#not in production yet but will be soon. should have them maybe in march somewhere

[cozylittleartblog]

i like macarons a normal amount

[smoochkooks]

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings for part one: explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, rough sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation, light breath play, unprotected sex, infidelity, mentions of mental health issues, smoking, drinking etc., this is sad im sorry

⟶ music: lost stars, young god, the hills and more here. 

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Moonlight is gradually slipping through the unveiled curtains that he hasn’t even bothered shutting out for the night, letting the silvery luminescences gleam over the expanses of his room callously. It's the first full moon of the month, an argent king on the cloudless sky preventing many people that particular night from falling asleep.

Jungkook lays on his bed, long body slumped on unmade, messy sheets. Brightness illuminates over his features, making his skin glow in porcelain white. Every edge of him is chiseled. From his thin lips, through the slope of his nose and paleness of his forehead, Jungkook might be a beautiful imitation of a marble sculpture. Although he isn't, heaviness of his limbs and suffocating pressure weighting down on his chest like tons of rocks make him feel like one.

Digital clock on his bedside table reads midnight, four red zeros signaling change of the date. It's so painfully silent in the confines of his room, yet Jungkook doesn't sleep. And it's not because of some scientificly proven theory connecting insomnia to the full moon. He hasn't shifted on his bed since he laid there an hour or so ago. He stares blankly at the ceiling, inhaling the chilly air of March flowing inside through the open window. There is without a doubt too cold to lie uncovered like that, with bare legs and thin t-shirt thrown on, but he doesn't seem to care, not when shivers run down his arms, not when the sudden puff of wind blows the strands of raven hair off from his forehead. He stays like that, hands folded on his stomach, eyes glued to the silver lights on the ceiling, and time ticks.

Jungkook doesn't remember when was the last time he has gotten some good amount of sleep in the night. Perhaps it was a year or two ago, when after particularly hectics days it took him only a few seconds to fall into the peaceful slumber as soon as his cheek met the cool material of his pillow. A lot of has changed since that; it's bitterly oblivious he has changed too. His insomniac tendencies are only a small part of the whole spectrum.  

Jungkook doesn't wish the sleep to come and cure him. He has stopped a long time ago, when he realised it's just pointless. There are times when it gets better, when he doesn't need to nap uncontrollably during the day instead of doing that while it's dark out. Tonight seems like one of those dead end situations. Maybe after a few hours his eyes will tire out enough to flutter shut on their own accord and bring him the awaited couple of hours of mindless numbness, and the sun will raise again, as it always does.

However, that night, like many of them before, Jungkook doesn't wait helplessly.

A sigh and a minute later, he kicks off the sheets and stands up from his bed, walking to the nearby closet. He puts on the first pair of black jeans he manages to find and replaces his worn out t-shirt he wears to sleep with a new, fresh one. He flicks the lights on for a brief moment to examine himself briefly in the mirror. He needs haircut, loose strands are falling on his forehead and he swamps them off, running his fingers through the black locks. He looks even more tired in the artificial lighting of his room, definitely not like the marble sculpture, certainly not like the spot-on idol this country loves and admires. The skincare products his stylists have given him to put on his face everyday are doing a quite good job, but not good enough to fully hide the bangs underneath his eyes. This kind of magic only stage makeup can provide.  

Now, Jungkook looks painfully ordinary. He isn't Jeon Jungkook of BTS, he doesn't want to be during nights like this one. That's why he fishes out of the drawer his black mask and puts it in the pockets of his denim jacket. There is probably too cold outside to go out dressed like that, but Jungkook doesn't falter.

He doesn't falter opening the door to his room and stepping into the dark hallway of the dorm. He doesn't falter putting on his shoes as silently as he can. He doesn't falter reaching for the knob to the main door and twisting it. Even if he has promised he won't do that again, that the last time when he came home at ungodly hour, smelling of sleazy bars and cheap alcohol, with faint reminiscences of the touches of nameless lovers on his skin, was truly last.  

Even if the pang of guilt is still there, at the back of his head, when he exhales the air of the night, it fades away.

If someone ever asked Jeon Jungkook to describe freedom, he would say it smells like Bongcheon Underground Station.  

He’s never been there before or at least he doesn’t remember doing it. The sign indicates it’s the line number two, a green one to be more exact. He doesn’t know in which part of the city he is, maybe half an hour away from the luxurious housing estate he lives in with the rest of the boys, maybe further. At some point during the train ride he's lost the track of time.  

It’s probably irresponsible, careless, unwise and stupid to be a widely-known figure using public transportation in the middle of the night completely alone, but this run-down underground station in Jungkook's head is his own manifesto of mock freedom, consequences to be damned.

Jungkook knows he's risking a lot right now. The sick thirl is already there, boiling the blood in his veins. This is all he has; the mirage of liberty, his own revolt against the unfairness of the world. His testament of lost youth.

Before someone will see him standing on the platform and staring ahead of himself with blank eyes like a mad man, he decides to walk out of the station.  

A young couple around his age passes him on the stairs and he can’t help but spare a glance in their direction. They aren’t aware of his presence, holding onto each other and giggling drunkily. Something squeezes in Jungkook’s chest at the sight. It’s not any kind of jealousy, no. He’s grown up from being a rebel teenager. He’s grown up from the dreams of college parties, going on dates with pretty girls and having late-night snacks with his friends after gaming sessions.

Now Jungkook is just angry. Someone may say he doesn’t have the right to, he has everything an ordinary twenty-two year-old can desire. Yet, Jungkook is the one calling the world unfair while being on top of it.

There is a poster with his face hanging just above the entrance to the station. He stops in his tracks, scoffing cynically. Poster-Jungkook, spot-on idol from the biggest boyband in the country smiles at him, showing a row of blindingly white teeth. He has a face cream in his right hand, the softness of his photoshopped face and boyish glint in the eyes trick thousands of people into buying whatever he recommends.

What would Poster-Jungkook say seeing him now, Jungkook wonders. Barefaced, with mask covering half of his features, ruffled hair that he should have hidden underneath a cap. Poster-Jungkook probably wouldn’t like to make friends with someone like him. Poster-Jungkook is here to sing his heart out, to entertain fans and make his parents proud. Poster-Jungkook has never been at Bongcheon Underground Station.  

With one last glance, Jungkook exits the station, stepping into the streets of Seoul.

The clock on his lockscreen reads 1am, Saturday, March 21th. He reaches to his face, pulling the mask down a little to inhale the chilly air. The smell of nearby Chinese restaurant reminds him it’s definitely a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach but he shrugs off this thought, walking ahead of himself, with no plan in mind.

It’s not everyday he uses underground to travel around the city like most citizens do. Ironically, this mundane thing is a luxury he normally can’t afford. But nighttime has it’s own rules.

Using his car isn’t a debatable option when he knows he's going to distract himself with numerous sips of alcohol later. He cannot use taxi as well. Not when he hates having small talks with middle-aged men while being half-wasted, half-asleep on the backseat, head buzzing, world spinning. In worst case scenarios, the said taxi driver might be a dad of one of his fans.  

(Yes, it happened before. It caused a lot for Jungkook's intoxicated brain to make up some silly story and convince the poor man he was coming home from his friend's birthday party, not running away from his one night stand's place.)

Asking one of their personal drivers to lift him up somewhere won’t do any good too because one: it definitely isn’t an emergency situation, although Jungkook would most likely argue it kind of is and two: going out in the night is too risky and most importantly, strictly forbidden for him since the last time Jimin found him unconscious on their doormat.  

He wants to laugh at himself, remembering the very first time he tried to sneak out of the dorm without permission.

He was merely eighteen back then and his friend from Busan came to Seoul to celebrate his acceptance into the university. Of course, teenage Jungkook had asked for approval like the well-raised young man he was. That’s impossible, Jungkook, was the answer and I really hadn’t seen that friend for a long time, please, wasn’t enough to change minds and melt hearts. And that was when eighteen-year-old Jungkook decided it was the final straw. He had enough of watching snapshots from his friends, living their teen years to the fullest. He wanted to live too.

He had planned everything in details. Namjoon and Yoongi were at the studio, Hoseok was visiting his family in Gwangju, Seokjin went to sleep early, Jimin and Taehyung were playing video games in their room. All occurrences seemed to be on his side. Until they weren’t.

He announced to everyone he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself inside his room. He waited for the right moment, then opened the door and peeked his head out. It was dead quiet, beside muffled bursts of laughter coming from the other end of the hallway where Taehyung and Jimin were still playing. Holding his breath, Jungkook tiptoed to the entrance.

It felt so electrifying back then, when he took the handle into his hand and pushed, doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. When he found himself taking the cab to his hyung’s place, fingers drumming the unknown rhythm of excitement on his jean-clad thighs.  

It doesn’t feel like that anymore. There’s a rush of adrenaline but not the good kind. What was once a silly rebellion of a boy with romantic soul, is now nothing but a routine.

That night didn’t turn out as he wished. It ended with him getting wasted to the point he had to call Seokjin to pick him up. He still remembers the furious scolding the older one gave him. He remembers how he promised it was a one-time thing, how he regretted his childish actions and irresponsibility.

But it happened again and again. And it got only worse over the years.  

Jungkook keeps marching ahead of himself, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood. It's a more industrial part of the city; it doesn’t look like leafy, peaceful area he lives in. He can only imagine how the flats inside those buildings look like - cramped, cluttered. Maybe they look just like their old dorm when he was merely sixteen, with head full of dreams, sleeping every night on a bunk bed underneath Taehyung.

Upon seeing a fluorescent, red neon sign, he stops in his tracks. The club looks nice from the outside and even though it stopped being an indicator for Jungkook some time ago, he decides to step inside with the same goal in mind as usual: get drunk and then leave.

Loud, thumping music fills his ears as soon as he enters the building. He passes the mass of nameless silhouettes, heading straight to the bar and slumping down on one of the stools.  

“What can I get you?”  

Jungkook looks up, meeting the eyes of friendly-looking bartender who seems not to recognize him or just doesn’t give a fuck. Both options are more than anticipated when you’re a well-know celebrity who decided to get drunk on a Friday night.

“Doesn’t matter. Just give me something strong.”  

Bartender nods in understanding and Jungkook sees him reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring the substance into a glass already filled with ice cubs.  

I don’t even like whiskey, Jungkook realizes. But at the same time he knows he hasn’t come here to sample. He’s here to let loose, to taste the bittersweet freedom this umber alcohol provides and represents. Each sip burns his throat stronger, yet it’s always welcomed.

After the third glass, his head starts buzzing. The world spins a little when he closes his eyes; everything becomes a blurr of colors, shapes and sounds. It’s should be a sign to slow down but Jungkook automatically raises his hand to bartender, ordering another glass.  

He hasn’t even registered he’s not alone by the bar anymore.  

She’s pretty. Maybe not exactly his type, whether he has one or not, but he can’t help but spare a glance anyway. Even in his drunken state he notices she’s a foreigner; blonde locks are cascading down her back and shoulders, milky skin glowing in the fluorescent lights. He doesn’t see her face clearly yet, but he observes in the corner of his eye as she bites her plump, cherry-coloured lips, while staring down at her empty glass.  

Then, his eyes wander lower, to the smooth column of her throat, her provident collarbones and rich  décolltage. Her black dress doesn’t do quite good job covering her cleavage and Jungkook has to swallow at the sight.  

He’s fucked, buzzed and that irritating, tiny voice at the back of his head is telling him to get his shit together but every rational thought is wiped off his mind when the girl whirls around and faces him fully now. She smiles at him, or his blurry eyes are deceiving him already. Nevertheless, he smiles back at her dumbly, doing his best to maintain the enigmatic façade.

“Hi.” he says.

It’s not the first time he’s hitting on a foreign woman. It’s very much asshole of him, but he thinks it’s easier to get laid that way. In most cases he’s not the one to start a conversation, yet this time, here he is.  

“Hi, stranger.” she answers and licks her lips languidly. The raw eroticism dripping from it makes Jungkook shift on his seat. If she wants to play this game, he’s ready to make another move.  

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. It’s so goddamn blunt and brusque, but always works. Something about his flat English and the way he subtly smirks saying it makes women intrigued.  

She contemplates for a moment, batting her eyelashes at him until she eventually agrees. “Yes, sure.”  

He waves at the bartender, slurring his words a little. He hears the girl giggle and somehow, his next words leave his lips without a second thought.

“You like Korea?”  

She’s very talkative when she’s drinking, Jungkook notices. The question seemed to elicit something in her and she started babbling, spitting her words so fast he couldn’t catch up even if he wasn’t drunk (and knew English better). All this time he smiles at her, nodding his head and occasionally muttering “yeah” and “oh” whenever he feels like it’s the right moment.  

At some point his eyes wander to the other part of the club, where the sign shows the way to the bathroom. The girl takes a sip of her drink, showing a row of her perfectly white teeth when she catches him staring at her. And at this moment, Jungkook decides is time to interfere.

He leans closer to her, his hand ever so slightly brushing the place where the material of her dress meets her thigh. She bites her lip, waiting for his another move. Jungkook is now mere inches from her face, lust swimming in his orbs when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”  

She says something to him but he doesn’t register it. His hand is now fully placed on her thigh and when he opens his mouth to ask if she would like to dance with him, he feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on his shoulders, pulling him away from her.  

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing with my girlfriend?” He hears a male voice saying behind him in English.  

Jungkook blinks, trying to comprehend what have just happened. His head spins from the sudden motion and he feels like throwing up any second. He lifts his head, meeting the terrified expression of the girl he talked to just seconds ago.  

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you.”  

Someone pushes him forcefully again and that’s when he turns around with reluctance, standing face to face with very much pissed off white guy. He’s taller than him and the deep furrow of his brows tells Jungkook he’s in for a trouble.  

“James, it’s okay. We were just talking.”  

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”  

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

Jungkook feels like his soul has left his body and now he’s staring at the whole scene from the side. The muffled voices reach his ears but he cannot fathom anything. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes.  

Another shove at his shoulder coerces him to regain his senses a little.  

“I’m not letting that fucker go that easily until he apologies. Hey, shithead!”  

Jungkook feels hands grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. And then, when he thinks this is it – Jeon Jungkook of BTS is going to get hammered in some sleazy club by a foreigner because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, because he’s useless peace of shit instead of the It Boy of his country, everything stops.

He knows this voice. Maybe his drunken brain is deceiving him, maybe he’s hallucinating or dreaming because he’s already lying bruised on the floor and unconscious. But he hears you and feels you, touching his arm and saying, “It’s alright, sir, he’s here with me. He doesn’t feel well. I apologize for his behavior.”  

Your grip is stronger than he remembers to be. It hurts like you’re mad at him. But is it really you, dragging him across the room, away from those people through the crowd of sweaty bodies? He squints his eyes, focusing them on your silhouette, but what he sees is merely a blurry sideprofile of a young woman.

“I can’t believe the first thing I do after not seeing you for three years straight is saving your ass.”  

There’s a wave of fresh air hitting his face. He inhales it greedily, hands extending to stabilize himself until he feels the rough texture underneath fingertips. He leans his head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, until something nudges him on the side.  

“Do you feel better now?”  

To be completely frank, Jungkook is scared to open his eyes. His sanity is slowly coming back to him and he hears you now loud and clearly. Maybe he’s really dreaming but if that’s true, why does he feel like he has a full control on his next move?  

It’s really you. Three years older than he last saw you, arms crossed over your chest and evident frown on your face. He doesn’t know why but he wants to smooth the crease between your brows. It doesn’t suit you. Your hair is shorter, your features sharper and more mature.  

You’re definitely not dream-__. His dream-___ would have scratches on her knees and some fantasy book in her hands. She sometimes visits him at dead hours of the night, asking why he hasn’t answered her calls and messages. Sometimes she stares at him from the photograph he carries in his wallet because he cannot bring himself to get rid of it.

He probably should hug you, run into your arms and thank for saving his reputation. He should hug you because it’s been three goddamn years and you were his best friend once. One of the most important people in his life, his partner in crime (and professional math tutor in primary school). God, you were his first, silly crush when you were merely ten, hair braided and pimples on your cheeks. His shoulder to lean on when he needed to cry. The girl who played football with him because there was no boys in your neighborhood with whom he could do it.

Instead, he asks, “Did you cut your hair?”

The first thing you do is raise your eyebrows, as if you’re genuinely confused he’s able to form full, coherent sentences. Next, you scoff. “Seriously? We meet for the first time in three years in a club where I work because I need to save your ass since you’re completely pissed and tried hooking up with taken woman, and that’s the only thing you have to say?”  

He doesn’t like how you sound already. Your tone matches your expression, stern and slightly irritated. But at the same time, he’s not surprised you’re acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” he hesitates. He’s just what? Pathetic? Stupid? Reckless? Or maybe–

“Crazy?”  

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s a good word.”

You take a step closer, standing right in front of him. “So are you going to tell me what are you doing in this part of the city, getting drunk while being a freaking idol?”  

“Isn’t it what all celebrities do?” he asks sardonically.

You roll your eyes at that, and he takes a moment to look at you more carefully now. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold and he notices a smudge of mascara underneath your left eye. And there’s another thing he remembers about you; the weird habit of staring at him intensely whenever he wasn’t aware because you were terrible at keeping eye contact.  

But it seems like a lot of has changed in that department and now you’re meeting his eyes without a hint of shyness.  

“Yeah, maybe they do. But not when they have a reputation to take care of.” you counter.  

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes for a second. It’s still hard for him to produce logical thoughts but he knows he’s slowly sobering, the chilly air clearing his mind. You hug your coat tighter against your body and he wonders for a moment if it’s really that cold outside and he just doesn’t feel it because of the alcohol swimming in his veins.  

He’s not capable of having this kind of conversation with you under those circumstances. While you’re outside of some niche club in a part of the city he doesn’t know, reunited after three years of silence.  

You have that look on your face, the one you used to wear every time he got on your nerves and he was in for good scolding. His head pounds too much to bare with it now.  

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

He fishes a pack, placing one between his lips. He feels your eyes on him the entire time and after taking the first drag, he offers you to light up one as well.

“I quit.” you say curtly.  

“Okay.” The smoke swirls around his features and you take a step back, cringing. You never really could stand the smell.

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”  

He snickers, shaking his head. It’s funny, how you’re asking him this now, when you were the one he used to smoke occasionally with at the docks every time he visisted Busan. Eighteen, listening to Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay on his old iPhone and watching the sky burning when sun was hiding behind the horizon.

Jungkook smirks. “Out of sight, out of mind.”  

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t smoke often. It’s more like a sporadic trespass when he’s out for the night than a regular craving. Leaving aside his favor for cigarettes, he shouldn’t let himself become addicted, not when it might easily influence his lungs capacity. And Jeon Jungkook's velvet voice can’t have a hoarseness to it.

“So, you work here?” he opts to ask you, avoiding the set of questions probably already itching to leave your mouth all at once.

“I do. I actually ended my shift few minutes ago. I had some work to do at the storage room and when I walked out, I saw that guy ready to beat the shit out of you,” you say, grimacing. “To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked… different.”  

“I guess that’s what they call the magic of stage make-up.” he jokes but his comment doesn’t make you laugh. If anything, you look even more puzzled.  

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls it out just to be met with tens of notifications, mainly texts and unanswered calls from Jimin. He must have found out somehow he’s been gone.

“Fuck.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, locking his phone.  

“Something’s wrong?” You always could read him like an open book. He wasn’t very talkative kid back then and you, somehow, found a way to communicate with him on non-verbal level.  

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, smiling lopsidededly. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not.” you promise. There’s sincerity in your voice but he knows better. You’re definitely going to.  

“I’m scared to come home.” Jungkook says, entirely serious. His doe eyes widen for emphasis and you’re sure he’s shitting you yet you decide to play along.  

“And why is that?”  

He leans closer, smelling of cigarettes and his musky cologne and you almost wince. “Because I’m gonna have my ass whipped.”  

He waits a moment, and then breaks into a grin. It’s his drunkiness still speaking through him and maybe a tiny bit of curiosity how you were going to react.

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”  

“You smiled. I saw the cornes of your mouth moving.”  

“You’re wasted, Jungkook. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own feet right now,” He pouts and you sigh, shaking your head. “So are you going to tell me what is it really about?” you ask.

He shrugs, blowing out the fume from his cigarette. “I just don’t wanna go home drunk. It will be worse than coming back in the morning, believe me. I’ve been there before.”  

Something flashes across your face hearing his last sentence but it quickly disappears, replaced by your usual, unreadable expression. You seem to think about what he has said, until you exhale loudly, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”  

Jungkook knows he might have misheard you. But you’re still staring at him as if you’re waiting for him to respond. He feels dumbfounded.

“What?”  

“I saved your ass today once, I can do it again. That’s what friends are for, right?”  

He hates how bitter it sounds coming from you. He knows it’s very much what he deserves. You don’t own him anything after all he’s done to you yet here you are. Offering him help even though you don’t have to do anything.

You’ve always been too good for him.

You cock your head at him, a small smile dancing on your features he wishes was genuine. Maybe you still have a sentiment for him, after all. “You coming?” It’s what you ask, and he tosses the half-burnt cigarette, following you without a word.

And that’s how your story starts again, with reckless decision, cigarettes and underground stations.

Ironically, Jungkook ends up at the Bongcheon Underground Station for the second time that night.  

You led him wordlessly out of the building, taking a turn into direction he was familiar with. On the whole ride back to your home, you were silent. You didn’t utter a sentence to him, even when you reached your stop, you just stood up from the seat and he followed you like a lost puppy.  

Walking from the station to your flat, Jungkook decided he’s had enough of this awkward silence, breaking it first.

“So, how have you been?”  

It’s such a stupid question to ask someone you haven’t talked to for such a long period of time. Of course you can’t catch up all that have happened in last three years during ten minutes-long walk. Jungkook bites his lip, peeking at your side profile.

“It’s actually funny you’re asking this now. I’ve been good, and you? Or actually… wait! You don’t have to answer that because I know you’ve been good too, thanks to your mum who is updating mine about everything what’s going on in your life,” you say sarkily. “Oh, not to mention I also have Internet and it’s really hard to avoid news about nation’s favourite boy group, right?”  

Your harsh words make him grimace. He knows he fucked up royally and your bitter attitude towards him is the effect of his wrong doings. Yet, he can’t help but feel a little bit irritated.

“You know I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.  

“Oh, are you? Was it really that hard to call an old friend once in a month?”  

Jungkook looks up at the sky, as if he was wishing it could give him strenght and fill his mouth with words that will make your stony façade break just a little. “I was busy,” he answers, regretting it as soon as it slipped of his tongue.  

He hears you scowl. “Busy? Doing what? Drinking and hooking up with women?”  

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Are you really patronizing me right now? We just came across each other and I’m trying to be civil here. We’re not thirteen anymore, loose up.”  

You stop in your tracks abruptly. “I see. You don’t need my help anymore and you’re okay with sleeping under the bridge, fine.” you spit and turn your back on him, quickening your pace.

“What? Wait!” Jungkook calls after you because one: you might be not joking and two: he’s too startled to react in time and now he has to jog up to you. “You aren’t serious, right?” he asks after catching up with your hurried movements.  

You sigh, taking another turn. “God, I can’t believe you’re still that childish.”  

Jungkook frowns. “What does that suppose to mean?”  

“You know damn right what I mean.”  

You’re now walking through a typical, industrial looking neighborhood. He used to live with other boys in an area like this, back when their name meant nothing to the world and industry, when you used to talk practically every single day on the phone.  

Suddenly, you stop in front of one of the buildings, digging in your purse and pulling out the keys.  

Jungkook silently follows your figure when you enter the tenement house you’re living in. He squints his eyes, trying to remember the street name and building number. For some reason he feels like this information might be useful for him sometime in the future.

You quickly climb up the stairs until you reach the forth floor, Jungkook running out of breath with mouth hang open, and that’s when you turn around to face him.  

You don’t say anything to him. You just stare, expression stern yet unreadable at the same time. Your gaze is challenging but eventually you give up, sighing and opening the door to your flat, letting him in.  

The first thing he notices is that your flat is tiny.  

There’s barely enough space for one person in the hallway when you hang up your coat without a word, bumping into his unmoving figure when you’re trying to walk into what is probably the smallest kitchen he has ever seen.  

You pour yourself a glass of water, chugging it greedily while he still stands dumbly three meters away from you, fully dressed, unsure of what to do.

He jumps, hearing you put the glass on the counter loudly. “So, welcome in my humble abode, I guess,” you say. “Are you going to stand there the whole night?” You cock your head into his direction and Jungkook shakes his head, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.  

“I know it’s small but the rent is cheap,” you add, referencing to the size of your apartment. You don’t need to explain, he wants to tell you but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander to the other part of the flat where your bedroom is, as he assumes.

“Ah, yes, that’s my bedroom. And living room, and bureau,” you confirm, voice laced with apparent sarcasm. “Make yourself comfortable.”  

Jungkook hesitantly enters the room. There’s nothing much there beside your bed, wardrobe and a small desk with your laptop and other belongings on. One thing he realises is that you keep everything clean and tidy, despite the limited space you have here.  

“But the view is nice, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, startling him a little. Jungkook, encouraged by you, glances out of the window and he has to admit that yes, indeed, the view is beautiful. You can see the city quite clearly from the forth floor. “I’m still surprised when I look out of the window and see rooftops instead of brick walls. I guess I’m kind of lucky.” you chuckle.  

That’s when he realises just how much more you deserve than you have. It hits him how privileged he is now, living in a luxurious area for rich snobs and celebrities who look out of their windows and see green hills. And one more time, his anger for the unfairness of this world only boils stronger in his veins.

“I gotta go the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”  

You leave him alone again, and now he has an opportunity to look at the corkboard you have above your desk. There is plenty of photos and polaroids pinned to it and he finds himself examining them without a second thought.

It seems like you have them organized chronologically. They start with you as a little kid standing in front of your house in Busan, front teeth missing and clutching your favourite doll. Next, you’re in school and surprisingly, he finds himself present on most of these photos along with you. Playing football at the backyard, eating ice cream at your favourite parlor (he has smudges of chocolate on his chin but he smiles to the camera like it means nothing). He recognizes a photo he took of you when you where in middle school, dressed as Anne Boleyn for some history project he doesn’t remember what was exactly about.

As years pass on your polaroid timeline, his face is slowly disappearing from your captured memories. He smiles when he sees his favourite photo of you, the one he also carries snuggled deeply in his wallet. It was taken by your mum on your seventeenth birthday. You went on a picnic by the sea and Jungkook surprised you with an unexpected visit, coming home back from Seoul. He gifted you a bracelet bought with the first money he had earned in his life.  

He wonders now if you still have that bracelet somewhere, hidden among many other things reminding you of your past together, just like the creased photo in his wallet he still hasn’t thrown away.  

Then, Jungkook eyes land on the most recent picture. You’re grinning to the camera while being hugged from the back by a man he doesn’t know. He presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting kiss. An affectionate one.  

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”  

Jungkook jolts a little hearing your voice. You come up to him and he notices you have changed your clothes for something looking much more comfier. “Remember this one?” you ask, pointing at the photo of you sitting on a beach next to the sand castle you built.  

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”  

“Ten seconds after taking this photo, you decided to ruin my sand castle and made my cry.”

He can’t help but share your grin when your eyes lock. There’s the same sympathy in them he’s grown to known. It feels familiar, almost domestic. He likes it.  

“So,” He nudges your side, pointing with his chin at the corkboard, “care to tell me who is this guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes in response at his antics.

“That’s my boyfriend Minho.” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels uneasy now. He’s mad at himself he’s been really missing out what’s going on in your life. He shakes off these thoughts quickly though, mastering an amusing attitude.

“That was a very poor introduction, ma’am. Come on, you can do better than this. Tell me more about him.” he teases, making you sigh loudly.

“Minho is five years older than me. He’s working as a police officer. We’ve been together for almost a year. Are you happy now?” you grumble.

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”  

“He doesn’t sleep over here so I don’t have any of his clothes you can change into,” you add awkwardly.  

He furrows his eyebrows. What are you talking about now?  

You shift on your feet, turning to face him properly and now he realises why did you say it. The clothes you have on are actually your pyjamas. Right, it’s almost two. You’re probably sleepy after your night shift and he’s keeping you up. And you’re kindly reminding him it’s time for him to rest as well.

“It’s okay, I can sleep naked.” Jungkook says. Your eyes widen almost comically at that. “Relax, love. I’ll stay with my boxers on. Unless you want to see my without them.” He raises a single brow in question.

You grimace. “Jesus, Jungkook, you’re still drunk. Go take a shower. You can use the blue toothbrush and white towel.” You slump down on your bed  and he leaves the room without another word.

Jungkook has been in many bathrooms in his life but yours can only be describe as microscopic.

He feels almost claustrophobic when he’s standing underneath your shower. The water is splashing on everything and he panicks for a moment if you will be angry at him for the mess but then he realises it’s practically impossible to keep everything around dry when he’s showering without any curtain or glass door around him.

He uses your shampoo and body wash, cleaning himself as fast as possible. They smell nice, flowery and exotic and somehow like you. Quick shower definitely has drained him from most alcohol he has in his system. He can now think through the situation he’s in with clear mind.  

After drying himself up and putting on his boxers, he stands in front your sink. He wipes off the moist on the small mirror, just to be met with his blank, tired eyes staring back at him. He really should use some good sleep. He uses the blue toothbrush just like you told him to and in the middle of the second round of brushing, he chuckles to himself at the surrealism of this whole situation.

He’s met you for the first time in three years after not speaking to you at all. You don’t own him anything and here he is, already having enormous, unpayable debt because you saved his life from the embarrassment and possible scandal.  

You were always like this, ready to put on your superhero cape and save him. Just like years ago when you stood up from your seat in math class and told the teacher you didn’t feel well right before she was about to check his homework, or rather the lack of it which was going to result in another low grade on his account. You, scaring off his fifth grade bullies. You, paring up with him for every school project and doing most of the work selflessly and without a word of complaint because you’ve always liked working alone.  

Jungkook spits the rest of the toothpaste and water mixed together to the sink and splashes his face. He really doesn’t know why he deserves you.  

The question is simple. He doesn’t. Not after being a total prick to you. But in some strange way, you took him back again, like nothing ever happened.  

When he exits the bathroom, he sees you kneeling on the floor and putting a bunch of pillows on the carpet that lies next to your bed.  

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”  

You look up at him. Your eyes widen visibly when they land on his exposed chest but you quickly compose yourself. “What does it look like? I’m setting up a bed for you.” you reply, patting the pillows, still refusing to meet his stare.

“Am I not going to sleep with you on the bed? We slept together before and it wasn’t a problem then,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Are you kidding? My bed is for one person only! And you’re… you’re–“  

“I’m what?”  

“You’re big! Bigger than you used to be.” you breathe out, standing up from your kneeling position and sitting on the bed instead. There’s a tingle of barely noticeable rednees on the apples of your cheeks and he fights an urge to tickle your sides just to see you trying not to break into laughter so he could get away with your stubbornness.

“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” he grumbles, kneeling on his make-shift bed. Upon hearing that, you freeze on your spot and then he realises what he has just done.  

He called you the old nickname he’s made for you. He hasn’t done that in years.

You bite your lip, acting as if it hasn’t affected you even the slightest. Clearing your throat, you reach for the lamp on your bedside table and switch it off.  

Twenty minutes after that, Jungkook finds himself lying on his back in complete silence and staring at the ceiling. You have a few fluorescent stars attached to it, the ones that shine when it’s dark. You had probably ten dozens of them in your old room in Busan, too. A whole constellation.

Jungkook won’t lie, it is a little uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. He tells himself he’s fine with that, though. It’s what he deserves for being an absolute asshole to you. The sleep will come eventually.  

Another minutes pass and he’s still very much awake. Then, Jungkook thinks ‘fuck it’ and decides to shoot his shot.  

“___?”

You hum sleepily in response after a short while. “Yeah?”  

“I cannot sleep.”  

“Not my fault.”  

He bites his lip. “Can I sleep with you?”  

“Jungkook…”  

“Pretty please?”  

There’s a long pause before you say, “Fine.”  

He hears you shifting on the mattress, making a room for him. The bed creaks under his weight when he places himself right next you, back to your back. He wonders if he isn’t squishing you to the wall right now.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Your comforter ruffles when you try to move but there’s no use for it, not when he’s practically pressed flush to you. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re just really hot.”

“Thanks, love. No need to flutter me like that.” Jungkook murmurs, a hint of smug smile on his lips you cannot see.

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t mean it.”  

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”  

There’s mute between you for a while. Nothing but deep exhales and inhales and occasional sounds of cars or wind coming from outside of your window.  

It’s been really a long time since he’s slept in the same bed with other person. He's not the type to stay over after casual fuck, he’s never done that. But when he lies next to you, he can’t help but longe for someone to just hold him; nothing more, nothing less. He wonders what would you do if he turned around and snuggled into your backside. Would you yell at him? Kick him out?  

But you used to be so close together once. He won’t find out unless he tries.

Carefully, with limited space, he changes his position, mattress protesting under his weight but he rolls to his other side anyway, until he’s facing your back. He feels your body tensing a little when his breath fans over your neck but you don’t say anything, letting him cuddle up to you.  

It feels intimate this way, perhaps even too intimate for both yours and his liking but Jungkook can’t help but relish in your close proximity. When he senses you’ve relaxed a little, he shuts his eyes tightly.  

“___?” he murmurs. It's barely a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

“Mhm?”  

“I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like that.”  

You’re silent for a moment and he thinks you might have fallen asleep but then, you let out a long sigh that sounds awfully audible in the small space of your bedroom. “You still have time to fix this, Jungkookie.”  

You haven’t called him that in three years. It’s good to hear that again.

He smiles to himself, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You don’t protest. If anything, he feels you breathe out with relief.  

