want or need

That organic personality / sexual chemistry is essential. There’s a lot to work on in relationships, but that shouldn’t be one of them. 

You can’t start a relationship / situationship when you’re emotionally unavailable.

Work on the balance of being there for someone and being selfless to the point of self-sabotage. 

The date bar has been set - don’t settle for a man who can’t afford to treat you like you deserve to be treated (as a feminist I’m torn by this statement, but as a woman who loves to be romanced...whoops).

Continue to take your time with relationships. This one may have failed, but that wasn’t because of taking it slow. 

Being with someone who inherently understands your background and values in invaluable. 

The second you recognize a pattern, address it and move forward / get out. 

FINAL THOUGHTS

This was fucking rough. So fucking rough. 

I went through such a roller coaster of emotions today. For the first time in my life, I am the single friend of my core friend group. I’m also alone here in Portland and breaching a point where I’m about to outgrow my core friends in their life stages. 

Fuck, my baby girl is getting married soon. My brother is moving in with his girlfriend. And I’m over here wondering if the rest of my life is going to consist of a bad work/life balance, too much booze, bad dates, and worse sex? 

Also, if anything I’m so god damn afraid to open up to someone ever again. Because what if that person says their willing to wait because “I’m worth it” and then this happens, all over again. How many times do I have to go through this until I find the one?

Agh. Clearly, there’s still a lot to work through. And at least I’ve learned that despite this absolutely awful sex drought, the drought is better than giving a piece of yourself away to every shitty guy who wants to get in your pants on every dating app. 

Dating in Portland though? Slim pickings. Which make finding that spark with someone again feel almost like an impossible feat. 

Hopefully when I go to bed, this’ll all get a little easier. Day by day. Because time heals all wounds right? 

One of the worst expressions to an impatient person though. 

Alright, goodnight Internet. 

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P.S.

Who knows if I’ll ever be bold enough to send this to the man himself, but if I do, this is a raw emotional rendition of me and I hope you take that into consideration as you read it. 

Bye Rico, what we had was so special, but such a fucking mess. I’ll miss you quite terribly. 

[khazadspoon]

In Simple Pairs We Dance As One

it’s done!!! A commision for the wonderful @badatsociallyness who gave me a wonderful prompt. So, without further ado, have 5000 words of Thomas and Miranda loving one another and falling in love with James. I’ve enjoyed writing this immensely and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. SFW.

They were introduced at a ball in Midwinter of 1694 as Lord Thomas Hamilton, son of the Lord Alfred Hamilton, and the Honourable Miranda Barlow, daughter of the Viscount John Barlow. Thomas fell in love with her almost instantly as he gazed upon her.

The dress was a soft blue hue, cinched tight at the waist and billowing out in wide skirts ending in white ruffles that swept along the floor. The skin of her neck and the tops of her breasts was pale like snow with just a hint of bright flush from wine and laughter. She held her gloved hand out for him to kiss, and he bent low to press his lips to her knuckles. Her smile was knowing as he lifted his eyes to her.

“My lord,” she said in a soft, low voice.

“My lady,” he replied just as softly, a smile playing over his lips.

Arm in arm they walked around the room, her chaperone not far behind, and propriety was soon lost to the sound and bustle of the crowd. Miranda, and she insisted on the familiar, asked him impertinent questions about his time at court and the goings on of young men with too much money and not enough to do. He laughed, bright and honest at her forthrightness.

“Do you think so little of us lordlings?” He asked, looking down at her over a glass of too-sweet wine.

Miranda lifted one dark brown and tittered. “Of course not, dear Thomas,” she said with false sympathy, “never think it. I just wonder what it is you do all day besides drink and hunt.”

Thomas scoffed at the idea. “I assure you, dear lady, I do not hunt. Such things are the pursuits of less civilised folk, are they not?”

“And you consider yourself civilised?” She retorted with a more stern look. He felt admonished, and deservedly so.

“I… I try, but I do not think my civility above any other man’s. Or woman’s.”

They danced and laughed, her dark hair falling in ringlets around her pretty face as they spun around one another. Thomas thought of the volta’s Queen Elizabeth so enjoyed and wondered if Miranda enjoyed them to. Though he had little interest in the physicality of women beyond the aesthetic, he wondered if Miranda was as brazen in her private life as her public one.

In the following weeks their parents secured the match, would have with or without their approval, and Thomas’ mother declared her joy at his wishes to marry the maiden. Her family, though not as well rooted in history as their own, was of honest and well-bred stock. Even his father approved of them, and that was high praise indeed.

They were to be married in the summer of 1695 at St Giles. Just three weeks before the ceremony, during one of the few moments alone they were afforded, Miranda cornered him in a quiet parlour.

“Thomas, my dear Thomas…” She said softly, her hands rising to rest on his chest. “I wish nothing but honesty between us.”

His heart beat wildly in his chest and threatened to burst forth from within. Sweat beaded on his skin, he could feel it on the back of his neck and on his palms. “Of course,” he said shortly.

“You have paid little attention to my more… obvious advances. I have spent many hours trying to learn what it is will attract you to more than just my mind and my hand in marriage, and I have come up short,” she tilted her head and looked up at him, her dark eyes like pools of deep tar, waiting to draw him in and trap him gladly in their depths. “But just this Tuesday I witnessed something truly revealing.”

His throat went dry. Could she mean-?

“The footman is indeed a pretty thing,” she said, lips curving into a smile that wasn’t entirely happy, “I doubt he would say no to your advances, even if he would to mine.”

“Miranda, I’m sure I don’t-”

Her smile fell and her hands became fists. “Don’t insult me by claiming innocence. You are a good and kind man, Thomas, and I want nothing more than to marry you and be your wife. But I know, I have seen how you look at me compared to the men in your life.”

Even as bile rose in his throat, even as tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks, he held her gaze. Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek. “I love you, Thomas, all of you. Society may say otherwise, but I will block their scorn with my love. Do not hide this from me, not when there are precious few people you can reveal this part of yourself to. If I am to be your wife, the only demand I will make is for your honesty.”

The frankness in her tone was outweighed by the kindness and unerring understanding. He wept, face pressed to the slender curve of her neck, like a child reunited with his mother after a sudden and unexpected absence. Miranda held him gently and hushed him, kissed his cheeks even as the tears still flowed. When he was calm and the flush had faded from his skin, she took his hand and led him to the main room for the day to continue.

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The wedding was as lavish as any that year. London was filled with mutterings of the latest love match and the loss of yet another eligible bachelor to an undeserving woman. Miranda was not seen as worthy of a husband of Thomas’ stature and breeding. Though he said so to any who would listen, still the gossips did their cruel work. And shockingly in the eyes of the law, they did not consummate their marriage that night. Instead, they stayed up early into the next morning and devised a plan - their names and reputations would protect them only so far, and an intellectual conversation would stimulate them only so much. So, with some tense words and uncomfortable truths, they came to an agreement. An accord.

Miranda was free to take lovers as she wished, as long as she was discreet and careful for her own sake. Thomas could visit molly houses and take lovers if and when he found opportunity. If desire took them by surprise, they would be intimate with one another without regret or shame. Miranda kissed him, and he kissed her with joy and happiness.

The next ten years were happy ones. Though as with all relationships there were difficulties and minor scandals to be endured. Miranda was seen with paramours at balls and dinners, though never in any state of undress, and the town began to whisper of her being unfaithful. Thomas protected her and fought against the rumours. They came and went, as all rumours did, and Thomas’ own affairs were never discovered. He had a lifetime of careful secrecy to prepare him, after all.

On occasion, they made love, though haltingly and often unsuccessfully. Miranda would describe a lover’s caresses to him until he was aching and ready, she would take him and be taken until that need had waned.

Miranda’s outspoken mind and clearly intelligent conversation grated at Alfred Hamilton’s nerves and temper. They never got on, despite Thomas’ mother approving heartily of the new lust for life in the family.

Ten years was a long time to not have children, however. When it was stated emphatically by a doctor that Miranda was barren, she wept for days. Thomas’ mother tried to comfort her but her failing health rendered her housebound after some time. Thomas held his wife, kissed her, tried in vain to understand her grief but she loved him nonetheless. She spent time with her friend’s children and cared for them as dutifully as though they were her own, though the ache of it never truly went away. Some wounds are not healed by time but only turned to scars that ached on cold days.

Then, on an overcast day in spring, their world was forever changed.

Miranda saw the change in her husband immediately. There was a spring in his step and a glint in his eye she knew from the particularly intriguing books he would read (some of them not precisely welcome in the country). She kissed his cheek and took him to the study, sat him at his desk and prodded him until he spilt forth the encounter that had put him so oddly at ease.

“The new liaison,” he began, “son of a carpenter’s mate and a Lieutenant in the Navy, from no high-born family and entirely self-made… He is- he is remarkable. I daresay you will enjoy his company even more than I!” He took her hands and kissed the back of each, his lips lingering in a way they rarely did.

She saw the glimmer of something soft in his eyes and felt a pang in her chest. Not jealousy, perhaps, but something akin to sympathy. She, at least, could take lovers with only a little fear - her life was not at stake.

“You already seem rather taken, perhaps I should keep my distance if he is this unbalancing?”

Thomas laughed and shook his head, lifted her hands to his lips again and pressed them to his cheeks like a happy child. “No, my dear, you must be introduced. I can’t keep this one to myself.”

He described the Lieutenant over dinner, the two of them dining in the more comfortable and less formal sitting room towards the back of the house. Thomas’ usually calm and collected way of speaking had become animated and wild. He gestured with his hands, giving details of the new liaison’s height, the breadth of his shoulders and the red of his hair, how his gait was long and sure-footed in the boots he wore.

“They reach his knees, Miranda,” Thomas exclaimed. “I daresay he looks like something from a novel. But there’s something new about him, something unpolished that I can’t put my finger on…”

Miranda laughed and pressed their knees together, her hand on his thigh. “And you’d like to put your finger on it, would you?”

The blush on his cheeks was entirely at odds with the hungry grin on his lips. “You’ll understand when you see him,” he said. The grin fell. “Though I can’t, not this time. Not with so much at stake.”

They finished their dinner and retired to bed. Though they had separate rooms and beds of their own, they often slept in the same bed simply for the comfort of another body. Thomas had nightmares, sometimes woke unable to move and seeing things that weren’t there, and Miranda had tricks to help him cope. He was also constantly warm to the touch and was wonderful to curl around in winter.

James McGraw was everything Thomas had promised and more. Though not exactly tall compared to the gangling limbs of her husband, he cut an impressive silhouette against the backdrop of the docks. The sun caught in his hair and Miranda was struck with the urge to brush the locks and braid them as her mother had done to her when she was younger. When he speaks, her gut tightens. The low and rolling timbre of his voice is like velvet caressing her skin and she wants him, is suddenly aware of how long it has been since she had last took a lover and she wondered how much Thomas must have ached to want and not be able to have.

And oh but he is polite - in his manner and his words, in his reluctance to meet her eye… She wants to pick him apart and see what he is really like when not so well buttoned.

Still, there was something dark and hidden in those clear green-blue eyes of his. He spoke sharply and kept his posture so rigid she thought he might snap if a stiff breeze blew. There were small scars on his hands from either hard work or hard fights - she wondered eagerly which caused them.

Thomas continued to pine over him, though gently and not as ardently as she had feared he would. The issue of Nassau loomed too large in his mind with the shadow of his father just behind it. James, and Thomas had insisted on the familiar in a way that made Miranda proud, was fiercely intelligent. He picked some of Thomas’ more radical ideas apart with brutal ease and directed him along more conventional paths. Miranda thought that was part of what attracted them both to the officer - he was just as smart, just as witty and quick as them, and he refused to be put into a corner even when amongst his “betters”.

“Well?” Thomas asked after a few weeks of meetings and brief lunches with the object of their mutual interest.

She hummed, plucking at a stray stitch and trying to figure out why needlework was so tiresome. Women were supposed to be good at this, with slender and nimble fingers… “Well, what?”

“Will you make an advance, or will I need to invite him to your chambers for you?” He said with a knowing smile.

“I’m going to drop by tomorrow morning and invite him to see the Grey’s collection. If all goes well, I might see something a little more interesting than drab paintings of Jessica’s great uncle.”

She did, at. And it shocked her just how much she enjoyed not only the touch of him but the gentle way he cared for both her reputation and her marriage. When James left, she traced the shape of a bruise on her thigh and sighed. Thomas was delighted for her when he returned, but was quiet at dinner and slept in his own bed. It was rare they ever became interested in the same person, and it hurt her to think Thomas was unhappy. She wanted nothing but the greatest happiness for her husband, she loved him after all. And he loved her.

Her affair with James was a well-kept secret everywhere but in the house. Whenever James was there on business with Thomas, he kept his back straight and his hands clasped behind him, his eyes faced forward as though any stray glance at Miranda would cause Thomas to challenge him to a dual.

Thomas gently admonished him. “You can look at her, James,” he said, touching James’ arm and stroking the thick coat with his thumb. He wanted to linger, wanted to gather James into his arms and have just a taste of what it would be like to be close to him. The blush that rose on James’ freckled cheeks didn’t help with the want, in fact, it only served to stoke the embers glowing hotly in his belly. “My wife is beautiful, and as such deserves admiration from any who lay eyes on her. Especially men who are as kind to her as you are.”

James flushed deeper, his lips curving into a smile so kissable that Thomas found himself staring. Miranda swept forward and forced herself into James’ eyeline. “Thomas, you’re teasing him!” She wound their arms together and pressed to his side. Thomas thought James might faint with all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“My lord, my lady, I-” He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat oh so distractingly, and flicked his eyes up to Thomas. A calm and decisive air settled over him. “I am out of practice being in amiable company, especially company that catches the eye so.”

Thomas’ own cheeks felt warm. He saw how Miranda’s lips curved and her eyes widened at the remark. It was undoubtedly directed at Thomas, how could it not be? Hope began to unfurl in his chest even as James’ attention moved to Miranda and he lifted her hand to press his lips to it.

In bed later, Miranda’s hair gathered in a braid over her shoulder and a bright red mark on her breast just below the neckline of her shift, Thomas could barely keep himself from laughing.

“Did you see him?” He asked, aghast and amazed. “Did you hear him, Miranda?”

She kissed his temple and drew him to her. “I did, love, and I am beside myself with happiness. Do you think he might-?”

Doubt settled over him. “No,” he said at once. “If circumstances were different, then maybe, but… not now, no.”

They lay quietly, Miranda against her husband’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat.

“Are you happy?” He asked after a while.

Miranda sat up and met his gaze. “I’m the happiest I think I’ll ever be.”

He touched her cheek with warm fingers. “Good.”

When James stayed the night in Miranda’s chambers, she tried her best to keep their lovemaking discreet. It seemed to her that James found a thrill in the knowledge that Thomas was only yards away in his own bed, and she relished that knowledge and what it might mean for the three of them, even as the idea of it scared her. She would catch James looking at the door or the wall that connected her chambers to the rooms between them and Thomas’ own. He would bite his lip and groan heavily when she did anything less ladylike and more masculine in their bed.

The joy of the affair and the slow thawing of James’ attitude towards them was interrupted by an unexpected and unwanted guest.

Thomas grumbled and muttered to himself as he entered the small antechamber Miranda often secluded herself in for moments alone. Thomas only ever came in when he, too, needed an escape.

“Thomas?” She asked quietly, standing at once to see to why her husband seemed so… unlike himself. “Thomas, love, what is it?”

He looked down at her with bright wet eyes, cheeks flushed red with anger. “My father. He has decided he will be joining us for dinner. I suggest you spend the evening with James to avoid him, seeing as I can’t.”

She shook her head and gripped his hands firmly in her own. “I will take his barbed comments and sit by your side. We are a united front, Thomas; never forget that.”

Dinner was, as expected, an awful event. Miranda loathed every moment and wished she had taken Thomas’ advice - an evening spent alone in James’ bedchamber was a far more attractive concept than being called a whore in all but name by one’s father in law. But there was some business to discuss, and Thomas valued Miranda’s insight on such things.

Thomas’ fury settled when the beast of a man was out of the door and a brandy was put in his hand. The warmth of the liquid soothed his nerves to no end. He hummed in delight as Miranda perched on his knee and kissed his temple.

“You know, our dear Lieutenant will need to hear of this development at once. Should I call for a carriage to be sent?” She asked under her breath, a hand rubbing firmly between his shoulders. James often put a hand there, when he felt brave enough to touch the man he was, in a way, serving.

“Do you think it necessary? Pirates blockading a bay is something for the naval presence there to deal with, not us.”

“He is a tactician, Thomas, let him help. Your father all but said the situation was in dire need of better minds.”

He acquiesced and rang a small bell, telling Thompkins to send for the Lieutenant at once, with orders that he was to be fed when he arrived and no expense to be spared at his comfort.

When James arrived his cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright, questioning, clearly at a loss as to why he had been summoned. “My lord?” He asked, striding forward in those damned boots of his, hat tucked safely under his arm. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Thomas started, “well… Yes, but not disastrously so. But it will wait a moment; I’ve taken the liberty of asking for a meal to be set out for you.”

James followed him obediently to the study where a plate had been set with a glass of deep red wine next to it. Watching James eat was always a confusingly beautiful experience - he ate as though he was restraining himself, as though his own hunger was unnatural and he had to confine himself to the smallest bites of each dish. Thomas combatted this by taking an apple and biting into it with a wide mouth, licking the juice from his lips and fingers with abandon, even as James watched him with a blush rising on his cheeks.

There was something there, something that tugged at Thomas’ heart and groin all at once. It was in the way James watched him at times, with parted lips and a curious glint in his eyes. It was also in the way he responded to the small flirtations Thomas offered; a hand brushing against his, a finger resting just too long on a map so it met his own, looking up at him through long lashes and smiling that half smile… He did all those things with Miranda, how were they different when aimed at Thomas?

For a while, they talked about New Providence Island, about the pirates and their thorny presence in the Bahamas. James set his stunningly sharp mind to the task at once and, with Thomas’ third-hand description of the battlefield, formulated what seemed to be an unbeatable strategy. He wrote it down and a servant took it straight to Admiral Hennessey’s quarters in Whitehall.

Miranda came in and kissed her husband’s cheek while offering a top up of wine which neither man cried off. James watched as Thomas kissed his wife more fully, an act he did seldom but knew she relished. His eyes fixed on their lips and Thomas’ hand at his wife’s neck. When she went to kiss James, a little more forcefully and a little deeper, Thomas took his own time to watch. James’ cheeks went pink and his eyes fluttered shut, he lifted his face to her and leaned into the kiss as best as he could from his seat. Miranda pulled away looking like the cat who had caught the canary.

“Not too late, boys, I may have need of you later,” she said with a rough voice, her lips as red as light filtering through wine.

James choked a little and straightened in his seat even as Thomas laughed and waved his wife from the room. “Begone, temptress! I shan’t leave him too sated to be of use to you,” he responded, his head heavy with wine and brandy and a full belly. He saw James bite his lip just as Miranda shut the door.

“This is all very… unconventional,” James uttered after a moments silence. “I’ve never- that is, I’ve never been the other man before.”

Thomas leaned on one elbow, his chin in his hand, gazing across at James’ perplexed but relaxed expression. “Is that how you see this? As myself and her, then you and her, separately?”

James nodded.

“Did it occur to you that I, too, get something from this arrangement?” He asked. Courage filled his veins like bright amber.

“My lord, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled and reached forward, took James’ hand and tapped his finger to each of the knuckles. “You help me with my political schemes, yes. And you are in a relationship with my wife, that is also true. Tell me… Has Miranda ever mentioned to you the nature of our marriage?”

James shook his head, his hand warm and his fingers spread beneath Thomas’.

“We love each other very much. I would, if asked, challenge God himself to her hand if necessary. I know she loves you, too, and that you love her. I feel no jealousy for that, only that I don’t have the same net of love encompassing me. Miranda and I are partners above all else, we are not lovers, but you and I are partners too.”

James scoffed and looked away, his eyes darting to the door. He took his hand from the table and put it in his lap to clasp the other. “My lord, I don’t think it compares at all-”

Thomas frowned, his good humour fluttering to the floor. He held his own hand and pressed a finger to his lips. “No… It cannot compare. But that doesn’t make it lesser;” he sighed, pictured Miranda when they were younger and he still harboured his own sense of shame and self-loathing. “You put far too much weight on the comparison of yourself with others, both in work and leisure. Try to see yourself how Miranda sees you, how I see you.”

“How you-?”

The confused look on James’ face ripped into him and icy cold fear flooded him. “But it is late. I can’t keep you if you do not wish to be kept. I’ll retire and let you find comfort upstairs.”

He went to the door, ringing the bell as he went, and spared James one last look. “Goodnight, James. Think about what I said.”

The next he heard, James was with Miranda in her rooms, the rhythmic sound of their lovemaking more noticeable that evening than any other.

And if Thomas spent in his own hand, imagining what he might have had with James? No one would know but him.

---

The next three weeks were a haze of work and dinners, of hasty glances and questioning looks. Miranda tried to keep her thoughts to herself during that time. Her interference would only raise Thomas’ hackles and frighten James into hiding. Instead, she offered an ear to Thomas, a shoulder to cry on as he tried in vain to temper his feelings. He had steadily fallen in love with James, something she could not fault him on given her own feelings for the man. But the fact it was love, not some idle fancy, made it all the more dangerous.

She feared for him, feared what the world would think, what his father might do if he ever knew… If it came to that, she would shoot the man herself.

But it all came to a head without her even realising. The only sign was the dawning need and serenity filling Thomas’ expression even as tears filled James’ eyes and his voice cracked with repressed emotion.

Her heart cracked when they kissed. If Thomas had been able to see anything but James at that moment, he might have mistaken it for jealousy or heartbreak, might have thought he was taking James away from her. But it wasn’t that - she was terrified. Now it was real there were more dangers to face, more pitchforks and torches waiting in the darkness for them to let their guard down.

Her fears lessened as James and Thomas fell deeper in love. Their love and affection for her never waned, and James spent as much time with her as he ever had, sometimes at Thomas’ behest when he felt she was being ignored. They made love in pairs and, on a few startling and memorable occasions, as a threesome. Miranda had never known pleasure like it. The look of love and happiness on her husband and lover’s faces as they came together, as they touched one another and her, as she touched them… It was unparalleled and she never wanted it to end.

A week in the country estate in Derbyshire offered them a glimpse into the life they could lead when the issue of Nassau was dealt with. Privacy, James sleeping peacefully between them and waking them with kisses, late nights spent talking and kissing and laughing followed by mornings spent sharing tea and bread and butter. Thomas spent an afternoon painting as she and James swam in the lake.

The finished piece was clumsy but no less beautiful - bright colours and sharp lines, the muted blue-green of the lake broken only by two frolicking figures, one with dark hair and one with bright red. James looked at it with a fragile wonder before kissing Thomas until they were both breathless.

