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prettylittlebrownskingyal · 5 years

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🎂☆ Jason Todd Birthday Week ☆ Aug 16th - JASON’S BIRTHDAY

Dickface Grayson: what do u want for ur bday baby bro?

RedNerd: a big booty hoe

Spawn: same

Wiffle: sksks DAMIAN

The family group chat is usually rather annoying. No one sleeps and no one has boundaries or tact so there’s always three hundred messages and long ass tangents (courtesy of Tim, Damian and sometimes Duke) for Jason to read over his morning coffee.

It’s a big thorn in his ass.

But it’s routine. He’s grown to expect it like he anticipates sunrise, it’s become one of those things on his mental checklist that he can never forget. Those morons keep finding more and more opportunities to weasel their way into his life and it’s so goddamn irritating that he loves it.

Which is why the lack of notifications he wakes up to makes his skin itch in an unscratchable way. His first instinct is to assume something’s wrong because there’s nothing beside that one question from Dick. But as he replies, Damian and Stephanie’s responses follow immediately— he finds relief in knowing their fine but his confusion grows.

He realizes he’s bored.

He has a three day stretch of no plans and he’s so freaking bored he kind of wants to claw his eyes out.

Dickface Grayson: i told y’all asking him wouldn’t work

Dickface Grayson: i. told. y’all.

Timbits: stop with the y’alls

Wiffle: y? cuz it reminds u of connor?

Timbits: fuck off

Wiffle: bite me

Babs: I say, we go with the original plan

Duke☀️: but how are we going to get him to go willingly go to a party?

Spawn: we could knock him out

Timbits: NO

Spawn: and just carry him there

Timbits: Damian I swear to GOD

Dickface Grayson: why can’t we do the surprise party

Wiffle: cuz he’d hate it

Wiffle: and he’d kill us

🐥Cass: let’s just get him a cupcake and call it a day

Spawn: i second that

Spawn: or we could get him an escort

Babs: DAMIAN

Spawn: put it on father’s card

Timbits: as much as I would LOVE to see that

Timbits: we can’t

🐥Cass: add it to the list for next yr dames

Babs: I have work to do, you guys plzzz come up with something.

Dickface Grayson: good luck babs

Dickface Grayson: I say party

Wiffle: i’m going with Cass and the cupcake

🐥Cass: ^^

Dickface Grayson: Damian I see you typing. Don’t say it.

Timbits: he’s Jason guys. he doesn’t want the attention of having to blow out a candle and listen to us butcher happy bday

Timbits: we need something he’d like

Wiffle: let’s just give him his presents

Wiffle: they’re all books anyway

🐥Cass: books and cupcakes

Spawn: no that’s stupid

🐥Cass: ur stupid

Spawn: ur stupider

Wiffle: Tim’s stupidest

Timbits: blocked

Dickface Grayson: CHILDREN

Dickface Grayson: babs will murder us if we don’t come up with something

Timbits: I mean…. she’ll muder you

Spawn: muder

🐥Cass: muder

Wiffle: STUPIDEST

Jason calls Alfred, texts Bruce and leaves a long winded voicemail for Barbra. She replies with three smiley face emojis and then a voice note of her reminding him that his has three days off for his birthday specifically for resting, to stop worrying about everybody else. She’s stern and sure and he knows it’s pointless to argue.

Alfred had been vague too and Bruce hadn’t replied— with all his sources dry, Jason’s left pouting in his apartment, bored out of his mind. He keeps opening and closing his apps to see if there’s been updates.

There isn’t.

RedNerd: why are you guys so AWOL

Timbits: we’re giving u a break hbd loser

RedNerd: shady

Timbits:🙃

Timbits: i’m disowning Steph

RedNerd: i’m on her side whatever it is

Timbits: traitor

RedNerd: 🙃

Jason sighs languidly. He flicks his phone to the side and watches it bounce off the couch. There’s a full five seconds in which he allows himself to release his boredom in a long, guttural groan and then he’s diving after it to check the screen. It’s not broken. He resolutes himself to reading as all else fails.