Next morning you wake up feeling like the temperature in your room has risen to fifty degrees. You’re still wrapped tightly in your comforter and facing the wall, which means you haven’t moved even an inch in your sleep. The cause of it being a very much large, male body practically crushing you with its weight.  

You let out a shaky exhale. Jungkook’s front is not only pressed flush to your back but somehow, his muscular leg is thrown over yours, successfully trapping you in.

You wiggle, trying to free yourself from his hold but when you hear his quiet groan, you abruptly stop your movements. And then, you feel it. An apparent hardness poking your backside.  

You can’t help but blush, reminding yourself not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is. It happens sometimes, you tell yourself, it’s completely normal for men to pop a boner when they’re in such close, intimate position with another warm body.

But when you feel Jungkook unconsciously seeking friction and pressing himself even firmer against your bottom, you can’t help but yelp in response, throwing off the material covering your body and elbowing Jungkook's unsuspecting face in process.

“Fuck! What time is it?” he mumbles groggily, narrowing his eyes when they’re met for the first time with the sunlight gradually slipping through your unveiled curtains.  

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”  

Jungkook furrows his brows but when his eyes land on his crotch, he smiles sheepishly at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just been a really long time since I slept next to someone like that.” His cheeks are flushed in pink and he rubs the back of his head in a bashful manner.

“What about your one night stands then?” you can’t help but ask.

He shrugs in response. “I never stay over.”  

“Oh.” You don’t even know why you’re strangely surprised. Maybe it comes from the fact that you’ve always pegged Jungkook to be the rather romantic type. People change, they say. Or sometimes your assumptions about someone you thought you know like the back of your hand happen to be wrong.  

You clear your throat. “Anyway, get up. It’s time for breakfast.” you say and disappear from his sight but he still hears you fumbling in the kitchen, popping the kettle on.  

He raises from the bed with reluctance, bending to lift the puddle of his clothes he left on the floor last night.  

“Hey, what do you want to–“ you begin but your voice involuntarily trails off, seeing him in rather exposed state now in broad daylight. “–to drink?” you finish almost breathlessly.

You’ve been aware Jungkook's good looking. He’s started attending gym long before you stopped keeping in touch with each other. You just didn’t know he is that ripped. It’s not a surprise that his fans go nuts every time they see even a small glimpse of his muscles.  

You really shouldn’t be staring but it’s too late when you see a sly smirk on his face. “Like what you see, buttercup?” he asks like the cocky bastard you didn’t know he’s capable of being. “I would like a black coffee, please.” he adds.

There’s a roll of your eyes in response to his teasing tone. “Oh, stop with these nicknames.”  

Jungkook grins. “Why? Hyung used to call you that and you blushed every time.”  

“Because I had the biggest crush on your brother when I was eleven, dumbass.” you scoff, shaking your head. You leave him, heading back to the kitchen to finish preparing food.

“I know you had a crush on him,” Jungkook shouts after you, putting on his pants and t-shirt. “I’m just curious why him, not me.”  

“Seriously? You had emo fringe and pimples back then!”  

He laughs, making his way to the kitchen where you’re standing by the counter and mixing something on the frying pan.  

“Hope you don’t mind eating scrambled eggs,” you say, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s probably the only edible thing in my fridge right now beside instant ramen.”  

Jungkook settles himself on the stool by the small, wooden table situated right by the window. This time, the view is a greish wall of another building. He takes the coffe cup from you and adds a generous spoon of sugar. “I don’t mind. It smells really nice.” he answers, calming your concerns. “So, am I not crushable in your eyes?” He takes a sip of his drink, peeking at you curiously.  

You take out the plates from the cabinet and start putting the food you’ve prepared on them. “What kind of word ‘crushable’ even is? Beside, you have millions of fans gushing over you, I’m unnecessary in this equation.” you say, placing the plate in front of him.

“But you aren’t saying no,” he counters.  

“Jungkook.”  

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing you.”  

You look at him then, observing thoroughly for the first time since you saw him last night. He’s indeed handsome, there’s not a hint of doubt about that. His features are more mature, the baby fat on his cheeks gone and replaced with chiseled jawline. But if there’s one thing which stays the same, it’s his eyes. Still gleaming with misheviousness when he laughs and holding starry skies in them when he’s astounded by something.  

“Didn’t know you were such a great cook, ___,” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the reality. He sends you thumbs up with his mouth full and you can’t help but crack a smile at his goofiness. Old habits die hard, they say. “Aren’t you eating?” he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You glance at your untouched eggs and opt for taking a sip of coffee instead. “I’m not that hungry.” you respond. He shrugs his shoulders at that, taking a bite of the toast.  

You nip the inside of your cheek, hesitating, before asking him a question that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue since last night. “What are you going to tell the rest of the guys when you come home?”  

Jungkook's expression immadietly shifts after registering your question. “The truth.” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.  

You don’t even try to hide your puzzlement, repeting after him, “The truth?” in bewildered tone.

“They aren’t going to buy that anyway. But believe me, it’s better if I came back in the middle of the night completely wasted.”  

Something’s telling you not to dread that conversation longer so you don’t press him about it any further, instead focusing on changing a topic. “Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?”  

He nods, swallowing. “We have a dance practice later.”  

You raise your eyebrows. “New comeback?” you smile teasingly and he sends you a wink.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”  

“Oh, come on. You know I can keep my mouth shut,” you pout.  

He rolls his eyes at first but then a small smile appears on his lips. “I know you can. You’ve been covering for me in school all the time.” he murmurs. At that, something warm spreads in your chest. “Come on, buttercup, I’m not spilling anything until you start eating.” he warns, pointing at your untouched food.

When you grin at him and he reciprocates the gesture, it feels like you’ve turned back the time.

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”  

Jungkook doesn’t know how many times he has repeated the same sequence of movements but he feels like passing out anytime soon. He asked Hoseok to help him practice but it looks like his older friend is in rather bad mood today and he seems to lose patience even quicker.  

“...and spin–no! Jungkook, you’re not supposed to do it like that.” Hoseok sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Jungkook grimaces, collapsing on the floor. “Give me a few moments, hyung. I’ll do better, I promise.” he mutters.  

Hoseok crunches down next to him for a moment, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You did good, Kook-ah. We can call it quits for today.” he says.  

Jungkook doesn’t even have strength to answer him verbally. Instead, he shuts his eyes tightly and nods. He hears Hoseok walking away and talking in the distance with Namjoon about something.  

“Are you okay?”  

Jungkook cracks an eye open. It’s Jimin this time. He kneels on the floor, observing him with worried look on his face.

“Yeah. Just need a minute to catch a breath.” Jungkook responds.

Jimin nods but Jungkook knows him well enough to sense that there’s another question at the tip of his friend's tongue. And he’s not wrong.

“Jungkook, you know you should stop doing that.”  

Jungkook sits up, turning his head in Jimin's direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, hyung?” he asks, not hiding is irritation. He’s heard it too many times not to feel it already blubbering inside his chest.  

“You know exactly what I mean. Partying, getting drunk, sleeping around like a–“ Jimin stops himself in time, seeing Jungkook's expression.

“Like who?” Jungkook scowls. “Come on, hyung, end the sentence.”  

Jimin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder and squeezes.  

“No need to. Besides, you’re the last one to lecture me about smart life choices.” Jungkook spats harshly and gets up, leaving Jimin staring at his disappearing figure with defeated expression.

Back in the confines of his room, Jungkook finds himself lying on his bed again. At some point, his thoughts wander back to you. He had to leave your flat quicker than he wanted because of the scheduled practice (and the hint of guilt he felt for his hyungs).  

He wonders if you can still be friends together, just like the old times. He needs it. Needs you by his side. He didn’t even know he’s been craving it unconsciously. But then he realises he didn’t even ask for your phone number. Maybe you still have the same one?  

He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, searching through his contacts. He has you saved under ‘Miss Grumpy'. It makes him smile involuntarily. His thumbs hover over the screen before he starts typing.

[21:08pm] me:  

hi, it’s me Jungkook. I don’t know if that’s still your number but I decided to give it a try. I wanted to say thank you once again for yesterday. and today’s breakfast. 

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:  

you’re welcome, buttercup  

Seven days later, Jungkook is at Bongcheon Underground Station again. This time, it’s not his recklessness and cynicism that led him here. He climbs up the stairs and walk into the half-asleep streets with purpose in his mind.  

He remembers exactly the path to the club you’re working in. Now he can only hope you have a shift tonight as well. 

You haven’t talked a whole week. He felt too insecure and scared to call or text you. What if you don’t want him to keep in touch? What if your last meeting and sleepover at your flat was just a favor for old times’ sake?  

That’s why he needs to see you in person. He thought about visiting you in your flat but his intoxicated brain betrayed him and he couldn’t recall your address even if he tried and he did, sitting in front of his laptop and wandering through the streets on Google maps.  

When he enters the club he’s met with the familiar buzz of electronic music and the smell of sweat mixed with nicotine. It looks like it’s his lucky day though, because here you are, talking with a client behind the bar.  

Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself. He observes you for a while from afar, watching you listening to someone’s tipsy rambling with a polite, yet forced sympathy. He decides to save you from the uncomfortable situation, marching to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.  

He sighs to himself, remembering the pieces and bits from his memory of the last time he was there, making a total fool of himself. If it wasn’t for you, his foot would never step here ever again.

You excuse yourself and leave the drunk man, just to be met with Jungkook's smiling eyes. Somehow, his brain short circuits and he sends you a wink.

You roll your eyes, approaching him. “What can I get you?” you ask. “Although after last time I suggest a glass of water.”  

He chuckles, pulling his face mask down. “When do you finish?”  

Sparing a glance at the watch you have on your wrist, you answer, “In forty minutes.”  

“A beer it is, then.”  

You hesitate, reaching for the glass. “And you’re just going to sit here the whole time, waiting for me?” you ponder with a surprised expression, just like you’d never thought he could do something like that.  

Jungkook only grins in response.  

For the next half an hour he watches you work; serving drinks to clients, polishing glasses, occasionally giving a love advices to some teary-eyed girls in a short, black dresses. Just when he’s chugging the last sip of his beer, you come up to him.  

“I’m done for tonight. You can wait for me outside.” you say.

When his in front of the bar, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights up one to pass the time. He wouldn’t call himself addicted. He smokes rather sporadically, mostly when he’s out getting wasted or when he’s stressed about something. Or just like now, when circumstances are conducive.  

Few minutes later you appear by his side. He takes one last drag and whirls to face you. “So you really quit, huh?” he asks, making you nod curtly. “And you don’t smoke even when you’re on a party?” He's almost astonished.  

“Nope, even then.” you confirm, hearing him mutter a ‘Wow’ under his breath. “Well? What now?” You cross yours arms over chest, eyebrows lifted in question.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and tramples it with his foot. “I thought we could go to your flat, eat late night ramen and just talk.”  

“So we're hanging out now?” There’s a slight sarcastic lilt to your voice and he worries for a moment you are going to tell him to fuck off but then, your features soften. “It sounds nice but I know a spot not far away from here when we can sit and talk. If that’s okay with you.” you say.

“Lead the way, then.”

You didn’t lie when you said the place you were taking him wasn’t far away. What you didn’t tell him though, was that getting there meant climbing up the fire escape all the way to the rooftop of a run-down tenement house.  

“Care to explain me how do you know about this place?” Jungkook asks once he’s seated comfortably on an old, emerald sofa next to you. It’s a mystery to him how this peace of furniture was brought here but nevertheless, it was someone's good idea.

You were right. It is nice here. You have a full view to the city from up there and he’s sure it would be easy to see the green hills in daylight or watch how the sky burns during sunsets.

“Minho took me there first,” you explain, answering his question. “His police department is few blocks from here. One day they got a call from some angry, old lady, saying that someone was playing music very loudly nearby. When they arrived, they found out a group of teenagers had organized a party on top of the rooftop.”

Jungkook hums. “He’s quite romantic,” Upon seeing your clueless expression he adds, ‘’Your boyfriend, I mean.”  

“Ah, yeah,” You crack a smile, although he thinks it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He is. Sometimes.”  

He decides not to press you about it any further.  

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the chilly, pre-spring air. Then, he feels you nudging his side. “So, what do you want to talk about?” you ask, staring at him in anticipation. Jungkook lets out a groan in response and runs his hand down his face. You chuckle, “Hey, we didn’t come here to sit in silence. Entertain me a little, would you.”  

He sighs your name. You aren’t prone to giving up easily, he knows it. You’re probably the most stubborn person he’s had a chance to encounter and that is also one of the main reasons he came up with the ‘Miss Grumpy’ nickname when you were in fifth grade.

“I’m pretty sure the golden maknae of BTS has more interesting life than me,” you snicker and he knows it was meant to sound playful coming from you, but he feels something heavy in his chest hearing your remark.  

He musters up a small smile. “You would actually be surprised if I told you that my life isn’t as exciting as it may look.”  

It hasn’t missed your eye how tired Jungkook seems. No matter how much he tries, he can’t possibly hide fully the bangs underneath his eyes or the greish complexion of his skin. It’s weird seeing him in person like this; without stage make-up and plastered smile reserved for the fans. Seeing him so humane.

For the last three years, you only watched him on your phone's screen. But it wasn’t really him. Your Jungkook is sitting right next to you and silently observing the city during the night. Your Jungkook smoked cigarettes with you by the beach in Busan and got you an autograph from one of your favourite artists he had met personally at the backstage after some award ceremony.

Your Jungkook would never got himself drunk to the point of unconsciousness, risking his reputation. But again, you might only think you know him.

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Jungkook says suddenly, pulling you out from your thoughts. “What do you do beside working in that club?”  

You sigh. “You know I don’t like talking about myself either,”  

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other for so long. I need to catch up with you.” 

You fight an urge to scoff, “And whose fault is that?” but you’re not in the mood to argue. Nor is Jungkook, as you suppose. “I’m studying journalism. Bartending is my part-time job. I had to start working because I couldn’t afford to pay for rent just from my poor scholarship. Prices have increased so if I wanted to stay in Seoul, I needed to work, whether I wanted or not.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no words that could somehow lessen your struggles. It’s been a long time since he worried about money. Now, he can have everything he’s ever wanted yet something’s always missing. And he still hasn’t discovered how to fill that void.  

“You’re still writing?” he asks instead, referring to your hobby you’ve picked up when you were kids.  

“Yes, I am. That’s actually what most journalists do, Jungkook. We write.”  

He laughs boyishly, high-pitched and you recall that pleasant sound from the back of your memory. He used to be embarrassed of it when he was younger and often hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle it. You’re glad he doesn’t do that anymore.  

“What’s so funny in that?” You sound slightly irritated, although you’re trying hard to stop yourself from smiling too. It just comes naturally when you’re around him.

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Nothing. I’m just thinking,”  

You raise your eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”  

“Remember how you’ve always dreamt about becoming a writer when we were teenagers?”  

You nod. That’s still very much your goal. Albeit you’re aware it might as well not come true, sadly. “I do. And what about it?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he places his arms behind his head and leans back on the couch with a coy smile. “Maybe you will write my biography one day.” he says after a moment.  

“Only if you pay me shit tons of money for that.”

“Agreed.”  

You find yourself coping his position and slumping on the couch as well. His eyes are closed, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. Despite the dim lighting, he seems glowing in the darkness like a single, silver spot on the noir sky.

“I think I know how would it be called.” you say suddenly.

“Hmm?”  

“Your biography. I came up with the title.” you clarify.

“What is it then?” Jungkook hums with his eyes still closed.

You take a moment to answer, looking up at the blackboard night sky above you. Smiling to yourself, you reply. “I would call it ‘Lost star’.”  

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”  

“That’s my secret for now.”  

“I don’t know. I think this song needs something more.”  

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”  

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”  

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”  

“Jeon Jungkook!”  

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”  

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”  

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”  

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.  

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.  

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”  

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”  

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.  

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.  

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

yeah I do  

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:  

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.  

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:  

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself  

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life  

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook  

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:  

can you please stop  

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t  

how was it?  

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.  

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”  

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.  

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”  

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.  

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”  

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.  

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”  

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”  

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”  

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.  

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”  

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”  

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”  

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”  

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”  

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.  

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.  

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.  

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.  

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”  

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”  

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.  

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat.  “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”  

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”  

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.  

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”  

“Why?”  

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.  

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.  

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.  

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.  

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.  

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.  

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”  

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.  

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.  

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.  

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.  

[3:45am] me:  

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight  

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.  

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:  

I know you were  

Did you at least thank her?  

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:  

don’t worry. she had a good time  

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:  

goodnight, jungkook  

[3:49am] me:  

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”  

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”  

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.  

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”  

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.  

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?  

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.  

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”  

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”  

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.  

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”  

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?” 

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.  

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.  

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.  

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.  

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”  

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.  

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up.  And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?  

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.  

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”  

“They look sad.”  

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.  

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.  

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”  

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”  

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.  

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.  

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.  

“Are you happy?”  

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.  

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.  

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.  

“Me too.”  

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.  

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.  

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.  

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.  

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.  

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.  

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”  

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”  

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”  

“Yes, please.”  

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.  

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.  

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.  

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.  

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.  

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.  

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.  

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”  

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”  

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”  

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.  

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.  

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”  

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”  

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.  

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.  

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.  

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.  

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”  

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.  

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.  

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.  

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.  

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”  

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”  

You and him both know it wasn’t just  alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”  

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.  

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

[kazenoshun]

The 8 O’Clock Song: A Coco fanfic

Summary: Coco AU -  It's been 10 years since Imelda Rivera was abandoned by her no-good husband and she banished music from her life. She's content to keep away from music for the rest of her life, but a chance encounter during a trip to Mexico City may turn that resolution on its head.

A/N:  I have made an attempt to include some Spanish (mostly names) in this fic to mimic the style of the film, but I make no claim to being fluent in the language, so if you spot any problems, please let me know and I'll do my best to fix them.

Also,  I'd like to thank @faceheightknifefight​ and another friend (who does not have a Tumblr account) for their help in editing this fic. They're awesome!

FF.net, AO3, DA

The streets of Mexico City were full of noise, smoke, and far too many people, and Imelda Rivera could hardly wait to get home to her family in small, quiet Santa Cecilia. She’d never been fond of the big city. If she’d had her way, she would already be on the train back home, arriving in time to wish her daughter, Coco, goodnight before bed, and no doubt scold her twin brothers, Oscar and Felipe for some mishap or other. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten her way all day.

She’d gotten up before dawn to catch a train to the city, in order to view a new shipment of leather, place her order, and discuss the possibility of buying a new machine for the shop. She was against the idea herself, but her brothers were convinced it would improve the quality, and quantity, of Rivera shoes so she’d agreed to at least gather some information. The salesman she’d met had yammered on long enough to make Imelda seriously consider not purchasing the new machine out of sheer spite. His poorly disguised distaste for women in the shoemaking profession had merely been the final nail in the coffin. Having thoroughly wasted her morning and the better part of her afternoon, she finally arrived at the tanner’s only to learn that the shipment of leather had been delayed and wouldn’t be available until the following morning. Had such a day occurred when Imelda was just beginning her career in shoemaking, she might have broken down crying. Which wasn’t to say that she didn’t want to cry now, but she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of weeping over her problems since she started, and she wasn’t about to begin now.

If she could survive Coco’s childhood as a single parent, she could survive one day of setbacks.

Still, she did allow herself a small huff and a frown as she entered La Caléndula, the sleepy little restaurant the innkeeper had recommended for dinner. Not terribly charming of her, she knew, but she didn’t particularly care to be charming right now - especially knowing many men tended to view charm as an invitation. All she wanted was to order her dinner, eat, and return to the inn to close out her terrible day.

The man behind the bar was an older gentleman with more gray than black in his hair, in the few places it still grew, and a moustache that seemed to cover the entire lower half of his face. He took her order with quiet efficiency, and, after hearing he’d been recommended by the innkeeper, directed her to a small table in the corner where she would be able to eat in peace.

Imelda let out a sigh as she sank into her chair and off her feet. Between the salesman who couldn’t be bothered to offer a chair during his presentation, and walking what seemed to be half-way across the city to the tanner, her feet ached. She wore good shoes, of course. She’d made them herself. But even the best shoes couldn’t alway prevent the sort of ache that accompanied a day on one’s feet. As the ache in her feet faded, she found herself thinking of home and family. They would be sitting down to dinner themselves by now, possibly cooked by one of the twins, but more likely by Coco. The girl would be 14 soon, only a year away from her quinceañera, and was growing more self-sufficient by the day.

Needing something to take her mind off her long day, Imelda turned her thoughts to potential birthday gifts for Coco, a far more palatable idea than lost orders or snobby salesmen. A new pair of shoes was a given, of course, but perhaps it was time Coco had a new dress as well. She’d nearly outgrown her last Sunday dress. Should the new dress be pink, though? Or perhaps blue? Imelda could turn the unintended stay in the city into a chance to look for fabric and findings. Yes, that would be most productive, and save her a second trip. She would start looking in the morning.

Her concentration was broken by the sound of someone tuning a guitar.

Imelda’s eyes snapped open, though she wasn’t sure when she’d closed them, and she glared at the table with enough ferocity she almost felt it should crack under the pressure. Of course someone would be playing music here. It was a perfectly terrible ending to her perfectly terrible day. She ground her teeth and clenched her hands into fists to override the childish urge to stick her fingers in her ears. She had some dignity, after all.

It had been nearly 10 years. Nearly 10 years she’d gone since banning music from her life. 10 years of being laughed at, of enduring the mariachi following her around the market betting on who would get her to break, of scolding Coco again and again each time she caught her daughter singing or dancing. 10 long years of hating him, her no-good bum of a husband who’d left her alone with a child to raise and never come back. He’d chosen music over them, over her, so she would let him have it all.

Her eyes sought out the source of the sound unbidden, whether from morbid curiosity or to know who to avoid when she left, she wasn’t sure. When the server arrived with her food, she would pay and leave. She hated wasting money, but she couldn’t stand to listen to the guitar even one minute longer than she had to. There was a small stage along the wall opposite the bar, but it was empty. The night’s performer must have been preparing off-stage. The other restaurant patrons were unfazed by the guitar as they enjoyed their food and drinks, several of them conversing quietly together. All of them ignorant of the burning fury inside Imelda. The guitar tuning morphed into a proper song, a very familiar song, but the stage remained empty.

Imelda nearly sprang from her seat and marched out the door; good manners and fact she hadn’t paid yet aside, she didn’t want to stay and hear the song butchered like it always was. Like the mariachi back home always did, even though they knew the way it was supposed to be played, the way it had been played before he allowed it to be butchered after walking out of their lives. She redoubled her efforts to spot the musician, determined to stay as far away as possible when she left, only to freeze when she finally spotted him.

Him, her no-good husband, Héctor, sitting on a stool in the corner across hers holding a banged-up guitar in his arms, playing Poco Loco with a blank look on his face.

The plate of food being set down in front of her startled her badly enough that she jumped.

“Perdón, señora,” the server -not the bartender, but maybe his son? She didn’t have the focus to puzzle it out- said. He followed where she had been staring and grinned. “I see you’ve spotted José.”

“José?” She could only parrot the name, too shocked to turn and look again. Perhaps she’d been mistaken and the man only looked similar to Héctor from a distance. It had been a very long time since she last saw him, after all.

The server nodded. “That’s what we all call him around here, since no one knows his proper name, not even him.”

Imelda couldn’t even parrot this time as she relented and looked again. It was definitely Héctor over there, although she couldn’t recall ever seeing his face so empty. He wasn’t even smiling.

“He comes in here and plays from time to time,” the server continued, oblivious. “Doesn’t bother anyone, and the music’s good, so Tío lets him do it and even pays him a little if sales are up.”

Imelda finally found her voice. “How… Why doesn’t he know his own name?” The Héctor she’d known, or at least thought she’d known, had a ridiculously good memory and was always using it to his advantage.

The server sighed and leaned against the empty chair on the other side of the table. “I couldn’t tell you exactly what caused it, but José doesn’t remember anything from his past, or where he’s from. Whatever happened couldn’t have been pretty, though. A couple of drunks found him, back before I started working for Tío, somewhere around 10 years ago. Someone had tried to bury him in a shallow grave just outside of town. The drunks took him to the hospital, but I guess it took a while before he woke up. And when he did, he couldn’t remember a thing. Not his name, not his age, not even where he grew up.”

Imelda opened her mouth and closed it again. None of what the server was saying made sense.

“Tío says he thinks there must’ve been a fight. He says one of the doctors at the hospital thinks José was poisoned. And José didn’t have any travel papers or identification on him when the drunks found him, but he still had money in his pocket. I heard the police found a suitcase dumped in a ditch, but all the stuff inside was trashed and there was no name on the case.” The server sighed and shook his head. “I just want to know who would get into a fight with José. The man’s harmless.” He sniggered. “Well, unless you mention the song.”

Imelda turned back to the server and made a face. “The song?” This really was all too much to take in at once, and she was almost convinced she’d fallen asleep into a dream except for her aching feet still anchoring her firmly to reality.

The server nodded. “Sí. You know that fellow, Ernesto de la Cruz, who’s been making waves in music?”

Far better than I want to, Imelda thought. It had been Ernesto who had set out on the stupid tour with Héctor, and then returned nearly a year later to tell her she’d been abandoned. She tried to recall when Ernesto said they’d split, and found she couldn’t help but wonder if Ernesto had told her the complete truth. He’d been against her marriage to Héctor from the beginning, after all.

“Well,” the server continued, once again oblivious to Imelda’s inner turmoil. “If you so much as mention de la Cruz’s biggest hit--” he dropped his voice to a whisper “--Remember Me, in José’s hearing, he goes absolutely mad. Old señor Víctor had to hold him back from mauling a musician who dared suggest playing it. Didn’t play it, mind you, just suggested playing, and José went nuts. Señor Víctor’s practically a bear, and he was struggling to hold onto José that night. But, if you don’t mention the song, José’s the gentlest soul you’ll ever meet.”

That, at least, was more in line with the Héctor Imelda remembered.

The sound of Poco Loco continued to drift about the restaurant, and Imelda couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream or cry. “Nearly 10 years and he hasn’t been able to remember anything?” she finally asked. She did her best to keep her voice even.

The server shrugged, looking at her uneasily. “Nothing specific,” he said carefully. “Occasionally he’ll say or do something to make you think he almost had a memory, but then it’ll be gone before he can latch onto it. There’s definitely something there, but it’s almost like-- like he’d stuck on the other side of the door. A few vague ideas get through, his issue with the song, for one. He’ll drink anything you put in front of him, unless it’s tequíla. Put tequíla in front of him and he starts getting all antsy and saying he needs to go home. I asked where home was once, thought he might’ve remembered something. I swear he looked like he was about to cry, then he just kept saying he didn’t know, over and over, until he left for the night.”

Imelda felt some small part of her heart that she’d been ignoring for years clench in her chest. “That sounds terrible,” she managed. She tried to imagine what it would be like, if she somehow forgot home, forgot Coco, except for the faintest ideas. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

The server nodded. “Tio and I didn’t see him again for three days. He came back covered in dirt. Apparently, he went out to the place the drunks found him and partially buried himself to try and bring back memories. It didn’t work. Tio let him clean up in the guest room upstairs, and made him stay here a few days to recover. I got yelled at for getting him into that state to begin with.”

“Ay! Diego! Stop pestering the lady,” the bartender, who’d come out from behind the bar, called.

Diego grinned and stood up straight, nodding to Imelda. “Perdón again, señora, for chatting your ear off. It’s been a while since we’ve had a new-comer so sympathetic to José’s plight.” He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her.

Imelda looked at him, confused.

“You’re weeping, señora,” Diego told her gently. He placed the kerchief on the table and walked away.

Imelda sat, unmoving, for a long minute, until the last notes of Poco Loco faded away and a new song started. Slowly, she raised a hand to her face and wiped half-heartedly at the tears that were indeed flowing down her cheeks. It’s shock, she thought, feeling oddly detached from her body. Shock was the only explanation she could think of for why she was still in her seat and not half-way back to the inn. Shock, and the fact she hadn’t paid yet. She’d been too distracted to pay before Diego walked away. Shaking herself, she grabbed her glass of water and took a gulp, trying to shift her brain back into motion but only succeeding in sending herself into a coughing fit when the last of it went down wrong. She fished her own kerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to her mouth to muffle the coughs and try to curb the tears now streaming down her face as she fought to breathe.

When she could breathe again, and had wiped her face clean, she stared down at her plate. She felt… empty. She’d always assumed her rage would be explosive if she ever saw Héctor again. And she’d certainly been furious when she first spotted him, ready to march out of the restaurant without even acknowledging his presence. But now…

It was as though listening to Diego’s tale had drained the rage right out of her. She couldn’t say she was happy, per se, or even sad. More than anything, she was confused. And hungry, her growling stomach reminded her. The food she’d ordered smelled delicious, and she wasn’t in the habit of letting good food go to waste. Besides, leaving without eating would gain her exactly the attention she would rather avoid. With that thought in mind, Imelda made herself begin to eat.

The food was undoubtedly good, but she barely tasted it. It felt like such a strange thing, that she’d banned music for so long and yet it quickly faded to the back of her awareness. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was at a bar back home a decade prior, waiting for Héctor to finish for the evening so they could return to their little house together.

Perhaps it was because, for the first time in a very long time, the songs were being played as she’d known them - no gaudy embellishments or implied wink and nudge from the musician. Just a simple, sincere guitar. Although Héctor wasn’t singing along, which was a bit odd, but she could only puzzle out one thing at a time.

Héctor’s letters had stopped five months or so after he left. At first she’d thought he’d absentmindedly forgotten to send the next letter, which happened on occasion. Then she’d guessed it had been lost in the mail, it wouldn’t have been the first time. But when one, and then two months passed with no word, she started to worry that something had happened. If she’d been on her own, she would have gone searching for him. But Coco had been not-quite four, and needed food and a roof over her head, so Imelda had stayed put and started to learn how to make shoes.

It had been another five months before she ran into Ernesto in the plaza and demanded to know where her husband was.

Ernesto had handed her a letter and Héctor’s wedding ring, said they’d been left behind when he and Héctor split several months prior, and left her standing there gaping in the middle of the plaza. All he’d told her about Héctor’s whereabouts was that he’d headed north to try and make a name for himself. He’d vanished into the crowd before she could ask anything else and hadn’t reappeared in Santa Cecilia since.

In the present, Imelda allowed herself another glance in Héctor’s direction.

His hair was even more unkempt than usual, and peppered with gray. Prematurely, she mused, as he was a year younger than her and only 31. He looked darker than she remembered, as though he’d somehow managed to find a way to stay out under the sun even more than he had in their youth. A multitude of lines and creases stretched across his face, and his eyes… Imelda had to close her own eyes and look away.

His eyes were the same warm brown they’d always been, but they seemed unnaturally empty of life. As though Héctor were no more than an oversized puppet.

His clothes -from what she had seen, she couldn’t look at those eyes again just yet- were starting to fray. He wasn’t wearing the suit she’d made him. Rather, a plain shirt and trousers that were too short for him, with a jacket that was starting to come apart at the shoulders. And he’d worn a hole through the side of his left shoe. He certainly didn’t look like a man who’d set out to find his fortune.

She couldn’t help but wonder at the timeline she was presented with. Between what Ernesto had told her years ago, and Diego’s account just now, it couldn’t have been more than a couple months from Héctor and Ernesto splitting to Héctor being found in a grave. But why he’d been back in the city so soon, when Ernesto had been so insistent that he’d traveled north, was something she couldn’t puzzle out.

And then there was Diego’s account of Héctor’s reaction to Remember Me. Ironically, perhaps, it was the only song of his she hadn’t heard before he left. She’d only ever caught snatches of the song from Coco’s room after her daughter was in bed. Ernesto had claimed that Héctor sold him his guitar and songs before heading north. If Coco knew Remember Me, then it was undoubtedly written by Héctor, not Ernesto, but why would that matter if the song had been sold?

On the other side of the restaurant, Héctor hit a sour note, and stopped in the middle of his song to glare at the offending string.

Imelda snorted as she watched. The guitar she’d given him was rarely out of tune. He likely wouldn’t have any issues now if he hadn’t sold it.

She froze with her fork half-way to her mouth, suddenly wishing she could slap herself for not thinking of that sooner.

If Héctor had gone north to seek fame, why had he sold Ernesto the guitar and all of his songs? Surely he would have needed songs to play, and something to play them on? Even if he decided the memories associated with the guitar were too much, he would have to be a fool to sell it without getting a replacement, doubly so to sell all his songs when he was just starting out. She could understand, on a practical level, selling the songs connected to her, to Coco, if he truly wanted to leave them behind. But that still left at least half his repertoire, full of songs she knew would have easily caught on with the right crowd- had caught on with Ernesto playing them.

The dinner she’d just eaten settled like a stone in her gut. Héctor’s letters had grown shorter the longer he was on the road, true, but the cutoff had been abrupt. There’d been mentions of fights with Ernesto, though he never went into detail. The early letters were often accompanied by songs and poems, but the last several had lacked those. Imelda swallowed uncomfortably and glanced at Héctor yet again- now back to playing, having fixed the issue with his strings. Something didn’t add up right, but the only one present who could tell her more didn’t remember enough to explain.

“Oh dear.” Diego was back, gesturing nervously at her plate. “Is something wrong with your dinner, señora?”

Imelda forced a smile on her face. “No. I’m afraid I just recalled something I really would rather have not remembered. The food was delicious.” Even so, she couldn’t make herself eat another bite.

Diego grinned, apparently reassured. “I see. I shall hope that you forget again very soon.” he glanced toward Héctor and his grin grew. “You’re in for a treat, señora. He hasn’t wandered off yet, and it’s nearly eight o’clock.”

Imelda felt as though she’d somehow missed part of the conversation. Then again, that seemed to be happening a lot this evening. “What happens at eight?”