But London called. It beckoned with a gruesome clarity, breaking through the gentle haze of their new love and crashing into them like the tide. It was inevitable that things would change when Nassau loomed over them again. Thomas grew restless as they got closer, his fingers tapping against his lips and fiddling with his rings more and more with each mile. James tried to comfort him by offering his hand to hold and kissing lightly at Thomas’ jaw. Miranda watched with a strange sense of foreboding as the men across from her in the carriage held onto the fading hues of their affair, both in fear of it being shattered and stained by the wider world.

“James,” she said to him as Thomas directed servants to take their bags into the house. “Promise me something.”

James smiled at her. It didn’t reach his eyes. Perhaps the sense of doom had fallen over them all. “Anything.”

“Don’t for one moment think that this isn’t real, that what we feel for one another isn’t real.”

They went into the house and went to bed earlier than usual, James under the pretence he would be in a separate room but soon finding his way to Thomas’ when the house had gone silent.

He received news a few days later that he was to go to Nassau, to gain intelligence and survey the situation as well as find out if it was possible to subdue the place. Thomas was beside himself at the idea, both out of a need to know and to succeed, but also out of a need to keep James close and love him as fiercely and protectively as he could.

It was only three months, they reminded themselves. What were three months to lovers committed to one another as deeply as they?

[bangjeon]

Laissez Faire → PT. 1

→ Credit For Media: Here!

→ Jungkook x Reader | Yoongi x Reader | BodySwap AU | Enemies 2 Lovers! AU

→ Comedy | Fluff | Angst | Smut | Some clinical but explicit sexual stuff that isn’t even hot but this is a heads up anyways | Also I don’t know if this is crack but it might be(?) so 

→ Synopsis: Going home with the young and charming Jungkook on a whim was supposed to be an ephemeral unwinding from your relatively ordinary, stressful life as a twenty-something woman. However, it seems the universe had different intentions for you entirely when you find yourself waking up in a body that isn’t your own. And to make things worse, Jungkook isn’t as easy to get along with as you had initially thought. 

→ Word Count: 18k

“You know what you need? A boyfriend.”

Somin’s sudden advice, albeit not at all surprising coming from her, makes you guffaw. “Yeah, I’ll pass. Although, takeaway sounds good right now.”

It’s only the earlier part of a Wednesday evening yet your colleague still had the nerve to insist on coming along to your place after work hours. You’d call her a hindrance to your social life but at the peak age of 27, living the single life with a dead-end job that was certainly not 9 to 5 as it had promised in the contract, it was nice to have her around.

Equally as unsurprised by your blunt rejection, she continues to file her nails with indifference. “C’mon, I could set you up with so many nice, rich guys. You wouldn’t even have to live downtown or work in that god damned job anymore if you ended up hitting it off with one of them. ”

You lay down onto your sofa with a over-dramatic groan. Truth be told, Somin was describing the fantasy you kept close to your heart which you knew would never come true.

“I’m feeling Chinese tonight.”

She groans and gives you a hard look, only to whine when you stare back at her with indifference. “C’mon, Y/N, you should give it a shot!”

“Any guy that refers to himself as a nice guy is already off my list,” you say with a distasteful scrunch of your nose. It wasn’t you being picky, it was only due to your past endeavours that you held such views. Your last break up being example A. Three months ago, you had ended things with him after a 2 year-long relationship. If that had taught you anything, it was that heterosexual men were untrustworthy and essentially, trash in the grand scheme of things. 

You shifted to face Somin, sitting on the carpet, who was currently deeply invested in her nails. “If anything,” you begin, half incoherent with the way you face is pressed against a pillow, “I need to get laid.”

At this, she pauses her nail care routine and glances towards you with a glint of something you can’t make out in her gaze. “When’s the last time you got some?”

“Jeez, I, uh, haven’t done stuff since Seokjin. There’s possibly some cobwebs down there,” you bashfully admit, barely able to remember the last time you had seen a penis that wasn’t on a screen. “But I admit that it’d be nice to have something quick and one-off to remind me I’m not a virgin.”

Somin sets her cosmetic utensils down on the coffee table before springing up. “Then that is exactly what you’ll get!”

You look up to her with your eyebrows set in dismay. “Whatever it is you’re scheming, forget it. I was only just being honest.”

A glance towards the transparent balcony doors tells you that the evening had only just begun as you spot the setting Sun far on the horizon. Normally, from this time onwards you’d spend relaxing and recovering from what gruelling labour you’d have to do in that forsaken cubicle but with the unreadable glint that shone within Somin’s gaze as she grinned at you, there was the inkling feeling you wouldn’t be able to do just that tonight.

“But-”

“Last time I listened to you, we were lost on the other side of town at five in the morning.”

“Just hear me out,” she pleads, sending you a exasperated look so you bite your tongue and listen. Another telltale sign that you were about to hear some sort of tomfoolery was the way Somin begins to comb through her newly-dyed blonde hair with her fingers. “There is a new club that opened a few blocks from here recently,” she muses with a soft sigh. “And I’ve heard that it’s particularly great for hooking up. So what do you say?”

Your eyebrows, once furrowed, shoot up to your hairline as you begin to understand the implication of her words. “Are you serious? Clubbing on a work night? When I said I’d like to get laid, I didn’t mean right now.”

“Sure! I mean, it’s a great plan, actually. It won’t unbearably busy since it’s a Wednesday night and even if you don’t get to hook up with someone, per se, you could get their number at the very least.”

“The only people at clubs on Wednesday nights are old, fat men and, not to be picky, but I’d rather not.” Your protests to Somin’s suggestion does not make her mien of determination budge even slightly, completely undeterred by your flat-out rejection. If there is one thing you have learned about Somin, ever since she first became your cubicle neighbour last year, is that once she has an idea, it is a mission to make her forget it. “But we can always plan to go for the weekends!” You weakly add on in a last attempt to sway her.

“No point. Anyways, they’re always too crowded and someone always vomits on the dancefloor before the fun can begin. Unless you want to end up deflowering a college boy that doesn’t know your vagina from your asshole. Saturdays and Sundays are crawling with them,” she calmly responds with a little shudder at the end. “Anyways, it’s seven now and we should go about, nine-ish. Giving us two hours to get ready, so, pray tell, lead me to your closet.”

“Is there anyway I can convince you to not do this?”

“Hm, no.”

There’s no avoiding it, you silently resolve. Releasing a heavy, drawn-out sigh of resignation to your fate, you lift yourself from the haven of your sofa and head towards your bedroom. “This way.”

Somin giggles in victory and takes your lead.

Inevitably, you do end up outside this club your co-worker and, unfortunately, friend, had been so set on taking you to.  If you were going to be frank, it looked like any other nightclub within the city.

A subtle entrance, surrounded by two or so bouncers with the faint yet taunting beat barely audible from the outside. Somin was right in the sense that it wouldn’t be as near as buzzing as the weekend tended bring out as the queue that usually accompanied the outside of the night club was near non-existent.

As the Uber that had brought you here quietly departs in the background, it then that you realise you are stuck to make do with the environment. In all honesty, you don’t expect much from this expedition to the heart of the city. What sort of ideal fuck hangs around at a club on a Wednesday night? 

You take in the sight with a slight grimace, still not particularly convinced if this is all worth the loss of sleep and possible hangover you’ll have to face and deal with at 9 AM tomorrow in the office. A pause in your qualms has you grasping that this is you getting old. Side-glancing at the comparatively excited grin that’s wide across Somin’s lips has you confirming just as much.

Despite the autumnal season, Somin had also insisted on you wearing a dressing with the thinnest material she could’ve picked from your closet of sweaters and hoodies. “Can we go in already? My tits are gonna freeze off,” you struggle to say, shivering slightly as a soft breeze passes.

She nods and leads you to the entrance, saying something to the bouncers which you don’t catch as you focus on tugging your dress down for that extra inch of modesty. The hem stops slightly above your knees however the white material acts as a second skin, clinging to every contour of your body. It’s rarely ever made it out your apartment since it’s brave purchase but despite your discomfort with the fitting, you admit that it’s more club-appropriate than any of your other clothes are.

Whilst occupied with your fussing, Somin tugs your hand away and leads you ahead, delving into the depths of the club. She glances towards you, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Haven’t you ever been in a club, Y/N? You look terrified.”

“Not since I turned twenty-one,” you confess, gingerly taking a few glances around the club. With the fluorescent moving lights and the accompaniment of house music, you take extra care to cling onto Somin, worried you might stumble on the high heels you chose to wear. “So – uh – what do we do now?”

Somin giggles at your question, patting your cheek endearingly. “You’re so cute. Let’s head to the bar and have a few drinks. Maybe you’ll attract a few guys since you’re looking like such a snack.”

Her kind words make you soften at that. Maybe, if not sex specifically, you could use this as a way to loosen up from work. Since you were here already, having spent the time and effort to dress up for it, that's the mindset you should adopt from now on, you decided. “Okay,” you easily comply and allow her to lead you, weaving through the significant amount of people. There were more than you’d expected to be in here.

Reaching the seats adjacent to the counter of the bar, you freeze upon hearing Somin’s request for particularly strong drink than you would’ve liked to consume but before you can address the issue, your friend takes lead in the conversation by switching to a new topic. “So, what type of guy is it?”

You blink at her a few times, still getting used to the dark lighting. “Type?”

She rolls her eyes at your puzzlement. “What is it you look for in a person? What do you find attractive?”

You hum for a few moments trying to gather an honest answer. All your exes were abstractedly different whether it be appearance or personality and so you came to the conclusion that was nothing specifically you were adamant on. If anything, when it came to grouping all your exes together, all it indicated was that you had a habit for taking a liking to assholes.

Biting your lip in hesitation, you parted your mouth only to close it several times before you came up with a lame answer. “Someone who has the same political opinions as me and recognises the issues that needed to be tackled in our modern society? …And they’re funny?” 

The tone of your response makes everything you say sound like a question, as unsure as you are about your ‘type’. You had never thought of dating someone or fucking someone in such a linear way; you fell for someone when you fell for someone. But, as your history also pointed out, you weren’t the most successful in your approach either.

The countenance that sits on Somin’s features informs you that your answer probably wasn’t one she was expecting. “Right… so imagine you’re having a drink at a bar by yourself and the hottest guy in the whole room comes up to you and wants to get to know you but you find out he doesn’t agree with you on some stuff, what will you do?”

A scoff escapes you as you assess the situation, you cross your legs. “What do you mean?”

She taps her acrylics on the table just as the drinks arrive, brightly coloured cocktails slide towards the two of you and you offer the bartender an appreciative nod. “Let’s say you were mid-conversation, and you’re already planning on all the positions he’s gonna fuck you in, but homeboy drops that he voted Trump. What would you do?”

You pull the most horrific face, struggling to find even in what universe you’d let yourself be wooed by a Trump supporter. Sure, your exes were all different sorts of dickheads but at least they had more than two brain cells. “I’d backflip out the window and run away.”

“Really? Just for one night, you wouldn’t let this Republican sex god blow your back out?”

“Not a damn chance if he wants to infringe on my human rights like that.”

Somin shrugs with little disagree on that topic and takes a long sip from her Martini. “Okay so an open-minded guy that’s funny. We can work with that. Keeping in mind that fact that you did just break up with Seokjin, try to keep your visual standards a little bit more reasonable.” There’s a pause in the conversation, the chatter and music in the background filling into it. Eyeing your untouched drink, you weigh out the pros and cons of getting drunk.

As much as you tried to deny it, you were a lightweight and the contents in your glass was more than enough to have you feeling lightheaded. At the current moment, you choose to abstain a little longer from the refreshment. When you glance back up at Somin, she’s focused on something else. “Hello?” You say, waving your hand in front of her. “What are you looking at?”

She doesn’t reply quickly enough and you turn to look over your shoulder, curious at what possesses her attention but Somin quickly grabs your hand before you make the move. You blink a few times, perplexed by her behaviour. “Am I missing something?”

“Don’t make it obvious but there’s a really cute guy not far from us and he keeps looking over at us and talking to his friends. I think he might come over,” Somin whispers to you with a body language that is anything but obvious. You press your lips together for a moment, compressing the bubbling laughter that threatens to escape you at the sight of her spying. “Oh my god, you really hit the jackpot Y/N. If you fuck him with those set of thunder thighs and live to tell the story, I will personally need a full-length report on it tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah but what if he supports that piece of chicken liver President?” You offer, sceptical. In this moment, you give into your desire and take a large sip of the martini. With your lack of alcohol tolerance, you can instantly sense the slight influence of the drink but with Somin’s restless excitement, you suppose that this is a good time to opt for some liquid courage.

Your friend looks to you and chuckles, shaking her head as she runs her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “I doubt it.” A quick side glance spared back to her apparent target, Somin stiffens. “He’s coming this way, he’s coming this way,” she mutters and subsequently grabs her drink to attempt what she thinks to be acting natural.

Her enthusiasm makes you smile fondly but you already plan on not taking anyone home tonight despite Somin’s tactics in getting you out here for that sole reason. You’ve already made up your mind – the thought of having to shoo someone out after a quick fuck and mediocre orgasm, that is if you even manage to get there, is unappealing when you then come to think that your job starts within the next couple hours. Its inconvenience had put you off as you valued sleep more than that at this current stage in your life however, this journey could be utilised in other ways.

For all Somin’s attempts in getting you back in the dating game after your break up, she had been soaring with the single life well before you. Although she had already placed her money on you hooking up with him, you’d be happy to let her take the reins and have at it. It’d be nice to see her hit it off with someone, even if that meant you’d have to deal with the wrath of her with a boyfriend.

Thoughts making you momentarily forget your situation, a male voice interrupts you from your pondering. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he says.

Whilst Somin is already smiling brightly, you look like a fish out of the water, snapping away from your daze and tilting your head up to catch a glimpse of the strangers. He’s looking straight at you.

His hair has a russet hue, parted to reveal a tantalising expanse of forehead and eyebrows. His slightly tanned complexion looks clear and soft, even in the poor lighting the club provides. There’s a slight grin to his features whilst he studies you the same way, weighing you up, and you use the chance to look at his body and it is then you notice how perfect the proportions are of his lithe figure. As you take in the sight of the young man, you come to the conclusion that he is indeed hot as hell.

This guy radiates a sense of confidence, cockiness and buoyancy you’ve become familiar enough to associate with particularly younger men. Intimidation rises within you and begin to chicken out, wondering if excusing yourself to a restroom visit is appropriate. You need a guy who isn’t fresh out from college to take you out, not one of the college guys that Somin had earlier warned you of.

Your gaze lingers long enough to the point that you have to break away or it’ll just become weird, so you clear your throat. “This is our first time here,” you say, sounding almost like a robot with your monotonous voice.

Somin helpfully picks up on your struggle to begin small talk and, as skilled as she is, continues for you. You send her an invisible brain signal of gratitude as she opens her mouth. “I need to visit the restroom so I’ll be back in a bit. Have fun, kiddos,” she gracefully executes an excuse, lifting herself off the seat.

Your jaw drops, she’s abandoned you! When you send a clearly troubled look as she begins to walk off, Somin winks with drink in hand. ‘Text me if you need something’ she mouths with unnecessary theatrics.

The man, still unnamed, takes what was once your best friend’s seat. “I’ve only been here like twice so that wasn’t the best of starters,” he admits, the corners of his lips subtly tilting upwards.

Staring at this gorgeous piece of meat in front of you, you want nothing more than to grab your purse and breadsticks and whatnot and make a run for it. As beautiful as this man is, you’re not prepared to flirt and woo him over. You sigh and pick up your glass, swirling the contents within it. “It’s okay, I don’t even know what to say if that helps.”

He bites down on his lip, raising his brows at your resigned look. You don’t mean to be rude, he looks like a nice guy, but if he’s expecting to get something more than a boring conversation from this, it’s his fault. You’re not gonna do it, you’re not gonna go home with this guy, you don’t need this. Heck, it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything. Maybe all he wants from this is an amiable conversation.

“I’m Jungkook.” Jungkook’s voice is soft, not deep or raspy, but it has a nice sound to it. “So... what brings you to a club on a Wednesday night?”

Your lips quirks up at the cheesy choice of starters but you refuse to let your sight off your suddenly incredibly fascinating cocktail. “A stubborn friend that doesn’t take no for an answer or fear of getting fired, if you must know. But I could ask the same thing to you.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding. Wearing a plain black hoodie and ripped black jeans, you allow yourself to take advantage of your downcast gaze and sneak a peek at his thighs that Somin had so lovingly described earlier. The denim material clings to it generously and gives you a nice view of just how thick and solid they looked. Your eyebrows raise only slightly since you’re trying to avoid making your admiration obvious.

“I work where hours aren’t so strict and I can sleep in a bit, so it’s not much of a mission to go to a club on a work night.”

The news that he in fact has a job also makes you pause since you had so quickly written him off as a student. “Oh… what do you work as?” You can’t help but ask.

With your new show of interest, you notice his grin widen substantially in your peripheral vision. “A music producer. The studio is pretty lax with work hours.”

At this, you finally take the chance of making eye contact with him, surprise clearly written over your face. “I wouldn’t expect someone so young to have a full-time job.”

“So young?” He repeats your word with a snort, as though taking offence to.

You take the time to finish the rest of your martini, hoping the contents would make you less timid and loosen you up. “Sure, I would’ve guessed you to be a college kid or something.”

Jungkook scoffs at your assumption. “You can’t be any older than me but I guess I should take that as a compliment?”

Waving him off, your lips curve into a small smile. “Nah, I’m surprised you’re hitting on a lady like me when there are plenty younger ones on the dancefloor.”

“I don’t even know your name but how old you are, may I ask?”

“Twenty-seven,” you say as though it physically pains you. The years have passed by and, for the most it, gone to waste far too quickly. Taking a wild guess from the look of Jungkook, it was probably safe to say he looked near the 21 mark and younger guys never really appealed to you like that.

Releasing a laugh almost unpleasant to hear, you’re happy to find that Jungkook does indeed have at least one flaw. He clicks his tongue in reprimand. “I’m only two years younger than you,” Jungkook reveals. You cock your head, twenty-five then. “And who said I’m hitting you?”

“Anyone with two eyes actually,” you say easily. The alcohol seems to be doing its part in helping you forgo your polite, sober mannerisms. Placing an elbow on the counter and propping your chin onto your palm, you watch him raise an eyebrow in curiosity. You grin at him, to make clear you don’t intend your words to be understood in the unkind manner. “Unless your only interest in coming up to me was to gain a friend, to which I’d be pleasantly surprised by,” you add on lightly as a second thought.

He cringes at that, indirectly proving you were right with your assumption. “Do you not like being hit on? I can leave if you want.” Jungkook says this considerately which you appreciate. “Ah, I should’ve used a different opening, Namjoon said it usually works,” he says quitter with a nervous laugh. You probably weren’t supposed to hear that, you muse whilst watching Jungkook ruefully cards through his hair. It’s… cute.

You release a laugh with such sudden force that you snort. Embarrassment fills you as you reach to cover your mouth, badly attempting to stop your bubbling laughter. Macho and mighty might’ve been the initial aura that radiated from Jungkook but looking at him now, after these few awkward minutes, you found him quite endearing to watch actually.

Still recovering from your fit of laughter, Jungkook watches you with a mirth dancing in his gaze, pleased with the sight. He must’ve done something right to get you so breathless.

“D-don’t worry,” you struggle to say as you recover from the amusement he’s caused you. “I’m bad at this whole thing too.” Avoiding his gaze by playing with the tropical straw of your cup, you feel an uncharacteristic shyness rise within you. “Although I fail to see  how you could fault at this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Offering him a pointed look, you scoff. “You know exactly what I mean! Flirting and being charming comes naturally to attractive people. Hot people privilege, I think they call it.”

Jungkook straightens with a new sense of pride, a leering smirk on him. “So, what I’ve gathered is that you think I’m attractive.”

“I’m sure you get it often enough,” you say with a small shrug. There was no other way to go about it, Jungkook was definitely a winner of the genetic lottery. Ten minutes of talking and you already felt significantly more comfortable speaking to him. Perhaps it was the drink – or maybe Jungkook was just naturally really easy to talk to.

Despite his pleasure in finding out you somewhat reciprocate the allure, Jungkook clears his throat whilst trying to school his features into something casual, not wanting to appear as jubilant as he felt. Older women were always noted as his type and he often found that not many of them took him as seriously as he wanted to be, brushing his attempts off for his youth. Annoying as it was, the term happiness was an understatement for what he felt upon realising you hadn’t completely written him off just yet. Or so he hoped.

Fishing for more compliments by furthering the topic didn’t seem like a good choice so his eyes dropped to your empty glass. “Do you wanna order some drinks?”

“Uh, I don’t know, it depends.” Fine, you’ll give this guy a shot. You tilt your head up at him with a humoured expression.  “Am I going to have to pay for it?”

To answer your query, Jungkook simply pulls out his wallet and sets down a few paper notes on the counter. “You think I’ve come all the way over here for a free drink,” he laughs with a shake of his head.

“Maybe. When have men ever been reliable,” you say with a slight bitterness you didn’t mean to slip out. Perhaps you still hadn’t completely got over your post-relationship grief but you had done a darn good job of masking it till now so you move on. “So, is being a music producer as glamorous it sounds?”

“It has its perks. At the end of the day, it’s what I love and I can make a living off of it so what is there to complain about? I’m no big name in the industry but I think I’ll can get there, someday hopefully.”

“That’s… really cool, actually. I’ll be sure to buy all your songs legally then, if it’s any help.”

“Not illegally downloading music like the rest of us do, just for me? I’m honoured.”

You both admire and resent the candour his words hold. It’s inspiring to see Jungkook so adamant and passionate on his career. On the other hand, you can’t help but notice the slight jab of jealousy that hits your gut. Being able to love your job and have a passion for your work was something most people couldn’t find, yourself included, and Jungkook had managed to get there at an age like his. A bartender arrives when Jungkook waves at her, whispering the order before sliding the cash to her. You hear a faint, slightly flirtatious giggle but it goes unheard in your deep monologue of life.

However, it is finally interrupted when he turns to you, “What about your office job?”

You blink a few times, straightening your posture as you come up for an answer and nervously laugh. “Yeah, I just have a real passion for staring at spreadsheets and being hounded at by male colleagues who think they’re supervisors due to some type of internalised misogyny but, oh you know, I love it,” you reply, tone drenched in a playful sarcasm. “I suppose it’s okay as far as any nine to five office job can be, y’know?”

Jungkook regards you first with a furrowed brow but begins to chuckle. “Are they really that bad?”

“I mean, it’s not that bad. Not when I have Somin being it’s saving grace,” you smile at the thought.