Diego winked at her. “You’ll have to wait and see.” he wandered off again.

Imelda slumped in her seat, leaning her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. She really didn’t need more puzzles right now. The restaurant, she noticed, was growing quieter. The clink of dishes and bottles fading as other patrons turned toward Héctor’s corner. In the distance, she heard a bell begin to toll the hour.

Héctor stopped in the middle of his song, his eyes somehow more lively and more distant than before.

Imelda found herself leaning forward as the audience seemed to hold their collective breath.

Héctor closed his eyes and began to play. The opening notes were soft and gentle, not unlike the beginning of the song he’d written to propose to Imelda, although not that exact song either. Then he began to sing. “Remember me, though I have to say goodbye. Remember me, don’t let it make you cry…”

It was the same song Diego had said drove Héctor to fury, but not played the way Ernesto played it. The simple notes and gentle words reminded Imelda more of- of Coco, and the song she still sang to herself each night before bed.

“My song!” Coco had cried as a little girl, when Imelda tried to make her stop singing each night. “Papá said it’s my song!”

Hearing music, any music, tore at Imelda’s heart by then, but the anger and fear on her daughter’s face when told she had to stop was even worse. Imelda hadn’t slept that night, merely cried in her room until dawn and cursed Héctor for leaving. She hadn’t told Coco to stop again. Instead, she’d pretended not to hear the little voice each night. Coco, for her part, had confined her singing to that one song, sung quietly, alone in her room from then on. She almost always sang it at the same time.

Across the room, Héctor had opened his eyes to stare at a spot on the floor that looked no different from the rest. Except that, if Imelda thought back, it was roughly the same place Coco’s bed would have been were he back home singing her to sleep. She surely would have sung alone.

“...Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be.” Héctor’s voice caught on the words. “Until you’re in my arms again, remember me.” His eyes closed once more as the final notes faded into a silence that hung in the air. A moment later, he blinked, shook himself, and returned to his earlier playing. The restaurant patrons similarly returned to their conversations.

Imelda sat at her table, feeling a bit underwhelmed by the lack of response for Héctor’s performance. It felt like such a momentous thing -that he would sing a duet with his daughter, despite the distance between them and the fact that he supposedly had no memory of her- that surely deserved a round of applause at the very least. And yet, looking around the restaurant, it was as if the performance had never happened at all. Feeling more than a little light-headed, Imelda gathered up her glass and mostly cleaned plate, and made her way to the bar to pay.

“Was everything to your satisfaction?” the bartender asked.

Imelda nodded. “It was very good, thank you.” She handed over a fistfull of bills and coins, and waited for him to count out her change. While she waited, she glanced at Héctor. He still hadn’t noticed her. “Does he play here often?” she asked, nodding in Héctor’s direction.

The bartender sighed. “Often enough.” He handed over her change. “I used to figure he’d disappear one day. Thought it would mean he finally remembered where his home was, or someone came and found him. But after this many years, I’m not sure anymore that’ll happen. He’s a nice fellow, mild-mannered and all. Brings in extra business when he’s here.”

“Does-” Imelda paused, not quite certain she should ask “-does he play that song most nights?”

The bartender fixed her with a hard look. “Sí, he does. Try not to get any ideas, though.”

Imelda blinked at him, confused. Between him and Diego, confusing her was turning into a family trait.

He must have realized she didn’t know what he was talking about, because he continued. “We’ve had mariachi come through before who took his playing as an invitation to join in. Or they question him about it after the fact. He always ends up angry or confused. I know Diego thinks it’s sweet that he sings the same song every night, I can barely stand to hear it myself.” He sighed again, fixing his gaze on Héctor. “That man’s trapped in his own mind, and nothing any of us have done has helped. That song, that’s the closest he gets to breaking out. Hearing it each night is like hearing a cry for help you can’t answer.” Another patron at the bar waved for his attention. “Perdón, señora. Enjoy your evening.” Then he was gone, leaving Imelda with her thoughts.

She looked at Héctor one last time, still playing his guitar, and left the restaurant. She needed time to think, to try and sort out the truth from the lies, and the fresh air would help clear her mind. Or so she hoped.

Héctor’s music followed her back to the inn, continuing uninvited in her head long after she was out of hearing range. She doubted she’d get much rest. But then, she hadn’t slept much after he disappeared, either. Perhaps it was fitting that she stay up half the night after seeing him again. She dressed for sleep, put out the light, and lay in the bed staring at the ceiling. And she thought, and thought, and thought some more.

And when the dawn finally broke, she realized she had neither slept, nor puzzled out the answers to her questions.

Her husband had left on his trip 10 years ago, writing almost daily. His letters had grown shorter and less energetic as time went by, before cutting off abruptly several months into the tour. Some months later, nearly a year after leaving, his friend and partner, Ernesto, had returned to tell her she’d been abandoned. And somewhere in there, a group of drunks had found Héctor buried in a shallow grave on the brink of death.

Try as she might, Imelda couldn’t make all the pieces line up and fit together properly, there were simply too many gaps.

Ernesto might be able to fill in those gaps, were she to track him down and convince him to answer her questions. But that would take longer than she wanted, and she doubted he would answer her willingly, or truthfully. She’d known he was a liar when they were young, twisting or exaggerating tales so that they worked in his favor. Looking back, that was something she should have remembered that day in the plaza. And besides his lying nature, the gaps in the story were forming too easily into a theory she didn’t dare acknowledge just yet, but which she knew could take the man from hateful to dangerous.

No, Ernesto would not do for a source of answers, so she would have to look to Héctor. The bartender had said that attempts had been made to bring Héctor’s memories back, but nothing had worked. Then again, none of them had known Héctor before the memory loss; Imelda had grown up with him. She’d married him, lived with him, had a child with him. If she couldn’t spark his memories; well, that wasn’t worth dwelling on, she told herself as she dressed for the day. She would deal with that problem if it arose.

The city streets weren’t empty when she left her room in the inn, although they were far less crowded than they had been the day before.

Imelda kept her head high and her steps sure as she made her way back toward La Caléndula. The bartender would likely have questions for her before he would be willing to tell her where she might find Héctor. But she would swallow her pride and answer them truthfully, otherwise she didn’t know where she should even begin. When the bar came into view, however, she realized she wouldn’t need to ask.

Héctor sat on the step leading onto the porch of the restaurant, head tipped forward, and wearing a ratty straw hat that covered his face such that she couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep. His battered guitar was on the ground next to him, the neck tipped against his knees and held loosely in one hand. He looked like he had been sitting there all night. The restaurant door opened, and Imelda found herself ducking into a deep doorway. She wasn’t sure she wanted a witness to her potential failure.

Diego stepped out onto the porch, covering a yawn and holding a bucket and rag with one hand. He gently nudged Héctor, then walked to the windows and began wiping them down.

Imelda watched as Héctor stirred, reaching his arms above his head and stretching in a way she knew made his spine pop. He’d startled her doing that the first morning after their wedding, but it had become endearingly familiar over time. She waited a few more minutes, watching Diego try to strike up a conversation and Héctor murmuring half-replies while she debated whether or not to come back later. She could always stop in at the tanner’s first, to see if that shipment of leather had arrived yet, and come back once Diego was gone and Héctor was alone once more. Except she couldn’t be sure Héctor wouldn’t leave before she returned.

Taking a deep breath, she paused -to see that her braids were still properly in place and not because she was scared- and stepped from the doorway.

“Buenos días, señora,” Diego called when she drew near.

Imelda didn’t answer him, her eyes locked on Héctor. He looked up, and she felt her heart race in her chest. Her breath seemed caught in her throat, and her stomach was doing all sorts of interesting acrobatics. She felt, rather absurdly, like she had when she told him she was pregnant with Coco- as though her world had tipped on its axis and she hadn’t quite righted herself yet.

She hadn’t actually planned this far ahead. She’d been so preoccupied with looking for him that she hadn’t realized until now that she had no idea what to say. She swallowed, but her mouth remained dry.

Héctor hadn’t looked away.

Imelda took a breath. “Héctor-” her voice came out like a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Héctor-” that was better, and she had his attention now “-do you know who I am?”

His face remained blank, and for a long, terrifying moment, she was afraid it wouldn’t work, that his memories were too far gone to ever recall. Then, almost painfully slowly, his expression changed. He scrunched his brows together and pursed his mouth the same way he had so many times before when trying to pull a song into being. And his eyes never left her face.

Imelda stayed standing before him with her hands clasped at her waist, vaguely aware of Diego calling for his tío. Her palms were sweaty, and she was gripping her hands so tightly she knew without looking her knuckles had gone white. But she didn’t dare move, she almost didn’t dare blink.

Héctor shifted on the step, knocking his hat off when he tangled his fingers in his hair and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. The look on his face was quickly giving way from confusion to a combination of distress and pain; and Imelda was suddenly afraid she might have sent him into a state of panic if his memories failed to return.

“Hush,” she tried to comfort him, cautiously kneeling down and reaching to cover his hands with her own. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

The backs of his hands were dry against her sweaty palms, and quite warm. And his hair felt more brittle than she remembered.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and swayed back and forth, the world around them forgotten as his inner battle played across his face. Imelda rubbed gentle circles against his wrists, racking her brain for some way to calm him down. She’d grown quite skilled at handling crises in the past decade, raising her daughter as a single parent. But this wasn’t the sort of crisis she’d ever had to face before. Slowly, she became aware of Héctor humming to himself, a nervous, breathy sound that she soon recognized. The song he’d written to propose to her. It was quieter, more serious that Poco Loco, and undeniably hers. She didn’t recall him playing it the night before. Her voice was rusty as she joined him, humming instead of singing because the hurt she’d felt since he left was still there. She’d sworn off music when Ernesto told her she was abandoned, leaving it all for Héctor if he loved it so much more than her. But if it was the way to bring him back, then she could make an exception.

They reached the end of the song and started over from the beginning, Héctor’s voice growing stronger, and Imelda more sure of the notes. She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes, focusing only on the sound of their voices blending together, sometimes the same, sometimes harmonizing.

“Imelda.”

His voice was so soft she almost didn’t realize he’d spoken. She drew back and opened her eyes.

Héctor was looking at her again with a fragile sort of hope in his eyes. “Imelda?” he said, his voice louder but shaking.

“Shh, I’m here,” she whispered, brushing away a tear that had begun to form in the corner of his eye. “I’m here.”

“Imelda,” he said again, this time sounding more sure of himself. He broke into a grin murmuring her name over and over. “Imelda, you’re Imelda. I remember. Imelda, I remember-” The words died in his throat, his happy grin sinking into a wide-eyed horror. “I forgot, Imelda,” he gasped. “I forgot you! How- I forgot Coco!” His voice broke on their daughter’s name. “No- How- I forgot!”

He’d begun to tremble, and all Imelda could think to do was pull him towards her. He came easily, practically collapsing into her arms as he continued to babble. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry! I promised to be home in six months and I forgot! I-I was planning to come home. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Imelda was caught in an awkward half-crouch while he clung to her, but she pushed the discomfort aside and brought one hand up to cradle his head, and gently ran the other up and down his spine. His face was buried against her shoulder, her dress growing wet with tears. He was still shaking, too, and he felt much too thin now that she was holding him. “Shh,” she murmured again, stroking his hair. “Shh. I’m here. It’s going to be alright.”

It was, perhaps, a foolish promise. There were still so many questions to be asked. Diego and the bartender were both standing a short distance away with matching expressions of concern, and she was sure they would want to know why it had taken so long for her to find Héctor, and why she hadn’t gone to him the night before. There would be letters to write to Coco and the twins. Letters saying who she had found, and explaining that she would be delayed coming home. She had no intention to leave Mexico City until she understood what had happened to Héctor to lock his memories away for so long.

But her most burning question had been answered. He’d wanted to come home. He’d planned to come home, and been prevented. Coco was right; he’d never abandoned them. It was enough, for now, to build on. She couldn’t say exactly what would happen in the long run. If they’d ever be able to return to even a semblance of what had been, or if their relationship would be forever broken. But they could worry about that later.

“I’m sorry,” Héctor whispered again. “I’m sorry for forgetting.”

Imelda hugged him tighter. “You’ve remembered now,” she countered.

“Sí,” Héctor agreed after a long silence. “I remember.”

[lost-in-the-80s]

It’s You pt. 1

Pairing: Duff McKagan x (fem) reader

Words: 2,002k.

Summary: You and Duff are best friends and you help him to impress a girl. You should be happy for him, but then why do you feel sad? You couldn’t like him, could you? (fluff + angst) 

A/N: 1- So, it got bigger than I expected, so I'll post the second part in the future.

         2- I didn't want to use a name for the girl, just in case it was someone's name, because it would be weird lol. Therefore, we are always calling her "She".

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car​ @ladieswttda​ add yourself to my tag list :)

Part 2

It was the year of 1983, Y/N was at The Rainbow with her friends, drinking and laughing about something, when he entered the place. He had blue hair and almost didn’t pass through the door due to his height. 

He looked so lost, checking booth after booth, trying to find something. He moved towards the bar, where he sat and asked for a beer. 

Y/N didn’t know why, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. So she decided to go and start a conversation. Draining the rest of her beer she stood up and moved towards the open seat beside him.

 “I’ve never seen you here.” He looked to the side and saw a tall girl with a kind smile on her face. “I’m Y/N, by the way!”. She extended her hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Duff.” He gave her a small smile and shook her hand, wishing he had put on a nicer jacket. “Funny name.” She said while asking for another beer. 

“So, where are you from?” She drank from the bottle and his eyes moved to her lips. He looked to her eyes and realized she was staring at him, waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat. “Seattle” 

“Cool, I’m from Sitka.” He looked at her as if he was trying to think where the hell that city was. “It’s in Alaska.” She stated and saw his eyes light up a little with realization.

“So… What brings a Seattle boy to California?” He looked into her eyes and said firmly “I’m going to be in a band!” From hearing that Y/N had no doubt, he would be. The way he said it as if it was the only thing he was sure in his life, made her even more curious about him.

“What about you? California doesn't seem like something Alaskan people are into.” She laughed slightly and he thought that was a heavenly sound. “I got tired of nothing happening in my life. Wanted some change. So one day I decided I would come here.” 

“What do you do here?” He asked after he drank from his beer. “I'm a photographer!” He raised his brows. “Maybe when you find a band I can take the pictures for you!” 

He smiled at her. She was the first person to be nice to him in that town. Ever since he arrived the only human contacts he had were with the grumpy lady from the hotel he was staying at, and a man who he bumped into, on his way to the bar. 

“When did you get here? You still look kinda lost.” Duff looked at her and asked for another beer before answering. “Yesterday. I’m staying in a hotel down the street until I find somewhere to stay.” 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stay there. A friend of mine stayed and got one of his bags stolen. Nobody really checks to see if the rooms are safe and shit.” 

This made Duff worried. He had all his guitars there. “Where do you think I could stay?” 

“There is a nice place near the beach, but it’s kind of expensive.” He frowned worriedly. 

“I haven’t got a job yet, can’t stay in somewhere that costs too much.” 

She finished her beer and thought for a while. “You know what? Fuck it. You can stay at my place for a while.”

“Re-really?” She got him surprised, that’s for sure. She nodded her head and giggled at his expression. “But you don’t even know me.” He said.

“Yeah, but I know how it is to be new in somewhere you don’t know anyone.” She paused for a while. “Plus, you’re a nice guy. I can see it in your eyes.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck yeah, Duff!” He laughed at her exasperation. 

She stood up and took a ten-dollar bill out of her jeans pocket putting it on the counter. “Come on, let’s take your stuff from that place before it’s too late.” 

-------

Now it was 1986. They became best friends after that night. Duff stayed at Y/N’s place for about two weeks until he found someone to share an apartment with. She helped him find a job and went with him on his first rehearsal with Road Crew.

She saw Road Crew slowly fade as Duff was invited to this new band Guns n Roses. She saw how in doubt he was about leaving a punk band to be in a rock one. She also saw how happy he was after his first gig with them and from that day on, she knew they would make it big.

She was always there, helping them with everything and being their number one fan. 

It was a strangely cold night in March, she was at the hell house with the boys, watching a horror movie and eating pizza. That’s when Duff entered the house. He slammed the front door shut and went straight to his room. Something had happened.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N followed him, closing his door behind her. He was walking from one wall to another while mumbling something. “What’s going on Duff?” 

He looked at her for a while before he started to speak. “She said I’m nobody!” Y/N frowned. “Said my band is nothing.” He was so exasperated. “Said that I can call her when we are famous” He ran his hands through his hair.

Y/N knew who he was talking about. She was a secretary Duff met a couple of weeks ago at The Rainbow. He was head over hills for her since day one. Always trying to impress her, but she always dismissed him.

“Fucking bitch.” Y/N said. “Fuck her, you deserve better than someone who cares for this crap.” 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t like it when Y/N talked like that about her. He knew she never really liked her, always saying that she wasn’t nice or that she didn’t like her personality, but still, he liked her.

It was true, Y/N didn’t like her at all. But it was because she was a bitch. Y/N didn’t like calling someone that, but it was true. Every time Duff was around, she would ask him if she was beautiful, touch his arm suggestively or call him “Duffy” and then, when he tried to start some sort of conversation, she would completely ignore him or answer in the rudest way. Y/N hated that because she knew how bad Duff got every time it happened.

“I’ll make it big Y/N! I’ll prove to her that I am somebody. And then we will finally be together!” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You never listen to me do you?” She said, exiting the bedroom and closing the door once again. 

Two weeks passed after that, and on March 26, Guns signed with Geffen Records. That was it. That contract said they were serious and said they were starting to make it big. 

She went out with the boys that night to celebrate, drinking until late. Around 3 am she helped Izzy and Axl drag the other three back to their house. She was so wasted that she ended up passing out on the couch. 

The next morning she woke up to someone talking excitedly. She looked to her side and saw Duff on the phone. “Probably telling his mom.” she thought to herself. Closing her eyes she decided to sleep a bit more. 

Before she could sleep again, she felt someone shaking her. “Y/N! Wake up!” It was Duff. 

“What?” She said. Her voice raspy due to her sleepiness. “I called Jane and…” Before he could finish she interjected. “Who the fuck is Jane?” 

“Her friend, the one with black hair.” Y/N thought for a while. “The nice one?”

“Yeah Y/N, the nice one. Continuing… I told her we got the label and said I wanted to make her a surprise, and Jane said they are going to the amusement park tomorrow, so I guess I’m going too.” He laughed a little. 

Y/N didn’t say anything, because she had nothing nice to say. She just wanted to roll her eyes and say that he was being stupid, but decided to remain silent. 

“Can you paint my hair today? I want to look nice.” He was smiling like a child. “Fine, but only if you let me sleep.” He nodded fastly and left the living room.

She didn’t know why, but she felt a tightness in her heart. She thought about Duff and her together and she started to feel a certain sadness fill her chest. She sighed and covered her head with a pillow, hoping that she could sleep soon, so she wouldn’t have to think about that anymore. 

The afternoon arrived and she was awakened by Slash, who slightly touched her shoulder, telling her they had made lunch. She got up stretching her body and moving towards the kitchen. 

After lunch, she went to the drug store with Duff. They bought all the necessary products to bleach his hair and she had to hear him talking about her the whole way. She wanted so bad to throw the plastic bag with the products on his head and tell him to shut up, but decided against it. 

Back at the house, duff grabbed a chair and sat in front of the bathroom mirror with a bag of Doritos in his lap, while Y/N worked on his hair. 

All Along The Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix started playing on the small radio they took along. Y/N lightened a cigarette taking a drag from it while dancing. She loved Hendrix. 

She moved with every guitar note she listened, and Duff could do nothing but to watch her from the mirror, almost as if she had hypnotized him. She was the coolest girl he knew, with so much attitude and sweetness at the same time, he didn’t even know why, but she fascinated him in every single way.

He laughed as she stopped moving and started to pretend she was playing guitar. She was horrible at playing, Slash, Izzy and even him had tried teaching her, but she always got frustrated after a few minutes and damned that to hell.  The music came to an end, and she started to focus on Duff’s hair again.

After a good 1 hour, Duff's hair was done. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror and high fived Y/N, thanking her. They exited the bathroom and went to the backyard, where the boys were. 

Duff grabbed a beer and sat beside Axl and Izzy on the bench while Y/N moved to the grass area and started playing with Izzy’s dog. 

“Feeling ready to impress her now?” Axl asked. “Fuck yeah!”

“I still think you’re making a mistake by going after her.” Axl said and Duff frowned. “If she didn’t want to be with you while you were growing, she doesn’t deserve to be with you now.” 

“Cut it, man, you don’t know her” He replied while drinking from his beer. “And do you?” It was Izzy. Duff rolled his eyes and watched Y/N. She giggled while playing with the dog’s ears. 

"You know… I always thought you and Y/N would end up together" Axl said.

"Why?"

"I don't know man, but there is a strong connection between the two of you." Hearing that Duff looked back to Y/N, he saw she was now fake fighting with Slash and a small smile appeared on his lips.

"Plus, friends don't look at each other like that!"

"What do you mean?" Duff frowned.

"Like, the way you look at each other, is as if you loved each other." 

"Just like you were looking at her now." Izzy added.

Duff didn't say anything, he drank from his beer and started to think. Could he love Y/N in a way that friends shouldn't love each other?

[irene-sadler]

severe thunderstorm warning

but wait theres more

a tropical storm is rollin through town so it is absolutely disgusting outside and (mostly unrelated) i was up until 2 am yesterday/this morning b.c i decided to watch the stupid seattle mariners steelheads go into extra innings yet again (tfw ur a fan of a west coast team and u live 4 timezones away so the 10th inning takes place at 1 in the morning) 

anyway during that time i wrote a lil follow up to the executioner so nobody will hate me until uh 

the actual follow up is written which at my usual pace will be in approximately october. 

yw enjoy todays double header of hot nonsense this one’s called 

Severe Thunderstorm Warning:

     A week had passed, and even if she’d maybe made up her mind, she still hadn’t actually talked to Reynard about it.

     In her defense, nonstop days in the saddle interrupted only by an all out battle with a Nilfgaardian relief force and a followup skirmish with their baggage train guards hadn’t left much time for side conversations.  By night, the army either marched or caught a few hours of sleep when it was too dark to keep moving. She could count the number of words she’d exchanged with Reynard about something unrelated to the wounded, the condition of the bridges they used and the towns they passed, or the unpleasant but not undrinkable casks of acidic wine they’d captured on two hands. Most of them were just greetings, offered in the morning with his usual overdeveloped sense of social protocol, at night with a hint of some underlying emotion to suggest he actually meant them. It almost made her nostalgic for the days when her total forces were, more or less, a ragged collection of highwaymen with slings, a half unit of Lyrian pikemen, and a stray dog.

    On the other hand, she wouldn’t exactly be able to rush to the Aedirnian’s rescue without the trailing, dusty, exhausted mass of soldiers that snaked along the road under the baking afternoon sun, from one end of the flat horizon to the other, and she didn’t have enough men, maybe, even then. A big enough opposing force with a little more rest, a few more horses, and a following wind might be able to take them out. A private conversation was a small price to pay for an army that could probably hold its own in the field, with even odds.

    “Storm’s coming,” Gascon announced, riding in from the head of the column with a scout and a thick cloud of dust trailing him. She snapped back to the present and looked skyward.  A hawk or vulture crossed far overhead, almost too small to see. There were a few, smallish, grayish clouds drifting gently across the endless blue, and, above those, the edge of a very high, white cloud cover that might set in overnight and block the moon. She hoped she was wrong; she couldn’t march in total darkness, and the loss of four or five hours of moonlight would set them back seven or eight hours of actual travel time.

    Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Reynard glanced upward and then shrugged at her when she looked back down.

    “Uh. Metaphorically?”

    “No,” Gascon said. “Literally. It’s crossin’ the plain fast, will be in sight pretty soon. Tipper, here, thinks it’ll be a bad one.”

    “Lot of lighting in them clouds,” the scout noted, squinting. “Looks just like th’ one from last week, if you ask me; don’t like t’ be out here in th’ open when it hits, but nowhere else t’ go -”

    “How much time do we have?” she asked, interrupting the man’s lecture, which seemed to be going nowhere fast. Gascon glanced behind himself, toward a vague, pale smudge on the northeastern horizon.

    “Thirty minutes?”

    “More like ten,” the scout said.

    “Better stop the column, then,” she said, resisting the urge to swear pointlessly and waste a few irreplaceable seconds. “Gascon - ride up to the front - have ‘em spread out, stay low to the ground. Reynard -”

    “The back,” he said, immediately, wheeling his horse around. “I’m on it.”

    The supply wagons wouldn’t be able to drop out of the wind and lightning in the open field, and would have to circle around and hope for the best, but she didn’t have to tell him that. He could do his job without her. She focused on the middle, diverting riders and scouts up and down the column with orders for every junior officer and NCO they came across. The result was that, as a black cloud blocked out the blue sky and the air abruptly shifted from dead still to a gusty breeze headed toward it, the army came to a grinding halt and spread out, laying out under canvas tarps and cloaks until the plain was dotted with clustered shelters. Loose horses drifted among them groups, ears tilted back.

    It would have to do, she thought, reviewing the sprawling, messy product of her efforts. If the storm was as bad as it looked like it would be, it was all they could do. She dropped off her twitchy, unhappy horse, turned it loose to fend for itself with the others, and realized that her own cloak was somewhere with the faraway baggage.

    She squinted up at the boiling cloud overhead and frowned dubiously. The wind had died again. Thunder rumbled nonstop in the distance and crashed overhead. It didn’t look good, she had to admit, and she was lucky to have a scout who could read the signs. If she hadn’t gotten ahead of the storm by a few minutes, it would have been a disaster. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much chance of getting her cloak or even a jacket before the rain started. She’d been caught unprepared and there was nothing she could do about it.

    It could always be worse, she told herself, pointedly. She spent a minute with her cavalry commander, come up on foot to report that his units had made themselves fast as much as possible.

    “Can’t answer for the horses, though,” he said. “We had to let ‘em go, on the chance this’ll be one of them hurricanes.”

    “Hurricanes?”

    “Whirlwinds.”

    “Yes. Good idea,” she said, picturing the havoc one of those would cause. She doubted there would be one, but -

    “You just never know what might happen,” the Colonel noted.

    “No. Good luck,” she said. “Once this clears out, we’ll be back on the move.”

    Eventually, if everything went perfectly. She didn’t have to voice the thought; he knew what could go wrong. He saluted and headed off toward a distant fork of lighting from the ground to the clouds. The wind suddenly picked up again as soon as he left, gusted toward the clouds, then back in the opposite direction, bringing a strong smell of rain and a strange, greenish cloud with it. She squinted at it. It was like rain, traveled along the ground like rain, but it was the wrong color. By the time she realized that it was a cloud of blowing grass and dust it was too late to duck before the mess hit her right in the eyes. She turned away from the wind, got caught up in the stinging hail that instantly followed it, and stumbled directly into something solid. Whatever it was caught hold of her by the shoulders before she could push off of it; she squinted at it and recognized Reynard in time to keep herself from decking him. He said something that the thunder drowned out. She shook her head.

    “Come on,” he shouted, into her ear. She let him drag her onto the ground, under the dirty gold cape he held over their heads. It was just about big enough to cover both of them, if they huddled close together. Another few inches and she would be sitting in his lap. It wasn’t like she was entering unprecedented territory; she told herself to not think too hard about it.

    “Where’s your cloak?” he asked. She shrugged.

    “Somewhere in the baggage train. Where’d you come from?”

    “There. I had time to grab mine,” he said, paused, for a deafening crash of thunder, seemed to be out of things to say afterward. The hail stopped banging off the cloth over their heads. A waterfall of rain followed it.

    “What a mess,” she said.

    “It’ll clear up soon.”

    He was maybe three inches away from her. She was extremely aware that the last time she was this close to him she had been in his bed. He glanced away, like the same thought had crossed his mind. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much else for him to look at; he was back to watching her, a little warily, a second or two afterward. She had plenty of things she could talk about, and one or two she should talk about, but the words just weren’t coming to her.

    If she kissed him, nobody would know about it, she noted to herself, instead of trying to find any. It would be easy; he was literally right there, watching her with a slightly too intense look in his eye. She had told him she was thinking their relationship, whatever it was, over, but she had always known what she was going to do. She just hadn’t had the time or the place. or the words to tell him. This was not any of those things. It was damp, because the cape was leaking slightly, and a little awkward, and she could barely hear herself think over the rain and thunder. Nothing about the situation was convenient for an extremely personal and delicate conversation.

    “I had a weird chat with Gascon, the other night,” she said, instead. He looked vaguely confused, like he had expected something else.

    “What about?”

 ——        

    It was two in the morning, probably, and they were still marching under the light of a dwindling half-moon. She was pretending she wasn’t tired and sore. Everyone else seemed to be half-asleep on their feet, at best.

    “Good morning, Meve,” Gascon said brightly, riding up next to her and interrupting her wandering mind. “You’re looking pensive and thoughtful. What gives?”

    “Huh?”

    “I mean, lately, you’ve been mostly surly and unapproachable. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a good look on you, but this one’s a little less terrifying.”

    She frowned at him and decided there was no particularly good response to the comment.

    “You want an apple? I stole some from th’ orchard we passed earlier.”

    He held one out, with the same encouraging smile he used when he offered his dog a bone. She squinted at the offering. It was definitely a crabapple, and definitely not really ripe. Her stomach growled anyway.

    “Yes, all right.”

    She caught it in midair; he waited for her to eat half of it before he asked, casually, “So. What are you thinking about?”

    She shrugged vaguely. When she wasn’t thinking about Villem or coming up with a dozen schemes and contingency plans for the next day, week, month, she was mostly thinking about Reynard. By unspoken consent, they had carefully avoided being alone together at any point in the last couple of days. The distance hadn’t made her feel any better. The only good thing about the situation was she was pretty sure nobody had noticed anything different.

     He rolled his eyes at her.

    “Silent treatment, is it? Been taking notes from Reynard lately?”        

    Nobody except Gascon, apparently. She raised an eyebrow at him, warningly. He blithely ignored it.

    “Or maybe you already had that little strategy down. You have known each other for a long time, after all. How long’s it been?”

    She cleared dust out of her throat. The question seemed harmless. She didn’t see any reason to not answer it.

    “Uh. Eighteen years. Maybe more.”

    “That long, huh?”

    He had a curious gleam in his eye. She eyed him cautiously.

    “What was he like back then?”

    She thought about it for a minute.

    “Well, I was - nineteen? So he was, what, maybe twenty-two? He was - I don’t know - about like he is now, only younger.”

    She had met Reynard at the same time as all her new husband’s other knights. She hadn’t really noticed anything particularly interesting about him specifically, at the time, if she was honest. He was young, barely said anything because he was so stiff with nerves and propriety, and had a patchy mustache he was trying to grow out, to make himself look older. The stiffness had largely survived the years, as a defense mechanism. The mustache, fortunately, hadn’t. She smiled a little; they had both gotten older and wiser, or, at least, less insecure. She wondered what they would be like in another twenty years.

    “You’re drifting again,” Gascon said. She snapped back to the present and eyed him.

    “What?”

    “Oh, you know; I bring up Reynard, you get this faraway look in your eyes and start staring off at nothin’. It’s a thing you’ve been doin’, lately. You should probably be more careful; people are bound t’ notice. Other people, I mean.”

    The side-eye turned to a glare; she turned her full attention on him.

    “What do you mean, exactly, Brossard? And keep your voice down, for once.”

    “Well,” he said, carefully, “I mean, I know you didn’t go dig through the stash we had in the closet, back in Rivia Castle; only two people had keys to it, far as I know - me and the quartermaster. Carver didn’t stir between midnight and dawn, like usual, and I had mine on me the whole time. Doubt you wandered off t’ look at the scenery for a couple hours, and I couldn’t help noticin’ that Reynard bunked not twenty feet away from your room -”

    “So?”

    “So, maybe, that’s where you were that night. Maybe. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention this, uh, theory of mine t’ anyone. If it’s true, far as I’m concerned, it’s your business. Well, yours and his.”

    “Then why bring it up?”

    He tilted his hat back a little, considered her suspicious face in the torchlight.

    “Because you look kind of miserable, if I’m honest. Did your chat after the Lester affair go that bad?”

    “No,” she said, looking ahead again, trying to pretend she wasn’t miserable, just tired. “No, not exactly. It’s - it’s complicated.”

    “You keep saying that,” he said. “Not everything has to be complicated, you know.”

——

    “Complications,” she said, vaguely. Reynard didn’t look any less confused.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I don’t mean anything. Listen,” she said, deciding maybe Gascon was right, just this once, in this very specific situation, “If I kissed you, right now, would it change anything between us?”

    He blinked at her.

    “No.”

    A trickle of cold water seeped through the cape and ran into her hair. She shifted forward, away from it and toward him, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back, slightly uncertainly for a second or two, but when she moved closer and slid her right hand around the back of his neck his lips opened slightly and she could tell he stopped thinking about it. He was busy maintaining their ineffective shelter, but she had nothing in particular to do with her hands; she felt the pulse pounding in his throat with her left, ran her right through the short hairs on the back of his head, and let the electric feeling that crawled across her skin and the thundering in her ears drown out her thoughts until, after what felt like not much time at all, he gently pulled his head back.

    “Wind’s stopping,” he whispered. She paused, listening for the real thunder, from the storm. It still crashed overhead, but less often than it had before and mostly somewhere far off to the south; the rain had slowed from a waterfall to a minor downpour, and he was right about the wind. It had shifted direction again, to a gentler crossing breeze that smelled like the oncoming evening. She almost wished it wouldn’t, and the storm would keep going, but time passed whether she wanted it to or not. There were a lot of things she couldn’t control.

    If she was honest, given a few more minutes, she would be one of those things.

    “Damn,” she said, under her breath. “Just when things were going so well. Nothing can ever be easy.”

    “Complications,” he agreed, an ironic smile crossing his face that made her heart stop for a second. “What now?”

    “This,” she said and kissed him again for a long moment that felt like it would crash and burn if it went on. She dragged it out as much as she could, anyway, until a little voice in the back of her mind started warning that any more would result in them being discovered, or a Nilfgaardian cavalry unit would ride over the horizon while she was distracted, or someone would slip and fall on the wet grass, stab themselves on their own dagger, and trigger a day-long safety brief - or some other disaster would happen. He looked her in the eyes for the second or two more that she let herself waste, smiled slightly, like he knew what she was thinking, and then she forced herself away from him, out of the shelter of his cape and into the drizzle. A hint of blue sky was showing through the darkness on the northern horizon. The army was still battened down around them. An offended cluster of horses stood around a hundred yards away, dripping. Reynard carefully shook water off his cape and frowned disapprovingly around at the disorder.

    “About time we got going,” she agreed, reaching a hand toward him. He took it; she pulled him to his feet, smiled up at him for another strangely long second, and let him go.

    “I’m on it,” he said.

[flooffybits]

Notice Me

Idol: Ha Sooyoung (Loona)

Request: Yep

Anon: can i request a fluff yves scenario where yves is very busy with her schedules and s/o is addicted to games and the only time yves got the time to spend her day with s/o, she’s still playing games? then sooyoung gets all sulky so s/o apologizes & they cuddle in the end? just a lot of fluff pls 🥺

You really should have listened to your girlfriend when she told you not to stay indoors whenever you were bored. When you first started playing video games, it wasn’t really that bad. You played them every now and then because there was nothing else to do.

But when you bought one particular game, you were so invested in the storyline that you ended up buying more games that related to it or were at least similar and Sooyoung told you once that you were going to get addicted if you don’t do something more productive.

You argued that you wouldn’t since you were often busy with your works to be spending the whole day playing games. But she knew better.

By the time your girlfriend arrived at your apartment, you were glued to the console and only tore your eyes away when you went to greet her.

“Hey, what have you been doing today?” She asks when she took a seat on the couch and gave the top of your head a kiss. You let out a hum, your eyes on the screen as you kept searching for hidden trinkets around the area. “Nothing much. I finished the rest of my files and started playing before lunch.”

Looking at her phone for the time, Sooyoung frowned as she turned to you. “Have you eaten anything since then? Y/n, it’s almost two.” She says in a worried tone but you shake your head. “I just need to get to a checkpoint.” You tell her, making your girlfriend frown more, but decided to let you be as she made her way to the kitchen and make you something to eat, instead.

She thought that maybe you would be done by the time she finished cooking and that you would appreciate something homemade since you’ve been so used to ordering takeout with how busy you were with projects and the fact that you weren’t exactly great in the kitchen.

So while you were busy playing, she went to make your food. Seeing that you had enough for kimchi fried rice, she smiled and went to work.

Since she wasn’t able to see you as much due to her busy schedule, she was glad that she finally got a day off. It was a no brainer that she decided to spend that day with you even though her members wanted to hang out and have fun somewhere.

The moment she found out that she would be with you, she was already looking forward to getting some cuddles and to just feel you next to her. Jiwoo and Hyejoo have been teasing her non-stop with how she babbled about how she wanted to just spend time with you.

After she finished, she grabbed the plate and went to put it on the coffee table. Afterwards, she went back to grab two glasses of water for the both of you and then setting them down as well. She glanced at the screen while taking her seat and then pinched her brows together when she saw that you were still playing. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“I found the checkpoint but I was so excited to find out what happens after.” You tell her and Sooyoung couldn’t help but frown as she looked back to the game you were playing. Judging by the looks of it, there was no sign of it being over yet and she worried that you might be spending the whole day playing instead.

“Can’t you pause that for now and eat first?” She asks worriedly and you struggled to reach for the plate before absentmindedly shoving a spoonful into your mouth. “Thank you!” You were quick to flash her a smile, but that was it and Sooyoung was left sitting alone on the couch while you were on the beanbag you had bought for when your friends came over to hangout.

This day wasn’t going the way Sooyoung hoped it would. She wanted cuddles, but she was being ignored for some what? Video games? Surely your girlfriend was more important than that.

Sooyoung decided to wait a bit more to see if you would be stopping anytime soon, but as an hour passed, she could feel that this wasn’t the case. Your food was barely touched and you didn’t even talk to her. The only time she heard you was when you were screaming at the game you were playing.

This made the girl pout while she brought her knees up to her chest and glared at the screen that was stealing all of your attention away from her.

When she finally had enough, Sooyoung got to her feet and huffed. “If you finally decide that you want to spend time with your girlfriend,” She emphasized. “I’ll be in bed.” She didn’t wait for you to reply, not even sure if you heard her, as she marched to your bedroom and shut the door behind her, a little louder than usual.

The sound made you flinch and you looked up, confused when you saw that your girlfriend left you alone. “Sooyoung?” You called out, finally pausing your game and then standing up, groaning as you stretched your limbs and then looked down at your food, making your stomach grumble. You didn’t even realize how hungry you were.

You went and finished the rest of the food before bringing your plate over to the sink, thinking of washing it afterwards as you made your way to the bedroom and then slowly opening the door. “Baby?”

Looking inside, you saw the other girl laying in bed, her back towards the door, but you could see by her tense shoulders that she wasn’t too happy. You made your way to the bed and then gently placed your hand on her arm. “Yves, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, making the said girl to roll her eyes.

“Nothing. Go back to your game.”

Confused by the tone of her voice, you gently tried to turn her around to look at her face, but she shrugged your hand off. Her actions confused you even more, making you frown as you sat behind her and tried again, this time, effectively turning her around.

But as soon as you saw her face, you were genuinely surprised by the adorable little pout that you couldn’t help cupping her face. “What’s wrong, baby?” You ask while tucking her hair behind her ear and pulling her into your arms.

And even though she’s upset with you, she accepts the hug because that was really all she was looking for ever since she arrived. “You were ignoring me.” She mumbled against your chest while your fingers ran through her hair. “You know that I’ve been really busy, that was why I was so excited to see you. But when I got here, you were too busy playing.” She whined, making you smile as you held her closer.

“I told you not too play too much, but you were so stubborn and ignored me when I just wanted you to love me.” She complained and you couldn’t hide your laughter as you nuzzled her hair. “God, baby, why are you so cute?” You cooed before pecking her lips.

But Sooyoung was demanding for more as she rested her hand against your cheek and pulled you in for another kiss, longer than the first one yet still as sweet.

You hummed in reply, smiling before you pulled away after a few more pecks and then laying properly so that Sooyoung could lay her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I didn’t mean to.” You tell her and she sighs but nods her head anyway. “I forgive you, but baby, you really should do something other than play during your free time.” She tells you and you nod your head before kissing her forehead, making your girlfriend smile as she finally had your attention.

“Okay, then when I get the time, I’ll be sure to head over to the company and see my very beautiful and talented girlfriend.” Hearing your words, Sooyoung couldn’t contain her grin as she cuddled up to you, peppering your face with kisses while mumbling I love you’s in between.

[aliceaddellheidde]

Fatum

A/N: This is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club Lucky in love. March 3 – Blessing.

WORDS: 1277

WARNINGS: swearing

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x reader (eventually) {Soulmates AU}

DISCLAIMERS: Endgame happened, but only Thanos and his peasants died. English isn´t my first language so sorry for mistakes.

Moi, Rai and Parca are genderless & are using they/their pronouns.

This is soulmates au. When you get tattoo, your soulmate gets it as well on same spot. It glows when you touch.

Bucky and reader have blessed time apart. Until they don’t.

This is multi-chapters story. 3/19

Gif from here, Don´t tell me it´s not Bucky done with reader 🤣

Divider by @rainbowkisses31

You had nice quiet morning with your hobbies - bit of painting, reading, writing and eating – until you were called to Tony´s office. When you got there, F.R.I.D.A.Y. opened door for you and you walked in. „Y/N! Good to see you.” „You have something to tell me Tony?” He offered you a drink, but you politely declined. „Look, I know you are hard-working and I appreciate it but you need break too. So I´m sending you to the best spa in city. For whole afternoon.” You were looking at him suspiciously. „Let me guess. It was Pepper´s idea.” You smirked at him and he smirked back. „She wants another baby Y/N! Another one! That’s why I need you all out of compound.” he said excitedly and gave you small card. „It´s key to every procedure in the spa. Now get lost.” „Rude. You owe me box of doughnuts!”  You took the card and left.

„Should I prepare car for you Miss Y/N?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked. „Yes please.” You went to your room to put your jogger pants on, paired with your Bucky´s hoodie and cute trainers with unicorns. You stole his hoodie as revenge for putting baby powder in your hairdryer. „Would you like some quick snack before you leave Miss Y/N?” „What do we have at home?” „There are dairy products, bread, cheeses, veggies and fruit.” „No cereals?” „On your shelf.” „Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y..” You packed your stuff and went to the kitchen.

Surprisingly your cereals were on the shelf. Usually Bucky hides them somewhere. You happily poured it in bowl and took milk out. As it came out of bottle, you realized your mistake. It wasn’t milk, but shampoo mixed with water. And it was yours by the smell! You thanked all gods you didn’t washed your hair last night or this morning. „F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is Bucky?” „Sergeant Barnes left this morning Miss. Should I call him?” „No. But you can kill him once he will return.” „I'm sorry Miss, but I can´t do that.” „He committed crime!” „What he did miss?” „He put shampoo into the milk bottle!” AI was quiet for a bit. „According to internet it is considered as prank. I think  Sergeant Barnes wants you to laugh more.” „I will give him my best Cruella de Vil laugh when he comes back.” „Great idea Miss.” „As he will be dead once I´m done with him!” You threw everything into the bin and took out Bucky's opened box of Oreos. Then you went for toothpaste and did classy, but effective joke. Next was his favourite pair of running shoes. Perfect for mayo filling. You were very satisfied with yourself. As you went to the elevator Parca fled to Moi and Rai to tell them what have you done. And without their help.

Car ride took longer, because of traffic, but it worth it as you got off the car and stood in front of one of the most expensive spa resorts. You walked in and girl from reception smiled at you. „Good morning, how may I help you?” You gave her card from Tony. „Excellent. My name is Annie. Mr. Stark prepared a plan for you and your partner.” Of course he did. Wait. „Partner?” „Yes. Mr. Stark didn’t tell you?” „No.” Seconds later main door opened again and no other then Bucky Barnes walked in. Or better said thrusted in. „Hello doll.” he smiled at you. „Borky.” Annie laughed and handed you clipboard. Sauna, Dead sea detoxifying body polish, Dead sea healing body polish, hair treatment, manicure and pedicure was written on it. Tony really wants to make Pepper happy by keeping you here as long as possible. „Follow me please.” Annie said and took you through big, double door into small corridor. „You can put your things into locker, put robe on and after 10 minutes in sauna go to room 8.” „Thank you.” She nodded and left.

You turned to Bucky. „What are you doing here?” „Same as you. Came to relax.” „But I thought I will be alone.” „Am I really that bad company? That hurts.” „Shut up Buck. You are the one who ignored me since our movie night few days ago.” „Awww, did you miss me?” „Maybe. I wanted to kill you like hour ago tho. So don’t be so happy,” „You found milk bottle.” „Uhhhm.” He was laughing when you disappeared in changing room.

Behind beige door was small room with sofa and two massage tables. „Hello, I'm Nicky. Your masseur.” „Hi.” you smiled and then frowned when she was eyeing Bucky from head to toe. „Can we begin or do you have any questions?” „Actually yes.” you admitted nervously. „I would like to know what you will be doing with me today.” „Let me see.” She tipped your card on monitor. „Ah. Dead sea detoxifying body polish. It´s a full body exfoliation with mango and sesame body scrub for flow and encourage cell renewal. Next, cranberry infused body oil and detoxifying Dead Sea mud mask. Then we will wrap you in foil and warm blankets to give mask a time. After that 50  minutes massage with lavender oil. You can choose hair treatment. And at the end is nail treatment.” „So we just lie down?” „Yes. My colleague will be right here.”

„Hey doll. Psst!” „What do you want?” you said groggily and turned your face to him. „Are you sleeping?” „Nope. But I´m very warm and I feel like I will be sleeping soon.” „Nooo. You can´t!” „Why not?” „Because I will be alone. What if something happen to me?” „Nah, you will be ok.” „Uhmmm. I´m sorry for that shampoo.” „You better be. Ruin my snack like that.” „Will China make you happy?” „Are you paying?” „Obviously.” „Good. Tony owes me doughnuts.” „It´s a date then.”  You were even hotter after his words and he chuckled.

After few hours you felt like jelly and was happy to have firm Bucky´s body to hold on. You walked home slowly, bags of Chinese food in hands.

„Welcome back Miss Y/N and Sergeant Barnes.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. „Is someone else here?” „No Miss Y/N. But I detected car of Miss Romanoff 5 minutes from here. Should I tell her you are looking for her?” „No, thank you. Your room or mine?” you asked Bucky. „Mine. Go ahead. I´m  gonna take some Oreos too.”

„Have your doughnuts.” he smiled and sat down next to you. „Wanna finish the Witcher?” „Yop.” You put it on and took your food from him.

Somewhere between sixth episode Bucky took out one Oreo and threw it whole in his mouth. Moment later he was spitting it out. „What the fuck?!” You looked at him drinking his water and couldn’t hold a burst of laughter that left your mouth. „It was you? Come here!” He jumped on the bed, pinning you on your side, and started tickling you. I said I was sorry for my prank but you renewed a war doll.” You didn’t answer and tried to run away, but he only held you firmer. „Enough, enough! Please. I can´t breath.” He turned you so you were facing him and atmosphere suddenly changed. His nose brushed yours and you closed your eyes, when all of the sudden loud moan was heard from next room. „Someone forgot to soundproof the bedroom.” You giggled, but cursed Sam for ruining yet another chance for kiss from Bucky. „I should go. It´s late.” „Yeah.” He looked sad. „Good night Borky.” You left him with heavy heart.

Moi and Rai were crying, sitting on your ottoman. They were sure it was Parca´s work.

Next chaper will be 6.3.2021

[debbiechanclub]

Best Two Out of Three, Part 18

Well it’s still a decent hour for me, but I think I failed to get this posted before @what-does-mine-say fell asleep. She’s been the real MVP of these last couple parts, too, just saying.

Anywho, no long note this time. All I have to say is thank you to everyone who continues to read and support this lil fic (that’s not so lil anymore), and I really do hope you enjoy :)

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 18/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x Cash Wheeler and Adam Page x OFC

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Language; angst.

Catch up on previous parts here.

Adam spent the entire fifty-minute drive home bracing himself to face Callie. He knew she’d be upset; she had every reason and right to be upset. He’d turned her down, pushed her away, disappeared and left her to find out when she woke up, alone. It was cold, what he’d done. Heartless. And someone as warm and loving as Callie shouldn’t have to put up with it. She deserved better—better than what he could give her; better than him. And the longer he drove, the more he felt like that was all he could say to her.

His stomach twisted in knots as he turned down the road to his house. It only got worse when he pulled into his driveway and saw that Callie’s car was gone.

He put the gearshift in park and cut the ignition, but he didn’t get out of the truck. He sat there in silence, staring at the spot that Callie’s car usually occupied. He had a sinking feeling that she hadn’t just run around the corner or gone for a drive herself. This felt like a more permanent absence.

He got out of the truck and walked to the front door. It was locked. He fumbled with his keys to get it open. When he stepped inside, he found a note waiting for him on the kitchen island.

He could guess what it said before he read it.

              I decided to head to Florida early and stay with Britt for a while. You need space to figure out what’s going on in your head and in your heart. It breaks my heart to write this… but we can’t go on the way we have been. I hope you’ll figure it out soon. I’ll miss you. I love you. x Callie.

Adam read the note over and over, until the words started to warp and blend together. There was a crinkled spot on the paper from where a tear had fallen as she wrote. He set it back down on the island, numb. It had to be a ten-hour drive to where Britt and Adam Cole lived outside Orlando. If Callie would rather take on that than face him, Adam had a feeling she wouldn’t be coming back. She was gone.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Imagine that it’s Tag Team Appreciation Night, and the number two ranked tag team in all of AEW doesn’t have a match, not even on Dark. Oh wait—we don’t have to imagine it, because we’re fucking living it!”

Alex frowned across the locker room at Chuck. She didn’t blame him for being upset; she was upset for him. Outside the Young Bucks, Best Friends were the most established tag team on the roster—and yet, they’d been completely left out of this so-called “Tag Team Appreciation Night” that FTR was hosting on Dynamite that night. It was a slap across the face. And, in the back of her mind, Alex couldn’t help but wonder if her situation with Cash was to blame for why Chuck and Trent had been excluded.

“They’re not even gonna interview us about who our favorite tag team is,” Trent lowly said. “They interviewed Kenny and Hangman.”

“Of course they did,” Chuck said with a roll of his eyes. “No offense, Alex,” he added.

Her eyebrows arched. “Why would I be offended?” she quickly asked—maybe a little too quickly. She’d been paranoid ever since Saturday that Chuck somehow knew what she’d done with Kenny on his balcony. Granted, she absolutely would have heard it by now if he did… but still. Just the thought of him ever finding out made her want to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

He gave her an odd look. “Because Adam’s your friend. And Kenny’s… whatever.”

Alex swallowed. That answer didn’t help her paranoia. “Oh. Well, none taken. I don’t blame you for being upset.” She looked sheepishly down at the floor. “I wish there was something I could do about it.”

“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Trent assured. “They’re just trying to hold us down because they know we’re better than them.”

A corner of Alex’s mouth turned up. But she didn’t know if it was sweet or just pathetic that Trent knew she needed to hear that they didn’t blame her. “I’m gonna go to catering,” she said as she stood from her seat. Another thing she needed was coffee—and probably a chocolate chip cookie or two. “Does anyone want anything?”

Trent and Chuck both shook their heads no; James didn’t even respond from where he sat on the couch, leaned back with his arms spread out, one ankle crossed over his knee. It looked like he was asleep. He had a match against Chris Jericho that night and he was completely unbothered. Alex only wished she could be so carefree.

She pushed her way out of the locker room and pulled her phone from her pocket, her thoughts turning to other things. She hadn’t heard from Callie in days, not since she’d tried to text her when she was in Philadelphia; since she’d left her on read Saturday morning. It was obvious something was wrong—she just wasn’t sure what. Adam hadn’t really talked to her since Saturday, either. And Alex didn’t know if she should ask or just mind her own business.

Catering was just around the corner now. She turned it and slowed to a stop. Dax and Cash were right in front of her. Her eyes met Cash’s. Her heart jumped into her mouth.

“Alex,” he said. He looked just as unprepared to see her as she felt to see him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she returned. She flashed back to the middle of the night in Philadelphia, to the balcony underneath the moonlight. Guilt gripped her so tight that she struggled to breathe.

Dax looked awkwardly between them. “Okay. Well, I’ll let y’all catch up.” He made a hasty exit. Cash watched after him as he disappeared into catering. Alex couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with him for bailing or not.

She awkwardly cleared her throat before the silence could drown them. “Um, how are you?”

He let out a wry laugh. “I didn’t hear from you all week, Alex.”

His tone implied a follow-up statement: How do you think I feel? She knew the answer: hurt, forgotten, cast aside. But she felt all those things, too. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me,” she said.

His brow puckered. “What? All I wanted was to hear from you.”

That surprised her. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because—” he cut himself off with a frustrated huff. “You need to figure out what you want, Alex. Not me. And the fact that I haven’t heard from you at all… it feels like you’ve made your decision.”

Alex’s eyes burned and her stomach turned. She could almost feel the hot summer air on her skin, hear Kenny’s voice in her ear. Her actions that night spoke louder than her silence. But she’d been drunk and emotional. She’d given in because she was hurt that she hadn’t heard from Cash. Right?

He let out a sigh and moved closer. She didn’t expect it when he reached out and took her hand in his. Her skin tingled at his touch. “I want us to talk, sweetheart. But not here. Maybe we could go somewhere after the show? I know you have a Dark match, but—”

“Wait, what?” she cut him off, suddenly confused. “I don’t have a Dark match.”

He gave her an odd look. “I just saw it on the card; you have a match against Anna Jay. Did no one tell you?”

Alex bit down on her jaw, frustration bubbling up inside her. No, no one had told her. And she had a feeling she’d been left in the dark on purpose.

She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said, and she pulled her hand from his and marched toward production. Her anger built with every step she took. It was near boiling-point by the time she found the match card taped to the wall. There it was, printed on the paper as clear as day: Alex Hawthorne vs. Anna Jay, slotted as the second match after the end of Dynamite.

She ripped the paper from the wall, crinkling it in her clutched fist as she marched back out of production and through the halls of the arena. She knew exactly who was responsible for this, and he had another thing coming if he thought she’d just lay down and take it.

She arrived at the EVP room and knocked hard and fast on the door. Someone called, “Come in”; she barged in before they even finished. Adam, the Bucks, and Brandon Cutler stared up at her, matching looks of wide-eyed surprise on their faces. Alex walked right up to Matt Jackson and slapped the paper down on the table in front of him.

“What the hell is this?”

The entire room went still. Matt’s eyebrows arched, obviously stunned by her nerve. He glanced down at the paper. “Well, it looks like the match card. Did you take that off the wall?”

Her eyes narrowed. “And when were you planning on telling me that I have a Dark match against Anna Jay?”

“Oh.” He looked her right in the eye and said, “You have a Dark match against Anna Jay.”

Alex’s other hand curled into a fist at her side. She could have hit him she was so angry. Knocked that indignant look right off his stupid face—

“Alex,” Adam stood and put a hand on the small of her back, trying to diffuse the situation, but she ignored him.

“Is this about Cash?” she charged. “Are you punishing me for what he did?”

Matt’s brow lowered. “I didn’t realize giving you a match was punishment.”

She gaped back at him. “I didn’t know I had it until two fucking minutes ago!”

“Alright, come on.” Adam took her gently by the arm and whisked her out of the room. Alex let him lead her down the hall and around a corner into a private corridor. She started to shake as she leaned back against the wall. Adam gripped her shoulders.

“Take a deep breath,” he said.

She took his advice, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Her anger started to give way to embarrassment and shame. Had she really just done that?

“That was ballsy,” Adam commented. She breathed out a rueful laugh. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Alex tilted her head back against the wall as she looked up at him. She was tired of everyone asking her that. She was just tired all around. And that was exactly what she told him.

“I’m tired,” she breathed. “I’m tired of feeling like everything is falling apart around me. I’m tired of doubting myself and feeling like I have no control over anything. I’m tired of trying to do the right thing just to have it backfire in my fucking face.”

Her voice cracked, and Adam pulled her into him. She looped her arms under his and buried her face in his shoulder, drawing in another deep breath. She didn’t want to cry. She was tired of crying, too.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Adam said. “More than you realize.”

Alex pulled back and looked up at him. That was her opening to figure out what was up with him and Callie. “Why?” she asked. “What’s going on with you and Callie? She hasn’t said a word to me since she tried to text me when I was in Philly.”

Adam let her go. His arms fell to his sides as he took a step back. It looked like the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders. But she couldn’t have predicted what he said next.

“Yeah, you and me both. She left.”  

“What?” Instinctively, Alex reached out and clutched one of his hands in both of hers. “What do you mean, she left?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he returned. “When I got back from driving to your place, I found a note in the kitchen. She’d just gone.”

Alex squeezed his hand. “What did it say?”

He shifted, avoiding her gaze, but he didn’t let go of her grip. “That I need to figure out what I’m feeling. That she’s gonna stay with Britt for a while.”

His eyes finally met hers, and she swore she felt every emotion coursing through him herself. She’d already felt all of it, for days now. Pain. Guilt. Hopelessness. They were stranded in the same fucking boat, up shit creek without a paddle. But even though misery loved company, Alex didn’t want Adam to be stuck there with her. She’d push him out and make him swim if she had to. She wanted him to be happy.

“I’m so sorry, Adam.” She reached up and pulled him into a tight hug. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“I wanted to,” he said into her shoulder. “But you’re dealing with your own shit. I didn’t want to bother you with mine.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me,” she assured. He hugged her tighter. She did the same. “She hasn’t said anything to you since she left?”

“No,” he said. “I haven’t even seen her today. I don’t even know if she’s here.”

The resignation in his voice broke Alex’s heart. But before she could think of anything to say in return, he flipped the conversation on her.

“What about you? Have you talked to Cash?”

She pulled back and unwound her arms with a heavy sigh. It was only fair that she fill him in on her shit, too. “I ran into him before I burst in on you guys. But no.” She chewed on the inside of her mouth. “I think he wants to talk after the show.”

“Well, that’s good,” Adam offered, hopefully. “Right?”

She looked away, down the hall. “I honestly don’t know.” She thought back to the look on Cash’s face, to how he’d taken her hand and called her “sweetheart.” But she shook her head, snapping herself back to the present before her overthinking could carry her away. “Right now I just need focus on getting through this fucking match I just found out about.”

“You’ll be fine,” Adam said. “Just don’t let Anna or any of the other Dark Order freaks get in your head.”

His eyes turned dark; introspective. Alex frowned. It seemed like he was speaking from experience. But it wouldn’t benefit either of them to go there right now. “You’re defending the tag titles tonight, right?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, against Jurassic Express. I need to focus on getting through that fucking match. Although Kenny seems to be in a better mood this week, so that helps.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed when she heard that. “Oh? I haven’t seen him.” She and Kenny had talked since Philly—of course they had. But if Adam wondered if she had anything to do with his tag team partner’s improved mood, he thankfully didn’t ask.

“I guess I should get back in there,” he said. “We were going over some stuff for BTE when you burst in and bit Matt’s head off.”

“Jesus.” Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m probably gonna pay for that, aren’t I?”

But, surprisingly, Adam waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. Just focus on winning your match. And not joining a cult.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. It was small, but it was nice to see him smile; hear him joke. They needed to do more of that, like they used to. “I don’t know,” Alex returned with a sarcastic laugh. “Joining a cult might be a nice change of pace at this point.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Dynamite wasn’t over yet, but FTR wasn’t sticking around for the rest of the show. They’d done what they’d set out to do with Tag Team Appreciation Night: prove that they were the best tag team in the business. It wasn’t their fault that Rock ‘N’ Roll Express had gotten in the way. Those old-timers should have hung it up a long time ago, anyway.

They burst back into their dressing room to grab their things and get the hell out of dodge. As Cash waited for Dax to finish packing up, he pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down at the lock screen. He still hadn’t changed the background; it was a picture of him and Alex from the night they’d gone out with Adam and Callie, at that fancy restaurant downtown. She smiled wide at the camera as he held her close, his arms tight around her waist, his face nuzzled against her cheek. That night had only been two weeks ago. But it felt like a lifetime.

“Hey.” Dax got his attention and he looked back up. He nudged his chin at his phone, at the photo on the screen. “You sure you don’t want to stay for her match?”

Cash looked back down at the picture. The screen went dark. “Yeah,” he returned. “She can find me if she wants to see me.”

He pushed the phone back into his pocket. And then he grabbed his bag, and he and Dax left the arena.  

* * * * * * * * * *

Smack!

Alex saw stars and fell backward to the mat, stunned by the unexpected bicycle kick from Anna Jay. She covered her and hooked her leg. It was only on instinct that Alex was able to kick out. Her head hadn’t been in the match from the moment it had started.

She knew Cash had left. She’d gone to talk to him after the melee in the ring with the Young Bucks and Rock ‘N’ Roll Express only to find FTR’s dressing room empty. It cut deep that he’d just up and gone without so much as a text, especially after claiming that he wanted to talk. It made her wonder if he’d really meant it.

But Alex had no choice but to focus on Anna when she climbed on top of her and started choking her.

The ref counted as she struggled to breathe, clutching at Anna’s wrists. “1! 2! 3! Come on, Anna, let her go!”

Anna let out a sadistic chuckle as she released her. Alex had barely managed to gulp in a breath of air before Anna pulled her up by her hair and threw her hard into a turnbuckle. She let out a cry and charged; but Alex threw up an elbow, hitting her in the jaw and stunning her. She climbed to the top rope as quickly as she could. When Anna stumbled back around to face her, Alex launched herself into the air and hit her with a missile dropkick.

She scrambled to cover her; Anna kicked out at two. Alex clutched her throat as she glared at Anna.

That crazy cult bitch had choked her.

That crazy cult bitch had made a terrible mistake.

Alex grabbed a fistful of Anna’s long blonde hair and sat her up. She didn’t let go of it as she kicked her hard in the back with a resounding whack that made the people watching in the audience wince. Anna arched her back, bending her knees and fingers in pain, and Alex ran toward the opposite ropes, rebounded off, and nailed her in the jaw with a running knee. She sat on top of her and hooked her leg. She kicked out and powered her shoulder up at the last possible second, sending Alex tumbling off of her. She stared at the ref in disbelief. “It was two,” he confirmed, holding up two fingers. She bit down on her jaw in frustration.

Alex pulled Anna to her feet. She grabbed her forearm, pushed her back to the ropes opposite the ring entrance, and Irish-whipped her to the other side. Anna rebounded and Alex ran toward her—but someone caught her eye as they appeared on the entrance ramp and she stumbled, rolling her left ankle. She managed to lift her right knee at the last second and hit Anna in the gut, sending her flipping to the mat, but Alex fell with her. He ankle throbbed as she looked back at the ramp. Brodie Lee, Evil Uno, and Stu Grayson stood in a line. Watching.

Alex knew she needed to act fast. She crawled over to Anna and locked on her finishing submission maneuver, the ’88 Sleeper. Her ankle screamed in protest as she put weight on it, but she channeled the pain into wrenching Anna back harder. It wasn’t long before she tapped.

The ref called for the bell. Alex threw Anna aside and fell back onto the mat. She reached for her left boot, fumbling to undo the laces and loosen the pressure on her ankle; but she stopped when a pair of brown dress shoes appeared in front of her. She looked up, and up, until her eyes connected with the cold, dark stare of Mr. Brodie Lee.

He grinned down at her. “Hello, Alex.”

She froze. Grayson and Uno flanked his either side. She was surrounded.

“That’s a helluva submission you have there,” Brodie complimented. “Granted, I’m not happy Anna lost…” he cast a glance at Anna Jay, who laid still clutching her back on the mat. “But you impressed me.”

He held out his hand. People throughout the arena shouted and booed, but Alex didn’t hear any of them; Brodie’s eyes were arresting. Haunting. Inviting. She didn’t even realize that she’d reached up and slid her hand into his until he gripped it and pulled her to her feet. Her ankle smarted and she stumbled; Brodie put his other hand on her waist to steady her, and Alex grabbed his arm. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so dark that she almost couldn’t tell the pupil from the iris. Two black bottomless pools. She wanted to jump in and see how far she’d sink—

“Alex!”

Someone wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from Brodie, breaking the spell. Chuck. Trent and Adam were with him. They stood between her and Dark Order like a barricade.

“Keep moving, pal,” Trent warned. “She’s not available.”

Brodie let out a laugh, slow and deep in his chest. He looked back at Alex. “Do they think they own you?”

Adam shoved him then. “Get the hell out of here before I make you.”

Grayson took a threatening step forward; but Brodie held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother,” he said. “The inner demons will take care of this one.”

Adam bit down on his jaw; but Trent put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not worth it, let’s just get Alex out of here.”

Alex’s eyes stayed glued on Brodie as Chuck helped her hobble to the ropes; Trent held them open so she could gingerly duck through. When she was on the other side, her gaze connected with Brodie’s again. He smirked.

“Think about it, Alex.”

It wasn’t until Chuck draped her arm over his shoulders and turned her away that she was able to pull her eyes from his.

“Can you put weight on it?” Chuck asked as they started to walk.

Alex winced, but nodded. “Yeah, but it hurts.”

“It’s probably just a sprain, then.”

He helped her through the tunnel into the back. Trent and Adam were close behind. “Jesus, Alex, I thought I told you to focus on not joining a cult tonight,” Adam quipped—but Alex didn’t hear him. Kenny had just run into Gorilla.

“Alex!” He hurried toward her, worry etched on his face. “Are you alright? What happened out there?”

Alex didn’t answer; she couldn’t. She was too overcome with emotion at just the sight of him. Cash had left—but Kenny was still here.

She removed her arm from around Chuck and limped over to him. She practically fell into his arms. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed as he hugged her. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I got distracted when Dark Order came out and I stepped wrong and rolled it. And then Brodie was suddenly there and—”

“It’s okay, forget about him,” he gently returned. “Come on, let’s get you to the trainer.”

He took her by the waist and helped her out of Gorilla and down the hall toward the trainer’s room. And as they walked, Alex couldn’t help but think, over and over: Cash left, but Kenny’s still here.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie had left Daily’s Place right after the tag title match. She’d wanted to stay and watch Adam; she was happy that he and Kenny had retained the titles against Jurassic Express. But after that, she caught an Uber back to the hotel. Even though she’d wanted to see Adam wrestle, she still didn’t want to talk to him.

Besides, she needed some time to herself. While she was beyond grateful to Britt and Adam Cole for letting her stay with them, Britt had been, for lack of a better term, smothering her ever since she’d arrived at their house late Saturday evening. And because she and Britt were sharing a hotel room, too, she decided to take the opportunity while the doctor was still at the arena to grab some dinner and air to breathe.

She pushed the down button for the elevator. When it arrived several seconds later and the doors slid open, she was surprised and confused to see Cash standing inside.

“Hey.” His eyebrows arched, obviously surprised to see her, too. “What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Callie said as she stepped onto the elevator. She pressed the button for the lobby. “Aren’t you supposed to be hosting Tag Team Appreciation Night right now?”