A tray filled with an array of shot glasses arrives in front of you, indicating this was Jungkook’s choice of order. Lovely, you think with surge dread. As if your embarrassingly low tolerance could even manage four of these without getting  incredibly tipsy yet there were many more than ten presented in front of you. Slowly, you turn to Jungkook with a raised brow.

He shrugs, offering you’re an apologetic yet cheeky smile. Picking up two of the glasses, Jungkook then offers one to you. “You in?”

Having shots with a man you met little than fifteen minutes ago was probably not the adult choice to make but God, did you want nothing more. Even if it meant everything you had previously aggravated over on the car ride here was going to be compromised. Biting your lip, you nod and accept the glass. You share a single look with Jungkook, unable to not smile and not think why the hell not even though there are several answers to that. A nod, and you both drink to a new friendship and perhaps something more.

After the first, slightly off-flavoured shot, the rest of mush together and you can’t seem to differentiate from what was the third and what was the fourth.

The trey is still occupied with a few untouched glasses but you feel like you’re buzzed enough. More than enough. Drunk as in your stumbling and you’re giggling a bit but you’re not about to immediately vomit your stomach’s contents out straight away, which is good.

It’s good because you don’t have worry about running off to puke. Not now. Not when you’re up against the wall in an alleyway beside the club with Jungkook’s tongue down your throat. You’re not exactly how it escalated so quickly but asking him won’t make much of a difference since he’s just about as wasted as you, and anyways, it’s not like you don’t want this. How long have you been making out with him? Ten minutes or twenty, you seem to have lost complete count of the time.

One of his hands comes to frame your jaw whilst the other finds pushes itself on the flesh of your ass, groping with as equal ferocity as the way his mouth frames your own. When his tongue sweeps across your lower lip, a moan claws its way out your throat as you feel a direct shock to your core.

Jungkook is the first to pull away, strands of saliva evident then disperse as he parts from your lips, panting equally as heavily as you. “D-do you want to take this somewhere a bit, uh, better? My place?” He mumbles, forehead against your own. The question reminds you that you’re in a fucking alleyway and your white dress is definitely not stain resistant.

Gulping down a large breath of air, you nod ardently. “Yes, please,” you respond.

As intoxicated as you are, you’ve still the bit of conscience left in you to know what you’re agreeing to when you say yes and you’d like nothing more, to be honest.

He isn’t a man who asks twice. Jungkook reluctantly pushes himself off of you, pulls at your hand and heads to hail a taxi.

Making out in the back of one isn’t the most refined thing to do, especially when you have a something-like-70-year-old man driving it so for the small ride it is. So, you manage to put off Jungkook’s advances for the time being despite wanting to reciprocate just as fervently.

When his groping and whatnot become too difficult for you to stay silent and your occasional warning glances remain unnoticed, you pinch his hand to keep his wandering fingers at bay. Instead, Jungkook opts for leaving his hand atop your upper thigh, gripping to it throughout the rest of the duration.

Merely watching the veins that decorate his forearms move as his grip adjusts is enough to get you going. Celibate for something like three months without a problem but now, with his hand on you like that and his jaw clenched at such a fine angle, you feel as though you’re going to burst if you don’t have his fingers or whatever else of his inside you sooner or later.

And by the time you reach the outside of Jungkook’s apartment block, the lust in the vehicle is near palpable with such a stretched time for desire to marinate.

He fiddles with his keys clumsily, having them slip out more than once before he finally manages to reach the inside of his abode. “Hurry up,” you whined with a mixture of annoyance and desperation. At this rate, you’d pass out before he’d even manage a finger inside of you.

“I’m hurrying,” Jungkook returns in an equally as frustrated tone. Finally, the lock gives way and the two of you stumble into his abode. Normally, you’d take a few moments to look at your surroundings, weigh it out, maybe snoop to see a few family photos but such frivolity was very much at the back of your mind. All you could think manage to think of was the growing arousal that was most likely forming a dark spot through your panties.

Thankfully, after a quick slip of shoes, Jungkook wastes no time in returning back to current affairs. Hands grabbing at your waist, he pulls you in for another rough kiss to which you easily comply to. Given your state of mind, it isn’t the most artful of make outs you’ve experienced. This is sloppy, messy, aggressive even with the odd clash of teeth but it only fuels the burgeoning desire within your lower stomach.

One hand of his slides up from its hold on your side and cups your left breast, softly massaging it through the thin fabric of your dress. Your unpadded bra does little to hid the strain of your pert nipples against the garment. Jungkook gently pinches it causing you to pause in your kissing, groaning from the gratification his movement gives you.

“D-didn’t expect you to be such a g-good girl,” he mumbles during a momentary breather. “I bet you’re - nngh - so wet already, spending all night staring at my thighs. Maybe I’ll let y-you fuck yourself on them.” Jungkook’s words are stuttered as he struggles to continues to let out strings of explicit words that only make the emptiness between your legs even less bearable. All you manage to respond with an agreeing moan, bucking your hips into the prominent bulge outlined in his jeans for some inch of relief.

As a need for further intimacy forms, the two of you stumble to his bedroom. And quickly enough, all your garments discarded and left chucked on the floor.

A throbbing headache is the first greeting you receive at the sound of your alarm, severely so. It feels like stabbing to the head.

Your eyes flutter opens only briefly but in your state of deterioration, you can’t quite manage to keep them open long enough. You let your alarm ring a few more times, hoping it would switch off soon enough so you could comfortably enjoy your self-rewarded few more minutes of shuteye.

Getting drunk never boded well for you, only resulting in an unforgiving headache to be dealt with the next day like you were currently experiencing. You shuffle under the sheets, drowsily trying to recall the events of last night ready for the strong splash of remorse to hit you. The club with Somin, speaking to Jungkook, taking drinks with Jungkook… the rest from then on were fragmented memories that did enough to clear the picture. You cringe as the reminders of having work in a few hours also pops up as an afterthought. Apparently, your resolve wasn’t just as strong enough as you had hoped, being that everything that you didn’t intend to happen did in spite of your autonomy.

Your partner is still fast asleep, not wasting glance because you could already feel the bodily heat emanating off of him. Well, there was no point wasting time here then, as fun as it had been.

You take care not to disrupt Jungkook’s tranquil slumber as you sit yourself up in the bed, rubbing your eyes vehemently. Once you finally manage to open your eyes properly, you take in the messy sight of the bedroom. Seeing last night’s clothing left sprawled out on the floor, you take that as a sign to hurry up with things.

As you let out a yawn, you stretch your arms out in front of you in preparation for having to get a move on within the next few minutes. You lazily blink at the scene in front of you.

It almost goes unnoticed.

Your hands don’t… look like this; masculine and veiny. You do a double take at the first observation, scrutinising everything you certainly hadn’t been familiar with before. Shock settles within you and your processing takes a good minute before you take a further step.

Hesitantly, you press your palms to your chest. Hard and flat. Not to be over generous, but you had always had a fair amount of bust on you but if anything, your chest felt nothing but mostly horizontal under your touch. Your shock quickly turns into a blend of panic and confusion.

“What the fuck?” you say aloud for the first time in the morning. The manly baritone makes you instantly go still. Another question enters your mind that’s already near the edge of hysteria.

Slowly, your hand slides down the torso of your body, noting the abs that seemed to have suddenly formed overnight, and grab your crotch. Something was there that certainly wasn’t there before. Silently screaming at the scenario playing out, you grip the body part and give it a vehement shake to make sure it isn’t anything that isn’t attached to your skin and all that results in is a sharp and strong strike of pain to your nether regions.

You inhale a shaky, deep breath. “This is just a bad trip. I’ve taken some drug and I’m just having a really, really bad trip,” you mutter to yourself with the conviction of a worshipper. Maybe it’s just a dream and you pinch yourself to test the theory. When another much less significant bout of hurt stings you, it is with a heavy heart you find you’ve been proven wrong.

Only five minutes into your day and things were already off to a terrible start. To put things into perspective, you had… physically become a male over night? Nothing was making sense and your freaked thoughts did nothing but make your hangover headache have an even strong throb to it.

The sound of bed sheets ruffling beside you as supposedly Jungkook shuffles tears you from your breakdown. Surely you couldn’t be the only one affected by this odd turn of events.

Prudently, you peer over to the body beside you and angle your head to have a better look at the face.

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” a litany of expletives are all you can mumble, unbelieving as your eyes go wide as saucers.

Beside you, was your body. The one you had had for the past twenty-seven years. And you weren’t in it. The out-of-body mindfuck is all too much for the weak state of your brain. You double over and release a drawn-out groan, your new body reminding you of the hangover nausea with a dull, throbbing ache in your head as if this couldn’t get any worse.

In your huddled form, you take a moment to play out the consequences of this revelation. If you’re not in your body and Jungkook is nowhere to be found…

Realisation wrapping itself slowly enough. A body swap?

You contemplate just how on earth to react to this. You silently chuckle, your body shaking as you shake your head in incredulity. Of all people, it had to be you to have to deal with something as bizarre as if. On top of all your projects, your deteriorating love & social life, at least now there was a paranormal addition to really top it off.

To confirm your suspicion of who exactly you might be inhibiting, you hastily get up from your warmed bed spot to head to the connected bathroom, running so fast you nearly trip over yourself in the process.

Although you had predicted as much, actually witnessing the abnormality of not having your own face when looking into your own reflection is still every bit as shocking. For a brief moment, you wonder just how many people have had to experience such a feeling, such a situation.

Jungkook is every bit as handsome even in a fresh-out-of-bed state. His dark hair tousled and unkempt from a cruel, unexpected night of sleep and whatever antics had occurred just before that, chapped lips and a dried streak of drool by his chin. You can only just stare at the reflection in both horror and awe, too scared to make a movement and have him copy.

All you can do in your daze of disbelief is wait for your own body to wake up and see how Jungkook responds.

As if directly answering your curiosity, there is a sudden scream from the bedroom. You rush in to find yourself – Jungkook? – staring into the front camera of his phone. You imagine that his parted-lip, furrowed-brow expression is near the mirror image of what you first looked like.

“J-jungkook?” you gingerly call out.

Dark, distraught eyes meet yours in response. “What the hell is going on?” he demands in what was once your voice. “I have boobs. And I’m… you.” He looks as though he’s about to cry and for one small second, you take offence to how distraught he is by having your face.

You look incredulously at him. “You think I have any idea about this?” Motioning at your face and then to him in reference. Everything is moving far too fast for you to get a proper grasp at comprehending how to handle with this. In your depleted state, you reluctantly move to sit beside him in the bed.

A blanket of silence falls over the room as the two of you are too immersed in your own silent thoughts of fright and bewilderment. You feel the bed shift slightly as Jungkook properly sits up.

“So… we’ve swapped bodies?” He finally asks.

Taking a gulp, you can only nod as you turn to him. “I-I think that’s what’s happened.” In retrospect, before going to his apartment and letting him insert his penis into your vagina, you should’ve perhaps spent more time figuring this guy out. For all you knew or could care to remember was that he was a young music producer. “Out of curiosity, does this happen to you every time you have sex?”

The question doesn’t bode well, apparently too light hearted for the current dread that was occupying the atmosphere because Jungkook looks like he’s taken offence to it. “No,” he responds tightly. “Does it happen to you?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Never.”

There is yet another pregnant pause in the conversation. It seems there is still some processing being done, as there would for such an atypical position. “Well, what do we do now?”

Moping around Jungkook’s apartment won’t make any much of a difference. Despite this, you still each had lives to go on with. After a deep inhale, you stand up. “I suppose we could on with our schedule as per usual.”

Jungkook blinks at you once, and then again. “You really are going to work after something like this? How the fuck are we going to do this? Can’t you just call in sick?”

Memories of highlighted deadlines pop into your head, causing a gush of worry to fizz through you. Adamantly, you shake your head. “No, you have to go in my place,” you say leaving little room for debate. “I can’t slack or I’ll have Seokjin lighting a fire in my ass,” you add, taking on a more pleading tone. One piece of advice; never date your superviser. “The projects, the deadlines, the filing; I can’t slack on it.”

Even in the midst of bad decisions, it seems as though your choice in men wasn’t too shabby since you saw his stubborn resolve quickly dissipate under your beseeching gaze. He shakes his head, giving in. “Okay, so if I do go in, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“It’s an office job, Jungkook. It doesn’t demand the IQ of a genius, so long as you know how to use Microsoft excel. Hell, I lied about knowing how to use it on the resume. If there are any questions then ask Somin.”

“And what am I going to wear? You want to walk into an office in your clubbing outfit and indirectly tell everyone that you got drunk and lucky last night?”

The vulgarity of his words brings about a heated flush to your face as you falter to reply at the first attempt. “Don’t you have an ex’s clothes lying about somewhere?”

Jungkook can only snort. “Yes, because I certainly have nothing better to do than keep souvenirs of my past endeavours.”

You glare at him for second or so.

“You were so much nicer when you wanted in on my vagina,” you concede and fold your arms, not finding the energy to quarrel in your newly male state. This morning had been the epitome of disasters, one you wouldn’t even have imagined could happen. You couldn’t even have a one night stand without having something severely fuck up.

“Yeah, well I have my own now which is great,” Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat in the repartee, his sharp words dripping with sarcasm as he rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my mood since I don’t have my own penis anymore.”

“It wasn’t even that great anyways. I don’t know what you’re so sad about.” You shrug.

Offence is clear on his features (or should you say your own?). “I’m sorry, what was that? Oh, don’t you need me to go to work and do your boring job? Actually, that’s perfect. I don’t feel too well anymore now that you mention it.”

A sigh of defeat escapes you. Exchanging insults wouldn’t get you anywhere and seeing as this wasn’t an issue that couldn’t be fixed within a few moments, ruining your relationship with Jungkook as quickly as it had started didn’t seem like the best option.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to berate you but this is just as fucked up for me as it is for you, okay? But you could cooperate with me then that’d be greatly appreciated.”

Seeing beyond reason isn’t entirely crossed out in Jungkook’s books it seems because his expression turns to something that looks considerate. “I guess I’m partly at fault too,” he admits.

Glad to get past that hiccup, you nod easily and make towards Jungkook’s closet. Swinging open the doors, you realise there’s only the smallest variation, white t-shirts, black hoodies and grey sweaters filling up the most of Jungkook’s minimalist closet. “There must be something in here you can wear.”

“Wait, I think I have a cashmere sweater that shrank a little bit,” Jungkook trails off.

“You do?” You instantly abandon your digging efforts and look to him, eyebrows raised. “If so then that’ll be perfect. You can just wear the sweater over the dress and it’ll look like a skirt!” You exclaim. Normally, you’d feel filthy for not showering before work but desperate times call for desperate measures so you try not to dwell on it.

“Sure.” Jungkook looks like he doesn’t necessarily understand your notion but continues to drag himself off the bed, only clad in your bra and panties from last night. The sight makes you cringe. “Jesus, why do your nipples get so hard so easily?” He grumbles sleepily and bends over pull over the white dress left sprawled on the floor.

“Because you’re naked and it’s cold,” you reply blandly, watching him bend down to search through a few drawers before fishing out a charcoal-coloured sweater. “Wear that,” you instruct softly, assuming it’s the sweater he had mentioned before.

“You don’t say.” The cynicism you force yourself to let go in effort to avoid any further quarrels and allow Jungkook to dress himself with the timing of a sloth.

It’s not the cleanest look but it’ll have to do since you’re already late. When he looks over to you for confirmation, you give a quick nod of approval. You take a quick look at the time, already ten minutes pass the usual time you leave the house. Considering that you don’t even know the distance from Jungkook’s place to work, you pick up your phone and send Somin a seemingly normal text to inform her of your tardiness. Nothing mentioning the fact that you were on the hovering suspicion that you had just about lost the plot.

Not more than a minute later, Somin only replies with a winking smiley face to which you grimace at. You consider telling her the rest of the details the issue entailed but thought better of it. She’d think you’re mad.

“Could you perhaps… do this with a little more urgency?” You say, tapping your foot impatiently. Still in just a pair of boxers, you probably weren’t in the position to be hurrying Jungkook.

“Unless you want me to walk into the office and offend everyone with morning breath and unbrushed hair, you’re going to have to give me a minute.”

As Jungkook heads to the bathroom to fix on exactly that, you spent the time pulling on a pair of black jeans from the identical array he neatly had stacked. Next, you slipped on a thin white t-shirt which again was one of the masses. Working as a music producer probably didn’t have as a formal dress code, you imagined and therefore put less effort into looking the part.

Once he emerged from the bathroom, having spent the time freshening up, you gave him a satisfied smile at the sight of tamed hair and un-chapped lips.

“We should arrange a meet up during the lunch break at the cafe beside my studio,” he speaks up. “So, we can have a proper conversation on how to fix this thing,” Jungkook gestures between the two of you. “You’re going to the studio, right?”

“I’m not just going to wallow about in your apartment,” you respond.

Jungkook arches a brow at that, angling his head to look at you. “Are you sure you wanna do that? I mean, do you even know how to produce music?”

“Nope,” you say with enough confidence. “But how hard can it be? I just fiddle with some button and sounds and that should be enough for the time being.”

It earns a scoff from Jungkook as he struggles to slip on the simple heels. “If you need some help with it just ask Yoongi or better yet, call me.”

“Yoongi?”

“I work with him in the studio for the most part so he’s always there. We work as duo so he can help you out if you wanna know anything but be discreet, at the very least. I don’t need him thinking I’ve lost the plot.”

“That I can do,” you nod affirmatively, internally still thinking what exactly will be so hard about pressing buttons and making sounds.

Being Jungkook is still awfully new having found out only about two hours ago, not to mention unsettling, for you but you know it’s not like you can go into hiding until the situation was fixed (which still remained a mystery as for now). You were not used to driving an automatic, or used to standing up and aiming to pee, or even wearing skinny jeans to work but alas, this was Jungkook and so for the time being, all you could do was get used to it.

You glance down to the text from Jungkook before returning your eyes back to the sight of the studio you had parked in front of, making sure you weren’t intruding into somewhere. The casual nod the receptionist offers you as she buzzes you in nearly makes you faint. 

You’re Jungkook. An attractive, young music producer and you have no idea how to make music. Great. The elevator journey is spent nearly entirely on a quick, panicked search of ‘introdyctipn to creeatingh mukic’  to which you learn nearly nothing due to the bad service except a recap on musical notes you faintly remembering being taught at one point in middle school.

Little before you know it, the ding for floor seven arrives and you rush out in an awkward manner having just realised that’s your studio. For now, anyways. To calm yourself, you inhale deeply as you inspect the layout of the floor. It’s a quality label, you’ve come to realise with the professional, clean set out and laid back atmosphere that faintly smells of coffee. The elevator opens up into hallway, deep purple, velveted walls with a sleek black-tiled floor.

Understanding dawns upon you, realising how he can pay for that penthouse of his.  

Studio Fourteen you remind yourself as you begin to search, reading each studio number as they pass. The some of the names indented beneath the signs are even recognisable. 

You don’t miss the records and awards hung in between the studios, proud displays of the probably very talented producers behind the doors. It looks so sleek and professional, the hallway nearly completely silent due to soundproof materials within the walls, you assume. In a heartbeat, you can admit this workplace is better than your loud, bustling office you work at, in that cubicle that isn’t even a separate room.

As the memories of your workplace are conjured, feeling so distant and long ago despite it only being yesterday, your thoughts are diverted to Jungkook. You wonder how well he must be faring, dealing with Somin on the right and Alex on the left who’s actions probably breached the harassment rule, considering how many times he had offered you a relationship of the sorts outside of office hours. You find yourself grinning at the thought of Jungkook having to deal with that sort of change.

On the other hand, you could get used to this. A soundproof studio where all you had to do was press some buttons and deal with a guy who had never met before, who was probably a professional by the looks of where he worked. How hard could it be? You learnt the keyboard in ninth grade, although you had forgotten basically everything, you supposed to wouldn’t take long to consolidate your knowledge.

“Uh, Jungkook, why are you staring at Jessi’s studio door?” You hear a male call out, disrupting the silence and your thoughts.

At first, you almost don’t respond, not used to being called by a name that isn’t yours, until it hits you that that’s exactly what your name is for the time being. You startle and turn to the stark blond male, a very delayed reaction but he only raises his eyebrows at you.

You take a quick second to analyse this new face. His ruffled flaxen hair being the most attention-grabbing feature, you take care to look at the rest. Judging by a glance, the man is thinner and shorter than Jungkook. His features are soft, feline almost, are contorted in a bored look as he stares upon you and you decide that he is definitely not unattractive but he’s also Jungkook’s partner so you don’t push the thought further. 

“Uh, Yoongi?” You gingerly ask, unsure if this is the partner Jungkook earlier spoke of but seeing the matching description of blond hair, you feel like this isn’t a bad guess.

The blond man scoffs at your hesitation. “Hurry up and get in here, you’re already late, Kook.” He then disappears into the studio, leaving you slightly perturbed by his blunt mannerisms.

If he was the man Jungkook worked day in and day out with, you guessed that were would be some lacking of formalities. For him, for you, this was supposed to be just another day as a hot music producer. You inhale a deep breath for the umpteenth time before following into studio fourteen.

The set out is normal, although you must note have a very narrowed idea of ‘normal’ considering this is the first studio you’ve ever physically set foot in. Normal, for you, meaning it looked like how they did in the movies which by anyone’s standards is then deemed as not too darn shabby. You let your eyes roam the rectangular room, gently shutting the door behind you.

You’re not exactly how to ‘be’ Jungkook, per say. Your whole idea of him is also fairly narrow, showcasing him to be either a very smooth-talking and comforting boy-next-door you barely remember speaking to in a nightclub or a downright asshole.

“So, uh,” you begin in a timid voice as your blonde partner takes a seat in one of the swivelling chairs, not wasting any time in starting up whatever system was laid out in front of him. “What are we doing today?”

God, that sounded like the dumbest fucking thing you could say. Making music, duh.

Yoongi, who’s already slipping on his headphones, pauses to look at you, confirming what you’ve said is probably not best choice of words. “How many drinks did you have yesterday?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like shit and you just asked that... so my guess would then be, a lot.” Yoongi expertly swivels his swivelling chair all the way to you, although you’re not quite sure why he couldn’t just get up and walk to you. In his hand, he holds a thin wad of paper and offers it to you. “I get you’re living your life as an attractive, young man but please remember that we have to produce at least thirty demos for that rapper’s debut album by the start of next month so perhaps don’t get too carried away, okay?”

Gently, you pluck the wad from his grasp and take a look at the contents. Compositions of the sorts and in other words, complete gibberish since you can’t differentiate a B minor from a B major because you don’t really know what B was in the first place. Alas, this is your job for the time being and you’ll soldier through it somehow, so you try to make an expression that looks like you know exactly what it reads and not like you have no fucking idea. Just for show.

“This is…?”