He laughed lightly to himself. “Dax and I did what we needed to do and then left. I’ll just put it that way.”

Callie arched a curious brow, wondering what exactly he meant by that. But before she could ask, he asked her, “Why aren’t you back at the arena with Adam?”

The elevator arrived at the lobby with a ding. Callie drew in a deep breath as the doors slid open and she and Cash stepped out. She was both surprised and not that he didn’t know what was going on with her and Adam. But he’d find out eventually—the entire locker room would—so she might as well take the opportunity to tell him herself.

“Actually, Adam and I are kind of on a break right now.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her, his brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “What? Are you serious?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t want to talk to me about anything anymore, so I left him a note and drove down to Britt’s Saturday morning. And… yeah. We haven’t spoken since.”

It didn’t hurt as much to tell him as Callie had expected it would. After four days of no contact with Adam, she’d resigned herself to the situation. She’d tried to help him. But only he could help himself now.

“Shit,” Cash breathed. He ran a hand through his hair, still obviously thrown off by the news. “I had no idea. I mean, Adam did seem pretty distracted tonight, but that’s honestly not that unusual.”

“Exactly,” Callie returned, more firmly than she intended.

Cash’s brow puckered in sympathy. He looked down at his phone, as if considering something. “Well, I don’t know where you were heading; I was just gonna go to the bar to get a drink,” he said as he pointed a thumb in the direction of the hotel bar. “But I could eat, if you want to go grab something. Misery loves company, right?”

Callie blinked, surprised at the offer. But then she realized: if anyone could relate to what she was going through right now, it was Cash.

She nodded. “Sure. But I get to pick the place.”

* * * * * * * * * *

They ended up walking to a bar and restaurant not that far from the hotel. It was a nice night, and they opted for a table outside on the patio. It was tucked away in the corner; intimate. The hostess had probably assumed they were on a date. Callie had been grateful when her cocktail arrived.

“So, if misery loves company then I guess that means you and Alex still haven’t worked it out?” she asked as she grabbed her straw and took a long sip. The drink was already halfway gone and their food hadn’t arrived yet.

Cash reached for his beer, shaking his head. “No. Back at the arena I told her I wanted to talk with her after the show, but she freaked out about her Dark match and ran off without saying anything.” He took a sip, swallowed it down. “The ball’s in her court. She knows how to find me if she wants to talk.”

Callie frowned. The part of her that had come to value Alex’s friendship wanted to know how she was feeling about all this, what she was thinking. But the jealous part of her still resented that Adam seemed so willing to open up to Alex instead of her. “Kenny practically bragged about what happened,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and gave a sarcastic laugh. “Of course he did. You know, after the first fight with Kenny, I admitted to Alex that I was worried he could steal her back. I wish I’d been wrong.”

His forearm flexed as he gripped his beer glass in frustration. Callie’s brow furrowed. “You think she’s gone back to him?”

Cash shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I feel like I made a mistake telling her to choose. But I can’t be with someone who obviously has feelings for someone else.”

Callie reached for her straw again. And before she could stop herself, she muttered, “That’s how I feel about Adam.”

The comment obviously took Cash by surprise. “You think Adam has feelings for someone else?”

Callie bit her lip. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she thought Adam had feelings for Alex. So she danced around it. “I practically offered myself to him on a plate the other night, and he literally pushed me away to get another drink. So that really helped with my self-esteem. I don’t know; I guess there’s someone else he’d rather see in skimpy lingerie.”

Her cheeks suddenly burned, realizing what she’d said. She needed to slow down on the alcohol. But when she glanced at Cash and saw the look on his face, she wanted to down the rest of her drink in a single gulp.

“What?” she asked.

Cash laughed to himself as he shook his head. “Nothing. Just something’s wrong with him if he turned you down.”

Callie’s face flushed again. The waiter couldn’t have arrived with their appetizer at a better moment. She pointed to her drink as he set the dish on the table. “Can I go ahead and order another?”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Why didn’t you go get dinner with Kenny and the Bucks?”

Alex took a sip of her water as she sat next to Adam at the hotel bar. Filming had wrapped not that long ago, and while Alex had come back to the hotel with the boys, Kenny had gone with Matt and Nick to grab a late dinner. Alex had hoped that maybe—maybe—Adam would go with them; but her hopes had been dashed when he’d texted her asking if she wanted to get a drink. She’d agreed to meet him, but she didn’t feel like drinking tonight.

“Please,” Adam scoffed. “They didn’t ask me.” He swirled his whiskey and took a sip. He gave her a sarcastic look as he set the glass back down. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

She pursed her lips. “Really?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seemed pretty cozy when he took you to the trainer after your match.”

Alex’s cheeks burned and she shifted in her seat. Kenny had stayed with her in the trainer’s room the entire time, holding her hand as it was determined that she’d—thankfully—only suffered a bad sprain. She’d be out of action for two-to-four weeks, but it could have been a lot worse. Afterward, he’d kissed her and told her he was glad she was alright. She hadn’t said anything, choosing instead to kiss him back deeper. But she didn’t have to tell Adam that.

“He was there for me,” she said. “And I appreciated it.”

“Didn’t you say Cash wanted to talk to you after the show?”

Alex blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden interrogation. “Yeah, but he left the arena after he and Dax attacked Ricky Morton and didn’t even say anything to me.”

His eyes hardened when she said that. “I can’t believe they fucking did that.”

Alex frowned. “I know,” she agreed. But she didn’t want to go down that road, so she took another sip of water and changed the subject. “Have you talked to Callie?”

Adam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I want to.” He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar. He glanced at her as he signaled the bartender for another drink. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

Alex put a hand on his arm. The muscle tensed underneath her touch. “Adam,” she said, urging him to look at her. But he kept his eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of him. “Don’t throw out what you have with Callie.”  

The bartender swapped out the empty glass for a full one, but Adam didn’t reach for it. He looked down at her hand on his bicep. He reached across and placed his hand on top of hers. “Alex…”

But Alex’s attention was suddenly drawn to the lobby. “What the fuck?”

Adam’s brow furrowed and he turned to look where she stared. Callie and Cash crossed through the lobby—and judging from the carefree looks on their faces, they’d been drinking. Adam and Alex watched as Cash put his hand on Callie’s back, and then they disappeared out of sight toward the elevators.

Adam turned around to face forward again, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “What the fuck,” he repeated. He grabbed his whiskey and took a long drink.

Alex laughed wryly to herself. She wanted to believe it wasn’t what they thought it was. But she didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Yeah… I’ll take that drink now.”

[chappedandfadedvds]

Nov 7th, Saturday 14:20

„Happy birthday!!“

„Thank you so much, can I be celebrated for days now every year? I really enjoy this.“ Jens joked as he stepped into the livingroom following Senne who had let him and Lotte in.

They even had put up a glittery banner and had a couple of colourful balloons grazing the floor. There was a set table and a cake filled with candles to the brim. Probably exactly 18 and Jens was pretty sure he would not be able to blow them all out at once. They all wore these tiny party hat cones on their heads, Lotte loving hers the minute it was put on when they entered.

„Next year were aren’t celebrating at all to equal it out, so you better make the most of it today.“ Sander declared getting up from his shared sofa with robbe, moving over to pull  him into a tight hug. Robbe directly taking over, congratulating Jens once more as the two of them swayed from one foot onto the other in their embrace. He loved this boy so much.

„I can’t believe that you are eighteen. You are becoming a boring adult.“ He heard Robbe whisper giggling as they both pulled back far enough to look at each other grinning, not having let go yet.

„You’ll be eighteen soon too, so you better watch your words, young man.“ Jens joked as he saw his sister being picked up and swung around by Sander. He supposed this and the cake were her only two reasons for coming with.

„At least we have our university years left to fuck it all up, I guess.“ Robbe said happily as Jens kept smiling brightly, while his heart though tightened almost painfully at that thought. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not with people around. Not with Lotte close by to see him.  He swallowed it down and for some sort of miracle did Zoe appeared next to them.

„You can keep cuddling all day, if you want, but I wann hug Jens too.“ She complained quite amused as Robbe stepped away, his eyes immidiately searching for Sander to find him pouring Lotte some tea.

„What do you wanna drink?“ Jens heard the boy asking, as he joined the others by the table.

„Coffee would be great if possible.“

„Coming right up.“ Robbe replied, as Zoë and him hugged, her hand brushing through his hair, cautiously enough to not rip the birthday hat off.

„Happy birthday.“ She said, pecking a kiss to his cheek: „Let’s get some cake. Milan spend at least four hours in the kitchen, so even if it is horrible, smile.“

He snorted at her shaking his head. He was pretty sure the cake was amazing. Milan had found his absolute passion in baking since the first lockdown in march began. And though his cooking really left a large room for improvment, his baking skills was great by now. At least that’s what Robbe had told him and the last couple of weekends really proved him right.

„My turn finally.“ Milan said and another hug ensued as he was taking into the arms of the older boy and pressed tight against his chest. As with Zoë he was pecked a kiss on his cheek and welcomed with a bright smile and best wishes. Milan’s hand took holf of his and thus they both went to join the group a couple meteres away.

Robbe had joined Sander in the meantime, Lotte placed happily chatting away on the older boys lap, gesturing wildly about, as the other two listened intently. A child really suited them, Jens thought. And if fate was on their side and they pulled through all the mental health bullshit, he was conviced that they should have one. At least Sander appeared to enjoy that role.

Milan sat on the second sofa with Zoë and Senne, the later one busy lightening all the candles on the cake. That leaving Jens to take his seat on the armchair across of them.

„Alright. Make a wish.“ Senne set presenting his accomplished work, as Robbe took out his phone to either film or take a picture with. „And hurry, we want cake.“

It took him three tries to blow every single candle out as the other laughed and cheered him on.

He only whished for his mom to stay a little longer, like the little child he felt he still was.

„What the hell is this?“ Jens asked, his eyes wide open as he regarded the big package that Sander had pulled from his and Robbe’s room. It was a paper brown rectangle and decorated with a comically large red bow, like it belonged into a cartoon. 

Zoë and Senne had gifted him a new year playstation plus membership, that he was very greatful for. And Milan had bought him a quite expensive book on music production, that Jens had wanted and was pretty sure Robbe had told him. 

It was nothing compared to the present he was starring at currently infront of him on the floor, as he, followed by everyone else, had gotten up to inspect it.

„Open it!“ Lotte urged excited to his left, pulling his hand forward.

So he did just that. The bow was off in no time and the packet wasn’t that hard to open either.

He was staring in disbelief directly onto a skate board with a photograoh attached to it by tape, that punched the air out of his lungs. 

It wasn’t just a skate board, it was his skate board, or at least a version of it. Because he had a pretty big accident with it, when he was eleven and the board broke and with it his heart, as it had been his very first one. He had cried the whole way home, more over the board than his broken arm and scratched knees. It took him weeks to get over it.

The photo was showing Robbe and him on his eights’s birthday, smiling at the camera, with said board in his little arms.

„Robbe, you didn’t..“ He heard his own voice saying, just barely keeping from trembling. His hand searching blindly for the boy behind him, who got the hint and kneeled next tim him to take it.

„Well it obviously isn’t the same one, but I found all these photographs of us and our boards last year, going through all my mothers stuff, before she was admitted and I knew immidiately that I needed to keep them. I planned back then to get you a board resembling it for your eighteen’s, but fate has it, that I fell for an artist. So while I told him what to do, and what was acurate, Sander drew and painted everything.“ Robbe explained, leaving Jens to continue starring at it, cautiously picking it up to turn it over and back.

He couldn’t believe it. It looked exactly the same, all the weird scribbles and sketches and amateurish tags were plastered across it. Jens felt the need to place it on a pedestal and conserve it, never touching it. This was too good to be true.

„Dude...“ He managed to say, putting the board back down, before his arms slung around his best friend burying his head in his neck, while the other laughed and stroke his back.

„And you too.“ Jens gestured towards Sander to come down as well, so he could hug both of them. 

„I told you he would love it.“ Robbe was told by his boyfriend, before Lotte tackled them.

„I want to be hugged as well.“ She declared pouting, as they let her into their circle, while Jens was still processing his present. 

The next hours Robbe and him spent reminising in old stories, they told the others about. A lot of emberessing ones, Jens thought, but he didn’t really mind. They really had been through a lot together. Robbe was definitely family and Jens couldn’t be more grateful to have him around. He just really hoped that they would all stay in Antwerp.

While Sander still had two years left at the academy, he had voiced interest to move somewhere else for a couple of years to see more of the world. And Jens was pretty sure that Robbe would stick with him, whereever his boyfriend would plan to take them. Jens really didn’t want to loose Robbe as well.

„You good?“ Robbe’s voice pulled him out of it, as Jens noted that the others had went back to the table, finishing of their second round of cake and tea and other sweets that have managed to appear on the table.

Jens nodded lightly at Robbe next to him on the sofa, as they had watched Senne and Sander help his little sister to stand on the used skate board of Robbe. She tried really hard to keep her balance as the two older boys pshed her back and forth across the living room. 

„You know that if you want to talk, that you can always come to me, yea?“ His best friend said smikring as he winked, a clear reminder of last year, were the roles had been reversed and Jens had tried to have Robbe open up.

„I will.“

„You will what?“ Zoë inquired curiously as she looked up from her phone again, having texted Jana and the girls group some pictures of todays little birthday party, as she had explained earlier.

„Let you know, that even though it was Jens’s big day, we spent two hours on Lucas yesterday on zoom. Because you girls and my boyfriend can’t get enough of him.“ Robbe joked, taking Zoë’s phone to read through the last couple of messages.

„See.“ Robbe said as he showed Jens the screen, a conversation about Lucas being the prime subject: „Tsk, tsk, tsk.“

Jens was pretty close to tell Robbe that he really didn’t mind that at all, and that he probably could happily chat about the boy himself for days on end. And one day he would have to let Robbe know as well. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. It was all too new.

„I’ve heard Lucas?“ Milan chimed in and Jens could only laugh at Robbe’s whine: “Not you as well.“

„Topic change!“ He threfore declared loudly, clapping his hands, to help his best friend out and made everyone look at him instead expectantly.

„What’s happening now with your exhibition? We all were so excited to behave in the dumbest way possible on thursday. Even Noor was in on it.“ Sander smirked at him, a fuck you on his lips, as he mouthed it silently at Jens.

„It’s all gonna be virtuell, like a tour through the exhibition pieces, so I guess maybe we could organise a litte zoom party again to go through it together?“ It is the best I can come up with now, if you are actually interested in seeing it, as you won’t have a possibilty to embarrass me infront of my professors.“

„Uh that sounds still fun. And Jana could join too! Let me just post the group.“ Zoë said excited as she took her phone back from Robbe, who turned his eyes a last time towards Jens. All serious as he patted Jens’s hand on the sofa between them.

„I mean it. I’m here to listen.“ He said smiling slightly and then getting up to help Senne make space on the table. They had ordered a big round of Pizza that should arrive soon for dinner.

Jens loved his best friend. He really did.

„We should add Lucas to the group as well.“ Milan proposed, being met with an unanimous approval of everyone else.

Jens shrugged at Robbe smirking back at him. He had tried at least. He took out his phone himself now, looking at their group that let everyone know about a new number been added. He needed to remind himself to text the poor boy later.

Zoë 17:56: Welcome to the best group in Antwerp!

Amber 17:57: Hello, Lucas!!! Glad to have you here 🥰

Noor 17:57: You still have time to run and block this. Once you are in, they will never let you out. Trust me. 😭

Moyo 17:59: Bring weed pls

[kindergarten2zine]

FAQ

What is a zine?

A zine is short for magazine or fanzine! 

The Kinderzine is a fanzine produced for the game Kindergarten 2 by SmashGames, a non-official non-professional project by some dedicated, talented people in this fandom. 

It will feature art and stories, and other content about the game + a small portion of fun fandom content like AUs, non-canon ships, and OCs. It will not be spoiler-free. 

Overall, it functions mostly as an art book with some stories mixed in.

Will this be free or will I have to buy this zine?

It's completely free! There will be no money earned from this project in any way, and the link will be publicly posted on the intended release date for no cost at all.

What will contributors get out of this?

The satisfaction of doing a fun activity with wonderful people in the fandom! /hj

No but really, you get to take part in creating something really cool that you, me, and all of us can be proud of. You get to have your own finished work when this is all over, along with everyone else's! 

No one will be getting paid in money, as this is a volunteer project and the zine is free. But all contributors will get access to the PDF link earlier than the public, and we all generally get to have fun together! 

And I hear the skills it takes to work on a zine is a good thing to put on your resume /j

Is this zine digital or will there be physical copies?

Only digital. It will be a PDF on Google Drive, available to view and download at anyone's discretion. 

There will be no printing of the Kinderzine, and no shipping of physical copies. There will be no merch (buttons, stickers, keychains, etc) available either; only this zine.

What are the zine specs?

1 full page (and front or back cover): 8.5 x 11 inches 1 half page: 8.5 x 5.5 inches 2 page spread: 17 x 11 inches   2 page connecting cover:  17 x 11 inches + 0.75 inch bleed (a bleed is a border around the image where that area will be cut off from the final (usually printed) product)

300 DPI  |  RGB (not CMYK)  |  Horizontal or vertical  |  you can add a bleed or not, but it's not going to be printed either way

You won't be yelled at or anything if you don't follow the DPI or colour guidelines, but it just makes it easier to put it into the editing software. Full-colour finished artwork is preferred (shading is not mandatory; flat colour is acceptable). 

Will there be NSFW content?

This zine is PG13. Content of sexual nature is absolutely not permitted in any form. 

Following the canon Kindergarten 2 game, there maybe be things like canon-typical blood, death, violence, or dark humour. These things along with anything else others may find to be 'sensitive topics' will be prefaced with appropriate trigger warnings.

How old do I have to be to apply?

As I said, the zine is PG13. Please be 13 years old or older, if you wish to apply. 

If you are almost 13 in a few months or even a few days after the time of the application period, then you are still 12 during the application period and cannot apply. Sorry. If you lie about your age to get in, you will be kicked from the project immediately.

Can I apply for multiple roles?

Absolutely! But please note that the more roles you have, the less work you may have to do on one specific role, as your workload will be distributed across your other roles. 

For example: if you are a mod and contributor, you might only be able to draw/write 1-2 things maximum depending on your mod position. Whereas someone who is only a contributor might be able to draw/write 2-3 things maximum, if they wish to do so.

How many contributors will be accepted?

Currently there isn't a specific amount of slots we need for artists or writers! 

The amount of contributors required to make this zine happen at all, at the minimum is 11 applicants, regardless of artist or writer. But we would be incredibly happy to have more than that join this project. If there are way more applicants than needed, we may either try to find a way to fit you in, or have to unfortunately exclude some people. Only time will tell :’)

What is the schedule?

The current schedule can be found in [this link]! Dates may be changed in the future, and will be announced to contributors.

What if I need to drop out?

That's perfectly okay! Just please be sure to let one of the mods know as soon as possible so we have time to prepare any rearranging/reorganizing of zine content that might occur after your absence.

Can I post my WIPs/sketches/writing/finished pieces even if the zine isn't published yet?

Yeah that's fine! You own your content and are free to do what you want with it if you're that excited about it.

Can my piece include a ship/AU/OC/headcanon?

If it's one of the main mission/character pieces, then no. 

Small headcanons are alright but if they're more obvious and non-canon-based you should talk to me about it first. Canon ships are allowed (Bob x Applegate, Lily x Nugget, Monty x Carla (even if it's kind of unrequited), etc). OCs can be in the background as a cameo, but they can't be the main focus of your work. 

If you're doing an additional piece, then yes absolutely! Keep in mind, however, there will be limited slots for these additional pieces.

Can I submit older work created before the production of this zine?

Yes, as long as it fits the page specs, or you don't mind cropping the art so it fits the page specs to a smaller page size! 

Older fanfics are fine as is, provided it's canon-based unless you're submitting it as an additional work.

Can I draw/write a different character/mission?

Please ask a mod about this. If we can find someone willing to switch with you, you can. 

Don't switch with people more than once, and don't do it without talking to a mod first. If you are going to switch with anyone, you're only allowed to do that before the 2nd check-in date. Anything past that date is not allowed.

What exactly can we draw/write once we're assigned a specific character/mission?

Contributors have the creative freedom to make anything they want within the characters/missions that get assigned. 

If that's too broad and you can't think of anything to draw/write, let one of the mods know and we can give you a more specific prompt.

Will there be extensions if I can't finish by the deadline?

Yes! Just let one of the mods know so we can expect your final work at a later date. 

Your piece will still need to be finished before the graphics team finishes the early-access PDF. It's greatly preferred that you do finish by the deadline to make this easier for them to finish their job, but if you really can't, that option is available. 

If you're unable to finish before the graphics team finishes the final public-ready PDF, your work will, unfortunately, not be included in the zine at that point.

What if I'm a traditional or phone artist and don't know how to keep my art to the page specs?

Traditional artists should be able to either scan their art in high quality, or if taking a picture, take the picture as clear as possible with only/mostly your art within frame; the graphics team will try to take care of sizing. 

Phone artists (or really any digital artists) can have canvas templates that are the correct specs, available to copy or download to draw over that I can personally provide for you (though I don't know yet how well this method will work). 

If there are any more questions or you need more help, please contact a mod.

If your art is too small, you can try using http://waifu2x.udp.jp/ to enlarge it without hurting the quality too bad. 

If it still doesn't fit the aspect ratios, the graphics team can still make it work so don't worry! We really, really prefer that everyone follow the page sizings as much as you can though, unless it's really impossible for you to do so.

Wait, there’s a Discord server? Can I join?

Only if you’re one of the artists or writers who is directly contributing to the zine! Sorry! It’s a private server where those who are directly involved in the zine will be invited. 

If you’ve already sent in an application, you will be invited to the server on, or a few days before, the date that applications close. Which will be March 13th, as of writing this, so please be patient until then. The date that invites will be sent out may change, so keep an eye out for that too.

What if I don't have a Discord and can't join the Discord server?

That's perfectly fine! You don't have to make an account or join the server if you don't want to either. 

As long as you have an e-mail, or a social media account that one of the mods have + the ability for us to private message you, we will keep you updated on anything Kinderzine related! 

The server is really just a way for us all to communicate with each other, mods and contributors alike, and keep in touch with the mods more accessibly. But the important stuff will still be communicated with you, and if you contact a mod somewhere other than Discord, we'll get to your message as soon as possible.

   Please direct any other questions not on the FAQ to either the Discord server’s #zine-questions channel, or this blog’s/my main blog’s ask box or private messages.

     Inbox  |  @kg2hub Inbox

[redstorm302]

Lonely God Pt. 2

https://redstorm302.tumblr.com/post/636162930641174528/lonly-god

Part one ⬆️

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redstorm302_Reddi/pseuds/Redstorm302_Reddi

Ao3 ⬆️

Warnings: Violence against a child, death (soon)

The slow march of time became a thing of the past with new company now. As always Bubs was thankful for the life his young son brought to their temple home. The halls were filled with joyful laughter and the pitter patter of little feet.

Linus ran through the halls, giggling and laughing. He wasn’t sure of where he was going, but he wanted to play! The temple was so huge to this little being and he liked to run around a lot in the open areas. It was just himself in this temple and he didn’t have any friends around.

He wanted to play! Run around and feel the grass and sand beneath his feet. Maybe his father could play with him. Speaking of which, where was the god this beautiful morning?

Bubs was somewhere on the upper level, in a silk hammock just enjoyed the breeze coming through the window. He chuckled, hearing something scamper about. Oh Linus, such a playful young child. He could go out, but, he must always mind the cliff side. It’d be terrible if he fell.

The creature that guarded this place, a large two headed horse by the name of Oz could watch the boy from the entrance. Linus was always in safe hands.. hooves.

The sound of little feet was his only warning before something landed in his lap. “Oof- greetings child”. He hugged Linus, never one to be annoyed or even mad at the boy. Perhaps he was too soft, but he felt that was ok. “What is it?”

“Hi!”. Linus wrapped his arms around his father’s neck,”It’s sooooo nice out! Can we go outside and play?? Please?”

“Of course”. He smiled brightly and held Linus to him before climbing out of the hammock and walking outside. The god just always loved holding the child and would get any chance he got. Once outside Bubs let Linus down. “It is indeed such a lovely day”

Linus set foot on the ground with bare feet. He didn’t like wearing shoes since he felt like his feet were trapped inside. Maybe when he got older he would put some sandals on, but for now that wasn’t the case. Anyway, he jumped around Bubs and giggled, “Let’s play hide an’ seek!!”. Even before confirmation he ran off, disappearing into the nature that surrounded their home. He knew it already like the back of his hand.

Bubs chuckled and stared counting, covering his eyes and turning around. Heh, he knew the forest when it had just started out as saplings. The god knew he could find little Linus. After getting to thirty he turned around,”Ready or not, here I come!”

Linus was the master at finding the right spots! He thought of himself as pretty good, even if he was always found in the end somehow. Linus couldn’t figure that one out. But he was sure he could win this time! Linus kept running and running till he reached a tree that was near the edge of the cliff. He started to climb this tree and then sit on top of one of the branches. Perfect!

Bubs set out to find his little runaway. He hummed a tune to himself and looked behind every tree. He knew all of Linus’ hiding spots, at least the previous ones before today. He didn’t think of the cliff because obviously the child had more sense than that. Right? Right.

Linus always visited the cliff when he was feeling.. stuck. He didn’t know how else to describe the feeling since he was still just a kid. But sitting far above the ocean with the sound of the waves below always made him feel better. Linus always wanted to know what it was like out there in the world beyond his home. He knew of stories of different places around this globe and wanted to go visit each and every one of them. Some day! When he was all grown.

Without warning two hands landed on his shoulders. He jumped out of pure surprise, his calm broken. Those hands were very much different from his father’s. “Greetings, you are the child of Bubs I presume?”

Instead of being scared and like the oblivious kid Linus was, turned around and continued to smile. He thought nothing of this interaction. “Hi! And yes!”

It was a God in the shape of a too beautiful woman in clothing that showed a little too much of her chest area. She smiled, “Oh you are so adorable as they say. I may just take you for myself.” Then the goddess smirked, “I may just do that.”. What irked her was that this child was far too pretty, even more than her especially- to be a product made from that monster of a god known as Bubs.

Linus tilted his head curiously at her, staring into her amber eyes. He didn’t know what she meant by that.

“Oh I almost forgot to introduce myself!”, the goddess laughed before saying in a calmer voice, “I am Goddess Phoebe, an old friend of your God.”

Linus had turned around by that point and looked interested in Phoebe now. “You are?! How come he never talks about you?”

Phoebe looked a bit offended by that before she plastered a fake, small smile and a chuckled, “Oh? He hasn’t has he? Hmm just like him to do so. What is your name?”

“Linus!”

“Linus? What a lovely name for such a cute face”, Phoebe noticed that the boy had gotten flustered which made her a bit amused. Linus had replied with a small, “Thank you, Goddess.” She then continued, “I have an offer to propose to you Linus... I know it is sudden but I want you to think about this. You see, I am in need of help and I think you can help me. What do you say we go on an adventure together?”

Linus’ eyes gotten wide before suddenly narrowing in thought, “I would have to ask Bubby first.”

“Ah- smart as you are cute”, she liked that, “Yet I assure you Bubby would let you go with me. You see, I am his friend and a best one at that. What do you say?”

Linus looked nervous now and stared down at his lap as he tried thinking about this with his small little brain. He didn’t know what he was suppose to do in this situation. “... I dunno.”

“Oh dear child, you should really learn to listen to your elders”. As much as she’d hate to admit she didn’t have enough time to truly do whatever she wanted, unfortunately. “Fine then, you can go by yourself”. With a smile on her perfect face and glee in her eyes she gave the child a rather forceful push off the tree and over the edge of the cliff. Ugly brat.

The scream that followed was like music to her ears.

To be continued cause I’m tired :)

[darkestwolfx]

Up from the Depths P.1 - Re-Review #32

Now, just to stick my personal opinion in here... we’re about to get to two of my all time favourite episodes. The amount of references to Jeff, and the purpose for IR - there’s just golden moments everywhere you look. So let’s have a look at some of them.

“What is it, John?”

“You’re gonna’ want to see this.”

“The TV-21! No, it can’t be...”

Well, it is (or we wouldn’t have an episode)!

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s the TV-21!”

“Is anyone gonna’ clue me in here?”

“It’s the TV-21!”

“That is not helping!”

Don’t worry, Alan, I’ll try and catch you up. But that just serves as another well-placed reminder of all the things Alan (and Kayo) is too young to remember about IR.

The fact Jeff etched his name onto the ship does not surprise me. It goes towards showing how proud he was of it, and completely fits in with everything we are told about him by Grandma (once again, wonderfully well placed comments).

Now, the TV-21, is given to us as “the first Thunderbird”, the fastest ship (at the moment), and Jeff’s pride and joy. There’s a nice little reference to Jeff’s previous careers as well, with the fact they’ve added the ‘Colonel’. Nice touch.

But of course, of all the places to crash land, it had to be in the Mariana’s Trench. I mean, there is a reason why it’s “the world’s last unmapped ocean”, according to the crew. It’s a pretty dangerous place. If you want to read about it, feel free, National Geographic have some incredibly interesting articles on what they theorise could be down there based on their limited exploration. But what we do know, is that it’s actually a very hostile seascape, and that the marine life which inhabits it seems to have evolved drastically to cope. I think that if we are ever able to understand it, we will know a lot more towards global warming and the mutations of animals. But I hate swimming. Water’s not my area. I prefer to research land mammals and leave my colleagues with the wet-weather adventures.

Anyhow, I think it’s totally awesome that Virgil was playing the piano and that Scott was sat at Jeff’s desk in the opening for this episode too. It’s always nice to see little throwbacks to this very human family.

So let’s discuss the origins of TV-21 for a moment. Before it was a Thunderbird, it was a comic series! And it’s original name was ‘TV Century 21′ which was eventually shortened to TV21. It had various mergers, which featured additions to the name, but TV21 stuck for the majority of issues. It was a weekly comic published by City Magazines, beginning around 1965. It’s content was... drum roll... the sci-fi TV series created by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s company: Century 21 Productions - thus where the comics name originated from, the TV being added to clarify where the material was coming from and hopefully encourage people to watch and read both in tandem.

The comic often had newspaper front pages, dedicated to the fictional news stories of the multiple Anderson worlds, e.g. Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet, Stingray.

Some really well known artists of the time worked on the comics, which only serves to increase their value. In our current day, the original ‘TV Century 21′ editions (Issues 1 - 154) are really hard to find, and so they sell/auction for incredibly high prices when one can be found - like much of the Anderson’s work which made it’s way into print. It does also mean that the first half of this great comic series is practically lost to the world.

Which is a big shame, because it was in many of these first issues (with their print time colliding with the original air slot of ‘Thunderbirds’) featured many episode-story related additions. For instance;

The supposed capture of ‘The Hood’ - which might have gone someway to explaining his disappearance during Series 2 of the show.

An addition to the US Army’s story line from ‘Pit of Peril’.

An addition to the events of ‘Sun Probe’, as well as an in-depth story on Thunderbird Three investigating the connection between the sun and natural disasters (better known now as global warming). My dad still has his copy of this edition, and I have no plans on selling it. It’s ironic that it features the only story line relevant to my current career. Hey, maybe there is such a thing as fate over coincidence (as ‘Doctor Who’ does suggest).

A special story for Thunderbirds Two and Four, upon which it is rumoured that the opening rescue of the ‘Thunderbirds’ (2004 film) was based upon. I personally think this was one of the best stories for the pair, and I’m disappointed it never appeared in an episode (as such). There were also rumours that this story was an expansion of the TOS episode ‘Atlantic Inferno’, but those were never confirmed and all suggestions ever made pointed towards it being a completely separate idea. There are interesting similarities in places though, so it’s worth consideration.

An expansion to Thunderbird Two’s ‘disappearance’, after the events of ‘Terror in New York City’, which covered the rumours spiraling during the time Thunderbird Two was out of operation, and some of the missions which were undertaken during said time.

And one of the few Fireflash related stories to feature outside of the TOS TV episodes. It was also one of the comic editions which fans come to know as ‘Thunderbirds meets Doctor Who’. At the time, both shows were scoring some of the highest viewings, and so I suppose these crossover editions only made sense. Many of the early editions featured such crossovers, including 2 other issues which I’ve posted above.

When we actually get to 2065, there’s going to be a bit of confusion over dates - the comics (set still in the futurist time - ever encroaching for us) were released on the corresponding dates, but with the year still set a hundred forward, e.g. 1965 was 2065, but the 13th March was the 13th March.

Right, enough of my geek-worthy knowledge on comics, and back to the episode. I mean, look at Scott’s face. He’s definitely had enough of my comic-based ramblings.

“Begging your forgiveness, Your Mongrel-ship.” 

I think the fact that Parker serves Sherbet tea (with one sugar) it’s just classic.

“I believe ‘wild goose chase’ were the words they used.”

“Well, as it happens, Parker loves a good chase. Parker, bring the car around would you? That’s right Sherbet. ‘On the double’.”

“hOn the double, hit his. Taking horders from ha mut, never though hI’d see the day.”

He does it anyway though - dedication right there,

Well now, time to visit the ocean. Did anyone else think the Deep Ocean Surveyor looked a bit... wrong? I had bad feelings about that thing from the start.

“This ship sure is a weird looking thing.”

Yeah, thanks for the back up there Gordon. Should have kept a closer eye on that one, although I do completely understand why they got so distracted and don’t blame them for it.

I love how Scott - Mr in command and always right - turns straight towards the TV-21 as soon as he knows they’re no injuries to worry about and that the DOS is all okay. Wasn’t he the one saying there was a rescue to prioritise only minutes ago?