Carding musician-worthy fingers through his hair with a harsh sigh falling from his lips, you get the feeling he’s starting to lose his patience with you. It’s quite unfair. Jungkook gets to hang out with that airhead Somin who probably doesn’t give a flying shit about whether you know what you’re doing and you get this grumpy asshole who looks like he’s about to manifest into something that’s a little more threatening than the thin, pale guy that he is.

“The most recent compositions you’ve produced this month. Did you hit your head and get amnesia, dude? We’re on a tight schedule here so try not to slack.”

The irritance he clearly speaks with makes your lips twitch but you silently nod and take the over swivelling seat. But as you make your way, you can’t help but let out a quiet, “Don’t have to be so rude about it.”

In spite of your effort to keep it to yourself, Yoongi picks up on it but whilst you expect him to half rip your head off and eat it, you instead notice his features soften. Just the slightest bit. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, Kook, you know me when I’m stressed,” he says.

The thing is, you don’t know but again you nod and let yourself dwell on how you’re going to do this. WikiHow it is, then.

_

Jungkook has had just about fucking enough. These last ten minutes in the building have been quite the rollercoaster from him. Once upon a time, he could dial in and get coffee, his usual Godiva blend, delivered to his room by that hot assistant he just might’ve fucked in the toilets at one specific staff christmas party. Now? Now he had to haul his has all the way to the other end of the floor to get it.

And between him getting up and him getting his coffee, he had several obstacles to overcome. That Somin or whatever her name was had been haggering him ever since he stepped a foot into the building would make the effort to distract him, there was Alex who’s effort in making a conversation made Jungkook feel oddly comfortable in a body that wasn’t even his own, causing him to tug down on his dress on several occasions, and then countless other people who had each shrugged their own bits of paperwork onto Jungkook to deal with. After that trip, he was far too scared to dare make one for the toilet.

He doesn’t have one clue. And the confining walls of this cubicle and the lack of Yoongi’s presence are just about going to be the death of him. The only good part of this entire day was that he could touch your, slash temporarily his, boobs whenever he felt like it. Sitting in his chair, staring aimlessly at the desktop in front of him, Jungkook again indulges in the pleasure of groping his chest before releasing a dramatised sigh and dropping his head to the desk in despair.

On top of all of this bullshit, Jungkook has an album to co-produce that’s due next month and he has that girl stuck in his body, setting him back with probably not one given fuck on what to do. He can’t exactly blame her though, looking at his current position. Was it bad that he had partly forgotten her name? Y/N.. or something like that?

Well, he certainly had learnt a lot more about her job. The proprietorship company was some pet-food related stuff and she worked within the treasury. Tillating. He had done enough google searches to complete his idea of what exactly being part of the treasury management meant. Some of the tasks burdened on his shoulders proved to be somewhat simple, so he focused on them first in an aim to distract the ever-building distress that had arisen when he first realised he has a two holes instead of one. The better half of the uber here was spent on figuring out what sort of bad deeds he had committed that would create such a comeuppance to his being.

However, a distraction is not necessarily possible with Somin to his right. Her head pears over the small barrier and Jungkook feels the need to groan at the sense of her presence.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” she says above, her acrylic nails tapping along the thin barrier that separated them. “You don’t respond to my texts from last night, end up wearing the same dress as yesterday night and have the audacity to not speak a word about it.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook pushes himself away from his desk to slowly look up to the women he had already grown to despise. “Continue.” He muffles a yawn.

“Do I need to elaborate? Spill.”

A wrinkle appears on his forehead as Jungkook tries to figure out what exactly this girl wants to know before it suddenly dawns on him that this was the girl who sat with you before he came over and fucked both of your lives up. “Ohhh, you wanna know what happened?”

Somin looks at him as though he’s a complete idiot. “Duh, dumbass.”

“Well.” He clears his throat and strokes his chin, attempting to recall back on the blurred account he had from last night. “Well, um, we spoke for a while and ordered shots then we made it back to my- I mean his place.”

“And?” She pushes him to continue.

“And we had sex. Wait, wasn’t that a bit obvious?”

Rolling her eyes, she then leans forward an inch to manage to flick Jungkook on the head.  Emitting a yelp of surprise mixed with the unexpected pain that caused, he regards her bitterly. “Give me the fucking details!”

“No! Why are you such a perv?” Sure, Jungkook might spill a few pieces explicit content to Yoongi and the guys in the studio but retelling it to a girl whom he, till now, had never met before? He internally cringes.

“Did you take an aspirin yet? Y/N, this is how we communicate. We tell eachother every detail of our sexual rendezvous’ so - was he a good fuck or not? I did not waste my time last night to have you go home with a guy that can’t beat cheeks up properly.”

Jungkook lets himself dwell on this information, a Cheshire Cat grin beginning to develop on his face. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Now that you mention, Jungkook was probably the best fuck I’ve ever had in my entire life,” he begins to dramatically retell as Somin grows more and more satisfied with his showy recounts. It feels odd to speak of himself in something that isn’t a first person recount of him but the expression Somin wears is more than enough to keep him going.

It isn’t a total load of bullshit that he’s spewing. Sure, it was no porno with purely vaginal orgasms and crazy, gymnastic-worthy positions but Jungkook thought it was a relatively good fuck despite not remembering most of it due to the amount of alcohol he had taken in beforehand. Doggy Style and Girl On Top were the few remaining memories he still possessed and yeah, an eight out of ten by his standards which was pretty rare.

By the time he’s finished is embellished story, Somin is practically foaming at the mouth and Jungkook begins to wonder if she is some weird perv. “This is so great for you! It’s your first step in getting over Seokjin.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jungkook’s features stay blank. “Seokjin?”

Somin frowns at his lack of response. “You know, Seokjin…?” She pauses, nodding at him.

Feigning some sort of recognition, Jungkook nods along. “Ohh, him. Sure, sure. He’s my, uh…”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Somin finishes off the sentence for him with her brows knitted, slightly confused by his weird actions.

Jungkook clicks his fingers, “Of course. Ugh, last night was just so good that I forgot about him entirely,” he quickly saves the discourse.

She snorts at that but buys it at least. “Anywho, I was thinking of getting a Subway for lunch, you wanna come?”

God, no. Jungkook certainly does not. He’s still trying to figure out if his pee and shit come out from the same hole. But this girl is who he’s stuck next to for a good eight slash nine hours every day till he figures out how to break the laws of science once more, so he figures it’s rather inappropriate to flip her off and tell her to leave him alone. Plus, she’s Y/N’s friend, he adds on as an afterthought.

“Uh, now that you mention it, I planned to spend lunch with someone I need to speak to so maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

Somin tilts her head to an angle with a bemused expression, apparently not used to being rejected for lunch outings from Y/N. “Who’s taken my place?”

Fuck, Y/N had it easy. Min Yoongi was a man of not many words when consumed with his work so she was probably having a breeze learning the differences between a minim and a semibreve. Unlike himself, feeling more so like an malefactor than an office worker, with these imprisoning cubicle walls and the interrogator herself situated just beside him.

“Uh, that guy from last night. I left something at his house and he said we could meet up at a cafe for lunch,” Jungkook weakly explains as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck, a habit that often showed up during his nervous situations.

At that, Somin’s face lightens up visibly. Knowing her, the reason behind her elation is probably something to do with it being her work that set you up with a guy that finally broke your dry spell. A heartwarming intention, and you obviously love her and would quite possibly die for Somin but the only thing that Jungkook can currently appreciate is her naivety.

She giggles, leaning into the thin barrier with such reliance that it threatens to fall over before she catches herself from letting it happen just before Jungkook’s panic begins to truly arise. “You’re such a minx,” Somin sighs. Jungkook doesn’t really know or care for what that means but he goes along with it, something he’s been doing pretty much since he woke up, and smiles in return. “I love it. You gotta tell me afterwards, though. I mean, you guys might even become something more.”

And with that suppressed parting squeal, Somin returns back to her own quarters. A breath Jungkook didn’t know he was holding escapes him. Moments of silence pass as he aimlessly watches out of the window behind his desktop before he leans forward to bury his face in his hands in pure disparity, resigning himself to this fate

Four hours. Four full hours you had to spend in the room with not a single clue of how to conduct yourself and by the time you’d reached the cafe, you were half convinced you've developed claustrophobia within that time.

The wafting aroma of coffee and the sight of worn-out, empty cushions are like a breath of fresh air to you and whilst there is obviously much to be desired, you feel oddly at home in this low-maintenance cafe in comparison to the sumptuosity the record label’s building oozed.

Jungkook had beaten you to it, sitting comfortably in a place nicely tucked into the corner, his head tilted downwards to look at his phone. It catches you off guard because, of course, it’s technically your head and so you’ll need a little bit of getting used to see your face in anywhere but your reflection. Without trying to draw attention, you take a beeline towards the corner and sit down, finally earning the attention of the man trapped inside a woman’s body.

“You’re five minutes late.”

“Oh, hi Jungkook. I’m doing okay, thanks. It was really lovely for you to ask since I’m in your work place and could’ve been up to just about anything,” you say in an avidly enthusiastic voice, causing the man to raise both eyebrows at you.

“I take that you’re faring well then, at least,” he says in your voice, lacking energy and sounding partially dead. Apparently, he hadn’t recovered from his mood this morning.

You give him a look of disapproval. “Have you been like this all morning?���

He spares you a brief glance. “Like what?”

“A lifeless asshole?”

“How can I not be?!” Jungkook retorts with a sudden show of emotion in his voice. It’s sharp and sardonic but you appreciate it more than the miserable and unresponsive tone he first spoke with. “God, you really weren’t kidding when you said that your job was shit. Why does that girl talk so much?”

You try to find a scintilla of offense taken but there is none since he’s not too far off from the truth you can’t even deny yourself. “Who, Somin?”

Jungkook’s expression darkens at the name, almost as though it pains him. “I’m going to request a cubicle change if I have to put up with her any longer than a day.”

Stiffening at his proclamation, you widen your eyes. “No, wait, don’t!” The sudden increase of volume earns a few head turns from the two young ladies behind the counter, who are probably thinking this is some sort of oddly-timed break up. “Try to be amiable with her, please? She can sometimes,” Jungkook snorts at the choice of word, “be a little overbearing but she’s really, really lovely. And not to mention sensitive, so don’t be mean to her, okay?”

Even though you yourself sometimes have a difficult time sitting beside the girl, you wouldn’t do anything in the world to really hurt her, like request a seat change. Oh, God, no, her heart would positively just about break at that. You reach for Jungkook’s hands, the man finding it odd how stuck you are on it, and encase them in your new, very large ones.

“Promise me you won’t do that.”

“Are you guys… more than friends or something?”

Your face turns into one of perplexion before you understand what he implies. “Oh, no, I just… really care for her, platonically.” When Jungkook’s expression remains unconvinced, you sigh. “She’s my best friend and I don’t have many friends, let alone best friends, so I’d really appreciate you don’t ruin that relationship. Deal with her for me… please?”

“I barely know you.”

“You knew me enough to stick your penis in me.”

“I stick my penis in a lot of people, don’t think you’re special,” he stubbornly responds, indifferent. You feel a small prick of hurt at his words, once again reminded you’re just a one night stand gone wrong. And to think, you thought you could’ve been his friend.

Pinching his hand with your newfound strength, Jungkook yelps and pulls his hands away in surprise. “Well, you won’t be sticking anything in anyone anytime soon so I suggest you keep me happy if you want this disgustingly attractive body back. God, you’re such an asshole.”

Jungkook’s stoic resolve breaks at your genuinity and he rolls his eyes but nevertheless, you sense the acceptance he’s conceded himself to. “Fine but I need you to remember I’m only human.”

You beam now that’s been dealt with as one of the ladies behind the counter arrives with two seeing hot cups of tea, nodding as you offer her a quick thanks. When she’s a good distance away from your table, you continue the conversation. “Did you manage to find out what our… condition is exactly?”

Across the table, Jungkook shakes his head with an aura of despondency. “I tried googling it but all that came up were some weird Quora answers. I’m afraid we’re a bit stuck.”

The tea is scalding on your tastebuds but you take a sip of it anyways, ignoring the lingering sting as you nod. “But there has to be some explanation, even if it isn’t scientific. These things don’t just happen out of nowhere.” Silence falls over the two of you like a blanket as you both let yourselves dwell further on the issue before you click your fingers. “Do you have any friends that are… like, mystics or old-school alchemists or whatever? The weird spiritual type.”

“Hm, let me think,” Jungkook goes along with the suggestion since he has none of his own and has partially accepted this is some type of punishment for being a bad person, if he even is one. The plus side to being an avid socialiser and partially well-known music producer is that he has plenty of contacts. “Oh, shit, I think I do. There’s this guy that lives somewhere on the eastside and he’s all into that.”

Eyes bulging out of their sockets, you for once thank your poor luck. “You think he’ll have something we can work with?”

“Not sure but anything helps, right?” He shrugs, appearing not as excited by the prospect as you do.

You nod avidly as a flower of hope blooms within you. “So when do you want to visit this guy?”

“Tonight, I guess. We’re better off having this over and done with as soon as possible so I’ll call him up and see if he’s down for it. Kim Taehyung is a pretty busy guy.”

“Really?” You ask with a doubtful look.

“Yeah. White people really dig that tantric stuff so he gets business,” Jungkook admits with a flippant wave as he takes his first gulp of the now-cooler drink. “But I’m sure he can fit us in.” He stays quiet for a bit before glancing back up to you, aimlessly watching outside the window. “Are you finding the studio okay?”

A grim expression surfaces as you recall the experience. “I’m learning stuff and trying to figure out what all those buttons mean but your friend is a pain in the ass. I’m three naggings away from beating his ass all the way to hell and back.”

“Ah, Yoongi,” Jungkook recognises with a pleasant snort. “He can be a bit much but you’ll learn to deal with him.”

“Yeah, I doubt it.” Throwing your head back for added effect, you pinch your nose. “He got angry at me because I asked him who Rap Monster was. Like it’s my fucking fault! Why would I ever know someone with a stage name like that in the first place? So I had to run a little wikipedia background check on him.”

“Rap Monster?” Repeating your words, Jungkook widens his eyes when hit with realisation and buries his head in his hands. “Fuck, I completely forgot we have him booking for a recording session tomorrow!”

“Oh, great,” you say with feigned enthusiasm. “I’m definitely looking forward to that. No, really, his songs sound… creative.”

Your attempt at dry humour doesn’t help his sullen mood when he looks up but instead earns an intense glare. “Are you even fucking bothered by this? We’re experiencing something that doesn’t even fucking exist and by the looks of it, I’m the only one that’s worried by this. Quit acting like a child. We could be stuck in each others bodies forever and you’re joking around?” He adds a scoff whilst running a hand through his hair, his frustration becoming even more visible.

Irritation flares within you. This entire day he’s had a huge chip on his shoulder, and whilst you resonate with that and can understand, there’s no reason to aim it so viciously at you. “Of course, I’m fucking bothered! But guess what, Jungkook? I’m not going to start being a little bitch to everyone because I’m acting like an adult and can deal with tough situations without acting like I have a stick shoved all the way up my ass.” You don’t think before you respond just as accusingly, your voice growing louder than you intended to and clear hurt written all over your face. “It’s not my fault we’re like this so you should stop hating me like it is! At least I’m trying to be your friend. After this is over, you can act like I don’t exist for for now you have to learn to work with me.”

The change in atmosphere is more than evident and you feel embarrassment begin to kick in as you notice the few customers and workers once again discreetly looking your way, mumbling things. Jungkook bites his lip like he’s caught in some soliloquy of his own before he deflates with defeat. He’s about to say something when you interject, “And I’m sorry that I might come across insincere but you need to know that I’m really bummed out by this turn of events. I want one crummy orgasm and I end up in a dude’s body; I don’t need this either. I’ll try to stop being so damn funny but you need to agree to stop being such a Debbie Downer!” Tears begin to spring in your eyes, glossy as your bottom lip begins to wobble.

“Hey, hey, stop it, people are looking,” Jungkook whispers when he’s caught onto the attention and inhales deeply. “Look, I get it, I’m being an ass and I need to stop. It’s just- you’re really freaking me out. You don’t know anything about my job and you’re joking about it where, in reality, I could end up getting fired for the incompetency. I really need you to take this seriously and it’s freaking me out. Plus you’re making me looking weird,” he says and gestures to the rest of the people who still glance at the two of you every so often.

You sniff and intensely rub at your eyes to fix your state. Jungkook genuinely looks scared when you return his gaze and you start to feel sorry for him. God, it must be annoying to be so young and fresh with such a promising career and having it suddenly ruined with a body swap with a completely dumbass like you of all people. “Okay,” you breathe out and wet your lips. “I’ll try to take your job more seriously.”

“Thank you.” He visibly relaxes at your promise and leans back into his chair. “I’ll try not be a… Debbie Downer, did you say?” There’s the slightest hint of amusement on Jungkook’s face as he tilts his head in question.

“Look, I was sad and didn’t want to cuss in front of the old ladies,” you argue with a side look to the grey haired two behind the counter who kept sending concerned glances towards your table. “And, thanks. Took you long enough.”

And for once, there’s some sense of amiability in the air between the two of you, something there hasn’t been an awful lot of, so you appreciate the shared grin. However, the comforting post-argument moment is quickly dispelled when Jungkook looks at his watch and gasps. “You should be back at work by now!” He exclaims and gets up in a blur of hurry, grabbing his coat and the untouched sandwich to keep for later. Stumbling behind him, you get your things.

“Be back at mine straight after work so we can head to Tae’s,” he reminds you, opening the door.

“I didn’t even get to eat anything!” You call out behind him in a whine as Jungkook fumbles with his phone to order an Uber. Thankfully, you only have a five minutes walk ahead of you with these new long and muscular legs.

He humphs, watching you speed walk away, “That’s because you talk too much,” he finally responds but you’re already well out of sight by then. You manage to hear his response, although, you don’t think he heard you laugh.

You arrive back at Jungkook’s place in a hurry. The rest of the time spent in the studio with Yoongi was not as draining as the first half after you began to understand the odd few musical terminologies and got used to your temporary partner’s mood and dry humour. Although you’ve convinced yourself another week or so in this situation won’t do much damage, you can’t deny the excitement that’s been simmering in you at the thought of fixing this tonight with the help of Jungkook’s friend - Tayoung or something like that?

It’s a huge weight off your shoulders the moment Jungkook opens the door, finally granted some privacy without day-to-day life interfering. A lazy greeting is all you can mumble before collapsing onto a sofa.

“Long day, huh? How was it?” Jungkook asks after hearing your theatrical sigh as he leans against the kitchen countertop with his arms crossed. You had almost forgotten that the kitchen and living room interconnect like those chic upstate apartment blocks.

You only nod, appreciating the comforting silence that hangs in the air after hours of listening to the hundreds of stupid sound effects Yoongi had bombarded you before insisting you insert some into the tracks. If you ever heard one more ‘skrr’ again, you might just drop dead. “I’m still getting used to aiming.” The image of your mess pops up into your head and you cringe. Jungkook grimaces ocne he catches onto what sort of aiming you’re talking about. “But I’ve been getting better so don’t worry. I also learned what some of those buttons do so Yoongi isn’t being as much of an ass as he was in the morning. You?”

Your vague recount satisfies Jungkook, judging by how his brooding expression is not as intense as it once was earlier in the day.

“The things I have to do are pretty simple so it’s not too bad, actually. Whenever I get a bit confused, Somin helps me out so it’s safe to say I don’t completely hate your friend anymore.” His change of heart is enough to bring a smile to your face, you knew you could count on her. Even though this whole ordeal was technically her fault but who would guess this could happen? “Yeah, there’s not much you can say about sitting in front of a spreadsheet all day but you don’t need to worry about losing your job because of me. Anyways, I texted Tae and he said he’s free at seven. It’s six thirty now and it takes half an hour to drive to the other side of town so, get up.” He gracefully chucks you your coat you discarded only moments ago.

A drawn out groan is your first response as you throw your head back in irritation. “I just wanna sleep,” you whine as Jungkook tugs you up with visible struggle. “I barely had enough sleep last night.”

His useless tugging at your arm halts for a second when he gives you a bored look. “You were the one that insisted for a round two and kept us up.”

“That was my first time have sex in months, do you blame me?” You hurl back. Nonetheless, you painfully heave yourself up, no thanks to Jungkook’s help, and slip on your still-warm coat. “Anyways, do you really think he can figure this out?”

“He told me he knows a ton of shit about weird stuff like this so I’ll take his word for it,” Jungkook reluctantly admits with a yawn, scratching the back of his neck. He doesn’t seem nearly as convinced as you hoped he’d be but the idea was a long shot. This guy, despite as much as a spiritual passion he might claim he had, could be an old ugly con man. But then again, thinking about the guy Jungkook was, you doubted he’d be in company of someone like that.

Even as physically and mentally drained as you currently are, you spend a good few moments considering how many theoretical lotteries of life Jungkook has won; he’s incredibly attractive, has a pretty dick, young as well but owns a nice place and has a well-paying job. Sleeping with you was probably just a normal night for no-strings-attached sex and here you were, messing up things you didn’t even know you could mess up. Now he was stuck in your body and had to live your life, which, to the average person, wasn’t necessarily terrible but you know he must hate it. You can’t help but feel more sorry for him than you do for yourself.

Shrugging his hand away, you make your way towards the door. “Ladies first,” you say lightly, which is enough to earn a glare from Jungkook but he takes lead anyways.

You had high hopes for a silent car ride, giving you the chance to catch up on thirty minutes of lost sleep but apparently Jungkook’s mood had done something like a one eighty spin and he suddenly felt the need to talk without end. “This is one of the songs we produced that stayed on the charts for seven weeks,” he continues with blatant pride and reaches to turn the sound up.

 You’ve barely taken in more than a sentence of his blabbering but the consistent rise in volume from the audio player was a minute away from causing you to defenestrate yourself. Although, this is the first time he’s been so vocally enthusiastic since the incident and you wouldn’t dare to jeopardize something so rare.  “Yoongi didn’t think the backing vocals-”

“Jungkook, I have a small migraine so if we could just-” you slowly move to turn the sound down, carefully figuring out what topic you’re going to jump to. “Whilst we’re stuck in this traffic, we should lay out some ground rules.”

Not affected by your tactical switch of topic, you internally celebrate when he nods without further argument. “Okay,” he says with slow enunciation, “I’ll go first. Move in with me.”

Your posture stiffens. “What?” He couldn’t be serious.

“It makes sense. We need to be around each other more to be able to deal with this… thing a little more aptly if this takes more than a while to fix. We can’t really coordinate our lives if you’re all the way somewhere else. So, for the time being, you should move to my place and settle in the spare bedroom,” Jungkook explains like it’s not a major step and the two of you haven’t spent the better half of the day bickering relentlessly.

But when you dither on the proposal, it doesn’t seem entirely inappropriate. You and Jungkook will have to work accordingly to keep each other’s daily routine intact and living a lengthy twenty minutes away from him didn’t scream convenience. Yet such commitment and involvement inevitably did cause your stomach to stirr. You bite down on your lip and the metaphorical bullet and nod. “Okay, done.”

“Cool. On the way back we’ll stop at your’s to pick up whatever you need and bring it over.”

“Shit, Somin,” you begin and wince. “She comes over to mine after work on most days. What do I tell her?”

Jungkook hums in contemplation, eyes still trained on the road ahead of him as his taps his fingers along the steering wheel. “Make something up. Say a pipe or something burst on your floor or they’re doing renovations and you have to stay at your parents’ place whilst they get it done.”

Whilst he thinks his plan is foolproof, you, on the other hand, are far less convinced as you turn to give him a helpless look. “She’s, like, bestfriends with my mom and dad. She’ll come back to theirs after work either way,” you sigh and stare out the window. A week of sunshines and the odd few clouds, the sudden show of rain seems like just another effort the universe makes to mock you and your horrible fate.

“She sounds like a stalker more than a best friend,” Jungkook comments in a dry tone.

You poke him in the side, half for Somin and the other half to bring his attention back to the now-moving traffic. You ignore his yelp and continue, “Shush, she’s nice. She’s better than any man could ever be.”

“So why don’t you go date her then?” He doesn’t skip a beat, looking at you incredulously. “She might as well be attached to your fucking hip.”

That earns another jab to the ribs and this time Jungkook only wordlessly sends you one of his trademark glares. “Because I do this thing called loving and cherishing my best friends! I don’t need romance to keep me happy. Unlike some people, who actively seek out women in clubs and trick them with a facade of an easy going personality until you wake up and find out they’re an absolute jerk. But I won’t name drop,” you finish with a light, bordering mocking tone as you fold your arms.

“I’m part of that is due the fact that he never intended to trade bodies in the process,” Forever hung up on that little detail, he rolls his eyes. “Anyways, that’s not seeking romance, that’s seeking sex, Y/N. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’d have a ton of knowledge in that department. Seeing as any girl or boy would love to date a whole grown ass baby like yourself,” you bite back, your fatigue and hunger sourering your mood even more by the minute. “And is being in my body really that bad?! God, you act like it’s the end of the world or something.” 

You’d thought you’d be more offended by how bluntly he expressed he only looked for a quick fuck in the club but weighing things out, that’s all you wanted as well. At the current moment, you were more offended by how irritated he looked every time he was reminded he wasn't in his. But your body. Not that you could really blame him.

Jungkook catches onto your change in mood quickly enough and shifts as much as he can in his seat to look at you properly, wearing an expression of something that you think is as close to apologetic Jungkook is able to express. “It’s not like that, ____. I’m just really missing my male anatomy and being able to walk in a street without being cat called every five minutes. Speaking of which, do you really have to go through that stuff every day?”

At least he’s reminded you what you miss least of being a female. “Yeah. That’s not the worst that’s happened. A guy started following me once so I went round in circles in busy streets but he still didn’t stop so I had to go into a shop and hide there for an extra thirty minutes but he was waiting outside so I ended up having to pay for an Uber after I reported him to the owner. Fun stuff.”

“Damn,” he says with a whistle before pulling a face. “I couldn’t ever do that.” You raise your eyebrow before he quickly clarifies, “Catcalling, I mean.”

“Oh, that explains. I didn’t think not being a stalker was a characteristic that needed pointing out.” You both laugh at that until the car behind you honks, reminding Jungkook that the light had turned green. “But I’m missing my body a lot too,” you add on as an afterthought, longingly taking in the sight of you. “Especially my boobs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been taking good care of them,” Jungkook assures you, putting emphasis on his words by using his free hand to cup a breast. “I think I’ve groped myself like ten times in the past three hours.”

This time, you pull a face, “That’s a little weird. But speaking of bodies, let's put up some boundaries since we’re technically a guest in each other’s body. First of all, you can’t masturbate.”

Although he’s far too busy focusing on turning him, you notice the way his eyes bulge as he splutters for a response. “H-how can you just decide that?” Jungkook glances at you momentarily, his face turning harsh. “Fine, you can’t get off in my body either.”

“Uh, I don’t think so. There’s a difference. When I get turned on, people will be able to see it, Jungkook. And keeping in mind those tight, tight jeans you own, I’m sure that’s committing public indecency to some extent. So, therefore, I should be able to jack off. Stop looking at me like that! It’s not like I want to jack off but there’s a possibility I’ll have to.” 

When you don’t hear any protests, you look to him and study his face. It’s weird but you feel some sense of pity as you take in the way he’s deflated in his seat before you let out a conceding huff. “Fine, you can masturbate in my body as well. Just… be careful.”

The joviality is instantly visible as you grit out the permission. “Holy shit, that might be the only good thing about this.”

“Shut up,” you groan as Jungkook turns into a street full of lavish highrises, filled with apartments you could only guess where inhabited by the elite. Whoever this guy was, his business must’ve been successful if this was where he lived. “But no sex.”

“That, I can agree on,” Jungkook says as he parks up.

“Stop gawking like that, you’re making me look goofy,” Jungkook chastises you as the both of you wait for his friend to answer the door. It’s not like you can help it; you feel worth less than a dollar by simply standing in the hallway of the penthouses for millionaires. The whole place oozed of money, from the marble floors to the mini chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. Not that you had ever been there, but you felt like this was as close a glimpse of inside the Four Seasons hotel you could ever get.

Snapped out of your daze, you huff and Jungkook’s constant pessimism which has quickly reappeared after a five minute break. “You always look goofy,” you say with an unaffected, cool voice which Jungkook still somehow is able to mimic.

“So then, you must be into the goofy type, I gather, considering how-,”

It is a silent blessing that Jungkook is stopped from beginning a new fuss, you thank the divine for that one subtle mercy, by the opening of the large door, emitting a creaking sound throughout the whole hallway. Whatever image of you had envisioned Jungkook’s friend to be, this man was certainly not anything like it. At this point, after meeting Yoongi and now this guy, you’re considering asking Jungkook to host an orgy and invite you, after this whole thing is over, if all his friends are this good looking.

The man is the same height are you (read: Jungkook’s body) but has a thinner build and slightly deeper complexion, you quickly observe from a first glance. His face is angular and his eyes, decorated with gold, circle-lense glasses, are heavy-lidded as though he’s just awoken from a nap. Wearing only silk pajama pants and a robe that’s slipping off one of his shoulders, it leaves a generous amount of tanned skin revealed that you would very much like to take time to properly appreciate but would rather not pop a random, unexplained boner.

“Jungkook!” He exclaims with such a low, velvety voice when his eyes land on you. All you do is give him an acknowledging nod and pained smile. Right, he doesn’t know yet, you assess by the way he acts as though you genuinely are Jungkook. Moving out the way to let you into his home, he slaps your butt as you walk past which took you off guard. His brown eyes slide to the female figure as Jungkook follows you. “And this is?”

“Y/N,” you answer first, your name feeling odd on your tongue in such a situation. You don’t miss the way the guy takes his time to have a proper look at you and you almost lose your act entirely when you consider how uncomfortable Jungkook must feel being checked out by his friend.

“A pleasure,” he says with a small grin as the door shuts behind him, “I’m Taehyung.” You’re biting down on your lip so hard, you’re near drawing blood when you see how awkward Jungkook is in smiling back but you’d rather not break down into yelps of laughter so early on. “Let’s go the living room so you can tell me about whatever it is you needed me for.”

There is a spa-like aroma that follows throughout the whole place, with a scent of what you think might be jasmine, and many creative, slightly weird, accessories decorating the walls. The whole spiritual and tantric thing this guy apparently had going on is beginning to become a bit more believable as you continue to follow him till you reach the living room the looks over the rest of the city. “Geez,” you mumble absent-mindedly as you take in the sight, sitting down on the sofa.

“So, what’s up?” Taehyung speaks and you’re ripped away from your daze.

To explain this is probably the hardest challenge you’ve ever been tasked with. A sudden silence takes over as the two of you both struggle to find the right words to explain. 

Taehyung’s eyes dart between you, and before you’re able to come up with something, he cocks his head to an angle and looks at you disapprovingly, taking a guess. “Jungkook, you did not get her pregnant did you?!”

“What?! No!” You hear Jungkook immediately respond, straightening up in the seat he’s taken beside you. You grimace at the very thought of something so unpleasant - even more so that the actual truth.  “It’s nothing like that,” he quickly corrects, “It’s something a lot… weirder so you need to be a little prepared to hear us out.”

“I’ve had people asking me if I’m interested in partaking in toe fetish tantric sex. Go ahead, honey,” Taehyung urges like he’s not going to be surprised at all, as if he’s seen it all before this.

You bite the bullet. “We’ve swapped bodies.”

Taehyung blinks once and then twice, still wearing that permanent small smile. “Come again?”

“Swapped bodies. As in I’m Jungkook and that,” Jungkook makes a show of pointing to you, “Is Y/N. We don’t know how, and before you ask, no, I haven’t taken acid for months. We just woke up and it was like this and we have no fucking idea how it happened and you’re the only person I know who might have some modicum of experience with this shit.”

The grey haired man looks serious, which puts you at some level of relief instantly. You had prepared yourself for him to roll his eyes and kick you out like drunk teenagers, but instead he sits with a contemplative look about him whilst Jungkook continues to ramble on. “So… you’re not actually Jungkook,” he slowly starts, eyes boring into you before moving onto Jungkook, “... she is.”

Both of you nodding avidly at this basic understanding, Taehyung leans further into his seat and hums in thought, revealing both nipples in the process to which you try your utmost not to stare at. 

“A bodyswap? Hm. I don’t know, man, I’ve never really encountered this. But I might be able to find something to help you out a bit, at the very least,” he says and glances over to the bookshelf that takes up an entire wall before back to you. “So don’t get your hopes up. But whilst I get out some useful material, explain what lead up to this.”

You look at Jungkook expectantly, waiting for him to go on, but the bastard shakes his head and nods to you. With a final glare, you inhale and explain as Taehyung begins to sort through his row of books. “We didn’t really even know each other till the night before it happened. We met at this new club and shared a few drinks before taking it back to Jungkook’s place to, well, take it up a notch,” you gingerly explain.

Taehyung hums along as he listens, pulling out a heavyweight book and then another, before returning to the sofa. “Safe sex, I hope?” He asks as he gives you a waggish grin.

“You know I don’t go in raw on the first time, Tae,” Jungkook easily responds, looking hurt by the very question itself.

He shrugs. “Just checking.” The first book lands on the table with a resounding thud, it’s sheer width larger than probably your own face. Taehyung wets finger before flicking through, diagrams and words you find are completely foreign to you but Taehyung seems to know exactly what he’s looking for so you patiently wait, unable to ignore the rise of anxious thoughts. What if he can’t help?

“Ah!” Catches your attention when Taehyung finally settles on a page with a satisfactory smile. “It reads here that magic that’s intended to modify or completely change a human’s physical state can only be achieved through intake of a liquid or solid substance,” he reads off the page before adjusting his glasses, the handwriting far too small and cursive for you to follow so you listen closely instead. “So, through a food or drink with the magic ingredient, no pun intended, hidden within.”

The other male squints in doubt at the information. “Are you sure this stuff is reliable? Magic, Taehyung?” He scoffs and folds his arm, as if logging off entirely. His nearly instant rejection earns a dirty look from you.

“How on earth do you think something like this happens, Kook? I know you’re not a fan of this stuff but you have to admit, there’s no other explanation and this is possibly the only thing that can help you so I suggest you heed what I say,” Taehyung lightly chides, only momentarily glancing up from his studies to give the other a levelled look. You internally rejoice at the mature admonishing of Taehyung.

“Of course and then we can both sign up for you Dark Arts classes, Professor Snape.”

“Anyways.” He punctuates his words with an eye roll before reaching for the other book and flipping through like he did the first, “That’s as far as the first book divulges about cases similar to your own but if you were questioning how it came about, that should answer it. As for curing it... “ There’s a weighted quietude as you anxiously wait for further information. It goes on for a minute or so before Taehyung continues, not before deflating with a sigh. “I can’t find anything that might fix this. There’s no reverse, and I certainly am no connoisseur of potions so I could barely attempt it if there was one either.”

Jungkook humphs, almost triumphantly despite the bad news. “I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.” This time, you are unable to withhold yourself and give him a gentle whack on the arm.

“Shit. What are we going to do?” You mumble, hopeless, after a few moments, hunching your back as your forehead presses onto your legs as the news properly marinates in your mind.

Your midway figuring out how you’re going to spend the rest of you life living in this body when Taehyung finally speaks. “Not necessarily,” he has a calm voice, far from distress unlike yourself. “I’ve heard of these cases before, despite not actually being involved with one till now.” Curiously, you peek up from your depressive state and Jungkook, thankfully, keeps quiet in the small pause.

“I can tell you that this isn’t something that’s never happened before and I’m confident that this will certainly not be permanent.”

A scintilla of hope slowly retreats to you and you straighten in your seat. Glancing to the boy beside you, you even notice, although he tries hard to hide his interest, he has one eyebrow raised in question. “A-are you sure?” You hesitate.

Taehyung offers you a reassuring smile, and when you search, you detect no mendacity. “Positive, sweetheart. There’s no amount of magic that can carry on for so long, unless you meet Gandalf or something, you’ll live to see yourself back in your body again. Potions always wear off, there’s never one that’s permanent so that’s a positive. For now, I suggest you think back to the moments when you two shared any type of food or drink.”

“The bar. That’s the only time we drank together before this,” you immediately answer, leaning forward.

“So, either one of the bartenders or a random person intercepted your drinks and boom, there’s your culprit. Not that you can prosecute them or anything,” Taehyung says with a light-hearted snort in spite of the atmosphere, tugging his robe up again for it to only slip down once more, as if the laws of science want to see him naked as much as you do.

Jungkook clears his throat, both heads turning to him. “You said this was temporary.”

“Pretty sure, I did,” Taehyung happily agrees.

“How long is temporary, do you think, in this situation? Like, a few days. Maybe a week at max?”

“Ha! A week? That’s funny.” Scratching at the back of his neck, Taehyung’s features contort into a sheepish grin when the two of you stare at him. “Hm. For this to wear off, my rough estimate would be, maybe... six months or so?”

Although you’ve found it hard to agree on nearly anything with Jungkook up till now, you’re certain that you hear the sound of both of your hearts sinking into complete pits despair.

[imatastyporkcutletbowl]

Victor Rushes to the hospital to learn Yuuri’s condition as the Gotei team begins their work.

Victor’s handsome face wore an intense look that seemed completely unlike him as he endured the seemingly endless flight back from Spain to Saint Petersburg. His finger tapped lightly against the earbud in his left ear as he listened to the news and watched the feed that played on the video screen in front of him. His heart ached at seeing images of Yuri’s smiling face and clips of his past performances.

“The skating world is in shock at the news that skater, Yuuri Katsuki, was attacked in a Saint Petersburg park near the home he shares with Victor Nikiforov. We go to our affiliate in Saint Petersburg, Russia, for the latest on this developing story. Jana?”

The image shifted to show a woman standing in a sea of other media personnel, in front of the hospital.

“I’m standing here, in front of the Saint Petersburg hospital where Yuuri Katsuki was said to have been brought for treatment last night, after a vicious attack that took place in a park near the home he shares with fiancé, coach and fellow skater, Victor Nikiforov. Hospital staff refused to release any information on Katsuki’s condition, other than to say that he is alive, and that competent medical personnel are remaining with him around the clock.

Worried friends, fellow skaters, supporters and family have rushed to the hospital, and hospital staff have secluded them to wait for news. We were able to capture, here, the arrival of friend, Yuri Plisetsky with fellow skater, Otabek Altin.

Victor’s eyes narrowed, studying the blonde youth’s face and spying instantly the little hints of anxiety that others would easily miss. His eyes softened and he gave a sympathetic sigh.

“Yurio, my Yuuri would be so touched to see you worry for him this way. You’ve grown a heart, my friend. Let’s hope that new heart is not broken, along with ours. Yuuri, please be all right. I don’t know what I would do…”

His worried eyes turned away from the video screen, but he couldn’t help seeing Yuuri’s smiling face reflected against the smooth windowpane.

Yuuri…

His fingertip traced the lines of his fiancé’s lovely face and tears threatened.

Yuuri, please be all right.

As soon as the plane touched down, he hurried out and through the security checkpoint, then picked up his bags, his mind focused on one thing, and one thing only…to reach the side of his badly injured lover.

I felt it like a knife through my heart when you fell, Yuuri. But I shouldn’t be surprised it was like that. I’ve been feeling everything twice as much since becoming your coach and your lover.

Your fiancé.

You still owe me a gold medal to kiss, and a wedding when you win it. Yuuri, we are only at the beginning of our dreams. You wouldn’t dare to leave me now, would you?

He started to run towards a taxi, but skidded to a stop, looking around as a deep, male voice called out his name.

“Vitya!”

Relief flooded Victor’s face, and he hurried to meet his coach, where the man stood by a dark colored limousine.

“What are you doing here, Yakov?” Victor exclaimed, “I thought you were still abroad with Yurio.”

“We came back a day early to do a photo shoot,” the elder coach explained, “I was approached about you and Yuuri doing one as well. The government is promoting the skating arts aggressively in advance of the next Olympics.”

“Ah, right,” Victor acknowledged, “I suppose that’s a good thing. I’m sure Yuuri would agree, but have you heard anything? Anything at all? Are Yuuri’s parents here?”

“They arrived a short time ago. They are at the hospital with some friends of yours, who were competing locally. Come now.”

The two fell quiet as the driver quickly loaded Victor’s bags into the trunk, then sped out of the airport, and across town to the large, central hospital. The driver headed past the large crowd near the front doors and to a guarded entry.

“May I see your identification, please,” the guard on duty requested.

“This is Victor Nikiforov,” the driver explained, handing over the documents, “He is here to see Yuuri Katsuki. We’ve already been given permission to enter.”

“Go on, then,” the guard answered, studying the documents for a moment, then handing them back.

The driver guided the limousine into the parking area, where Victor opened the door and leapt out of the vehicle, as soon as the wheels stopped turning.

“Vitya!”

He ignored his coach and ran into the building, looking around frantically and finding the nearest staff member, a middle-aged nurse, who started to speak to him sternly, then froze in recognition.

“It’s you, Victor!” she exclaimed, “Come right this way. Yuuri’s family is about to hear from the doctor about his condition. He did poorly during the night and was taken into surgery this morning. He needed a transfusion, which he was luckily able to get. But there was additional damage and bleeding that the doctors needed to see to.”

“But he is alive?” Victor asked urgently, “My Yuuri is alive?”

“He is alive,” the nurse confirmed as she guided him into the private waiting area.

“Vic-chan!” Yuuri’s mother sobbed, running to hug him, “Thank you so much for coming back so quickly.”

“I would have been here faster,” Victor said, hugging her tightly, “but the only flight I could get had to make a couple of stops. I thought I’d never get here.”

“You’re here now, Vic-chan,” Yuuri’s mother said in a more collected voice, “Yuuri will be glad.”

Victor started to answer, then felt all of the air sucked out of his lungs as a doctor and nurse appeared in the doorway of the waiting room.

“Please, sir, how is my son?” Yuuri’s father asked as Victor held on to Yuuri’s mother, unable to make his voice sound.

The doctor gazed at them for a moment through tired, but relieved looking eyes.

“Yuuri’s body was subjected to a sudden shock that caused him significant blood loss,” he explained, “We were able to stop it, but struggled during the night when it began to bleed again, unexpectedly. We have not been able to divine exactly what happened, but something was affecting his body’s ability to heal itself. We struggled with that, and finally had to resort to additional transfusions and surgery, but we have him completely stabilized now, and his organs show every sign of continuing to be fully functional, despite the damage.”

The doctor paused, a little sadness coming into his eyes.

“I know that Yuuri is a competitive figure skater, and I must be honest with you. Even though there was no damage to his arms or legs and he will, most likely recover fully, it may be difficult for him to continue at the level he is used to performing.”

Victor’s already pale face went white.

“What are you saying?” he demanded, “You are saying that he will have to retire?”

“I am saying that I can’t be sure he can continue to do something that puts that level of stress on his body. Yuuri is still not out of the woods. We must wait for him to regain consciousness, and we must watch carefully for any signs of problems in his arms or legs that might result from the blood loss he suffered before.”

“I thought that you said he was going to make a full recovery!” Victor cried, tears threatening, “But, now you say that…that…”

“I am saying that it will take longer to know the full outcome,” the doctor said patiently, “Our staff will be with him around the clock to make sure he receives the best possible care, and we encourage you to sit with him, talk to him. It may help him to have you there.”

“Which way do I go?” Victor asked, placing a hand on the doctor’s arm, “Where is he?”

“He has been taken to the third floor, room 315. It is a private room, and three people may go in at a time to sit with him. I will be in to check his progress every few hours, and will come immediately if there are any problems.”

“Thank you,” Victor said breathlessly, turning and running out of the room.

He ran heedlessly to the elevator, then became too impatient and ran up the stairs instead.

Yuuri, you have fought hard to stay alive until I could reach you. It’ll be okay now that we will be together. Just…just don’t leave me!

He reached the third floor and dashed out of the stairwell, heading down the hallway and to a security checkpoint, where he panted out his name and was waved on. He closed the last few steps in a near panic, then slowed and stopped in the doorway, staring.

Yuuri laid on his back, slightly elevated and comfortably covered in a sheet and blanket. His face looked deathly pale and the only movement was the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

“Yuuri,” he said solemnly, “I am here.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Echoing footsteps sounded in the precipice world as the four shinigamis assigned to Saint Petersburg headed quickly to their destination. Toshiro ran alongside Tetsuya as Byakuya and Kisuke led.

“What’s gotten into them?” Toshiro mused, “That hell butterfly Byakuya got must have been bad news.”

“A skater was injured,” Tetsuya panted softly, “and it was a highly ranked skater. A fourth division healer was in the area and infiltrated the surgery team. He was able to quietly rid the skater’s body of damaging reiatsu that was slowly killing him, but there was damage that requires a different type of healing. I think I will be asked to assist, using my waterforms.”

“Your waterforms?” Toshiro asked, blinking, “How will they…?”

He broke off as the group reached the exit point and Kisuke opened the doorway.

“Now remember,” Kisuke warned them, “an advance team has already used the adjustor to very slightly shift reality so that we’ll fit in. Byakuya, you are a former skater who was expected to become a world champion, but who was forced out of competition by injury. Instead, you now coach your cousin, Tetsuya, who has shown promise, but you have carefully protected as he developed. This will be Tetsuya’s first entrance into the men’s division. Toshiro is another promising student who you coach. You are on friendly terms with the family of the skater, whose name is Yuuri Katsuki.”