“Gordon, what about the TV-21? Have they found part of the wreck?”

“Stand by, Scott, I’ll take a closer look. Just gotta’ clear some debris. It’s not just part of the wreck, it’s the whole thing!”

That is actually quite surprising! You know, something surviving like that. Good craftsmanship is all I can say.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvltZMDOK5g

I can’t describe this scene any better than the scene itself, so I’m just gonna’ leave it there for you to re-watch at your own leisure. The faces are pictures!

“Why’s everyone making such a big deal about a wrecked plane? I don’t even remember it!”

“The TV-21 was Dad’s baby. The first ever super Mach-20 ship. It was the prototype to Thunderbird One. Dad invested everything into, but The Hood sabotaged it in flight. Dad had to abandon the plane somewhere over the Maraina Trench rather than let The Hood get his hands on it. I remember it broke Dad’s heart. I always thought it was smashed and lost in the deep.”

And there we have a link to that Hood-Jeff backstory (which the writer’s then conveniently shoved into a like ten-fifteen second explanation of ‘I am a bad guy because’, but hey, we’re not quite there yet!) that kinda gets forgotten.

“Cor!”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is Bingo. Well done Bertie.”

“Very smart of you to track that signal John.”

“We got lucky.”

You don’t have to be so modest you know John.

“It seems The Hood may be up to his old tricks.”

“I’ve seen engineering like this before. It’s the work of The Mechanic.”

“Oh no! That’s The Mechanic’s ship! Thunderbird Four, get out of there!”

“Too late.”

Yeah... it might have been good to notice that a little bit sooner.

Now, someone has some serious anger issues! I mean, I now he wants them out of the way (and later on that’s he’s being controlled), but that was seriously uncalled for!

“You better come up with something fast. Thunderbird Four’s hull integrity is failing. You’re getting crushed!”

Thanks Virgil, we can see that, unfortunately. This is another of those moments where - even though I know how it ends - I have a little panic.

“Hull integrity at 28%. Gordon what are you doing?”

“The airlock’s jammed. I can’t get the door open.”

“Then make a new door! But do it fast, you don’t have long. Hull at 7%. Gordon, get out now! Thunderbird Four is offline.”

“What happened?”

“Thunderbird Four's been rendered in operative.”

“Gordon!”

“I’m here. I’m okay. But Thunderbird Four’s a little... ur... beat up.”

This is a little like that moment in ‘EOS’, where I think our collective hearts stopped.

I know Gordon left the sub to try and free it, but it was actually a good thing that he did, else he probably would have been crushed, which wouldn't have been good. He was caught a little in the blast anyway, so I’m surprised he was a well-able to continue as he was.

But back to those serious anger issues - The Mechanic, you need to learn that once you have damaged someone’s ship past the piloting level, you don’t need to then snap it in two - that is just downright mean, not to mention unnecessary!

Poor Thunderbird Four. I seriously thought at the time that it wasn’t going to be recoverable. Look at Gordon’s poor little face.

The determination to get the TV-21 back as well was just wonderful.

“Not possible, only Thunderbird Four can survive the pressure. We need to come up with something extraordinary and fast.”

“We can use the TV-21!”

“It’s been sitting on the bottom of the ocean for years. Do you think it will still work?”

“Absolutely. I build things to last.”

“Gordon, we need you to get on board the TV-21.”

“I always wanted to fly Dad’s plane.”

Of course he did.

Now this was a sight to behold. Look at him!

“I can’t believe we used to wear these things.”

This was such a lovely little throw back moment.

“You could try the Jeff Tracy fix. After all, it is Dad’s plane.”

“FAB. This is TV-21. We have lift off.”

And hell did that work!

Rescue count: 35

I mean, let’s just momentarily forget that this part ends with The Mechanic making a grand come back and stealing it.

“To The Mechanic, let me tell you who you’re dealing with. We’re International Rescue; you can’t push us around, you cant tell us what to do, and you absolutely, positively can’t take our stuff!”

“No, let me tell you who you’re dealing with. I’m The Mechanic. I take what I want, from who I want, whenever I want it.”

Yeah... shivers.

Let’s just remember Gordon’s great moment getting to pilot it.

“So tell me, what is it like flying Dad’s plane?”

“It was awesome.”

See, that’s a nicer ending.

[thegeekerynj]

Short Reviews, when the Big Mouth doesn’t have much to say… Or is trying to get caught up from COVID / Election Overload

An Occasional Attempt to Read, Discuss and Review the Wonders of Comics

By: John Rafferty, cranky old man, and Fan of All Things Comics

Short Takes 

Short Reviews, when the Big Mouth doesn’t have much to say… Or is trying to get caught up from COVID / Election Overload

Legion of Super Heroes 6-10  (DC Comics)

Writer: Brian Michael Bendis    Pencils: Ryan Sook (#6 - 7, 10) Various (8 - 9)   Inker: Wade Von Grawbadger (#6 - 7, 10) Various (8 - 9)

‘You want to be called Bouncing Boy?

Looking at the Memexes, we were considering “The Bullet”.

Bullet?

It’s a projectile that——

No, with me, it’s all about the BOUNCE.

———————————————————————————————————

Can Brian Bendis write everything?

Between story, and downright FUN, this is a great book.  Team books are hard to do well, if for no other reason, because of the characterizations. 

Multiple characters mean multiple personalities, and some of those will always get underdeveloped in relationship to the team, as the writer invariably has favorites  Unless…

What we are seeing with LSH is development of characters from across the spectrum. Every book has development of some of the characters, even if they’re not directly involved in the story. This is a far cry from what you see in other books.

Add to this Ryan Sook’s breakdowns, and Wade von Grawbadger’s inks, and you get a pretty package, all tied up in a big bow. More importantly, this is a story with a legacy reaching back 60 years, and is being truly refreshed for a new audience.

This isn’t the Legion I read in 1967, but it’s damned good! 

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Suicide Squad #9 - 10  (DC Comics)

Writer: Tom Taylor  Artist: Bruno Redondo

I have Kord’s location.

Okay. Do you also have the Senator?

Oh, did you want him back for some reason? That spineless mouth-breather championed a law to dump more waste into the sea. Delusional, greedy @#$% thinks he owns the world.

I have some friends reminding him he does not.

———————————————————————————————————

Floyd Lawton, first appearance, Batman #59, June 1950, as the man who never misses.

Floyd Lawton, a man who feels no rereason to continue living, but has no wish to die: who puts his life on the line to save his teammates time and time again, to save his daughter and her mother, all with the wish of dying in a truly spectacular fashion.

Floyd Lawton, who finally finds a reason to live, in the eyes of his daughter, Zoe.

Floyd Lawton. Deadshot. Perennial member of Task Force X, finally earned his pardon.

Game Over.

By all that’s Unholy, Tom Taylor is a hateful SOB! But the man writes a great story!

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶

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Marvel Zombies Resurrection # 1 - 4  (Marvel Comics)

Writer: Phillip Kennedy Johnson   Artist: Leonard Kirk

‘Fine. I guess we came all this way. 

Might as well do something really stupid.

———————————————————————————————————

This sums up exploring the World, any world, during a Zombie Apocalypse. Especially when those with Super Powers have been turned into Super Zombies.

So, we pick up with Peter Parker, Forge, Karla Sofen (Moonstone), Valeria and Franklin Richards, a Flerkin named Chewie, and the reprogrammed Sentinel lovingly called ‘Nana’, moving from defendable place to defensible area, seeking a ‘safe place’. Somewhere they can rest for more than one night… if that is possible.

Always realizing the next tree could be hiding a zombified Avenger, or Defender, or Loved one…

Johnson’s Miniseries is another version of the Marvel Zombiepocalypse, which begs the question, what happens when Zombie Galactus infects your world? Or, more importantly, when it CARRIES the infection to your world?

Leonard Kirk’s art style is perfect for this story, a very dark, visceral style which is a little hard on the eyes, making the reader work for every panel. Yes, it hurts to read, but IT SHOULD! It’s Zombies!

This is worth the read if you can get all 4 issues (the first issue came out in July).

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶

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Rorschach #1  (DC Black Label)

Writer: Tom King   Artist: Jorge Fornes

‘They won’t talk to me. Treating me like I’m a  damn Kindergarten kid. I got twins in Kindergarten. Duane and Dwight. I’m not a Kindergarten kid. 

Jesus Christ. What’d they say to you?

That you’re dying.

Shit.

===========================================================

In 1985, Walter Kovacs died. 

It went unnoticed, but for the few in attendance, for Kovacs died following the Alien Invasion of New York, which, in effect saved the world.

Yet, unnoticed, but for the few, Walter Kovacs became a red splash on the Antarctic permafrost.

And Rorschach, the Crime Hunter, died with him.

Or. did he?

In a world existing somewhere between Watchmen 1985 and Current Multiverses, Tom King and begun a noir-ish tale… Did Rorschsch come back, to foil an assassination attempt, and die in the process?

Did he come back, and fail at an attempt at assassination?

Or, Gentle Readers, is there a whole slew of balls in the air we just haven’t seen yet, that we are going to be expected to juggle deftly, as they drop just into sight?

I can’t wait for the answer!

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Justice League #54 - 57  (Death Metal Tie-In) (DC Comics)

Writer: Joshua Williamson    Artists: Xermanico (54, 57), Pencils: Robson Rocha (55 - 56), Inks: Daniel Henriquez (55 - 56)

“Don’t you get it Cyborg? We’re not the Justice League!

We’re the Suicide Squad!

———————————————————————————————————

I have said before I am not a fan of Joshua Williamson’s writing.

Maybe I just don’t like him on the Flash. 

Four issues, each of them a very good story, each building, with some action and humor, to a smash mouth endpoint, that brings us to Death Metal #5.

I have to say, I’m enjoying this run of Justice League, even with the switch of artist teams mid - tale Xermanico’s work os beautiful, right into the valley of the Starros (that gave me giggle fits!) Rocha and Henriquez’s work is very pretty, and a little darker than Xermanico’s, giving a more atmospheric touch to the Antenna of LOD.

I have to admit, they do a mean Kori, as well! Really FIERCE, with a Full Length mohawk!

Well worth the cost of admission, and a strong addition to the Metal storyline.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Nightwing #75 - 76 (DC Comics)

Writer: Dan Jurgens   Artists: Travis Moore and Ronan Cliquet (75), Ronan Cliquet (76)

‘We have to talk.’

———————————————————————————————————

Four words. 

Four words that have ended more relationships than violence.

Dan Jurgens has done a masterful job of tying up the Ric Grayson / Amnesias storyline that seems to have run for nigh on ever… by bringing it full circle to Anatoli Knyazev, the KGBeast.

The artwork in these two issues was pretty, with obvious switches between that of Travis Moore (the Titans / Batgirl pages) and Ronan Cliquet’s Batman / KGBeast pages.

Nicely tied up, completing multiple storylines in two issues. Ready to move forward/

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶.5

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Young Justice  #19 - 20 (DC Comics)

Writers: Brian Michael Bendis and David  Walker   Artist: Scott Godlewski

Red Tomato?

I think he said Tornado, and you know it.

Honestly, he talks so fast, I can’t understand him most of the time.

———————————————————————————————————

Damian Wayne, Robin.  Cassie Sandmark, Wonder Girl. Bart Allen, Impulse. Conner Kent, Superboy. Stephanie Brown, Spoiler. Keli Quintela, Teen Lantern. Zan and Jayna. the Wonder Twins. Jinny Hex, Naomi, Amethyst,

Twenty issues in, and the book is cancelled… or is planned to end. Either way, this is a suck way to do things, DC.

This is a great group of characters. Much better than the roster in the Young Justice cartoon, simply for the diversity. Some heroes just coming into their own, some who have existed for years,  (the Wonder Twins have been around in MULTIPLE iterations since the 1970’s), all helping each other… This was a great jumping in book for pre-teens who weren’t up for all the violence / hyperkinetic action / storytelling of a true adult book.

And, it was FUN!

Bendis, Walker and Godlewski produced a fantastic product every month.

One which is ending too soon. Unless, of course, it is going to come back in a new package… 

Hint, hint, hint…

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Amazing Spider-Man 50 - 53  ‘Last Remains’  (Marvel Comics (duh!))

Writer: Nick Spencer   Artist: Patrick Gleason

‘You’re going to love it, Pete. There’s no better feeling in this life — Than being surrounded by those you love.

———————————————————————————————————

So, what are the rules around DEAD Characters returning?

Do they have to be relevant after so many years? Shouldn’t they be, well, driven to do something? Not take more than 50 issues to finally get around to saying…”Bazinga!’, or it’s equivalent?

I must admit, issue 50 is the first issue of a Spider-Man book I picked up, and started to enjoy, until I realized I needed to pick up the LR issues also in order to get the whole story. Didn’t’t we get enough of this in the Shooter Years? 

What about a year and a half ago, when Marvel vowed they would never pull this crap again?? 

I guess they forgot… (Insert comparison to jackass in office here).

Too much work, don’t really care.

Especially when the reveal of who Kindred is happens in issue 50, and Peter finds out in #53… Puh-Leez!

At least it’s not Professor Warren and his Gwen Stacy clone. **BRRRRR** Freakin’ Creepy Old Perv!

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶

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Batman 101 - 102 (DC Comics (bigger DUH!))

Writer: James Tynion IV   Artist: Guillen March (101)  Pencils: Carlo Pagulayan   Inks: Danny Miki   Artist: Carlos D’Anda (Pages 13 - 16)

‘DOUBLE RENT! And you don’t talk to the other tenants! They are good people.

Little Santa Prisca is a community. We live through BANE. We live through JOKER. Don’t blow it up with all your nonsense!

You got it Charlie, No Nonsense. Not Here.

Hey! What’s your policy on Hyenas?

———————————————————————————————————

So, Lucius Fox is one of the richest men in the world. 

Selina Kyle has put the Bat on a One Year Clock to get his stuff together, or she walks.

Clownkiller might be the Bernard Goetz of Superhero Vigilantism (look up the reference, I can’t do everything!), but he goes about proving you can’t keep a good vigilante killer down if he has Google.

Ghost Maker is more than we thought, and knows who Bruce Wayne keeps in the closet (or cave).

Is there anyone in Gotham who doesn’t know who Bruce Wayne is?

Tynion continues to pump out some great product, the stories and characters do not disappoint. Including Grifter as Fox’s ‘bodyguard’ was a nice touch, having him get the drop on Batman, a nicer one.

The art in both books, while vastly different, is simply gorgeous. I want to see more od the team of Pagulayan and Miki, I’m hoping to see their work grow with the storylines.

Next issue, BATTLE Sequences! Should be fun, not that it hasn’t been so far.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Shang Chi  #1 - 2 (Marvel Comics)

‘I have to save my Little Sister!

I have to kill my Big Brother!’

———————————————————————————————————

Only meetings should have agendas.

-Me, just now

Once upon a time, Sax Rohmer wrote stories about the machinations of one Fu Manchu, and his oft overturned attempts to take over the world.

In 1973, Steve Engelhart and Jim Starlin brought Shang Chi, son of Fu Manchu into the Marvel Universe, where he and his MI-6 partners Clive Reston and Black Jack Tarr were responsible for being the monkey wrenches in the machinery of Fu Manchu’s Plans.

It seems that Shang Chi is back, without his prior father. He is still proficient in all forms of martial arts, but now, he is ‘Champion of House of the Deadly Hand’ (like that name isn’t going to come to but him in the butt like a Karmic werewolf), and since the passing of his ‘Father”, now the Commander of the Five Weapons Society.

The artwork is pretty, and the story, steeped in Asian Mysticism, is a little draggy so far. Is the story good? Yeah, it’s a nice reminder of a character I exjyed a long tome ago.

Will it get better? Time will tell.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶.5

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The Rise of Ultraman #1 - 3 (Marvel Comics, by way of Tsuburaya Productions)

Writers: Kyle Higgins and Matt Groom    Artist: Francesco Manna

Oh. You’re here to fight because you think we’re one of the species that can’t evolve.

No. I know you cannot evolve.

Fifty-Four of your years ago, my brother came to assist you. And you killed him.

———————————————————————————————————

In the late 60’s, on certain New York television stations, the Saturday Afternoon hours were filled with Japanese imports, Kaiju - United Science Patrol, and of course the story of the death of Moroboshi, and the coming of Ultraman.

Ultraman, a human - alien symbiosis, who fought the Kaiju menace coming to take over the Earth.

Forward to 2020, a new Ultraman, with a new team of USP helpers / friends, and what looks at this point to be a corrupt system surrounding them.

This creative team has done a marvelous job with the material thus far, reviving this character for a modern reader.

It’s just a shame it’s only 5 issues…

It is definitely worth the read.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶

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American Vampire 1976 #1 - 2 (DC Comics)

Writer: Scott Snyder   Artist: Artist: Rafael Albuquerque

‘DAMMIT! Before what happened with Gus, you were the best vampire tracker and killer around. I’m asking you to help me take down whoever this PEELING MAN is.

But if this shitty music and LASERS is your life now, then just say so, and I’ll leave you to it.

It’s not a laser, you goddamned idiot.

It’s a SOLAR LAMP. **klik**

———————————————————————————————————

Ten years ago, Scott Snyder, Rafael Albuquerque and Stephen King started a journey which has spanned 10 Years in real time, but 200 years, and 12 separate cycles in series time.

The current iteration has our favorite group of vamps and exterminators running around 1976, wrecking discos, trains, and graveyards, all in the name of bringing back Stoker’s primary villain.

Snyder proves again he is up to the task of creating a world of whimsy and horror, providing mayhem, madness, and the occasional snorting giggle. His droll wit, and ability to write a phenomenal action piece makes this cycle of the American Vampire story a must read.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

I hope you like angst on your fanfic sandwish :) Leave a comment and tell me your thoughts!

Also: (spoiler not a spoiler) I included the Capitol anthem from the new THG book “The ballad of songbirds and snakes” but it doesn’t give away the story so it’s safe to read.

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

*swallows back a sob* Haymitch? Haymitch, it’s me.

Ah. There she is. Long time no princess. What can you want?

I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.

Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course. *takes a mouthful of something* It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here then. Both of ‘em.

I can take the train. If I go now I ought to be…

Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

What for? I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?

I’ve never called…

No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.

I know you’re angry. This is not easy for me either but…

I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. “When hell freezes over”, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?

You left me, Haymitch! I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!

Could’ve fooled me. *twists the top of another bottle* And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: “Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…”

Don’t call me that! Haymitch, please! Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…

Oh, I cared about you. A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.

*toot toot*

xXx

There was still some broth left. Katniss slipped her flask into a jacket pocket and poured a second mug.

The storm had finally blown itself out, for now anyway, but one look through the window quelled all hope for a hunting day. No point roaming the woods for sustenance when the snow lay waist-deep.

She fed Buttercup her last piece of bacon and carried the mug into the living room.

“I’m going to the bakery.”

Nightmares had made Haymitch kick all the cushions off the couch again. He lay on his side with the knife cradled against his chest like some scary version of a teddy bear.

“There’re scrambled eggs if you want it,” Katniss said. “And some bacon. I left it on the stove.”

She couldn’t set the mug down. Wasn’t enough space on the coffee table and Haymitch grunted at the sound of glass against glass when she tossed the empties in the container by the door.

He muttered something she couldn’t make sense of and pulled his arm up over his eyes to ward off the light from the one lamp. “Drink the broth at least.” She placed the cup at arm’s reach and was gone.

It was almost a month now since Haymitch set up camp on their couch. One day mid-dinner he just staggered into their living room and he hadn’t left since.

He was decent enough to not completely trash the place but still, you didn’t want Haymitch Abernathy for a roommate. He was hard enough to deal with nextdoor.

Katniss couldn’t stand it being at home these days. Haymitch woke both her and Peeta almost every night with the agonized sounds he made in his sleep and daytime was no better.

Their mentor, hollow-eyed and shrunken on the couch – it all reminded her too much of her mother and Katniss fled when she couldn’t help. She kept to the woods as much as possible and if not the woods the bakery or the Hob or Hazelle’s.

Anywhere but home.

When they finally asked him if it wasn’t time he moved back to his own house, they cleaned it for him, Haymitch only shot them a long look, like a dog they had just mistreated and rolled over so he faced the couch.

“She’s there,” that’s all he muttered.

And what could they do? Not tie him up and dump him somewhere. He was their mentor and they already owed him more than they could ever repay.

They had known something was off the moment they got home, the day before Christmas Eve.

They walked up the old pathway, loaded with bags and the first thing they saw when they passed Haymitch’s house was the Christmas tree lying in the snow, still green and frosty and covered with ornaments. Like someone had just thrown it out the door.

And it wasn’t the only thing.

In the ever-growing light they saw the ground littered with items. Towels and bed sheets and bath robes lay in bundles, all frozen stiff. Soggy, old newspapers and magazines too, blown apart by the frisk wind.

Her clothes were everywhere, along with an endless number of bottles and jars and other beauty products half-buried in the snow. They found napkins and slippers, perfume bottles and pillows. Hairbrushes, tea cups, blankets, curtains, shower curtains, even anagrammed towel hangers attached to chunks of the bathroom wall.

The state of his house was even worse, like a twister had gone through it. They asked him about it but Haymitch was a closed book.

Then, of course they found Effie’s note on their kitchen table and it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened in their short absence.

They wanted to help. Of course they did. Only, how? Wasn’t like they could change what had already happened or say anything to make it better.

Not that Peeta didn’t try to talk to him. Talk at him. Finally Katniss stepped up and said, not unkindly,

“Just leave him be.”

Haymitch had said next to nothing the whole time but when Katniss and Peeta turned to leave he stopped them in their tracks.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said and looked Peeta straight in the eye; a feat considering how intoxicated he was. “You don’t get any ideas ‘bout calling the Capitol, alright. I mean it, boy. This is my wreckage.”

Sun set early this time of year. For the remaining hours, Katniss and Peeta dug for treasures in Haymitch’s garden, until they had to squint in order to see. And even then some of Effie’s belongings would probably not be found until Spring.

They brought it all back to their house. Silently, Peeta filled the sink with hot water and suds and washed the plates and glasses and tea cups while Katniss stood at the ready with a towel, both of them deep in thought.

Back in District 4, when Peeta gathered her in bed, he had teased her about their cosy, up-coming Christmas. Painted her pictures of Effie plaguing both her and Haymitch with her bright holiday spirit and bringing them gifts – wrapped in regular wrappings so she didn’t technically break Haymitch’s rule of “no Christmas presents.”

Dinner at the Hob would follow where Effie would spend about two thirds of it clucking over Haymitch’s table manners and Haymitch stating he should just hire her voice to cut his turkey for him and “we’re not doing this again, that’s for sure”, all the while not quite able to keep his hands to himself.

“And then they’ll top the evening with a see-through excuse like ‘I’m gonna go get a bottle’ or ‘I am simply exhausted. Do you mind if we call it a night?’,” Peeta finished and grinned at Katniss who squirmed like a worm in hot ashes.

It just felt good to make fun of their mentor being happy for once. Happy with Effie.

Now, everything was in ruins and tomorrow would be just like any other day, with Haymitch drunk and getting drunker.

Not that Christmas had ever been a busy affair in the Victor’s Village. They had dinner and that was pretty much it. A slightly fancier one, perhaps, with about a 50% chance of Haymitch joining. He only ever showed up last New Year’s because of Effie.

Because of Effie. That phrase applied for many aspects of Haymitch’s life, didn’t it? He’d deny it but just the fact she got him to even consider drying out pretty much said everything.

“Maybe we should call her,” Peeta wondered, not sure himself.

“But you heard him,” Katniss said. “This is none of our business. And they’ll come around, eventually.”

They were both so used to their mentor and escort’s antics. Those stubborn, old fools were always at each other’s throat and through and through they found a way back to one other. Back at each other’s side.

This too would pass, surely? Sooner or later, one of them would swallow their pride and pick up the phone.

And while Katniss and Peeta waited for that call they stored Effie’s things for safe-keeping, well out of Haymitch’s sight and stopped asking questions.

But February rolled to a close with dark days and even darker nights. Life in Twelve was just one storm after another and people were forced to seek shelter at the Hob so as not to get lost in them. The vixen’s cry echoed in the night and Katniss and Peeta stored up on candle sticks for the blackouts.

March came with the deceiving breath of spring only to bury the district in a second winter. Hazelle’s kids put her on bed rest after a sprained ankle. Brooks gushed in plentiful streams under the ice and an apple-cheeked Katniss returned from the woods, game bag loaded with wild turkey.

April arrived with warmer weather. Tiny greens peeked in people’s gardens and the patches of last year’s grass grew bigger for each day. Water dropped down every icicle and town’s kids and Seam kids alike melted snow in water barrels to make the spring come faster.

Everyone kept busy. It was a time of change, of rebirth. Winter was finally over and it had a rejuvenating effect on everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Effie’s name was never mentioned and yet she was ever present. If an outsider walked past and saw Haymitch on the couch he might think “same old, same old”. But Katniss and Peeta were family and they knew him better than that.

Haymitch had never been an easy person to deal with and definitely not a happy-go-lucky one. But every once in a while, if he had a couple hours of dreamless sleep it was like he got an energy boost.

That’s when he got up, checked on the geese, helped Peeta in the bakery, maybe just had a hot meal down at the Hob before he returned to his bottles.

Now, it was like he didn’t care about anything anymore. He just lay on the couch, drinking and God help the one who bothered him. He only ever left for the bathroom breaks or when his liquor ran out.

But even that came to an end.

It happened when Haymitch staggered into the Hob on a Sunday morning.

“Usual,” he slurred and tossed handfuls of money on Ripper’s bar counter.

“Sorry, Haymitch. You’re too early,” she said. “The train doesn’t arrive until Monday. We’re all out now.”

“Usual!” Haymitch repeated, louder this time like she was slow. Sighs rose from around the tables.

“It’s Sunday,” Ripper told him patiently. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll get your bottles. I can’t sell it to you now because we’re out.”

She couldn’t make him understand. Each time she tried Haymitch only got surlier. “Wha’s the problem?” he whined. “I have money. Wha’s the problem?”

He scared some of the little kids eating breakfast with their parents. The temperature in the diner seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and finally a gray-haired old man muttered, loud enough for Haymitch to hear it,

“Who’d have thought we’d ever wish for that fancy sow to come back?”

That’s when Haymitch wielded his knife. He was so drunk it was pathetic but for Ripper that was it! She kicked him out and told him either he left his knife at home or he would have to get someone else to buy him his liquor.

From then on, Katniss and Peeta stocked up his supplies and Haymitch found even fewer reasons to get up.

What for?

Maybe it would have been better, Katniss thought. Less cruel, if he never got those precious few months with Effie. Because losing her, losing her altogether and not just as a lover, seemed to have opened a crack in his rock bottom and pushed him down that hole as well.

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

May. God, he hated May. Ever since he turned twelve, the month right before the Hunger Games was nothing but a ticking clock. Even now, years after the war had ended, there were still times when he started awake, thinking,

Reaping day’s almost here!

He couldn’t sleep. While he marinated his liver a bug had detoured in to the house and was now buzzing about in the window.

The sound unnerved him because the bloody thing just wouldn’t give up! It bumped and thumped against the glass over and over again, yearning for freedom.

It was Peeta’s damn fault. He always opened a window when it rained.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, alright,” Haymitch growled and swung his legs off of the couch.

It was a wasp. Not the tracker jacker kind, just a regular one. It crawled along the window sill, flew into the glass once more and wiggled it’s antennae in irritation.

“Out with you now,” Haymitch muttered as he struggled with the window hooks. “Be free.” And watched the bug disappear.

The night air felt balmy against his skin. He took his time unscrewing the lid on the silver hip flask. The geese were quiet for a change but the mockingjays were still up, frisky and begging for company. He ran his hand through his wild beard and drank the flask dry. It didn’t take long.

He was just looking for something to fill it up with when he heard the sound. One even his soaked brain could place.

A phone. Ringing.

His mind jumped to Effie and he could’ve kicked himself for it. He resisted the desire to slam the window shut and closed it before he returned to the couch. The coffee table held nothing but empties. They clinked under his fingertips until he found one with some in it. He lifted it to his lips and greeted the burn with a sigh of relief.

Outside, the ringing continued. Even with the window closed, there was no escaping it.

It’s not her. Why’d she call now? No reason for her to call now.

After what felt like 10 years, the phone silenced. The knot in his stomach eased somewhat and after he promised himself to tear the phone out the wall as soon as the sun rose he walked over to the cabinet and peeked inside.

“Thank you, kids,” he mumbled at the welcomed sight. He grabbed same bottles at random and brought them back to the couch. But before he got the chance to flop down on his ass-print the phone went off again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

Who called him at three in the morning? No, strike that. Who called him, period?

Sweat trickled down his sides in never-ending streams. The sound played on his nerve strings like a violin. It was the wasp all over again because the caller, whoever it was, didn’t give up. Refused to stop until he did something about it.

A hundred whispered insults spilled over Haymitch’s lips as he pulled on his shoes.

He hadn’t seen the inside of his house in months. The last time he was here had been a fucking nightmare. Broken furniture, broken everything.

The long, hard signals cut through the stillness like a knife.

It’s not her.

He picked up the phone and the blare of music nearly ripped her ear drum. He held the thing a meter away.

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

“Well, hi to you too!” the person laughed. It was a woman’s voice. One he recognized, only he couldn’t quite place it. From the Capitol at least. “How’s the bachelor’s life treating you, Haycock?” the stranger woman asked. When he didn’t answer she went on, “It’s me, Gloria! Gloria Highgrass. We met at Octavia’s birthday party, remember? Yellow dress. Good-for-nothing cousin by my side.”

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

“Where you’ve been hiding, hm?” she asked. ”Haven’t seen you in a while. Finally tired of your afternoon delight?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

“Oh,” Gloria chuckled. “You kiss your bottle with that mouth? What would Effie said?”

Her words drew giggles. Clearly, they had an audience and he was just about to slam the phone down when she said,

“I just saw her, that little cock-warmer of yours. And between you and me: I don’t blame you for leaving. What a mess, haha! You screwed her up good, Haycock! She’s so unfuckable now! Well done, sir. Well done.”

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

“Do you know we all placed bets on how long the two of you would last? It’s true! You cost me a fortune, Haycock! You guys stuck it out way longer than I thought. And then my useless cousin told me about your little scene at the train station. ‘Get your shit together’ and all that. God, I wish I was there!”

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

”You wanna know what I think? I think she planned the whole thing. So you’d never leave her. Too bad she forgot that district scum scurry off like cockroaches once the light’s on. Well, she’s paying for it now, isn’t she? How’d she tell you? Before or after you cleared out?”

It was a wonder the phone didn’t break in Haymitch’s fist. He could hardly breathe, that’s how furious he was. But he refused to give this woman the satisfaction of him losing his temper.

“Hey, lady,” he said, in a very measured voice. “If you know something about Effie, spit it out. Or else you can just stop wasting my time and go back to your pathetic little life.”

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

”You don’t know?” she said. “You kidding me? He doesn’t know!”

And everyone on the other end broke down in hysterical laughter. Gloria contained hers just long enough to say,

”Come back to the Capitol, Haycock! See for yourself!”

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

He couldn’t stand another second in this place. Her things may be gone but he still felt Effie’s presence in every corner of the house. Like fumes slowly killing you.

He didn’t realize how much his hands trembled until he was back on the couch. He balled them into fists.

The nerve of that woman! “Come see for yourself.” The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He needed a drink. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and tipped the first bottle he found in to his mouth, again and again until he came up choking.

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

“You screwed her up good.” Yeah, that’s likely. He didn’t fancy himself being important enough to lose even a minute’s sleep over.

Maybe so. But you’re not the only bad thing that’s happened to her. Remember?

“She’s fine,” he told the empty room. “Just fine.” Probably thrived now that she didn’t have to deal with him anymore. That low-life Gloria Highgrass was just fucking with his head. She wanted to cause a spectacle, get some gossip material, that’s all.

If Effie was in any kind of need all she had to do was pick up the phone and call him.

Besides, wasn’t like she kept in touch to see how he was fairing. It was damn clear she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. And if she didn’t care, why should he?

Yeah, he thought and reached for the next bottle. Let her deal with her own demons.

xXx

If Haymitch thought he was the only one up he was wrong. Katniss slept a deep slumber for once but all the creaks and groans coming from the floorboards downstairs finally wormed their way into Peeta’s dreams until he flinched awake.

The room burned with morning light. Peeta’s heart pounded in his chest but he remained still so as not to disturb Katniss while he listened to the sounds below.

It wasn’t the first time Haymitch “ghosted the halls”. Peeta remembered it especially well from their train rides together and back at the penthouse during the Games.

Sometimes it seemed like Haymitch just couldn’t stand to remain in the same place, locked inside his own head. And that’s when he stalked from room to room, aimlessly. Like a bear in a cage. Well, a bear with a bottle in its paw.

No, it wasn’t the first time but it was the first time in a while. And he used to go to bed with the sun so what was he still doing up?

At least with Haymitch on the couch, you knew where you had him. Finally Peeta carefully extracted himself from Katniss and slipped out of bed, just to check on him. That wouldn’t be a first either.

He reached the foot of the stairs just as Haymitch returned in to the living room, surprisingly sober. Sobered up. He sunk down on the couch, elbows on his knees. He never noticed Peeta. His eyes were squarely focused on something in his hands.

Peeta couldn’t tell what it was at first but then Haymitch shifted it over and the penny suddenly dropped.

It was a paper goose. The paper goose. He knew it well because it used to sit on the window sill back in his studio. Haymitch must have ventured inside and stumbled upon it by co-incidence.

Effie’s paper goose. Well, Haymitch’s really since she gave it to him.

Peeta remembered the day she made it. It was the summer Haymitch had brought her here after the over-dose.

She had one of her good days and joined them for breakfast in the studio. He painted, Katniss ate cheese buns, Haymitch doodled a horrible caricature of Effie and in exchange she made him this little origami creature.

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

Shortly after, the night terrors sent her in a down-ward spiral again and just to keep her from clocking out Haymitch said he thought about getting some geese. What’d she think?

The idea probably originated from Chaff. Eleven’s victor loved everything made from the bird. Roast goose and buttered potatoes, corned goose hash, fried eggs with mushrooms.

Those were the dishes he ordered at the training centre before the third Quarter Quell and if memory didn’t deceive Peeta he even told Caesar Flickerman after he was crowned victor, that he liked to raise geese once he returned to District Eleven.

Now he never really got that idea off the table. Instead, Haymitch did. Well, sort of. None of his birds had ever wound up on a plate.

In any case, Peeta bet the whole ”let’s go to Eleven” adventure wasn’t motivated by some great desire to buy geese. That’s just what Haymitch had her believe. Because for whatever reason Effie lived up a little whenever she got to plan things. It gave her a sense of control.

It was slick how he played it. Made her think “This will be good for Haymitch” when really it was “good for Effie”. Something to keep her mind occupied. His own way to try and coax her out of her depression.

A hundred memories drenched up by one paper bird. That’s what Peeta witnessed this very moment. Haymitch could have crushed it easily. Just made a fist and tossed it on the fire. He tossed everything else that even vaguely reminded him of her.

He didn’t. The way he held it, you’d think it was one of his goslings and he had a look on his face that would not have been there, had he known someone was watching.

“Morning,” Katniss yawned as she walked in to the kitchen, hours later. Peeta stood by the stove, quietly pouring hot water through the tea leaves. She reached for the jug of orange juice to set it on the table. “Where’s Haymitch at? I didn’t see him.”

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

In answer, he pointed at the table and she discovered the note, jotted down on a scrap of paper.

I’m gonna go see Effie. Call her and tell her I’m coming, OK? Thanks.

“You talked to her? What’d she say? What?” she asked at the look on Peeta’s face.

“I tried, for about an hour,” he said. “I can’t get through. The phone’s disconnected.”

xXx

Gem of Panem Mighty city Through the ages, you shine anew

Intertwined with their laughter, the Capitol anthem echoed around the deserted city. Morning light stretched their shadows into four giants as they walked down the street, arm-in-arm. Their makeup was smeared, the flowers in their outfits drooping. All evidence of what a smash hit the night had been!

We humbly kneel To your ideal And pledge our love to you!

Coriana’s voice rose highest of them all, the only member in their quartet who could hit all the high notes, drunk or sober, but they all joined in just as merrily with the voice they had.

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

It felt good, comforting, to chant the age old verses of their childhood. The real anthem of Panem. The politically correct atrocity Paylor whipped together didn’t hold a candle to it!

You give us light You reunite To you we make our vow

Tipsy to say the least, Priscilla wobbled dangerously in her sky-high heels but each time she careened to far to the left, they steered her right again with many giggles and “Oopsy-daisy!”

Gem of Panem Seat of power Strength in peacetime, shield in strife

“Oh, this is my favorite part!” warbled Imogen who couldn’t carry a tune with a gun to her head.

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

Lancer gasped, mid-through the final crescendo. Linked with the others he almost toppled them over at sudden halt.

“My gracious!” he said. “It’s Haymitch Abernathy!”

Up ahead, a man had just appeared round a corner. Ruffled clothes, hair hanging forward, everything about him completely out of place here. He paid them no attention but it was him, without a doubt. The drunken traitor of District 12.

“You heard about him and Effie Trinket, right?” Imogen asked in a loud whisper.

“Of course we heard,” said Coriana. “The whole town knows.”

“Ugh. Just look at him.” Priscilla wrinkled her nose. “At least on television he dressed decently. Disgusting!”

“She’s the one who’s disgusting,” Lancer said and pursed his lips. “He’s district. What did you expect? But a Capitolian really should know better.”

“I would jump off a cliff if it was me!”

“It could never be you, Imogen, the very thought!” said Coriana. “What’s he doing here again? Flaunting himself on our streets after what he did. What they did!”

If Haymitch heard them he didn’t show it and he didn’t change his course. When they remained shoulder to shoulder, gawking at him he sawed right through them like they were a flock of pigeons and they jumped apart with furious cries.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Priscilla shouted to his back. “I really think you should!”

Those four weren’t the only ones who questioned what Haymitch was doing in the Capitol. Had there been one positive consequence of him and Effie breaking up it was that he would never have to see this place again.

Well, the joke’s on him.

She’s not back on pills, he told himself as he kicked a squashed ice cream cup far up the street. She promised she wouldn’t go down that road again.

The train ride was hell on earth. Throughout the long hours he failed to quiet his mind, to shake off his worries over Glorias’s words and why he couldn’t get a call through to Effie. Just thinking about their impending reunion made him sick, until he finally caved in to the bottles in his duffel.

Ironically, the one thing that stopped him from drinking himself completely senseless was the paper goose, now hitching a ride in his pocket. It helped him focus.

Walking the deserted avenues, through glitter and serpentines left from some party only reminded him of the first time he came here unannounced.

Little Ms. Hypocrite. She was one to talk about having someone almost die in your arms.

But she’s not back on pills.

The brightness of the sun reflected in the candy buildings, the lush public gardens alive with bird song, the bounty flowerbeds, the gushing fountains. It was like the Capitol mocked him with its splendor. Days like this were Effie’s favourites.

And there her building was. He saw it over the roof tops, windows reflecting bits of the blue sky. With a grimace, Haymitch slowed his steps like he’d run out of gas. Fuck it. He needed a drink. One more or less, what did it matter? He wasn’t going to stay here long anyway.

He was still struggling to close the zipper as he entered her street, her curb. He pulled the straps over his shoulder, about to give the door a knock.

And he just stared. Dumb-founded, for half a minute or more. Gaped at her front door, like the gaggle of fools he passed earlier.

No, no this can’t be right, he thought, unable to take in what his eyes were telling him. It’s gotta be a mistake.

The name plate on Effie’s door was gone. The window shutters were all closed. He turned the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He rang the bell. He knocked, pounded rather. No one opened. The place was completely dead.

But it made no sense! Effie had lived in this apartment almost all her life!

He walked over to the windows, shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he tried to peer through the shutters for any movements inside. 

“Eff?”

He returned to the door, raised his hand for another knock.

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

He turned at the sound. On the other side of the road, just across from him, stood an old lady. The same dry twig of a woman he’d seen twice before. At least twice.

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said. The sun glinted off the gem stones in her wrinkled cheeks. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Didn’t think I would ever see you here again.”

He crossed the road.

“The hell’s going on here? Where’s Effie?”

The woman’s pale green eyes pierced his. She had to lift her chin to do it. Just like Sae she barely cleared his shoulders but that’s where the similarities ended. Because this woman’s eyes held none of her warmth or gaiety.

And yet, behind the frost he noticed that same sadness he’d seen there before. Only not for him.

“I warned her”, she said. “I told her from the very beginning not to get involved with someone like you. A man who would give her nothing but heartache. But she never heeded my advice. She didn’t want to listen.”

“Here’s an idea,” Haymitch cut her off. “How ‘bout you quit playing games with me and tell me what you know.”

“I blame myself,” the woman continued, unfazed by the interruption. “I insisted she applied for an escortship. If she became an architect like she first wanted, she wouldn’t be where she is now. Maybe none of us would.”

“Who are you?” Haymitch demanded. “What’s your name?”

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

Quinlan? He had definitely heard that name before. Nothing Games related, at least he didn’t think so. No, Effie had mentioned her at some point. Yeah, at the hospital, after her rescue. She asked if she was still alive. If she was safe.

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

“She’s beyond my help,” Mrs. Quinlan said. “Euphemia was a good girl, Mr. Abernathy. A good daughter. I have wept blood for her sake but I never gave up on her. Even after the war. She got one last chance to make amends. To build up a life for herself that she could be proud of. And she went and threw it all away the moment she decided to keep your young.”

Haymitch heard the words, loud and clear, but it was like he couldn’t absorb them. Make sense of what she just said.

It was like when he was little and broke his arm, falling down a tree. They all saw it was broken but it didn’t hurt. Not straight away. Like the shock was so great nothing registered.

“’Keep my young?’ he rasped. Heat rose up his throat and face until it burned. “What do you mean ‘keep my young’?”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise registered on Mrs. Quinlan’s face.

“Where is she?” He didn’t think his voice would carry at all. Instead it echoed around the buildings. “If not here, where’s she staying?”

“Go home, Mr Abernathy,” she said. “You have done enough damage as it is.”

“If you don’t want me to wake the entire neighborhood, you tell me where she is!”

Sleepy heads already poked out windows at the commotion. There were murmurs, curious looks thrown their way. Mrs. Quinlan’s lips pressed into the same tight line.

“She moved in with Caesar Flickerman’s daughter. I assume I don’t have to tell you which one.”

xXx

The bearded dragon slumped on her favorite spot in the vivarium - a gnarled old tree root and basked in the warm rays slanting through the windows.

When they first got her she fitted in your pocket. Now they had to use both hands to carry her properly. Sandy yellow and with a look on her face like “you’re all beneath me” you’d think she was the distant cousin of a certain District 12 cat but it was only an illusion.

“Hey, you,” June said and slipped a hand inside the enclosure, knuckles down, fingers outstretched in an inviting gesture. The reptile crawled down the root and over to her. June gave her a soft scratch under the spiky chin and the animal climbed up her palm.

Annabel sat by the secretary desk, her tea long cold and forgotten, but when June passed, she took the time petting their dragon before she returned to her letter. She eyed what she’d just written, critically and gave a deep sigh.

“They won’t even…”

“They will,” said June. She had settled on the couch with the dragon on her lap. The animal closed her eyes under the soft strokes.

It had been a quiet, docile morning with just the occasional car passing by and the gentle scratch of pen against paper.

“The crates should arrive today,” said June and reached for her own cup of tea.

Right on cue the bell rang.

“Speaking of the devil,” said Annabel. She set the pen down and slowly and painfully flexed her fingers.

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

“Coming!” She pulled her hair back in a hasty pony tail. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass. She took the chain off the door.

And came face to face with the victor of District 12.

”Mr. Abernathy,” she said, eyebrows lifted. “I…”

He didn’t let her finish.

”Effie,” he said. His face was a deep red. “She here?”

“Bel?” June’s voice fluttered in from the living room.

“Is she here?” Haymitch repeated, the fury behind the words only barely contained. “Never mind that. I know she is.”

“She’s here, Mr. Abernathy,” said Annabel.

That’s all he needed. He pushed past her.

“Eff?” he called as he stalked into the living room. June had risen, face white as paper. The dragon’s tail flailed between her cupped hands at the sudden alarm.

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

“I know all about it,” he spat. She could smell the hard liquor fumes on him. June quickly set the reptile back in the safety of the vivarium. “I know she’s pregnant so don’t try and lie to me!”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said, voice suddenly firm. “You will not shout in my house.”

“I don’t care! She thought she can just have my kid and never tell me? Who the hell does she think she is!? I wanna talk to her. Give her a piece of my mind!”

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

“The hell with you! I’ll go find her myself.”

He turned for the door but she was right at his heel.

“Stop it!” June cried when Haymitch shoved Annabel’s hand off of him. The tea cup knocked over and crashed against the floor. The dragon ran frantically around in its cage. “Stop!”

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

Her cry made them all turn. Flushed and out of breath from the rush and alarm Effie stood in the doorway, a robe carelessly thrown over her nightdress. Her eyes locked on his, for the first time in months and the words choked in his throat. It was like the rest of the room and everyone in it just disappeared. Everyone but Effie.

And through the blood pounding in his head he could make only one coherent thought.

What have I done to her?

xXx

“I’ll be in the back if you need anything,” Annabel said as she swept up the last of the broken cup. A spitting mad June had already retreated to their bedroom, carrying the dragon with her and now Annabel went as well, leaving Haymitch and Effie to talk in private.

Not that Haymitch looked like he’d ever speak again. He hunkered in the armchair with his arms crossed over his chest. Effie sat on the couch but they could just as well be light years apart.

“Who told you?” she asked in a hushed voice.

”Does it matter?” He wasn’t yelling now. Wouldn’t even look at her. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past half hour.

“No,” said Effie. “No, I suppose not.”

She had a blanket draped over herself. Like that was going to hide anything.

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

“Time and money you could’ve saved, clearly,” he said through gritted teeth. “And the whole Capitol knows I’m the father?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

“So why didn’t you? If you have my kid rolling around in your tummy I deserve to know about it, don’t you think?”

When she didn’t answer straight away his eyes darted to her face. And his insides contracted all over again as cold panic flooded his limbs.

“What, Eff?”

”It’s...” Her voice faltered. “We’re not...”

“We’re what?”

He saw his own anxiety mirrored in her eyes. She placed her hand against her stomach and his throat closed up. Because he knew the truth before she said it.

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

”It’s two,” she said. “Haymitch, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t…”

But Haymitch had already heaved himself to his feet. He wanted to throw up. He would throw up.

“I can’t do this.”

”Wait,” she said but he didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her and her big stomach.

”I need some air.”

xXx

“Good afternoon, Mathilda,” Mr. Bumble smiled when he crossed her door. His elegant, twirled up mustache was dyed a dusk pink today, the same color as the lap dog, freezing at his feet.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bumble,” Mrs. Quinlan said, hoping he would pick up on the very inappropriate use of her first name.

He didn’t.

“I’d stay and chat,” he said, “but Helga is waiting for us.” And he gave his bouquet of blue roses a little wave. “It’s our anniversary, you know! 25 years!”

“How wonderful. Give her my best,” Mrs. Quinlan said mechanically as he trotted off down the street. If Helga was home or even remembered what day it was, she would eat up her hat.

She dropped the key in to her handbag and crossed the road, mindful of any ice patches hidden under the fresh snow.

The door was locked but that she only expected. So she slipped her hand into her handbag and got out different set of keys. Normally she took pride in not using them but the girl had sounded very off on the phone. Sad.

“Euphemia?” she said as she stepped inside. The flat was dark but she turned the lights on as she went. She knew her way around this apartment, almost as well as her own. “Euphemia, where are you?”

She heard noises from the master bedroom. Retches that led her straight for the adjoined bathroom.

Effie’s nightgown clung to her with sweat. Slumped down on her knees, she clutched the toilet seat as she threw up. Tears and perspiration rolled down her face from the ordeal.

She didn’t hear anyone come in. That way she never saw the complete and utter shock on Mrs. Quinlan’s face. But she quickly composed herself again.

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

“Oh”, she groaned. She was pale as a sheet, her eyes wet and red. “Mrs. Q, now’s… not a good time.”

And she disappeared inside the bowl again as the next wave rolled in.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t say anything. She just pulled up a stool and seated herself. She gathered Effie’s hair with one hand and held it back from her face until the worst was over.

When Effie grew still, head heavy against her arms, just heaving breaths of both exhaustion and relief Mrs. Quinlan reached for a towel.

“Here,” she said and soaked it under the faucet. “Clean yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Q,” Effie mumbled and dabbed her mouth with it. She felt Mrs. Quinlan’s eyes on her and tried to elude them by wiping the tears off her cheeks. “I am not quite myself today.” 

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

With an enormous effort, Effie lifted her head. She swallowed and swallowed. The color of her face had returned, from barely holding it together.

“Are you with child?”

Those words did it. It was like a dam broke. Effie buried her face against her babysitter’s lap and now they came. All those pent-up tears she hadn’t been able to shed since that awful day with Haymitch on the train station.

Mrs. Quinlan’s face was taut as a string.

”There now,” she murmured and stroked Effie’s hair. ”You will be alright. It’s going to be just fine.”

Effie soaked Mrs. Quinlan’s skirt with her sobs and it was like she was little again.

She’d been four or five and accidentally knocked over a vase. Everything in Mrs. Quinlan’s apartment was either ancient or valuable or both and little Effie stared in horror at the broken pierces. Finally she ran off and hid.

For the next half-hour Mrs. Quinlan had to go from room to room and from closet to closet, peer inside the cupboards and behind every thick curtain, calling her name. When she finally found her in the laundry basket Effie was so terror-struck she burst in to a wail of tears.

But Mrs. Q just scoped her up, pulled a dirty child sock off the side of her dress and carried her into the living room. With her skinny arms linked around Mrs. Q’s neck Effie sniveled and whimpered the entire time, her little body racked with sobs.

Mrs. Q. wrapped her in one of her own shawls that smelled of perfume and to the rhythm of the creaky old rocking chair, she hummed her to sleep with a Capitol lullaby.

She had never felt so safe.

“Why don’t you take a shower, Euphemia,” Mrs. Quinlan said once Effie’s sobs had subsided a little. She patted her hand between her own icy ones. “And then you and I will have a cup of nice, hot tea.”

“Oh, that is awfully sweet, mrs. Q, but I think I rather,” she started to object but Mrs. Quinlan only waved a finger in the air.

“It will do you some good,” she said. “Tea at my place, four o’clock.”

Effie had avoided Mrs. Quinlan’s flat for the past almost two years. She had spent a great deal of her childhood in the company of her landlady when mother and father couldn’t or wouldn’t take their daughter with them to one of their events.

But these days there was only one subject Mrs. Q wanted to discuss when they met and Effie found herself coming up with excuses. Because it didn’t matter how many times she tried to change the subject, Mrs. Q always steered the conversation back on the same sole topic.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Effie never talked about her and Haymitch’s relationship. Not with Mrs. Q or anyone else. But living just across the road, Mrs. Quinlan seemed to know everything anyway.

She didn’t approve. She never liked the gruff and unrefined victor of District 12 and nothing could change her mind.

She just didn’t understand. How could she? No one in the Capitol did.

“How far along are you?” she asked and poured them tea from the plump china pot. Effie tried to breathe through her nose. Just thinking about ingesting something made her queasy.

“Nine weeks.”

“Have you told him yet? Are you sure it’s his?”

“Mrs. Quinlan,” said Effie tiredly. “We’ve been through this. I’m sorry, but it’s private and really no one else’s business.”

“So, I take that as a yes,” she said mildly.

Exhausted, Effie’s eyes wandered longingly to the snow-specked window beyond Mrs. Q.

“He should have taken precautions,” the old woman said. “The situation he puts you in.”

”It wasn’t his fault,” said Effie. ”It just… happened.”

Mrs. Quinlan poured cream into her cup but Effie didn’t touch it. All she really wanted was to lie down.

There were cookies rounded up on the silvery cake stand. The frosting wasn’t like Peeta’s. Not nearly as nice but looking at them only reminded her of those lazy days in District 12 and Haymitch, teasing her for having such a sweet-tooth.

”Drink now,” said Mrs. Quinlan. “Add a little honey. Or would you rather I put some ginger in? It helps with the nausea.”

“No, it’s OK.”

Effie lifted the cup just to humor her. She was about to take a sip when the warm scent curled into her nose. A crease appeared between her eyebrows.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t like surprises. Her routines had been virtually unchanged for the past decades. She washed her hands with the same kind of rose soap, combed her hair with the ivory comb that had survived two wars and she always drank jasmine tea.

This wasn’t jasmine tea. Effie should know. After all those tea parties at this very table, the flowery aroma was forever ingrained in her memory. She took another tentative sniff of the strange and unfamiliar fragrance.

It had a faint minty quality but not quite like the mint tea in District 12. She doubted she ever had it in the Capitol either. And yet the smell tugged at her, tried to tell her something.

Her eyes flitted to Mrs. Quinlan. The old woman stirred her own cup in slow, precise circles. The silver spoon rasped the bottom of the china. A cup she had yet to touch.

And a wave of dread flushed Effie’s face when the name surfaced.

”It’s pennyroyal.”

Mrs. Quinlan looked her in the eye. Her face was as hard and unyielding as the gems in her cheeks.

”You should never have let him into your bed.”

The beverage scalded Effie’s hands when she pushed back from the table. She stared at Mrs. Quinlan, eyes wide in terror.

”It’s for your own good, Euphemia. Nobody ever needs to know. It will be like it never happened.”

Effie didn’t stay to hear the rest. She fled the room, didn’t bother with her coat just bolted for the door. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t work the locks and one terrible moment she thought herself trapped.

Footsteps approached or she imagined they did and a shriek escaped her lips. Then the door flew open and she staggered out into the sleet.

Blood pounded her ears as she locked her front door, fled into her bedroom and locked that door as well. She was shaking all over and slumped rather than sat down on the bed, hand clamped over her mouth.

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

Her vision was so blurred it took her three efforts to dial the right number. Her hand found her tummy and she tried to draw slow, deep breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

”It’s OK,” she whispered to the unborn baby in her belly. ”It’s OK. You’re OK.”

So many signals just came and went, her hopes faltered with each one. Until,

“What?”

A sob slipped between her lips at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t help it. Her palm remained against her bump that wasn’t even a bump yet. Just a slight swelling beneath her dress. It made her feel stronger.

”Haymitch?” She fought to keep her voice steady. ”Haymitch, it’s me.”

“Ah, there she is,” he said with the nasty edge that sometimes crept into his voice when he drank, especially now under these circumstances. “Long time no princess. What can you want?”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.”

“Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course.” She heard him take a swig from a bottle. “It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here, then. Both of ‘em.”

“I can take the train.” Tears threatened to spill over her lashes but she held them back. Didn’t want to break down in to a blubbering mess. ”If I go now I ought to be…”

“Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?”

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

“I really must speak to you. It’s im…”

“What for?” he cut her off. “I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?”

“I’ve never called…”

“No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.”

A wave of despair rose up within Effie. It was like a physical pain.

“I know you’re angry,” she said. ”This is not easy for me either but…”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. ‘When hell freezes over’, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?”

“You left me, Haymitch!” Effie cried and her voice broke. “I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He twisted the top of another bottle. “And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: ‘Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…’”

“Don’t call me that!” she cried at the sound of Mrs. Quinlan’s name for her. “Haymitch, please!” She didn’t care that she begged now, hand clutched against her stomach like she could somehow protect it that way. ”Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…”

“Oh, I cared about you,” Haymitch said. “A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.”

Tears rolled down Effie’s face and she abandoned all efforts to try and stop them.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.”

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

Author’s note: I don’t know who I feel the most sorry for. Haymitch or Effie. How about you? And hayffie twins are on the way!

What did you think of Mathilda Quinlan? I face claim Geraldine Chaplin for her, the way she looked when she played Aurora in “The Orphanage”.

[purplesurveys]

1045

surveys by lets-make-surveys 1 - What did you do to celebrate your last birthday? Did you get any decent gifts? Guh I honestly barely want to recognize my birthday this year because 2020 has been a huge waste of my time...but fine, I guess I’m 22. It had been during the peak of the quarantine/pandemic, so we had no choice but to stay home. I just played the Switch all morning, then I think I watched my dad play video games, and then Angela and Hans sent over a box of sushi to our place. Real chill day.

2 - What was the last “random act of kindness” you experienced? It was my first day at the office today and I had to go up and down the stairs several times to bring packages to delivery riders, since I had to send those out to certain people. A member of the maintenance staff in the area was super nice and offered to carry some of the boxes for me, since he saw how much I was struggling with the boxes.

3 - Have you ever “paid it forward” by putting money behind the counter somewhere so the next person can get a free coffee or similar? Not yet. I’d love to be able to do that soon.

4 - What caused the last injury that made you bleed? Was it a serious injury? I was trying to open a bottle of soju last night but the cap just would not budge. Next thing I knew my finger was already bleeding. Never got to drink my soju :(

5 - Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? Are you close to that person at all? One of the delivery riders who took my package earlier. Bless his soul, he was very new to the delivering thing and I think I was his first-ever customer, and he kept asking for my help. I did my best for a while but eventually I had to tell him I genuinely did not know how to answer some of his questions as I wasn’t a driver myself.

6 - What was the last item you received in the mail? Something I had ordered online. It was the gift I’m planning to give my grandma for Christmas.

7 - When was the last time you received flowers? What kind were they? A year ago, I think. It was a single stem of a rose. We were saving up last year hahaha so I had gotten her a single stem as well.

8 - Are you a fan of salted caramel? What about other “odd” combinations like sea salt and chocolate or chilli and chocolate? Ooh, I didn’t know salted caramel was considered odd; it’s a pretty common flavor here and has even gotten more popular in the last few years. I like it as a flavor in desserts, like cupcakes with salted caramel frosting. When it comes to food, I’m generally open-minded and will try any combination that exists at least once; that said, chili and chocolate sound especially intriguing haha. I’ve only ever tried chili ice cream, which was delicious.

9 - Do you enjoy watching bloopers or outtakes from TV shows? If so, which series do you think has the funniest ones? Yes. Bloopers in general are great but it’s best when they come from shows that have a reputation for being more drama-heavy and serious - that said, Breaking Bad bloopers are the fucking best. ‘Bloopers’ from animated movies are hilarious too; they were always made so well too that as a kid, I legit thought the characters were actual actors as it never crossed my mind that animators would take the extra effort and time to make bloopers out of fictional characters and that they had to be real actors in some way lol.

10 - What’s your favourite dessert food? OMG macarons for the win. I’ve been craving them so much. Cheesecake is great too, and also cupcakes.

11 - Do you have any really dangerous wild animals where you live? Have you ever encountered any of them? Nope only stray dogs and cats, and probably some chickens somewhere.

12 - Have you ever dreamed of owning your own shop? What kind of thing would you like to sell? I’ve never dreamed of this; it’s never been a goal of mine and running a business doesn’t sound like my kind of thing.

13 - Are you a twin? If not, would you ever want to be a twin? If you are a twin, do you ever wish you weren’t? No. I’ve never really found myself wishing for it, either.

14 - Do you prefer wearing your hair straight or curly? Maybe just a little wavy. Definitely not in the extreme of either side of the spectrum.

15 - Would you ever want to go and visit the moon? If I had the chance and everything was paid for and stuff, hell yeah. It’d be cool to get to cross out one of my childhood bucket list items.

16 - What was the last hot drink you had? What about cold drink? Or alcoholic drink? My last hot drink was...probably the coffee I asked my mom to make last Friday, but I did wait it out until it was considerably cooler as I didn’t want to drink it hot. My last cold drink is the iced caramel macchiato I ordered tonight and still have with me at the moment. Then for alcoholic drink, I had soju mixed with Yakult about two weeks ago.

17 - Does anything on your body hurt or ache right now? My lower back, unsurprisingly. I also cut my right middle finger trying to open a soju bottle last week, andddd I gained a blister on my right foot today because of the shoes I picked to wear for work.

18 - When was the last time you struggled to get to sleep? Was there was a specific reason for that? I can’t remember exactly when, but it happened within the last week or the last two weeks. Sometimes I just drink too much coffee during the day that it affects how sleepy I’d ultimately feel at night.

19 - What three countries would you most like to visit? Morocco, India, and Thailand.

20 - Who’s your closest friend from another country? How did you come to meet this person? I don’t really have one anymore...I’ve grown apart from my internet friends from different countries a long time ago, and I also don’t tend to keep up friendships with my friends who’ve since migrated from the Philippines to another country. I suppose the one I’m on best terms with is Angel who migrated to Toronto around a decade ago; but I use ‘best’ very loosely as the most we do is comment on one another’s posts whenever we reach like a life accomplishment, like when we graduated college.

21 - When was the last time you had a cold? With everything going on in the news, did you worry that it was COVID? It’s been a while. I can’t remember; it was definitely pre-Covid.

22 - As of today (10th December, 2020) the COVID vaccine is being rolled out in the UK. Are you going to have it once it’s available to you (if it ever is)? A part of me is a little concerned because I know vaccines take years and sometimes even decades to be fully developed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t trust doctors and science. I very much do, of course. It’s just that I’d personally prefer to wait it out first to see if it’ll have any negative effects once rolled out on a massive scale.

23 - What are your favourite websites to browse when you’re bored? Wikipedia black holes are the way to go.

24 - Do you think people should have to pass a test in order to own pets? A local animal welfare NGO already does that; Nina had to go through several tests before she was allowed to adopt Arlee. There was a verbal interview, a written form she had to fill out, and a representative from the organization even visited our house to see if it was a suitable environment for Arlee; I’m sure there was a few more steps she was required to undergo. I certainly think it’s a good and responsible process. 

25 - When was the last time you fell asleep/had a nap during the day? Is this something that happens often? It’s been monthssssssssss. I don’t really take naps during the day anymore.

26 - Do you suffer/have you ever suffered with bad acne? What kind of things did you do to try and improve it? I’ve never had issues with acne and was always rather fortunate when it comes to my skin. I’ll have a pimple or two show up once or twice a year, but they go away within a week or so. Since I don’t want to jinx it, I just wash my face with water and I’ve never experimented with any skincare products ever.

27 - When you think about it, do you think it’s odd that we stop drinking human milk at a young age, but we happily drink milk from other species instead? Not really.

28 - How’s the weather where you are? Is this a good or a bad thing for you? These days it’s humid and hot during the day (as always), but now that it’s Christmas season the weather tends to plunge to like 24-26C during nighttime. I’d say the night part is good for me as I prefer being cold than hot, so I’m glad we’ll be having this weather until March at most.

29 - When was the last time you ate a pizza? What toppings did you get? Tuesday. Relatives came over then and my cousin got us pizzas. I don’t remember what toppings he got but both pizzas had stuffed crust in it.

30 - How often do you wear make-up? What kind of make-up do you wear? Wow, almost never. Gab used to put makeup on me but now that she’s gone, I don’t really see myself wearing makeup for the meantime as I definitely wouldn’t apply them onto myself. 

--

1 - If you have caffeine late in the day, does it cause you to struggle with your sleep? Eh, sometimes. Sometimes it’ll do what it’s supposed to and make me stay up for a while, but other times it doesn’t work and I’ll end up getting sleepy the same time I usually start feeling so.

2 - When you struggle to sleep, what do you do instead? Watching videos has eternally worked for me.

3 - Who was the last person you spoke to for the first time? How did you come to speak to this person? Hmm I met my co-workers Ysa and Bea for the first time today, if it counts. I’ve only ever talked to them through Viber since we’re on a WFH set-up, but we had to go to the office today to fix up some boxes that we needed to get delivered. But the last person that I really hadn’t met nor spoken to before was Jhomar, the company messenger who takes care of pickups for the day. 

4 - If you have a pet, have they ever embarrassed you in public or in front of friends or family members? What happened? Kimi is typically unfriendly towards strangers, so as cute and cuddly as he looks he would probably bite your finger off. I’ve had to explain that to guests who’ve felt puzzled about his demeanor. He’s my little baby though and I wouldn’t say he’s embarrassed me because of it. Cooper on the other hand is hyper-friendly to the point that he looks aggressive and it has scared some people away; in reality, he’s always SO pumped to meet anyone and everyone and can never contain his excitement haha. He’s literally the nicest dog.

5 - Do you leave the house every single day? I never leave the house, except if it’s to withdraw cash or go to the Starbucks drive through to pick up a coffee.

6 - Would you rather spend the day at the beach, or a day in the snow in the mountains? I would normally pick beach, but I think the mountains would be best for me at the moment.

7 - Do you prefer tops that are plain, or ones with patterns/logos/slogans? Plain.

8 - Are there any TV shows from your childhood that you still watch today? I’ll watch Spongebob every now and then. When I’m bored and have enough time on my hands I’ll sometimes watch other shows from my childhood just for that nostalgia wave, like Barney or Hannah Montana.

9 - How many texts would you say you send on an average day? Used to be hundreds, but now it’s probably like...5, on average. Sometimes I’ll need to text media for work and that’ll come up to around 15-20 texts but that happens only occasionally, like once every two weeks.

10 - Do you enjoy buying gifts for other people, or do you never know what to buy them? I never know what to buy for people. I like buying gifts for a significant other, though. I tend to spoil one to no end.

11 - Girls - if you get periods, do you suffer from period pain or any other horrible symptoms? I get the hormonal symptoms, but the physical symptoms are almost never there. My stomach will usually contract in a way that tells me it’s coming soon, but it never really aches. Most of the time, I just cry and mope a lot and that’s how I know it’s on its way, ha.

12 - The last time you were in a car, where you were travelling to? Were you the driver or a passenger? I was headed back home. but I came from the office. I was the driver as always.

13 - Who were you with the last time you went out for a meal? I took myself out on a date.

14 - What book do you wish they’d make into a film or TV series? The Septimus fucking Heap series, please. They’ve been trying to get it made into a movie series for years but as far as I know the talks have always fallen through.

15 - The age old question - do you prefer coke or pepsi? That’s a big ‘or’ for me. I don’t drink soda.

16 - What’s the last thing you watched on TV? Is this a programme you watch regularly? Bea took over the office TV earlier and she had it set to a BTS + Taylor Swift music video playlist so that we had background music while working. No, neither are my artists of choice, really.

17 - Do you have a favourite documentary subject (eg. nature, celebrities, history, crime)? Pro wrestling (a seriously underrated documentary subject) and crime. Documentaries on anthropological issues or discoveries are great as well. I do love history, but I prefer to absorb it in text/museum form.

18 - Do you prefer sweet or savoury snacks? What snack would you say is your overall favourite? Savoryyy. I get tired of sweet snacks pretty quickly. My current favorites to munch on are any salted egg flavored chips.

19 - Does having to wear a mask stop you from doing anything, just because you dislike them or find them uncomfortable? It can be harder to breathe and I get exhausted a lot faster with a mask on, but I keep it on because I would want to keep other people safe and because it’s so easy to keep a damn mask on.

20 - Do you prefer zip-up or overheard hoodies? Either is fine.

21 - If you have a yard or garden, how much time do you spend out there? I prefer the rooftop, and if I do go there I usually stay for a few hours during the evening just to have some time to myself. Being in a house with four adults can get pretty overwhelming and taxing sometimes.