“He is Japanese?” Tetsuya noted.

“Yes, and you know each other because you have, on occasion, trained at the ice rink in Japan that he has used. Yuuri is engaged to another male skater, Victor Nikiforov, whom you also know as an inspiration for your own skating. We’ll be going to the hospital, and we should be on the hospital’s list of approved visitors. I am listed as a well-known consultant, who is friends with you, Byakuya, because I was the consulting doctor who helped when you suffered your injury. Just play it cool and let the devices I gave you feed you any information you need so that no one figures out who we really are.”

The group stepped out of the senkaimon and into a park, a short distance from the hospital, where they paused briefly to enter their gigais, before heading to the hospital. They hurried inside and were swiftly greeted and hurried through security.

“Yuuri’s family is taking turns visiting him,” the nurse guiding them informed them, “Doctor Urahara, I will take you to consult with Yuuri’s physician. Yuuri’s parents have asked for the other three of you to be brought to them. Victor is with Yuuri now, but you can go in to speak to him also, after you have spoken with Yuuri’s parents.”

“Very well,” Kisuke answered, waiting until the nurse had led the others to the little waiting area, then following her down the hall.

“Ah, Byakuya-san! Tetsuya-kun! Toshiro-kun! It’s so good you are here for Yuuri!” the skater’s mother greeted them, wiping her eyes.

“Thank you,” Yuuri’s father said, bowing, “Yuuri will be glad to know you are here. He is not awake yet, but soon.”

“We’ll be happy to show you to Yuuri’s room,” the skater’s mother offered, “Since Victor is not leaving him, two can go in at a time.”

Toshiro smiled and took the anxious woman’s hand.

“Why don’t you two go, and I will stay here and visit?” he offered.

Yuuri’s father led Byakuya and Tetsuya out of the waiting room and down the hallway.

“Tetsuya,” Byakuya said under his breath, “I want you to make physical contact with Yuuri and see if you can connect with him to better assess his exact needs.”

“Hai.”

Their guide stopped outside one of the rooms and left them to enter. They walked into the room and found Yuuri sleeping peacefully in the bed and his tired looking fiancé sitting silently at his side.

“Byakuya, Tetsuya, it’s good to see you,” Victor said in a weary voice, “I heard that you’ve brought Kisuke Urahara to consult?”

“We have,” Byakuya assured him.

“I know that Doctor Urahara will be able to help Yuuri-san,” Tetsuya encouraged him.

“I hope so,” Victor said anxiously, “Yuuri has stabilized, but he is still unconscious. His body seems to be healing, but he just won’t wake for us.”

“That must be distressing for you,” Byakuya said, joining Victor on one side of Yuuri as Tetsuya took a place across from them.

Tetsuya slipped a hand into Yuuri’s, bowing his head as though praying silently. As Byakuya engaged Victor in conversation, Tetsuya loosed his reiatsu and carefully sought a connection with the unconscious man.

If I make a good enough connection with him, I should be able to enter his inner world to evaluate it. Hopefully, when I enter, I will find Yuuri awake and able to communicate with me.

He found he had to carefully focus for several long minutes, but eventually, he felt the opening of the connection and was drawn down into the injured skater’s spirit matrix.

Every sentient creature has an inner world. Most think, when they enter, that it is just a construct of the mind, a mental retreat that they go to for reflection and thought. But to the shinigami, the inner world is a place where one also connects with the source of his power. Yuuri is a talented figure skater. It is well documented that humans who excel in abilities related to the elements air, fire, earth and water do so because they possess related powers that will develop more fully when they pass over into Soul Society. Yuuri may well have an undiscovered ability to manipulate ice or water. This will be useful while I am trying to help him.

Tetsuya felt the presence of heavy, driving rain as he passed over, into the injured skater’s inner world.

I’m not surprised that there is rain. Storms in one’s inner world are often related to emotional or physical turmoil. The intensity of the storm reflects the level of challenge in bringing things back into a proper state of balance. I can feel that there has been a heavy shock to Yuuri’s body, and I also sense that something is not right here. I shall have to make contact with Yuuri and investigate.

Tetsuya’s blue eyes closed, and he focused on the place where Yuuri’s spirit resonated most strongly. He headed through a cluster of trees and emerged near a large, frozen lake, where he spotted the skater kneeling on the shore and struggling with strange looking vines of some kind that seemed to be coming from beneath the lake’s icy cover.

“Yuuri-san!” Tetsuya called out, hurrying to the kneeling man’s side and touching a hand to his.

“Tetsuya-kun?” Yuuri inquired anxiously, “Tetsuya-kun, what are you doing here? Am I dreaming this? What’s going on? What is this thing that tries to pull me under?”

“It’s all right,” Tetsuya said reassuringly, “I’m here to help you, Yuuri-san. Please, if you will just close your eyes for a moment. I will help you.”

Yuuri gave him a look of uncertainty, but then nodded and closed his eyes.

Tetsuya’s fingers touched the offending vines, and he instantly felt the source that laid beneath the surface of the frozen lake.

Ah, the healer was able to remove the reiatsu of the creature that injured Yuuri, but that creature left a transformative essence that grew into this extension of itself. It remains here, deep down, continuing to feed on Yuuri’s reiatsu.

Invoking his freezing power, Tetsuya gripped the tendril that had wrapped itself around Yuuri, and he breathed a soft command.

“Kudakero.”

The ice covered tendril shattered instantly, setting of a chain reaction that rumbled through the area, cracking the surface of the lake and breaking apart the rest of the creature that had formed.

Behind Tetsuya, Yuuri opened his eyes and sucked in a surprised breath at seeing his acquaintance surrounded in blue light as Tetsuya’s power swept through the area, cleansing it thoroughly.

“What was that? What did you do?” Yuuri asked in a frightened voice, “If this really happening?

The skater looked down at himself, noticing for the first time, the glowing chain that extended out of his chest and off into the distance.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice shaking, “Tetsuya-kun?”

“It’s all right,” Tetsuya assured him, “Yuuri-san, please don’t be afraid. That is just your soul chain. It connects you with your body. And I am just a helpful reflection of someone you know, who is here to help you find your way back.”

“Find my way back?” Yuuri repeated in a haunted tone, “Where am I? Where is Victor?”

“Victor is right beside you,” Tetsuya promised, “You are unconscious, and your mind is just working to try to wake your body. I am here to help, Yuuri-san.”

Tetsuya focused on the broken ice of the lake in front of them. He first extended a hand, making the ice turn completely to water, then he froze the lake, making a sort of icy mirror that reflected the hospital, where the injured skater’s body laid.

“Victor!” Yuuri gasped, reaching out, only to have his fingers impeded by the ice.

The rain around the two fell harder as Tetsuya knelt beside the distraught skater and took his other hand.

“Victor!” Yuuri cried again, running his fingers along the reflection of his fiancé’s handsome face, “Why can’t I go back to him? Victor!”

“You will be able to go back,” Tetsuya said firmly, squeezing Yuuri’s hand, “but you see the rain that is falling? There is still a storm here, which means that something is still not right. You need to try to stay calm and let your body and spirit heal. I know you’re scared, but being calm will help to ease the storm.”

“But, why is there a storm?” Yuuri asked, “What caused it?”

“There was a great shock to your body and spirit when you were attacked,” Tetsuya explained, “The creature that attacked you…”

“It was awful!” Yuuri said shakily as he remembered, “I couldn’t see it until just after it slashed me. It was huge, with sharp fangs and claws, and it had a hole in its chest. It screeched so loud the sound rang in my ears! I couldn’t run. I couldn’t even move. I was sure it was going to finish me off.”

“It seems to have been distracted,” Tetsuya surmised, “Luckily, you were brought to the hospital quickly and you are healing. But it is a problem that you can’t wake. Yuuri-san, please trust me. You will wake up soon. And while you wait, I will do everything I can to protect and to help you!”

[tundrainafrica]

Somewhere Between Life and Death (Chapter 6)

Summary: Dia de los Muertos isn’t the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Note: Reposted from ao3 and fanfic, same name, same authorI just needed to post some coco content I made on my own on Tumblr because  I will definitely not be able to contribute in the arts side.Post canon, sickfic, expect hurt comfort, loads of angst, kidnappings. Miguel has a very long and very fatal near death experience basically.You can follow this fic on tumblr under the tag TundrainAfrica

Link to: Chapter 1- Chapter 2- Chapter 3-Chapter 4-Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Persuasions

The man had introduced himself as Rodrigo but at that point when he had apologized for forgetting to introduce himself, Miguel could have sworn they had known each other their whole lives.

Rodrigo had a charisma to him Miguel couldn't explain. His parents could have scolded him for talking to a strange and exchanging life stories but Miguel could have still continued talking to him and listening to his stories even against his parent's wishes. He had a way of telling stories that made Miguel feel like he was being introduced to a new perspective towards life. It may have been the way he peppered his stories with commentary about the very delectable tamales he had eaten that day or about the old woman he had helped on the street. The gestures he would make when telling his stories only made Miguel more interested in learning every small detail about his life.

By the time he mentioned his name, Miguel already knew that he had lived in Guanajuato his whole life and his family had abandoned him to live in Mexico city, some of them had even left to become US citizens, leaving their old man behind.

"Why would they leave you though?" At that moment, Miguel was still fathoming how children could abandon a father like that, let alone someone as nice and charming as him.

"Ambition." He explained. "Two of my children wanted the American dream. They had tried to take me along. When I had a heart attack I became unable to travel so they left me."

"How could they…" The concept of an American dream wasn't anything new. Growing up in a small town in Mexico, he had heard that term many times. He grew up knowing the names and faces of almost every person who lived in Santa Cecilia and even some that had just passed by. As he grew up, some would disappear and as he asked his parents where Señora Lucia or Tio Roberto were. They would mention something about immigration, EEUU and following the American dream. There were some kids he played with in Santa Cecilia whose parents lived in the EEUU. They were celebrities when they visited and they used to tell him and the other kids about how they would eat In-n-out burgers and fries everyday, how they lived in houses with white picket fences and how the leaves turned red in autumn and how it would snow every Christmas. He had only tried in-n-out burgers once when his parents took him along on a day trip to Guanajuato. He had also seen glimpses of life in the EEUU on TV when Ernesto dela Cruz would travel there and in the soap operas the women in the family watched. In a way he understood the ambition of Rodrigo's children since even he wanted to try living there.

"But to abandon your family like that…" Miguel muttered. He would chase his dreams but he would never consider abandoning his family along the way especially after what he had learned about his family during last year's Dia de los Muertos.

"Baaa… Family is just a word. Do you know the only reason your family takes care of you is because if they don't, they can be arrested. If they abuse you , they go to jail. If you die because they were careless, they can also go to jail. In a way, you can say, people are forced by law to be families."

"Why are you telling me this so suddenly?" Miguel asked. He was trying to maintain his composure as he asked that question, but even with all his effort, he couldn't stifle the quiver in his lips. That comment had caught him off-balance.

"I thought it might give you a little perspective."

"What do you mean?"

"You're feeling good, you're looking good but you seem unhappy. Were you trying to stay alive? Back then, when you were on the hospital bed what were you thinking?"

It was only natural that Miguel attempted to recall the whole ordeal and consequently his mother and father's voices.

I'm not taking any chances with our boy… How are you feeling… Is there any other option?

What wasn't natural was the pain that reverberated through him afterwards. He was generally not supposed to feel pain or weakness in his out of body state yet he started to feel the pounding headache, the nausea, the excruciating pain and stiffness in his joints, the piercing pain of the injection, the gradual tightening in his chest. It was as if that week's worth of pain was crammed into one full blown sensation.

"Are you okay? You doubled over for a minute there."

Miguel only noticed a split second later that he had screamed. He looked up at Rodrigo and quickly apologized. That sudden bout of pain and panic had felt like hours at the least and only when his mind started to clear did he realize that it had only been a second. He looked at his arms and his legs to see that he was still in one piece. What happened? Was he going crazy? Miguel could see Rodrigo in his peripherals still looking expectantly at him. He wiped away his troubled thoughts and thought back to Rodrigo's question.

Were you trying to stay alive? What were you thinking?

That bouts of excruciating pain only made the memory more concrete and it was as if Miguel was laying on his mother's lap and the hospital bad once again.

"I wasn't trying to stay alive…" Miguel said slowly. His mouth was going at the pace of his mind. Like most people, he knew how he felt and he could recall it all as long as he tried but he was a bit slower in putting into words. "I just wanted the pain to stop." His eyes widened as he started to comprehend what he said.

"That's what you wanted and you got it. The pain is over. You don't have to feel that pain ever again. Then why do you still look so sad?"

"Because I don't wanna die…" For some reason, the answer sounded pathetic and he could only look away trying to rack his mind for a better one

"And why don't you wanna die?"

As Rodrigo asked that one question, Miguel's first thought was his family. He pictured his mother once again sobbing on her fathers chest. He heard his baby sister Coco trying to call out his name.

He wanted to go back into his body because his mother was crying, because his father was shouting at the doctor that he wanted his son back.

His first thought was family, his second thought was his dream to play the guitar. He didn't want to lie but at the same time, he knew what answer Rodrigo was looking for. It was starting to feel like a game and giving in to Rodrigo's train of thought was practically surrendering. He didn't know why but he was sure he couldn't surrender to easily. "I have stuff I still want to do." Miguel answered with conviction, laughably inappropriate for his grade school answer.

"I don't think so. I listened to your heart boy. You're thinking about your family." He grabbed Miguel's chin with his fingers. Miguel tried to pull away in surprise when he realized he felt the jerking motion and Rodrigo's fingers and nails digging on his chin. He couldn't help but feel a bit bitter knowing he couldn't feel his mother's hug but felt something as intimidating as nails on his chin "That's the problem with people and their families. You got what you wanted. Life, or at least the afterlife will forever be painless for you, yet you're still yearning to go back. You're obsessed with your family. In the end, people do stupid things for their family but till what end? In the end, we all leave each other. Kids turn eighteen, parents kick them out. Your parents will only feel bad for a while. Life moves on. Gossip dies down, they'll get over you. Besides, it's not too hard to make another child. All it takes is a few extra hours in bed to make another Miguel. You won't have to worry about how lonely they'll feel."

"No… it's not like that." Miguel argued. It didn't feel like an argument though. Arguments were supposed to be logical, they're supposed to destroy the sense of what the person in front of him was staying but as he listened, he couldn't help but see the sense in what Rodrigo was saying instead.

"Then tell me what is it like? Why do you want to stay with your family so bad?"

Miguel pulled his head away and bent down looking at his hands. For some reason, the first thing he thought of as he stared at his hands was how he would help out in the kitchen as they counted down the hours to Dia de los Muertos or even just a simple birthday dinner. He enjoyed it and he was sure he wouldn't have enjoyed it as much without his parents but how could he articulate a feeling without it sounding like a pathetic excuse.

The only thing he could think of was "I enjoy being with them." How was that a good reason though compared to what Rodrigo was throwing at him? He hated to admit it but he was starting to believe the old man.

"Do what makes you happy. If you want the pain to stop forever. You have to cross."

Miguel pulled away from the old voice was close enough that Miguel almost jumped in surprise at the last word. "Why didn't you cross?" He asked. For some reason, He understood what he meant. It may have been instinctive for old souls detached from their body but he knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

"I missed the first opportunity, had the gall to wait for my family to come back. They never did." He shrugged.

Miguel sensed the bitterness as the man mentioned the words 'family' and 'come back.' He wanted to probe Rodrigo's sloppy answer a bit more. It was a far cry from the detailed stories he gave. A sloppy answer meant he didn't want to talk about it. He grew up knowing that probing anyone older in his family was practically criminal, a violation of the unwritten 'respect your elders' clause Mexicans held with such high regard.

"Why do you want me to cross?" Miguel asked instead, sensing that that was what the old man had wanted him to ask.

"I can't go to the land of the dead without someone with me." He admitted morosely before perking up. "It's a win win situation. I get to cross. You get to cross. You'll never experience pain again. You'll be playing the guitar everyday when you're there. You're a guitar player right?"

"But I won't be able to come back?" He didn't bother answering the question. He didn't know how Rodrigo found out he was a guitar player. That was something he could think about later. At that moment, he was actually considering what the old man as saying. The man could have been a salesman while he was alive.

"Why would you want to come back? The moment you go back to your body, you'll be limited. You need to sleep, eat. You'll get sick. You'll feel pain." He explained, sounding genuinely dumbfounded at Miguel's hesitation. " I mean you're lucky already. The worst pain is already over for you. There are a billion more painful ways than what happened to you. You got out cleanly compared to a lot of poor sops in this world.

"Are you saying death is a privilege?" Miguel asked, also dumbfounded at the man's tone. He sounded like he was talking about collecting lottery winnings, not about crossing to the other side and leaving his whole family behind.

He sighed. "I'll show you something." He grabbed Miguel so tightly it was almost threatening. Surprisingly, it hurt and Miguel could only follow. The man was talking like a salesman but with the topic becoming heavier and heavier with each argument he made, Miguel felt an ominosity about it. He could have compared it to the the men that were selling weird candies in alleys near the mariachi plaza which his parents always told him to avoid. Back then, he had a home to run to and parents who would tell him what to do. Compared the the candy men in Santa Cecilia though, Rodrigo's advice made much more sense. Also this time Miguel had no home to run to and no parents to listen to. That's why Miguel found him listening, complying and actually considering the man's offer.

He lead Miguel through the stretch of rooms in the ICU. They must have been talking for a few hours because the lights were dimmer than a while ago. He silently occupied himself by reading the names on the doors but quickly looked away when he knew his was coming up. With how he was starting to feel, that was something he didn't want to look at.

Only a few steps later, he pulled Miguel into one of the rooms.

Miguel closed his eyes as they walked through the closed door.

What he saw in front of him was a body full of tubes. Almost similar to his own, he had a tube running down his throat, two IVs on his hands, one tube on his nose. Miguel could only stare for a couple of seconds before he quickly looked away.

"This man's like this because he had a stroke, lost the ability to move his whole body, just turned 70, too early to be a senile man don't you think?"

"So what happened…" Miguel asked hesitantly.

"He lived like that for a few years, had his ass wiped by his kids, just lay down in bed, maybe sat in a wheelchair a few times. Not a very quality life if you ask me. The man was miserable. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't play in the streets or even play a simple a song in the. guitar." He looked to Miguel and the latter stepped back instinctively. "That reminds me, even if you do get back into your body, how long and how painful do you think your recovery will be? You almost lost your life there you're playing that guitar now but when you get back into that body… How long do you think it will be before you're performing again? I bet you months. Your legs will need to get back their energy, I heard from a doctor your heart was a mess, your lungs too, every organ actually. Maybe you'll have to take a tank with you wherever you go, or feel that tightness in your chest your whole life, I guess singing will be out of the question."

"Stop it!" Miguel snapped as he put his hands to his ears. The imagery and the threats were scaring him and he found himself trying to rack his brain forgetting those words that were already playing with his psyche. The natural idea to want to go back to his body was twisting in his head and he was starting to realize how much of a bad idea, limiting himself with a body was. At the same time, a part of him was fighting to maintain status quo in his thoughts. It was like a war between his simple wants and the ideas Rodrigo was planting in his head, a bloody war and all Miguel wanted to do was hug his knees to his chest and stop thinking altogether.

"I'm sorry, that must have been too fast." Rodrigo said, his tone was once again reassuring and calm and that sudden change from the almost threatening tone only made the contrast between tones more scarily apparent. The latter didn't even have time to consider the bipolarity of the old man. He was too taken aback by the fact that Rodrigo hugged him and he had felt it. He had hugged people many times and hugs were not generally very impactful but that hug was somehow different. It felt warm. Only when he felt the warmth of that hug, did he realize that ever since he woke up detached from his body, he was cold. The cold though was ubiquitous and with no point of comparison, it felt like nothing. It was a new and pleasant feeling and it was instinct that made Miguel put up his hands and return the hug, only to make the warmth last longer. Maybe it was because of the warmth or maybe it was just instinct. For some reason though, all the antagonistic feelings he had felt disappeared.

Rodrigo sighed. "What I was trying to tell you is it's not worth living your life if you're only going to be half the person you were. The man wanted to die. Ever since he realized that he was paralyzed shoulders down, he was praying for a fast death. You could say he was ecstatic when he finally woke up not in his body. His family though, they tried to keep him alive, even if it was painful for him, even when it was shameful, even when life was starting to become boring and repetitive stuck in a bed all day. Their actions just made me wonder if the love they had for their father was real, don't you think if they did care about him and love him they would have let him die from the start. That's a body now, the soul crossed a long time ago. He doesn't even have an ofrenda to go to since his children won't let him die. His children are too busy honoring a vegetable to even honor his soul."

The selfishness and stupidity of the unnamed children Rodrigo had talked about made Miguel's stomach boil and for some reason, he found himself connecting it to his own experience. Why were his parents keeping him alive when he was in so much pain? Reputation? Comfort? Companionship? Why was his mother crying then? Why was his father angry. They could always make another child. He thought back to his body and realized he was a vegetable yet his parents were still keeping him connected to machines yet they planned to keep him alive if he ever woke up. Even if he did get cured, the recover would be painful. The doctor was the one who said that his body was a mess. He probably wouldn't be the same anymore when he recovers. Their selfishness made his blood boil." How do you know the man wanted to die?" He managed to say. He wanted to hear the whole story only to further feed his already growing desire to cross.

"Because I was there when he begged for death. And when he finally left his body, he crossed without hesitation Miguel." Rodrigo held Miguel at arms length and tightened his grip on the boys shoulder. "I've been here a long time boy, I've met a lot of people. When you're dying Miguel, when you're a vegetable, you don't want to go back to live some half assed life. You'll experience more pain. Probably die a more painful death, maybe get a stroke, maybe a heart attack, kept alive once again by selfish relatives. Maybe a car accident, so many ways to die. It will be painful and you will regret not leaving the world when you had a much easier and more peaceful chance."

Miguel could not explain or describe what happened next but it was a pain he had never experienced in his life. More painful than his whole ordeal which started with the escape to the plaza. If someone asked, maybe he could have said it was the heart attack, stroke and car accident all crammed into one sensation multiplied tenfold. With only a second to comprehend and articulate that sensation though, all he could do was scream.

I'll give you time to decide.

Miguel had already decided though. Even before he came to his senses, even before he reacted to the sounds of bones clacking together and a familiar gasp, he knew what he wanted to do.

He was going to cross with Rodrigo,

Hector, we need to take Miguel back to his room. It's dangerous out here.

He lost a lot of weight. When was the last time we saw him? Dia de Los Muertos?