22 - When was the last time someone bought you flowers? What was the occasion? I think it was for Valentine’s Day last year. If not, it was for the anniversary which was a week after Valentine’s Day.

23 - How often do you get takeaway? What’s your favourite thing to order? I don’t really do takeout. I usually dine-in or have food delivered to my place.

24 - Do you own a lot of clothing items in your favourite colour? What is your favourite colour, anyway? I don’t have a lot of clothes in pink. It’s not my best color, but I like it in everything else hahaha.

25 - When was the last time you stayed overnight away from home? Was this with friends, family or in a hotel somewhere? What was the occasion? Idk probably a sleepover at Gab’s place early this year.

26 - Would you ever be interested in seeing a live magic show? Sure. Magic shows are already a staple at kids’ birthday parties here, and I’ve always enjoyed them especially since magicians are quite the comedians too.

27 - What’s your favourite period to learn about in history? What got you interested in this particular era? I don’t have a favorite period per se but I’ve always had an affinity for the royalty. I like reading all about them, no matter what period they reigned or what house/country they’re from. Historians have kept impressive and super detailed accounts or records for most of them, so reading about their lives has also allowed me to learn more about the culture they lived through.

28 - Do you still use or carry cash, or do you pay for everything via card? I heavily rely on cash and I actually realized how behind I am just today, when Bea ordered lunch for the office. I paid her with cash and she looked at me all puzzled and was like, “Can you do bank transfer instead?” another big girl stuff I had to learn lol. Everyone in college used cash pls forgive me

29 - Are there any TV shows that remind you of your grandparents for some reason? Not really.

30 - Have you ever had to wear a tie for school or work? If not, do you know how to tie a tie without looking it up? I had a necktie as part of my uniform in my old school. I never knew how to tie it and always asked someone else to do it for me whenever it came loose.

[the-girl-from-number-4-blog]

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

Roger Taylor x Reader

On the subject of artifice

Word Count: 7k! (concise? what does that mean?)

(i feel so so so bad that it’s taken me so long to post. also this was a request from @fairlysuitehearts a long long time ago, which makes me feel even worse for putting off - i wanted to get the story down! and it’s probably still shit, but i hope you like it anyway)

“THIS JUST IN: Y/N AND ROGER TAYLOR SHARING NOT-SO-SECRET GLANCES AT ALBUM RELEASE PARTY: PUBLIC DECLARATION SOON?

Y/N L/N and Roger Taylor were seen together at the celebration of the release of rock band Queen’s fifth album, A Day at the Races. 

The couple arrived together and were reportedly seen holding hands as they left the vehicle. Sources say they remained close throughout the night, and.....”

As you read the latest article in the gossip column, you grumbled lowly to yourself, shaking your head. The nerve of these journalists was preposterous and, quite frankly, impressive. You could never bear to be so invasive of another’s privacy, and even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to display such little shame. 

“What’s the matter?” Roger Taylor himself, the man who (rumor has it!) you’ve been dating for about a year (when will they reveal their obvious relationship?), asked you as he entered the recording studio. 

You sighed, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “They keep publishing this shit, but they’re just pulling it out of their arses for how much truth there is.”

He approached you, peering over your shoulder to look at the discarded tabloid. “So I see we were quite intimate at the party last week,” he chuckled. “I feel like that’s something you should have told me, Y/N. Why’d I have to find out this way?”

You backed into him purposefully, knocking him just enough off balance to allow you to spin around and face him. “Roger, seriously, this is ridiculous. How can you take this as a joke?”

You and Roger were not in any relationship. You were the band’s assistant and very close friend, but never anything more. You expected, when you took a job with one of the most promising figures in the music industry, that there would be a certain degree of unwanted publicity - but never to this degree, with such little veracity. 

“Nobody believes this stuff, you know,” he dismissed. “Can’t see why you let it get to you.”

You let out a frustrated huff. “You don’t get it. I’m getting calls every night from my family, just begging for details about our relationship - which, might I add, I simply cannot seem to convince them is entirely fabricated! You can’t tell me nobody believes it.”

“It’ll die down eventually,” he waved his hand. “Won’t be too long.”

He obviously didn’t understand how this was affecting you. It wasn’t the same with him; so what if people think he’s got a girlfriend? It gives him more publicity, and the groupies at his concerts certainly didn’t care that he already has a girl waiting (which he didn’t, but who were they to know that?)

You, on the other hand, were blacklisted from any other major music production company. After the entire debacle started, you’d looked into getting a job somewhere else (secretly, of course, as you were sure the boys would protest), just so the rumors would stop - but you were now known throughout the industry as the girl who shagged Roger Taylor to keep a position. 

You eyed Roger carefully. He really didn’t know how this impacted your career. He didn’t know to what extent this grounded you to Queen (not that you wanted to leave, per se, but it was always nice to have options), or how much of a bother it was that your mother wouldn’t talk to you anymore, since you’ve been “lying” about your love life for a year. 

You knew that something needed to change; you just didn’t know what. 

It was a chilly January morning, when the sun was hidden behind the heavy London clouds. The coffee holder in your arms warmed your hands a bit, but it was still too cold to be comfortable. 

Roger walked beside you, holding the second half of the order. It was Roger’s turn to get coffee for the rest of them at the studio, and since you usually didn’t go for caffeine but felt particularly drowsy that morning, you decided to tag along. He didn’t look nearly as cold as you, which was maddening. 

For all that it annoyed you to constantly be thrown into the limelight for your completely fictitious relationship with him, you quite enjoyed spending time with Roger. He was a charismatic man; when he was happy, which was often, his enthusiasm for life radiated from him, and permeated your own skin, making you feel the same way. He was a great pick-me-up, a natural and (probably not) unaddictive stimulant. 

Roger looked around as the two of you crossed the street, and you wouldn’t normally notice something so commonplace that, except he kept tossing his head back in the same direction. 

“What is it?” you asked.

He leaned in close to you. Speaking soft whispers into your ears, he sent warm breath which flirted against your neck like the wings of a hummingbird, sending a cascade of shivers down your spine and making the cold seem suddenly a touch more bearable. 

“Don’t look, but there’s a woman with a camera back over to your right.” They were the words of an urgent conspirator, and you knew immediately what he meant. 

You fought the urge to find that woman - who was undoubtedly a journalist, ready to publish her photographs right above some scandalous story detailing your imagined romance - and give her a piece of your mind, and maybe a bit more. “Let’s just hurry,” you grit your teeth and said. 

You’re not entirely sure what purpose it served, but Roger shifted the hold of his drinks to one hand and threw his other arm around your shoulders, as if to guide you back to the studio, to shield you from the capture of the photographer’s lens. You didn’t quite see the need, but you were thankful for the added warmth. 

When you got back to the studio, the others swarmed like bees to get their coffee. It amazed you that such an unpredictable and uncontrollable bunch as they could be made to heel so easily with just the scent of caffeine. 

“Oh, John, this one’s yours - and, wait, no, Brian, don’t take that one; it’s Freddie’s - okay, here, I think that’s all sorted.” You smiled at the boys as you apportioned their drinks, then grabbed yours from Roger. “Thanks.”

“No problem, love,” he said. The pet name didn’t really register; he usually used terms of endearment like “love” and “honey” when talking to you, or (you assumed) to most girls. 

The boys settled into their spots in the sitting area and ingested enough coffee to be fully alert for the proceedings before they all got down to business. Their latest album, just released, was on the shelves, and they had only to wait for the royalties, and to schedule a tour for the album in the coming months. Now was just their period of unwinding; they could never just leave the studio so abruptly, lest they lose all sense of direction and end up wasting all of their off-time, so they had to ween off gently. 

They took this opportunity to discuss tour dates. “I think that March would be a good time to start,” Brian proposed. “It’s only a couple months away, but it’ll give us all time to wind down before we head off.”

You nodded. “That sounds like good timing.”

Freddie turned to look at you. “So are you actually going to come on this one?”

You had always found ways to avoid them before; the constant travelling never seemed like something you wanted to do, since you didn’t know the band to well until now. When you first started your stint as assistant, you wanted to be strictly that, and nothing more. But, now that you could easily call them all friends after this last album, you reconsidered. “Never said that,” you sipped your coffee. “Just that it sounds like a good plan.”

Roger shook his head. “Ah, ah, no. You don’t have a say unless you agree to come with us. We need our assistant.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not your only assistant, you know. And besides, attending tours isn’t strictly in my job description.”

He shrugged. “It could be. We could change it and I know you wouldn’t quit.”

Yeah, wouldn’t, or couldn’t? you thought to yourself, but otherwise let the matter rest. 

“WHEN WILL THEY GO PUBLIC? ROGER TAYLOR AND Y/N L/N SEEN AGAIN!

Above is a view of the lovebirds taking a morning stroll to their studio, huddling together for warmth. These repeated sightings beg the question of when....”

You didn’t even read any farther. It infuriated you to no end, how blatant these lies were - and any repudiation or disaffirmation you could make would be seen as “the Lady doth protest too much, methinks” to the eyes of the journalists and the public. 

You began to pace around the studio. The rest of the boys and the technicians hadn’t arrived yet - you were usually first anyway, taking it upon yourself to both open in the morning and close in the evening, and to get the heater up and running before Freddie got there and complained. 

It would never sit well with you that these journalists wouldn’t stop. You did nothing out of the ordinary, and it was still feeding the fire. You couldn’t hold a civil conversation with your mother or siblings, and you’ve avoided talking to your friends from uni because you were sure they’d be even worse. You really hoped Roger appreciated how much you went through just to work for his band. 

The door swung forward with a loud creek and Roger stepped in, finding you furiously paving a hole in the floor. “G’morning,” he said, somewhat confused, but taking it in stride nonetheless. He knew that you’d tell him what bothered you if he needed to know. 

Which he most certainly did need to know. 

“Roger, this needs to stop. At this rate, I’ll be in hiding by next month - and even then, they’ll probably say I’ve gone on holiday to hide a pregnancy.”

You thrusted the new edition of the paper into his face, making him grab it and squint, trying to make out what it said without his glasses. 

He looked at the picture. It was the two of you from behind, taken by the photographer that morning the two of you got coffee together. It just so happened to be the moment when he had leaned in close, as if whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

A wretched thought ran through your mind: did Roger, knowing that a reporter trailed behind them, lean in to purposely bait them into believing this lie? To give them more evidence? 

“Roger,” you said slowly, carefully, “did you plan this?” He looked sharply up at you. “Do you still think this is some great joke?”

“God, no, Y/N!” He was outraged. “I didn’t think that would be - okay, maybe I just didn’t think. I needed to tell you and I was afraid she’d overhear and take that as some invitation to approach. I swear, I didn’t want her to get that picture.”

You eyed him critically, and you could tell he was hurt by your accusations. In your defense, he always was a practical joker; and, sometimes, he didn’t exactly grasp the concept of boundaries. “Sorry,” you shook your head. “This is just really stressful. I know you’re not doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t.”

His expression softened. “Hey,” he said, coming closer to rub comforting circles onto your back. “It’ll turn out all right, okay? I promise.”

Looking at him, you really wanted to trust what he said. Everything he did was with the utmost sincerity; he truly believed that this could be made right. You weren’t so confident.

The two of you stood for a while like that, each in quiet contemplation over how to handle this great problem. The hand on your back stopped moving, but rested there, providing a much appreciated pressure; it reminded you that, even though it was Roger’s fault you were in this predicament, you weren’t alone.

“You know,” he said slowly, as if anticipating a rebuttal. This didn’t bode well for what he had to say. “The press won’t stop their theories until one or both of us is out of the public eye – which definitely won’t happen anytime soon – or until something happens.”

You tilted your head. “I don’t follow you. Wouldn’t something happening just make them more rabid?”

He shrugged. “Of course, to begin with. But then it’s old news, after it all dies down. Think about it. We give them what they want – say, for a month or so – and they get the full story. You and I, lovers, dating, whatever they want to call it. But eventually, it’ll just become old news. Neither of us can just step down, so we have to give them what they want – what the public wants – until they get fed up with it.”

It almost, almost made sense. “But, Roger, I’m not sure that would work. And besides, we aren’t actually dating, in case you didn’t know.”

He grinned. “And we wouldn’t have to be. We could pretend, just out in public, to be a bit closer than we really are. That’s all it would take.”

You crossed your arms and thought. Could it really work? Roger had admittedly been in the papers longer than you had; he’d probably know with more certainty what the press is likely to do. A part of you didn’t want to trust that he was right, simply because you yourself weren’t sure, but another part of you knew that it may be your best bet.

You would have a fake boyfriend.

“Well,” you said reluctantly. “What exactly would we have to do?”

He settled onto the couch, and you could tell that this would be an in-depth discussion. Well, it would have to be, you figured, so you sat and faced him.

“It would look to everyone as though we were dating,” he said. He watched you, as if trying to gauge your reaction – did he expect you to overreact? If he did, then he should have been there for the very first published story, not now. Now, you weren’t exactly immune, but you could handle it better.

“But we won’t be,” you clarified.

“No, of course not,” he said. “But I’m willing to bet that we’d be pretty good actors.”

And so you drew up specifics. There were certain things you’d have to make sure you do, if either of you suspect that there’s a reporter anywhere near. An arm around the shoulder was the sign that someone was close, so you knew when to really lay it on thick; but other than that, any time that you were out in public, just to be sure, you’d give each other random kisses on the cheek (which you did as friends, anyway) and hold each other’s hands (which would only be slightly uncomfortable.

“What about kissing?” Roger asked.

You were quick to respond. “Not on the lips,” you said. That was something you were certain of – you didn’t want to kiss somebody for show. It was too intimate an activity for you to fake. “Never.”

He whistled. “Never, okay,” he said, and made a note of it. “I suppose they’ll just have to do without kissing, then. May take a bit longer, though.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be that obvious so suddenly,” you reasoned.

“Maybe we do, though,” he said. “That’s the sort of thing that they would eat up – they wouldn’t think it’s too sudden or anything, especially since they’re expecting it.”

You shook your head. “No kissing,” you repeated.

“If you’re sure,” he let the matter drop. “A couple more things. You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

Usually, when someone asked you this question, it was with a highly judgmental tone: you can’t get a boyfriend, right? Though you knew that Roger’s question in no way had the same inflection, the memory of answering so many times before brought a slight blush to your cheeks. “Nope.”

“Well, that’s good, then. ‘Cause it would be hard to pretend to date if either of us is going off with someone else. I know I’ll stop seeing girls, too.”

You laughed. “Is that possible?”

“Time will tell,” he said with faux solemnity. “Just one last thing – the end of this whole deal.”

“Will we need to have a public breakup?” That, you figured, might be easier than pretending to date in the first place.

His eyes widened. “No, no! The opposite, really. The whole point is to get the attention of the press, then to lose it. Let them forget, and just stop after a while. We can’t do any sort of public breakup; that’ll just bring up another mess.”

You felt a bit dumb; his plan made perfect sense. He must have been able to see your embarrassed expression.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re not used to this stuff.”

You leaned back and sighed. “And I never want to be.”

You tell Freddie, Brian, and John later that day, once they all get to the studio. It’s something you can’t hide from them; and even if you could, it would be a terribly great betrayal, and you and Roger respected them too much to let that happen.

You couldn’t tell anybody else, though. Your mother believed that you were getting serious with him – not that you were on speaking terms with her yet, though. Your roommate even believed the publications, despite having seen no proof herself.

It wasn’t as hard as you had feared it would be, pretending to love Roger. That was probably because you did love him, just in a different way. You were completely comfortable holding his hand or leaning against him as you walked down the sidewalk. And he didn’t make it awkward, either; he took it naturally, like this was supposed to happen, and everything that happened before – or, rather, everything that didn’t happen before – seemed wrong.

The first time you really had to act the part in public was their first album gig at a stadium in London, before the tour was really planned out. You’d helped them set up their equipment and directed a few of the handymen who did the heavy lifting; such was your job. You did whatever was needed in the moment.

After the work was done and the band was in place, you took your usual spot off to the side of the stage to watch them perform. You let yourself go away with the music; you were incredibly lucky to find work with a band that was sounded good, with members who were fun to be around. The concert gave you time to really appreciate how good you had it, as opposed to how it may have been.

And though the newspapers hadn’t stopped, they weren’t not bothering you nearly as much anymore. You credit this largely to the fact that you expect the influx of theories and rumors. It’s proof that your – well, Roger’s – plan worked.

After the band stopped, the crowd milled around and chattered about the gig, how successful it was. Because of course Queen was a great hit. You’d never seen them with an audience not entirely captivated, including yourself.

As you waited for things to quiet down, you felt a warm pressure against your back, and an arm closed around your waist in a secure embrace. You could tell by the smell, of all things, that it was Roger.

“Hey,” you greeted, slightly surprised.

He rested his head on your shoulder and turned to face you. Through the corner of your eye, you saw him smirking.

“This is going to be some perfect publicity, love,” he whispered lowly, and you hadn’t realized how close he was to you until he spoke, and his lips brushed against the tender skin of your neck.

You couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked your body. “God, Rog, you need to stop that!” You made sure to say it lowly, and with a laugh at your lips, but part of you was serious.

“What, you ticklish?”

You were about to say yes, but the words died in your throat as Roger’s fingers splayed against the flat of your stomach, threatening to move. “Don’t you dare,” you said.

He chuckled, and just the vibration of that put you on edge. “I won’t,” he said, “if you turn around and kiss me.” This time, it was the words themselves that made you shiver. He could feel your rebuttal coming on. “Or, at least, pretend to. For the camera.”

He spun you around, and you let him. He locked onto your eyes. “Trust me?”

You smiled slowly. “Why not?”

There was a very good reason why not, in fact.

He brought a hand up to cup your cheek, and you knew – thought – that he would use it to block the fact that you wouldn’t really touch lips from the camera, which you suspected was somewhere in the crowd.

But instead of bringing his face so close to yours that you could almost touch, he pressed his lips to yours in a sudden and firm kiss.

The one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist, while neither forceful nor demanding, grounded you and stopped any hope you had of movement. You probably couldn’t have moved, anyway; your body was frozen in a shock that was a mixture of anger and excitation.

At first, it was just a firm, constant pressure. The only thing about it that made you feel like it was a kiss was the pure knowledge of what it was.

Then he started moving.

The pressure wasn’t so constant anymore. He caressed you and tilted his head, then swept his tongue against your closed lips. It was quite unlike anything you had felt before. The shock of sensation made you gasp ever so slightly, but it was enough to grant him entrance.

This, you knew, was a real kiss – not just by the knowledge that lips touching lips was kissing; by the electricity that shot from your head down to your toes, to the tips of your fingers, and across your shoulders. You were covered in gooseflesh, and the room felt hot and cold at the same time. It built up, and up, and up, and he was kissing you and it just wouldn’t stop.

Until he stopped.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you standing there, eyes closed, frozen in place. Your body stopped, and the potential energy that had built up froze, too.

Your eyes flew open. “What was tha –”

He pressed a finger to your lips and shook his head. “Hush, now,” he told you, shooting his eyes off to the side. “We’ve got company.”

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed his arm, turning around abruptly. It didn’t take long for you to choose a direction and go with it – you couldn’t look like you didn’t have a purpose, now, because you were trying to prove a point. You needed to speak to him, now.

A secluded place was very nearly hard to find, but you eventually settled on a dark hallway behind the main stage, where only two women stood, smoking something that probably weren’t cigarettes, and paying you no mind.

Letting go of Roger’s arm and crossing yours, you spin around to face him. “What was that, Roger? We had a deal! No kissing!”

He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I had to do something. They had a camera right there – literally right there.”

“You knew the terms!”

“Yeah, well, I thought it was stupid then, and I think it’s stupid now. Look, it only had to be once. Most people don’t get caught off guard like that too often – this’ll be our one and only, Y/N. Trust me.”

You grumbled, “I did, and look what happened.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t have been that bad.”

“I’m not saying it was!” You flinched. “I – I’m not saying it wasn’t, either!” You put your face in your hands. “Just shut up, okay? I’m mad at you.”

He chuckled and pulled you into a friendly embrace. “Oh, come on. It had to happen, and you know it. I just didn’t want to delay the inevitable.”

Part of you so strongly wished to hold onto your frustration, to hold strong to your convictions – but as you remembered the kiss, you can’t say that you regretted it. You were beyond livid with him, with his audacity to assume that he could just kiss you, when you specifically said that he couldn’t, but you told him so when you expected not to enjoy it. Now that you did . . .

No. You shook your head and pushed the thought from your mind.

You found that his hug calmed you down. Even though Roger was the target of your anger, only he could stop you from working yourself into such a fury. “You still shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know,” he said, but he didn’t quite sound sorry.

Moments passed as the two of you just listened to the hum of the crowd outside. Usually, Roger would have been out there, entertaining people and letting them entertain him – and despite your dispute with him, you were thankful that he’d chosen you this time for company.

You ended up sitting side by side, backs against the wall.

“So,” he said, completely casual, “that was your first kiss, right?”

You were taken aback. So what if it was? “Of course not!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Yes, it was.”

“Was not!”

“Was!”

“What makes you think that was my first?”

“Well, for one, your face right now. You’re red as a cherry. And second, the kiss wasn’t the best –”

“Excuse me!”

“Okay, okay, fine. It was just obvious that you weren’t exactly . . . experienced.”

“I’m not a slut like you, you mean.”

He bumped your shoulder. “I take offense to that.”

“You should. You can’t just assume I’ve never kissed before.”

“I really don’t need to.”

You huffed, exasperated, and closed your eyes. “This conversation is over.”

He shifted beside you. “Nope, it’s not. I can’t let you get away from me without imparting some of my knowledge unto you.”

You let your head fall onto your shoulder, looking at him sidelong.

“I’m serious. You’ve never had a steady boyfriend, have you?”

A clipped laugh escaped your lips. “Again, overstepping your boundaries, Rog.”

“Come on. I’m just trying to help. And, you avoided that question – just proves that I’m right. You haven’t been able to keep a guy for so long.”

You looked down, fiddling with your fingers. “Well, it’s not my fault,” you conceded. “They were just . . . poor fits.”

He turned to face you. “That’s exactly what I mean. By the time that we’re through with this dating game, I’ll make sure that you know what a good date is. You deserve to be happy with someone, Y/N, and I do hate to see you so lonely.”

You were about to refute that and say that you weren’t lonely; that you were perfectly happy by yourself. But you weren’t.

“We’ll go on real, proper dates. Or, at least, proper fake dates. We’ll go to restaurants, to films, whatever you want. You need to know how a good date is supposed to go, because judging by your lack of kissing experience, you certainly don’t.”

“You’re being quite presumptuous.”

“I have your best interests at heart.”

That marked a new act in the play that was your life “dating” Roger Taylor.

The very next day, tabloids exploded with three different photographs of your kiss. It was all the press needed to run wild, and you could tell that it would be weeks yet until they ran dry of fuel from the event.

The good thing about that publicity was that it meant no more kissing for you and Roger. You were mostly glad for this; you didn’t like the idea of nonchalant kissing. To you, intimacy was something serious. But a small, rebellious, and suppressed part of you knew that, once you had felt that spark – tasted the fruit, so to speak – you couldn’t quite forget it.

He held your hand constantly in public. It was such a frequent occurrence that he began to do it in private, too, and you found great comfort in the feeling of his skin against yours. You never expected to feel such physical attraction to something like this, but the kiss had brought on new parts of your imagination that you had never entertained before.

You grew attached to this new feeling. You woke up every morning, looking forward to his embrace. You longed for public excursions, so you had an excuse to rest your head on his shoulder and breathe in the scent of his hair. You felt bereft by his absence.

Never could you have known that playing with fire could have these consequences. You never expected to enjoy your role; you never expected to want it to be true.

In short, you’ve found enlightenment and can never forget it.

What made it worse was Roger’s pact to show you a “proper date”. Apparently, that meant taking you on romantic excursions, in or out of the public eye, to set your standards high in the future.

He would take you to the movies, then to a nice restaurant. Perhaps on a stroll of the park. It started as very tame, very friendly dates; you could easily forget the fact that you were supposed to be a couple. But when he started bringing you to secluded places – and by that, meaning places where nobody else will know you’re together – you began to wonder why.

A candlelit dinner at his flat one evening was too romantic and too private to be practical. You really felt like a proper lover, now; you’d been wined and dined, romanced in all the right ways. It was a pity that you weren’t really loved the way anyone would think you were.

The plates were abandoned on the table, the dying candlelight flickering. You had taken the wine and retired to the living room, where you were lounging on his spacious sofa as close as you could possibly be. The alcohol had put a drowsy sort of haze over your eyes, but since you were seated, you found it relaxing.

“Roger?” your voice was quieter than you intended.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you like me?”

You could practically hear him squint his eyes, trying to figure out what you meant. “Well, of course.”

You didn’t think to wonder if he had misunderstood your question; his answer made your heart flutter all the same. “That’s good,” you said, grabbing onto his hand and pulling it into your lap, then resting your head against his shoulder, “’cause I really like you.”

“You should be. I’m your boyfriend.”

You pouted. “But you’re not really my boyfriend, are you? It makes me sad, you know, to think that I have to pretend to have a guy as nice as you.”

He chuckled. “You think I’m a nice guy?”

“Well, no. But I love you anyway.”

You both paused, shocked in equal parts by your words. You were a bit drunk – not enough to ignore the fact that you just said to him something you couldn’t even say to yourself, but too much to think of a clever way to relieve the tension.

Roger wrapped his arms around you and pulled you ever closer. If you had looked at his face, you’d see an expression of serious contemplation. He didn’t know how to react to your sudden, albeit lazy, declaration. He didn’t know if you were serious, or if you meant it that way – it was easier to believe that you didn’t. He wanted to believe that you didn’t.

But did he really?

Eventually, the both of you fell asleep – the awkward pause too pregnant to move on from, but both of you too inebriated to do anything else, you both just closed your eyes against the world and found comfort in the sweet succor of sleep.

When you woke, your eyes were heavy, and it seemed to be a production to try and open them, so you simply didn’t. Your face was cool, but your body was warm, and you felt perfectly at peace. There was a faint yellow tint to your eyelids, which wasn’t out of the ordinary – it was morning light, softly reminding you to start your day.

There was that early-morning fog over your brain that stopped you from questioning where you were and why you were so unfamiliarly comfortable. You just accepted the warmth that wrapped around you on this slightly cramped space, the gentle oscillation lulled you into wanting sleep once more.

The nest that encapsulated you closed tighter around your waist, and it was an accepted pressure. You stretched your legs and let out a sighing yawn, still not opening your eyes, still not bothering to wonder what was holding you so secure.

“Good morning, love,” came a raspy voice from behind you, from around you. You felt the vibration against your back as the voice spoke. You froze.

The sudden rush of awareness hit you like a tsunami, and your eyes flew open.

You were in Roger’s flat. It took you a moment to remember how you got there; you knew that there was a falsely romantic dinner date, and then . . . talking . . . and then something.

“Er, morning,” you replied. Your throat was dry.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, shifting slightly, but not trying to move you away. You didn’t want to move.

“No,” you said, your heart pounding. “N-no, you didn’t.”

He sighed behind you. “Put your head back,” he said. “It’s too early.”

One of his hands coaxed your head to fall back onto his chest, and it fell with only slight resistance.

It seemed to you that he closed his eyes and fell back into a doze, but you couldn’t do the same. You closed your eyes, sure, but you couldn’t quite relax, knowing that you were laying on Roger Taylor’s sofa – on Roger Taylor – with his arms wrapped about your waist in the oddest sort of embrace.

You knew that Roger wasn’t awake enough to really realize what he was doing. Of course he wouldn’t want to hold you like this if he were cognizant – you were only friends, and this was decidedly not a friendly sort of position to be in.

As much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but wonder why this made you feel so good. For all it was awkward, it felt more perfect than anything else before it. It felt perfect like holding his hand felt perfect; it felt perfect like kissing him felt perfect; it felt perfect like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west felt perfect.

You betrayed your own attempt at restraint and let yourself fall into a peaceful sort of acceptance. It wasn’t so bad a deal, you figured, to be in this position. At least it was Roger, of all people.

After a while, during which you may or may not have fallen into a light sleep once more (it was quite impossible to tell), you felt Roger begin to stir once more.

One of his hands moved from your waist. The other remained, but you still felt deprived of its wonderful heat. You noticed now that, though you had no blanket of any sort, Roger had kept you warm enough. Your cheeks grew flushed at the thought.

“Roll over, baby,” he said groggily. “Careful, now.”

Slowly, so as not to poke him with your elbows, you twisted around, so that you were facing him.

When you saw the way his hair fanned about his face, the way his eyes were heavy-lidded, and just how relaxed his face was, unmarred by the strain of everyday expressions – it almost made you gasp. Maybe it did make you gasp. “Hi,” you said sheepishly.

“That’s better,” his lips quirked up in a lazy sort of grin, and his eyes found yours. It made your stomach clench. “How’d you sleep?”

He was acting so cavalier, as if this sort of thing happened between the two of you all the time. “You know, it was fine.”

Roger chuckled. “Well, I thought it was bloody amazing. I’ll admit it, Y/N, I sleep better with someone beside me.”

You adjusted your position, getting comfortable again. He didn’t seem eager to move anytime soon. “I’m not used to it. It’s not too bad.”

“Oh, how lonely,” he adopted a tone of fake sympathy, and it made you chuckle. “You’ll learn to love it.”

You tilted your head back. “I will?”

“Once I’m done with you, like I said, you’ll have men left and right. You’ll never have a lonely night again.”

“I imagine I’d get quite tired of people after so long.”

He looked off to the side and shrugged. You didn’t really feel your face getting closer to his, mostly because his eyes weren’t on yours anymore, which didn’t make you so aware of the distance between you.

But when he looked back at you, his eyes were so clear and so close. Everything was so close – your noses almost touched, and your lips, well, you didn’t want to think about your lips. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You found yourself leaning even further in. It wasn’t even of your own accord. You were like magnets, some invisible force pulling you closer and closer. Roger felt it, too, because you watched his eyes flutter shut before closing your own, as well.

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

He said it so softly, reluctantly, like he didn’t really want to say it in the first place.

“I’m sure I said plenty. Can’t remember it all.”

“Please, try.”

You paused. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Roger.”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed, hardly looking sleepy at all. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

You felt him shifting, to prop himself up against the arm of the sofa, so you scooted down, sitting more on his lap than lying against his chest.

“Last night, did I – did I do something wrong?” You almost didn’t want to know the answer. You hardly ever allowed yourself to drink for fear of what you might do.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “You couldn’t ever do anything wrong, Y/N,” he said. “You couldn’t.”

“Then what’s the matter, Rog?” His sudden change in demeanor simply didn’t fit. “I really don’t get you. Sometimes you’re about to . . . then, you just change, like that.” You snapped your fingers. It wasn’t quite the resounding effect you were looking for, since you never were very good at it.

“It’s really nothing, love. Now, let up, I’ve got to shower.”

You shuffled over to the end of the sofa to let him get up and trod over to the bathroom. You fell back against the cushions, perplexed.

You didn’t exactly lie low the next few weeks, but nothing more escalated like it had before. You and Roger went back to the routine outlined by your deal in the beginning, and it was an easy, if unsatisfying deal.

The press was finally getting tired of reporting about the two of you, anyway. What interest was there in a stale, stagnant relationship, amid the scandalous termination of EMI’s contract with the Sex Pistols or the not-so-shocking disclosure of Elton John’s unconventional sexuality?

“There hasn’t been an article about us for weeks,” you said to Roger one afternoon as you all prepared to leave the studio. “That’s practically a century.”

He nodded, not looking up at you; he was shuffling through a few tapes. “Yeah, you’re right.” More shuffling. “You want an end to this, don’t you?”

You always had a natural inclination against lying, so you couldn’t automatically respond with the affirmative. “I mean, well – we really needn’t bother anymore, right?”

Roger turned around slowly, setting down the tapes and leaning back against the soundboard. He crossed his arms. “You’ve got to admit, it was fun, wasn’t it?”

You looked down to hide the smile on your face, but you couldn’t keep the laugh from your voice. “I’d have to say yes.” You covered your mouth with your hand as you giggled. Once he saw your laugh, you noticed his demeanor lighten. “I mean, we just fooled the entire press into thinking –”

“Into thinking exactly what they already thought,” he held up a finger for emphasis. “You see, that’s the beauty of the plan. We didn’t fool them into anything, not really. We just didn’t resist and they ran with it.”

He caught your eye and gave you a kind, happy smile.

Catching your hands, he held them in his own, and looked down at you. “Is there any chance that you’ll miss this?”

“Yes,” you say, because it was easier than trying to lie. “There’s a big chance.”

“I’ll miss it, too,” he admits, and it makes you feel something to hear him say it. “I’ll miss holding your hand.” He took a step closer, dropping one hand to grip your waist. “And I’ll miss holding you like this.” He pulled you closer and closer. “I’ll miss kissing you, most of all.”

You swallowed. “That only happened once.”

He let out a breath. It fell against your cheeks, making your skin tingle. “It really didn’t have to.”

Tilting your head to the side, you asked, “Roger, what are you saying?”

He didn’t shy away from your gaze this time. He held you with his large blue eyes, and you felt like you should look away, this time, but you couldn’t. “I’m saying that I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

You knew what he meant, somewhere in the back of your mind, but still, you said, “Then we can stop. We don’t need to, anymore.”

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N, and you know it.” The grip on your waist tightened as his other hand went there, too, holding you closer. Your noses were touching. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

Your eyes flickered down to his lips. “I think you should,” you say softly. “No more pretending.”

He captured your lips in a searing kiss. You brought your arms up around his neck, pressing your chest to his. It was much more intimate than you’d ever been with him, and the kiss, combined with the thousand other points of contact sent the most wonderfully violent shiver throughout your entire body.

“Roger,” you said in between kisses, “I think I love you.”

He chuckled. “I know.”