He wanted to open his eyes as soon he heard the exchange between the two relatives he knew so well. The trauma of a while ago had stamped itself into his memory and Miguel couldn't bring himself to move just yet. A part of him was terrified of moving as if it expected to feel a rehash of the pain of a while ago again. He settled with just listening to their exchange and the clack of bones, the only hint that the two were moving.

He must have been very sick. Back when I was alive, we never took anyone to the hospital in city if they can easily be treated at home or in a clinic. Coco said Elena manages the household the same way.

When they said we had to take care of a relative Miguel was the last one I expected to see. I was thinking maybe Elena's husband what's his name?

Franco.

Dios mío, is that his body?

I thought you'd be a bit calmer seeing what dying looks like, seeing as you've lived in the land of the dead longer than I have.

It's different, I don't remember seeing this many needles and tubes in anyone during our time. Besides, I'm still in shock from seeing Miguel's ghost. It shouldn't be like this for him.

At least, he's still here. I'm more worried about Luisa and Enrique, I can't even imagine how they feel.

Hey! it's been a while since I saw this guitar. You know what we need in a somber moment like this, some good music.

Soon after, Miguel heard the familiar opening tabs of the Proud Corazon. The soft melody echoed around the room and he couldn't help but appreciate the fact that even when he couldn't feel the floor or the bed of the hospital room, even when it felt like he was in a different dimension, the melody played on the guitar still reverberated across the room.

It sounded a lot like the sounds that echoed when his father played except this time, the sounds were created by a more experienced musician. Miguel couldn't help but note and be somewhat grateful that the acoustics of the room that played a big part on how the notes moved and sounded to listeners remained constant in any dimension.

In death, there would be no pain and he would still be able to fully enjoy music. Señor Rodrigo is right. Miguel thought to himself as he slowly opened his eyes to see Héctor strumming the opening. He opened his mouth ready to sing the first verse when he looked up and made eye contact with Miguel.

"Hey hey, Miguel you're awake." He placed the duplicate of the guitar to the side and went up to Miguel and patted him on the back. Miguel recoiled instinctively, his body still not willing to forget that split second of excruciating pain.

"Sorry…" Miguel said as he saw the barely concealed shock in Hector's face. As he came to his senses, he realized that they placed him on the sofa chair his mother had been sleeping on only a few hours ago."Wow, you know how to play Proud Corazon." He managed to reply, trying to make up for that minor rejection.

"He played it with you only a month ago when we visited."

Miguel turned to see his Mama Imelda coming at him from the other side, she put her hand on his head and smiled. "It's been a while."

"I've been playing your song a lot in the square ever since I first heard it in Dia de Los Muertos. Everybody loves it. You're a legend now in the land of the dead mijo." Hector said, quickly recovering from that moment of shock. He grabbed the guitar again and started plucking the melody.

Miguel sat up and looked at his great grandfather and great grandmother. Rodrigo may have been right about death being the better option but he may have been wrong though when it came to family. Miguel was worried for a while that he was going to be alone. His father and mother may have been selfish about his dying. He was glad to know though that he had family who made the effort to guide him. He had seen it on TV and read about it in books. When someone dies, the ancestors would pick that person up and help him cross to the land of the dead. He had imagined that Hector and Imelda did the same thing when Mama Coco died. That thought had made her death bittersweet for him. Maybe they could help Rodrigo cross too. He thought to himself.

"Guess I'll be playing with you in the plaza huh..."

"I wouldn't want you to join me anytime soon though." He commented it was obviously a joke by the tone but Miguel struggled to find the punchline.

Miguel frowned in confusion. "Why?" DId he do anything wrong? Should he practice a bit more?

Hector shook his head. " I'd be more than happy if I got to play with you in the square. But I wouldn't wish for you to die now. You're supposed to enjoy your life first."

"Wait, so you're not taking me with you?"

Imelda let out a soft laugh. "No wonder you looked a little agitated. Your life is far from over boy. We're not here to take you with us. we're here to make sure you get back into your body."

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Other Place

Mary Gaitskill (2011)

My son, Douglas, loves to play with toy guns. He is thirteen. He loves video games in which people get killed. He loves violence on TV, especially if it’s funny. How did this happen? The way everything does, of course. One thing follows another, naturally.

Naturally, he looks like me: shorter than average, with a fine build, hazel eyes, and light-brown hair. Like me, he has a speech impediment and a condition called “essential tremor” that causes involuntary hand movements, which make him look more fragile than he is. He hates reading, but he is bright. He is interested in crows because he heard on a nature show that they are one of the only species that are more intelligent than they need to be to survive. He does beautiful, precise drawings of crows.

Mostly, though, he draws pictures of men holding guns. Or men hanging from nooses. Or men cutting up other men with chainsaws—in these pictures there are no faces, just figures holding chainsaws and figures being cut in two, with blood spraying out.

My wife, Marla, says that this is fine, as long as we balance it out with other things—family dinners, discussions of current events, sports, exposure to art and nature. But I don’t know. Douglas and I were sitting together in the living room last week, half watching the TV and checking e-mail, when an advertisement for a movie flashed across the screen: it was called “Captivity” and the ad showed a terrified blond girl in a cage, a tear running down her face. Doug didn’t speak or move. But I could feel his fascination, the suddenly deepening quality of it. And I don’t doubt that he could feel mine. We sat there and felt it together.

And then she was there, the woman in the car. In the room with my son, her black hair, her hard laugh, the wrinkled skin under her hard eyes, the sudden blood filling the white of her blue eye. There was excited music on the TV and then the ad ended. My son’s attention went elsewhere; she lingered.

--

When I was a kid, I liked walking through neighborhoods alone, looking at houses, seeing what people did to make them homes: the gardens, the statuary, the potted plants, the wind chimes. Late at night, if I couldn’t sleep, I would sometimes slip out my bedroom window and just spend an hour or so walking around. I loved it, especially in late spring, when it was starting to be warm and there were night sounds—crickets, birds, the whirring of bats, the occasional whooshing car, some lonely person’s TV. I loved the mysterious darkness of the trees, the way they moved against the sky if there was wind—big and heavy movements, but delicate, too, in all the subtle, reactive leaves. In that soft, blurry weather, people slept with their windows open; it was a small town and they weren’t afraid. Some houses—I’m thinking of two in particular, where the Legges and the Myers lived—had yards that I would actually hang around in at night. Once, when I was sitting on the Legges’ front porch, thinking about stealing a piece of their garden statuary, their cat came and sat with me. I petted him and when I got up and went for the statuary he followed me with his tail up. The Legges’ statues were elves, not corny, cute elves but sinister, wicked-looking elves, and I thought that one would look good in my room. But they were too heavy, so I just moved them around the yard.

I did things like that, dumb pranks that could only irritate those who noticed them: rearranging statuary, leaving weird stuff in mailboxes, looking into windows to see where people had dinner or left their personal things—or, in the case of the Legges, where their daughter, Jenna, slept. She was on the ground floor, her bed so close to the window that I could watch her chest rise and fall the way I watched the grass on their lawn stirring in the wind. The worst thing I did, probably, was put a giant marble in the Myers’ gas tank, which could’ve really caused a problem if it had rolled over the gas hole while one of the Myers was driving on the highway, but I guess it never did.

Mostly, though, I wasn’t interested in causing that kind of problem. I just wanted to sit and watch, to touch other people’s things, to drink in their lives. I suspect that it’s some version of these impulses that makes me the most successful real-estate agent in the Hudson Valley now: the ability to know what physical objects and surroundings will most please a person’s sense of identity and make him feel at home.

I wish that Doug had this sensitivity to the physical world, and the ability to drink from it. I’ve tried different things with him: I used to throw the ball with him out in the yard, but he got tired of that; he hates hiking and likes biking only if he has to get someplace. What’s working now a little bit is fishing, fly-fishing hip deep in the Hudson. An ideal picture of normal childhood.

--

I believe I had a normal childhood. But you have to go pretty far afield to find something people would call abnormal these days. My parents were divorced, and then my mother had boyfriends—but this was true of about half the kids I knew. She and my father fought, in the house, when they were together, and they went on fighting, on the phone, after they separated—loud, screaming fights sometimes. I didn’t love it, but I understood it; people fight. I was never afraid that my father was going to hurt her, or me. I had nightmares occasionally, in which he turned into a murderer and came after me, chasing me, getting closer, until I fell down, unable to make my legs move right. But I’ve read that this is one of those primitive fears which everybody secretly has; it bears little relation to what actually happens.

What actually happened: he forced me to play golf with him for hours when I visited on Saturdays, even though it seemed only to make him miserable. He’d curse himself if he missed a shot and then that would make him miss another one and he’d curse himself more. He’d whisper, “Oh, God,” and wipe his face if anything went wrong, or even if it didn’t, as if just being there were an ordeal, and then I had to feel sorry for him. He’d make these noises sometimes, painful grunts when he picked up the sack of clubs, and it put me on edge and even disgusted me.

Now, of course, I see it differently. I remembered those Saturdays when I was first teaching Doug how to cast, out in the back yard. I wasn’t much good myself yet, and I got tangled up in the bushes a couple of times. I could feel the boy’s flashing impatience; I felt my age, too. Then we went to work disentangling and he came closer to help me. We linked in concentration, and it occurred to me that the delicacy of the line and the fine movements needed to free it appealed to him the way drawing appealed to him, because of their beauty and precision.

Besides, he was a natural. When it was his turn to try, he kept his wrist stiff and gave the air a perfect little punch and zip—great cast. The next time, he got tangled up, but he was speedy about getting unstuck so that he could do it again. Even when the tremor acted up. Even when I lectured him on the laws of physics. It was a good day.

--

There is one not-normal thing you could point to in my childhood, which is that my mother, earlier in her life, before I was born, had occasionally worked as a prostitute. But I don’t think that counts, because I didn’t know about it as a child. I didn’t learn about it until six years ago, when I was thirty-eight and my mother was sick with a strain of flu that had killed a lot of people, most of them around her age. She was in the hospital and she was feverish and thought she was dying. She held my hand as she told me, her eyes sad half-moons, her lips still full and provocative. She said that she wanted me to know because she thought it might help me to understand some of the terrible things I’d heard my father say to her—things I mostly hadn’t even listened to. “It wasn’t anything really bad,” she said. “I just needed the money sometimes, between jobs. It’s not like I was a drug addict—it was just hard to make it in Manhattan. I only worked for good escort places. I never had a pimp or went out on the street. I never did anything perverted—I didn’t have to. I was beautiful. They’d pay just to be with me.”

Later, when she didn’t die, she was embarrassed that she’d told me. She laughed that raucous laugh of hers and said, “Way to go, Marcy! On your deathbed, tell your son you’re a whore and then don’t die!”

“It’s O.K.,” I said.

And it was. It frankly was not really even much of a surprise. It was her vanity that disgusted me, the way she undercut the confession with a preening, maudlin joke. I could not respect that even then.

--

I don’t think that my mom’s confession, or whatever it may have implied, had anything to do with what I think of as “it.” When I was growing up, there was, after all, no evidence of her past, nothing that could have affected me. But suddenly, when I was about fourteen, I started getting excited by the thought of girls being hurt. Or killed. A horror movie would be on TV, a girl in shorts would be running and screaming with some guy chasing her, and to me it was like porn. Even a scene where a sexy girl was getting her legs torn off by a shark—bingo. It was like pushing a button. My mom would be in the kitchen making dinner and talking on the phone, stirring and striding around with the phone tucked between her shoulder and her chin. Outside, cars would go by, or a dog would run across the lawn. My homework would be slowly getting done in my lap while this sexy girl was screaming “God help me!” and having her legs torn off. And I would go invisibly into an invisible world that I called “the other place.” Where I sometimes passively watched a killer and other times became one.

It’s true that I started drinking and drugging right about then. All my friends did. My mom tried to lay down the law, but I found ways around her. We’d go into the woods, me and usually Chet Wotazak and Jim Bonham, and we’d smoke weed we’d got from Chet’s brother, a local dealer named Dan, and drink cheap wine. We could sometimes get Chet’s dad to lend us a gun—in my memory he had an AK-47, though I don’t know how that’s possible—and we’d go out to a local junk yard and take turns shooting up toilets, the long tubes of fluorescent lights, whatever was there. Then we’d go to Chet’s house, up to his room, where we’d play loud music and tell dumb jokes and watch music videos in which disgusting things happened: snakes crawled over a little boy’s sleeping face and he woke up being chased by a psychopath in a huge truck; a girl was turned into a pig and then a cake and then the lead singer bit off her head.

You might think that the videos and the guns were part of it, that they encouraged my violent thoughts. But Chet and Jim were watching and doing the same things and they were not like me. They said mean things about girls, and they were disrespectful sometimes, but they didn’t want to hurt them, not really. They wanted to touch them and be touched by them; they wanted that more than anything. You could hear it in their voices and see it in their eyes, no matter what they said.

So I would sit with them and yet be completely apart from them, talking and laughing about normal things in a dark mash of music and snakes and children running from psychos and girls being eaten—images that took me someplace my friends couldn’t see, although it was right there in the room with us.

It was the same at home. My mother made dinner, talked on the phone, fought with my dad, had guys over. Our cat licked itself and ate from its dish. Around us, people cared about one another. Jenna Legge slept peacefully. But in the other place sexy girls—and sometimes ugly girls or older women—ran and screamed for help as an unstoppable, all-powerful killer came closer and closer. There was no school or sports or mom or dad or caring, and it was great.

--

I’ve told my wife about most of this, the drinking, the drugs, the murder fantasies. She understands, because she has her past, too: extreme sex, vandalizing cars, talking vulnerable girls into getting more drunk than they should on behalf of some guy. There’s a picture of her and another girl in bathing suits, the other girl chugging a beer that is being held by a guy so that it goes straight down her throat as her head is tipped way back. Another guy is watching, and my smiling wife is holding the girl’s hand. It’s a picture that foreshadows some kind of cruelty or misery, or maybe just a funny story to tell about throwing up in the bathroom later. Privately, I see no similarity between it and my death obsession. For my wife, the connection is drugs and alcohol; she believes that we were that way because we were both addicts expressing our pain and anger through violent fantasies and blind actions. The first time I took Doug out to fish, it was me on the hot golf course all over again. As we walked to the lake in our heavy boots and clothes, I could feel his irritation at the bugs and the brightness, the squalor of nature in his fastidious eyes. I told him that fly-fishing was like driving a sports car, as opposed to the Subaru of rod and reel. I went on about how anything beautiful had to be conquered. He just turned down his mouth.

He got interested, though, in tying on the fly; the simple elegance of the knot (the “fish-killer”) intrigued him. He laid it down the first time, too, placing the backcast perfectly in a space between trees. He gazed at the brown, light-wrinkled water with satisfaction. But when I put my hand on his shoulder I could feel him inwardly pull away.

--

As I got older, my night walks be came rarer, with a different, sadder feeling to them. I would go out when I was not drunk or high but in a quiet mood, wanting to be somewhere that was neither the normal social world nor the other place. A world where I could sit and feel the power of nature come up through my feet, and be near other people without them being near me. Where I could believe in and for a moment possess the goodness of their lives. Jenna Legge still slept on the ground floor and sometimes I would look in her window and watch her breathe, and, if I was lucky, see one of her developing breasts swell out of her nightgown.

I never thought of killing Jenna. I didn’t think about killing anyone I actually knew—not the girls I didn’t like at school or the few I had sex with. The first times I had sex, I was so caught up in the feeling of it that I didn’t even think about killing—I didn’t think about anything at all. But I didn’t have sex much. I was small, awkward, too quiet; I had that tremor. My expression must’ve been strange as I sat in class, feeling hidden in my other place, but outwardly visible to whoever looked—not that many did.

Then one day I was with Chet’s brother, Dan, on a drug drop; he happened to be giving me a ride because his drop, at the local college, was on the way to wherever I was going. It was a guy buying, but, when we arrived, a girl opened the door. She was pretty and she knew it, but whatever confidence that knowledge gave her was superficial. We stayed for a while and smoked the product with her and her boyfriend. The girl sat very erect and talked too much, as if she were smart, but there was a question at the end of everything she said. When we left, Dan said, “That’s the kind of lady I’d like to slap in the face.” I asked, “Why?” But I knew. I don’t remember what he said, because it didn’t matter. I already knew. And later, instead of making up a girl, I thought of that one.

--

I forgot to mention: one night when I was outside Jenna’s window, she opened her eyes and looked right at me. I was stunned, so stunned that I couldn’t move. There was nothing between us but a screen with a hole in it. She looked at me and blinked. I said, “Hi.” I held my breath; I had not spoken to her since third grade. But she just sighed, rolled over, and lay still. I stood there trembling for a long moment. And then, slowly and carefully, I walked through the yard and onto the sidewalk, back to my house.

I cut school the next day and the next, because I was scared that Jenna had told everybody and that I would be mocked. But eventually it became clear that nobody was saying anything, so I went back. In class, I looked at Jenna cautiously, then gratefully. But she did not return my look. At first, this moved me, made me consider her powerful. I tried insistently to catch her eye, to let her know what I felt. Finally our eyes met, and I realized that she didn’t understand why I was looking at her. I realized that although her eyes had been open that night, she had still been asleep. She had looked right at me, but she had not seen me at all.

--

And so one night, or early morning, really, I got out of bed, into my mother’s car, and drove to the campus to look for her—the college girl.

The campus was in a heavily wooded area bordering a nature preserve. The dorms were widely scattered, though some, resembling midsized family homes, were clustered together. The girl lived in one of those, but while I remembered the general location I couldn’t be sure which one it was. I couldn’t see into any of the windows, because even the open ones had blinds pulled down. While I was standing indecisively on a paved path between dorms, I saw two guys coming toward me. Quickly, I walked off into a section of trees and underbrush. I moved carefully through the thicket, coming to a wide field that led toward the nature preserve. The darkness deepened as I got farther from the dorms. I could feel things coming up from the ground—teeth and claws, eyes, crawling legs, and brainless eating mouths. A song played in my head, an enormously popular, romantic song about love and death that had supposedly made a bunch of teen-agers kill themselves.

Kids still listen to that song. I once heard it coming from the computer in our family room. When I went in and looked over Doug’s hunched shoulder, I realized that the song was being used as the soundtrack for a graphic video about a little boy in a mask murdering people. It was spellbinding, the yearning, eerie harmony of the song juxtaposed with terrified screaming; I told Doug to turn it off. He looked pissed, but he did it and went slumping out the door. I found it and watched it by myself later.

--

I went back to the campus many times. I went to avoid my mother as much as anything. Her new boyfriend was an asshole, and she whined when he was around. When he wasn’t around, she whined about him on the phone. Sometimes she called two people in a row to whine about exactly the same things that he’d said or done. Even when I played music loud so I couldn’t hear her, I could feel her. When that happened, I’d leave my music on so that she’d think I was still in my room and I’d go to the campus. I’d follow lone female students as closely as I could, and I’d feel the other place running against the membrane of the world, almost touching it. Why does it make sense to put romantic music together with a story about a little boy murdering people? Because it does make sense—only I don’t know how. It seems dimly to have to do with justice, with some wrong being avenged, but what? The hurts of childhood? The stupidity of life? The kid doesn’t seem to be having fun. Random murder just seems like a job he has to do. But why? Soon enough I realized that the college campus was the wrong place to think about making it real. It wasn’t an environment I could control; there were too many variables. I needed to get the girl someplace private. I needed to have certain things there. I needed to have a gun. I could find a place; there were deserted places. I could get a gun from Chet’s house; I knew where his father kept his. But the girl?

Then, while I was in the car with my mom one day, we saw a guy hitchhiking. He was middle-aged and fucked-up-looking, and my mom—we were stopped at a light—remarked that nobody in their right mind would pick him up. Two seconds later, somebody pulled over for him. My mom laughed.

I started hitchhiking. Most of the people who picked me up were men, but there were women, too. No one was scared of me. I was almost eighteen by then, but I was still small and quiet-looking. Women picked me up because they were concerned about me.

I didn’t really plan to do it. I just wanted to feel the gun in my pocket and look at the woman and know that I could do it. There was this one—a thirtyish blonde with breasts that I could see through her open coat. But then she said that she was pregnant and I started thinking about what if I was killing the baby?

--

Doug had a lot of nightmares when he was a baby, by which I mean between the ages of two and four. When he cried out in his sleep, it was usually Marla who went to him. But one night she was sick and I told her to stay in bed while I went to comfort the boy. He was still crying “Mommy!” when I sat on the bed, and I felt his anxiety at seeing me instead of his mother, felt the moment of hesitation in his body before he came into my arms, vibrating rather than trembling, sweating and fragrant with emotion. He had dreamed that he was home alone and it was dark, and he was calling for his mother, but she wasn’t there. “Daddy, Daddy,” he wept, “there was a sick lady with red eyes and Mommy wouldn’t come. Where is Mommy?”

That may’ve been the first time I truly remembered her, the woman in the car. It was so intense a moment that in a bizarre intersection of impossible feelings I got an erection with my crying child in my arms. But it lasted only a moment. I picked Doug up and carried him into our bedroom so that he could see his mother and nestle against her. I stayed awake nearly all night watching them.

--

The day it happened was a bright day, but windy and cold, and my mom would not shut up. I just wanted to watch a movie, but even with the TV turned up loud—I guess that’s why she kept talking; she didn’t think I could hear her—I couldn’t blot out the sound of her yakking about how ashamed this asshole made her feel. I whispered, “If you’re so ashamed, why do you talk about it?” She said, “It all goes back to being fucking molested.” She lowered her voice; the only words I caught were “fucking corny.” I went out into the hallway to listen. “The worst of it was that he wouldn’t look at me,” she said. I could almost hear her pacing around, the phone tucked against her shoulder. “That’s why I fall for these passive-aggressive types who turn me on and then make me feel ashamed.” Whoever she was talking to must have said something funny then, because she laughed. I left the TV on and walked out. I took the gun, but more for protection against perverts than the other thing.

--

I gave my boy that dream as surely as if I’d handed it to him. But I’ve given him a lot of other things, too. The first time he caught a fish he responded to my encouraging words with a bright glance that I will never forget. We let that one go, but only after he had held it in his hands, cold and quick, muscle with eyes and a heart, scales specked with yellow and red, and one tiny orange fin. Then the next one, bigger, leaping to break the rippling murk—I said, “Don’t point the rod at the fish. Keep the tip up, keep it up”—and he listened to me and he brought it in. There is a picture of it on the corkboard in his room, the fish in the net, the lure bristling in its crude mouth. I have another picture, too, of him smiling triumphantly, holding it in his hands, its shining, still living body fully extended.

--

She was older than I’d wanted, forty or so, but still good-looking. She had a voice that was strong and lifeless at the same time. She had black hair and she wore tight black pants. She did not have a wedding ring, which meant that maybe no one would miss her. She picked me up on a lightly travelled forty-five-mile-an-hour road. She was listening to a talk show on the radio and she asked if I wanted to hear music instead. I said no, I liked talk shows.

“Yeah?” she said. “Why?”

“Because I’m interested in current events.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I just listen to this shit because the voices relax me. I don’t really care what they’re talking about.”

They were talking about a war somewhere. Bombs were exploding in markets where people bought vegetables; somebody’s legs had been blown off. We turned onto a road with a few cars, but none close to us.

“You don’t care?”

“No, why should I? Oh, about this?” She paused. There was something about a little boy being rushed to an overcrowded hospital. “Yeah, that’s bad. But it’s not like we can do anything about it.” On the radio, foreign people cried.

I took the gun out of my pocket.

I said, “Do you have kids?”

“No,” she said. “Why?”

“Take me to Old Post Road. I’m going to the abandoned house there.”

“I’m not going by there, but I can get you pretty close. So why do you care about current events? I didn’t give a shit at your age.”

“Take me there or I’ll kill you.”

She cocked her head and wrinkled her brow, as if she were trying to be sure she’d heard right. Then she looked down at the gun, and cut her eyes up at me; quickly, she looked back at the road. The car picked up speed.

“Take the next right or you’ll die.” My voice at that moment came not from me but from the other place. My whole body felt like an erection. She hit the right-turn signal. There was a long moment as we approached the crucial road. The voices on the radio roared ecstatically.

She pulled over to the shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

She put the car in park.

“Turn right or you die!”

She unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face me. “I’m ready,” she said. She leaned back and gripped the steering wheel with one hand, as if to steady herself. With her free hand, she tapped herself between the eyes—bright, hot blue, rimmed with red. “Put it here,” she said. “Go for it.”

A car went by. Somebody in the passenger seat glanced at us blankly. “I don’t want to do it here. There’s witnesses. You need to take me to the place.”

“What witnesses? That car’s not stopping—nobody’s going to stop unless the emergency lights are on and they’re not, look.”

“But if I shoot you in the head the blood will spray on the window and somebody could see.” It was my own voice again: the power was gone. The people on the radio kept talking. Suddenly I felt my heart beating.

“O.K., then do it here.” She opened her jacket to show me her chest. “Nobody’ll hear. When you’re done you can move me to the passenger seat and drive the car wherever.”

“Get into the passenger seat now and I’ll do it.”

She laughed, hard. Her eyes were crazy. They were crazy the way an animal can be crazy in a tiny cage. “Hell, no. I’m not going to your place with you. You do it here, motherfucker.”

I realized then that her hair was a wig, and a cheap one. For some reason, that made her seem even crazier. I held my gun hand against my body to hide the tremor.

“Come on, honey,” she said. “Go for it.”

Like a star, a red dot appeared in the white of her left eye. The normal place and the other place were turning into the same place, quick but slow, the way a car accident is quick but slow. I stared. The blood spread raggedly across her eye. She shifted her eyes from my face to a spot somewhere outside the car and fixed them there. I fought the urge to turn and see what she was looking at. She shifted her eyes again. She looked me deep in the face.

“Well?” she said. “Are you going to do it or not?”

Words appeared in my head, like a sign reading “I Don’t Want To.”

She leaned forward and turned on the emergency lights. “Get out of my car,” she said quietly. “You’re wasting my time.”

--

As soon as I got out, she hit the gas and burned rubber. I walked into the field next to the road, without an idea of where I might go. I realized after she was gone that she might call the police, but I felt in my gut that she would not—in the other place there are no police, and she was from the other place.

Still, as I walked I took the bullets out of the gun and scattered them, kicking snow over them and stamping it down. I walked a long time, shivering horribly. I came across a drainage pipe and threw the empty gun into it. I thought, I should’ve gut-shot her—that’s what I should’ve done. And then got her to the abandoned house. I should’ve gut-shot the bitch. But I knew why I hadn’t. She’d been shot already, from the inside. If she had been somebody different I might actually have done it. But somehow the wig-haired woman had changed the channel and I don’t even know if she’d meant to.

--

The fly bobbing on the brown, gentle water. The long grasses so green that they cast a fine, bright green on the brown water. The primitive fish mouth straining for water and finding it as my son releases it in the shallows. Its murky vanishing.

The blood bursting in her eye, poor woman, poor mother. My mother died of colon cancer just nine months ago. Shortly after that, it occurred to me that the woman had been wearing that awful wig because she was sick and undergoing chemo. Though of course I don’t know.

--

The hurts of childhood that must be avenged: so small and so huge. Before I grew up and stopped thinking about her, I thought about that woman a lot. About what would’ve happened if I’d got her there, to the abandoned house. I don’t remember anymore the details of these thoughts, only that they were distorted, swollen, blurred: broken face, broken voice, broken body left dying on the floor, watching me go with dimming, despairing eyes.

These pictures are faded now and far away. But they can still make me feel something.

The second time I put my hand on Doug’s shoulder, he didn’t move away inside; he was too busy tuning in to the line and the lure. Somewhere in him is the other place. It’s quiet now, but I know it’s there. I also know that he won’t be alone with it. He won’t know that I’m there with him, because we will never speak of it. But I will be there. He will not be alone with that.

[deadlightdelight]

The Candy Girl (1/?)

{I may change the name but the is the first part of my pennywise fic

Warning: none...yet

Rundown:

You are a high school graduate who hasn't had much happen since you graduated. You've been working at the local candy shop and today has started off cold and wet. You ran to work at the price of your shoes but you made it on time, unfortunately you aren't at work for very long due to a rather scary misunderstanding}

Derry, a somewhat peaceful town with a bad history. The house prices were low, but the chances of getting a decent job were rather slim but worth it once you got in. Summer was around the corner and you had luckily scored a job at the local candy shop, much to your parents delight, you'd finally be getting out of the house for longer than it took to get to the corner store and back.

You had graduated high school and that was the last big thing to happen to you besides your 20th birthday, which you had kept small for the most part. A few friends had shown up at your request and your parents went to a movie so you could have some adult fun without parental supervision; you mostly listened to records and danced around with a bottle in hand. You weren't a fan of straight liquor and preferred something fruity, like apple or cherry, you always had a sweet tooth but you weren't a fan of straight sugar because you had too much as a kid, so now your teeth would ache and your stomach would churn; this was somewhat of a problem because you now spent six hours of your day in a candy shop, surrounded by sugar, this made your head spin just thinking about it.

Today was like any other, except for the rain that was pouring down at a heavy and consistent rate, if you hadn't put your rain coat on before you left you would be stuck in soaked clothes for the rest of the day; your clothes may have been saved by the rain, but you can't say the same for your shoes.

You had run most of the way to the shop, your purse held tightly to your chest in hopes that your belongings wouldn't get soaked. As you came to the heavy wood door you stopped for a minute beneath the striped awning. A single red balloon was tied to one of the metal chairs outside of the shop, you smiled to yourself as you pushed the door open and the bell chimed happily at the sound of a potential customer, but in reality it was really just you.

The shop was rather small, it was on the corner of mainstreet and it was rather cute both outside and in. Large windows on either side of the door and the colours were white, pink, cream and mahogany; Pink and white was mostly made up of stripe wall paper, and mahogany bearing the color of the wood for the counter and the floor to ceiling shelves on the east and west walls.

“Right on time my dear,” Mary said as you entered. Mary was the owner of the shop, she was a quite beautiful woman even for her age. Her face was pale and soft, her wrinkles didn't age her as much as they gave her character. Her eyes were the colour of freshly brewed tea, and were just as inviting and warm as tea. Her hair the colour of snow, she always had it pinned back in an elegant fashion, much unlike yourself, you always had your hair pinned back with bobby pins, barrettes, or hair ties, always in a messy fashion. Mary was envied by even the young mother's around town, women could only hope to age well let alone age with such beauty as Mary.

“What's the special occasion?” you asked ask you Mary gave you a puzzled look, “The balloon-” you said as you turned and pointed at where the balloon was but to your surprise it was gone, your hand pulled back in confusion but then you pushed it down to your side, changing the subject.

“Morning Mary, the weather has really proved to not be in our favor today.” you said as you pulled your raincoat from your shoulders, exposing your dry clothes to the warm inside air. You wore what was required of you, a black skirt, you picked a pencil skirt for this, a pair of black flats and a loose white blouse with gold buttons on the cuffs and chest, that was to be tucked in. Your hair was to be gelled or pinned back if you had short hair or put into a bun if your hair was longer.

“Yes it really has, I think we will have a rather slow day.” she said as she was making little paper bags of random candies for 5 cents. You enjoyed slow days you and Mary usually spent your time sitting around and eating the ice cream that was going to expire soon; Mary would even let you sit on the counter and swing your legs, which was an excellent pass time in your opinion.

“oh drat, (Y/n) would you mind going into the back and getting another spool of the pink and gold ribbon?” Mary asked as she held an empty spool in her right hand.

“Yes that won't be a prob- Achoo!” a sneeze left your lungs in a sudden burst; not sudden enough for you to cover your mouth, a good habit you learned young.

“Oh my, you better watch that. You don't want to get sick, especially with this weather.” Mary said wiggling her finger at you.

“Don't worry about me, I'm a tough girl.” you said and flexed your arm, this caused both you and Mary to laugh at how silly you were being.

From there you made your way to the back, turning down the short hallway, you see yourself in the antique mirror hung over a table with a small bowl of mints and plants. On one side was the washroom and across from it was the storeroom, where a majority of the candy was stored, as well as decorations for the seasons and other such things.

As you walked towards the door you stopped for a moment, your hand pressed to the wood of the door, you knew what was on the other side. A statue of a female shepherd, dressed in a white blouse and a pink skirt, her face dolled up and pulled in a wide grin was just on the other side, it was pretty but something about its eyes scared you. It use to be the face of this little candy shop, but the paint began to chip so it was put back here to wait for repair; which has still yet to happen.

You took a deep breath and as you pushed the door open the room was dark except for the light from the hall behind you. A chill ran up your spine as you felt eyes on you, and sure enough your eyes landed on the empty eyes of the large glass doll, smiling and holding her large cane, and a chalkboard scroll. Your face twists up as you look her up and down.

“You're not that scary,” You said aloud, smirking at it as you reached for the light switch, and of course as the sound of the switch echoes through the room the light doesn't turn on. You shake your head and grab the folded step ladder, opening it and placing it at the foot of the shelf. You step onto it and stretch your arm out using the shelves to balance you as you step on tiptoe.

From your left you hear a creaking sound, you pass it off as your grip on the shelf causing the wood to groan.

“Ssskrake” your head snaps to the side as you hear the sound of scraping glass. As your head turns you shriek, your footing becomes unsteady as you go tumbling towards the checkered tiles your hands hitting the hard floor and the pain shoots through your wrists, as you hit the ground the door across the room slams shut.

The glass Shepard had come to life, her dead eyes seeming to glow yellow in the darkness, her toothy grin had warped into a twisted sneer, her perfect teeth had been replaced with dozens of sharp needles as her eyes burrowed into your very soul.

It began to close the distance that had been created when you feel, fear became a heavy weight in your chest, ever growing as your breathing became frantic.

“Am I not scary?” She spoke in a shill happy voice, she began to bend over, in panic your foot shot out and collided with her jaw, surprisingly it's head snapped to the side and it froze for a moment, but it's body was an unmovable force; you had a feeling it's head only turned out of pure surprise and not the force. You panted and watched it as it's eyes slowly began to roll towards you, it's grin had now dropped as its head turned towards you, something felt sinister about it, it's hand reached out and rested on your calf, it's eyes locked with yours for a moment before moving up towards the door. Behind you the door swung open with a slam causing you to jump, as you turned there stood Mary.

“Jesus (Y/N), are you alright?” Mary asked with a worried pant, she had obviously been frantic on getting that door open.

“T- The statue,” You said as you pointed, turning your head back to where the shepherd stood. To your surprise it had returned to its spot across the room, it's haunting smile returned to its porcelain face. “S- She moved! And her mouth it opened and she chased me around the room!” you said turning back to Mary. She shook her head and held her hands out to you,

“You see, you did get sick. You should go home and get some rest, you obviously need it. If you wanted a sick day you should have just called, you don't need to put on a performance. Next time call ahead.” she said leaning against the frame regaining her breath.

“No Mary, I swear-” she cut you off shaking her head to herself she lifted her hands to quiet you, before going back down the hall.

You quickly jumped to your feet, grabbing the box of ribbon that had fallen with you and you quickly ran to the door, turning back once more, reassuring yourself that it was all just your imagination. From behind the Shepherd were two glowing orbs, peeking over the statues shoulder, a low growl filling the air. You slammed the door shut and quickly turned away, heading for the main shop room and not looking back or even a moment, you placed the box on the counter, grabbed your coat and apologized before you were out the door once more.

[greybat]

Memories - (Julian x MC)

Chapter 1: So Much Blood

Author’s Note: Feel free to borrow any plot points for your own Arcana Char x MC fic or draw any scenes from this with your MC in place of Xixa, if you like!

Summary: After months of research, Asra and Xixa may have found a way to return lost memories! What happens when those memories bring pain, betrayal, and confusion for Asra, Julian, and Xixa, though? 

Eventual Julian x MC. Asra is here, too, but I’m not sure what to do with him, yet. (This is about 4 pages of 11 pages that I’ve written, so there’s more. Don’t worry.)

It seemed like a dream, having Julian and Asra in the same room with her. For so long, the two avoided each other like the plague. But – today? - that was going to change.

She and Julian were getting their full memories back. Well, hopefully. After a few months of studying some ancient texts, bought off a man who didn’t know their worth, Xixa and Asra thought they had a cure for the rampant “memory loss.”

Julian leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching quietly as the two magicians prep the shop for the ritual. It was no secret he didn’t trust Asra, especially with Xixa’s memories. However, he promised to play nice this evening.

Candles were lit and placed at intervals around the interior of Asra’s shop. The ambient heat a kiss of coziness on their skin. A careful sigil was sketched on the floor with the glowing ink of a fluorescent squid from some faraway sea. Asra crushed ingredients – primrose, tea rose, powdered gingko biloba, ginseng, moon water – in a black pestle and mortar, creating a paste. The aura around everything felt right to Xixa.

She could barely contain her excitement, she felt ready to burst. Yet Asra seemed sullen.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Xixa?” Asra asked, still holding the mortar in his hands. An uncharacteristic somberness filled the air around him.

“I’m sure this’ll work.” She smiled at the white-haired magician. “If it does, then we can do the same for Nadia!”

“You might remember things that are painful.” He ended his statement in a soft murmur, as if he were afraid to finish it.

She glanced at Julian, wondering if he heard Asra’s comment. She could only imagine what alarms Asra’s words would set off in the red-head. The doctor didn’t seem aware of the magician’s worries. He stared at a shelf of books, running his index finger over their spines. Turning her gaze back to Asra, Xixa smiled, “Whatever happens, I can overcome it.”

Asra stared into Xixa’s eyes, as if searching for an answer in her face. She couldn’t help but feel there was a strange bubble of emotion encompassing them. Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to figure it out before Asra sighed. He apparently came to a conclusion and nodded. “Then let’s get started.”

The two of them – doctor and apprentice – stood in the middle of the intricate, glowing sigil. The mixture Asra had been grinding was smeared over their foreheads. Asra intoned an incantation, in a long-dead language as he drew glowing symbols in the air with his fingers. The air fizzed with golden magic. A tang hung in the air, unidentifiable on the tastebuds.

“I feel like a basted turkey,” mumbled Julian, staring down at Xixa. “Do you feel any different?”

“Give it time,” hissed the woman. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought the sigil’s glow intensified an iota. Though, she had to agree, the gunk on her forehead she felt like an entrée. She wanted to reach out to Julian, stroke his knuckles to calm his discomfort and impatience. How Asra would react to watching such a show, though, worried her. Especially during this ritual.

“I’m just saying, when am I suppos-” Julian didn’t finish his petulant commentary. A throb shot across his brain, a grunt of pain rising from his lips. Heat licked across his forehead where the disgusting grime sat.

Xixa shared the look, raising her hand to her temple and wincing. The paste on her forehead seared and felt as if it were burning into her skin.

Asra continued to chant, purple eyes watching the woman intently.

The throb continued to radiate deep inside her head. It felt like it rippled through her brain, across her synapses and through every little wrinkle in her grey matter. Xixa bit her lip as heat licked across her thoughts. They all expected this, but it didn’t stop Julian from reaching out and cradling her against his chest.

Despite her preparedness and Asra’s presence, being allowed to lean into the doctor’s chest was a comfort Xixa couldn’t pass up. His solid body offered stability as his arms coiled protectively around her. She grappled at his arms, fingernails digging into his white sleeves.

“Xixa, are you okay?” He grunted, through his own pain.

The pain and heat pounded through her head. She couldn’t form any words of reassurance, but managed a nod.

Then, like a small leak, they dribbled in. The smallest memories cascaded into longer visions. Her mother and father, her grandparents, her siblings. Her first crush, her second, her third… Living in the town on the outskirts of the country and learning ‘the craft’ from the elders in town. Working year after year to get the money to leave her hometown. Coming to Vesuvia with her life savings. Making a name for herself as a fortuneteller and witch.

“It worked!” She gasped, pushing herself slightly from Julian, so she could see his face. His wide eye and slightly parted lips told her he was reliving his forgotten years, too. Though, he didn’t look as happy as she was.

Just as Julian’s gaze flicked to her face, something stirred in Xixa. A forgotten memory roused and stalked to the surface. Xixa blinked rapidly, her gaze falling to Julian’s chest as she became consumed by the reverie.

Two guards flanked her. Their hands tight around her upper arms, bruising her. They dragged her from a dark hallway, through a pair of dark doors, and into a brightly lit room. She struggled, kicking and cursing in the guards’ hands. Heart pounding like she had just sprinted across the city. Her knees and hands ached, like they were scraped. The sudden transfer from shadows to light made her eyes sting and her heart twinged with fear.

The scent of metal and antiseptic and… blood. So much blood.

Dr. Jules Devorak stood at the edge of the room, wearing a black apron and stooping over a dinged, metal desk. He looked pensively over papers, biting his bare thumb. At the slam of the doors and Xixa’s defiant show, his grey eyes flickered to the newcomers.

“Ah, the new… winner,” Dr. Jules sneered the word as his gaze swept up and down her body. Those eyes, those eyes her present-day consciousness loved loved, greeted her past self with distant unfamiliarity. Xixa’s stomach dropped under his inspection, but she still tried to wrench herself free of her captors.

There had been stories circulating the Marketplace for weeks. People being snatched at night, dragged away by palace guards, and returned a day or two later. No one had stepped forward to corroborate the rumors, but how could you if – after you were taken – you died? Vesuvia was huge; people came and went where the wind blew them. And if you were poor, seeking a lost friend or family member? Well, good luck getting someone to listen.

“I didn’t agree to this!” She cried, trying to twist her body free. The awareness of how alone she was pricked at the back of her thoughts. Her family was a long way off; her friends were transient, who understood the need to move and wouldn’t question her disappearance; other stall owners would be happy to snag her prime spot where her booth squatted.

Tendrils of her long teal hair – that’s right, she used to wear it long – escaped her braid and plastered against her sweat-slicked cheek. Her eyes darted around the room, stomach lurching at the brownish-red stains on the cement floor. Further away, near the center of the room, a body laid on a table with someone dressed in grey medical robes stooping over it.

Asra. A brief overlay of another memory flitted through her. They had met before this, weeks or months prior. He ducked into her stall at the Marketplace, pointedly avoiding someone. She read his cards, he was impressed, and they continued to meet. Smiles and magic and fuzzy warmth…

In that moment, he couldn’t have been further from the man in her memory’s own reverie.

The magician bent over the unconscious figure – a patient? – fingers weaving golden magic along the man’s brow. Now, Xixa realized the man had a faint incision mark along his forehead, perhaps all around the circumference of his head, and it faded with each pass of Asra’s glowing fingers.

“Yes, we know. That’s why the Count started the lottery,” Dr. Jules drawled, returning Xixa’s attention to him. He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. The motion rough, without the tenderness that Xixa’s consciousness attributed to those hands. But, this wasn’t her Julian. Bringing his free hand to her face, he brushed the stray strands away and tapped cool fingers against her temple. His lips twisted into a humorless grin. “We’re just going to take a peek at your brain. No worries, though, you’ll be asleep. By the time you wake up, you’ll be good as new.”

This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Her eyes swiveled around, from guard to guard. Both remained impassive and unmoved. Xixa repeated, her voice cracking under terror. “I didn’t agree to this!”

Asra had finished mending the last “winner” – or maybe kindly putting them out of their misery, her past self thought with paranoia – and meandered over to them. Her heart pounded, realizing fresh red stained his robes. He was wiping his hands clean on a dirty rag, a strained look pinched at his brows. His purple eyes flitted to Xixa’s face, then away.

Her consciousness sensed his shame and discomfort, even after all these years.

Her past self latched onto this, too. She jerked toward him, but the guards remained steadfast. That didn’t stop her warbling pleas. “Don’t let him do this to me! You know this isn’t right!”

Hot tears brimmed in Xixa’s eyes, horror clenching at her chest. Dr. Jules wandered off to a rolling table she hadn’t spotted before, preparing macabre looking instruments that looked more at home in a torture dungeon. He was pulling on elbow-length rubber gloves and whistling. This was just another day, another patient, for him. Everything so routine in his movements and demeanor.

Meanwhile, Xixa’s breaths heaved, hot and humid and trapped in her lungs. It was as if a storm of fright churned inside her. Terror locked around her ribs, making her chest cavity feel smaller, tighter. Adrenaline lightning strikes arced out over her body, her senses on hyper-alert to find some escape. Asra had closed the distance between them, now.

“Please, Asra,” she sobbed quietly, shoulders shaking. Hot rivulets streamed down her cheeks.

All shame had fled Asra’s face. In its place, his mask of shadowy distance. Present-Day Xixa had seen that look so many times before, so many times when he tried to maintain an emotional wall, tried to keep her from going catatonic. This time, he used it to shutter a mental wall between them.

“Relax,” he murmured, a melodic lilt to his words. She could sense the magic snaking through in the air, could see the glow at his fingertips. Xixa whimpered, shaking her head savagely, knowing as soon as the magic bit her, as soon as he touched her, it’d be over. His gentle palm pressed to her forehead, regardless. “Relax and sleep.”

The rattle of metallic instruments, soon to be lodged into her brain, lulled her into darkness.

When Xixa surfaced from her reverie, she felt like a drowning person finally breaking the surf. Her mind wobbled around her. Her fingers curled, clenching into soft fabric. Someone held her, repeated her name with concern as their hands held her up.

Her eyes turned upward, zeroing on the source of the noise. A grey eye stared down at her, a blur of black where another eye should be, a shock of red hair. Red hair like blood.

So much blood.