Timbits: Jay’s getting antsy

Dickface Grayson: ughh

Wiffle: what r we gonna do?

Spawn: yk

Wiffle: Damian

Spawn: shut up Brown, I was going to say that Duke had an idea.

Wiffle: oh

Wiffle: what’s ur idea sunshine?

Duke☀️: I never volunteered

Wiffle: I’m starting to like the escort thing so plz

Duke☀️: fine

Duke☀️: I’ll invite him to the manor to play PUBG

Duke☀️: no party

Duke☀️: and then we do family dinner and have Alfred make a cake

Dickface Grayson: that’s simple enough

Wiffle: and Alfie makes the cake he’ll have no choice but to accept it

Babs: good work team

Duke☀️: team?

Babs: Good Work Sunshine ☀️💛💛

He’s cleaning his kitchen for the third time when his phone vibrates. A plate is almost dropped in his haste to get to it.

Duke☀️: PUBG. Pizza. Manor?

RedNerd: yessss

The manor’s dead silent when he steps into the threshold. Alfred slips out of the kitchen to bid him a quick hello, hands him two boxes of pizza (one extra cheese and the other sausage and peppers) and shoos him up the stairs.

“You look like shit,” is what Duke says in greeting. He already has the controllers and television set up. Jason feels a little like he’s found bliss.

“I’m losing it, man. No patrol and shit for three days? I’m going to die. Again.”

“Yeah cuz I’m about to kick your ass. Hand me my pizza and sit down.”

“It’s on, sunshine.”

Dickface Grayson: Duke has him in the den. we’re jist gonna ease in one by one. Alfred’ll bring the cake, we’ll do presents and then it’s done

Wiffle: sounds good chief

Timbits: is my pizza here?

Spawn: no one ordered for you

Duke☀️: yh it’s in the kitchen.

Timbits: right, expect me first.

They play four rounds until Jason’s spent most of his pent up energy on killing opponents. Duke gets better every time he plays and he works well with Jason’s style. It reminds him that they should team up more for patrol.

Damian slinks in on his toes right as they start the fifth. He’s got a box of pizza balanced in one hand and Alfred the cat tucked under the other.

“Todd,” is all he says before plopping down on the opposing sofa.

Tim wanders in after, barefooted and rumpled. He opens his mouth to say something, spots Damian and snaps it shut. He makes a noise that reminds Jason of a busted engine. He doesn’t know what that’s about, he doesn’t want to know either.

“Timbo, take this.” He passes him the controller and yanks his skinny frame down with one arm. “Play for me so I can eat.”

“Cheating,” Duke intones.

“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want to.” They all visibly stiffen at the words. He continues, speaking quickly around a mouthful of pizza. “And also. You guys have been really weird all day. What have you been up to?”

The response is a three tiered chorus of, “Nothing.”

“The group chat was dead quiet.”

Tim is stuttering something out when Damian drops a “I wish it was,” under his breath.

Nobody says anything. He chews, swallows and waits for them to fill the silence.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you guys have another group chat?”

“No.”

“Why would we?”

“Yes.”

Jason’s braces himself to be as offended as he possibly can when three things happen in the space of a minute.

Tim throws a slice of pizza at Damian while Duke ducks between the cushions. The ensuing fight is so loud Jason can’t hear himself think.

Dick and Cass come stumbling through the doors with Stephanie tailing behind them— their all singing “happy birthday.” Alfred— bless him— is following along with a small sponge cake adorned with lit candles. He makes it one foot into the room before there’s a loud splatter, a scream and shouted curse.

There’s a controller in the cake.

Dick and Steph are on the ground trying to pull a shocked Damian and Tim apart while Duke sinks further between the upholstery.

“Jason,” Cass crosses around the disaster zone. She offers him a hand and gives him a firm shake. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” He’s still stunned, gaping down at her like a confused goldfish.

“These are for you.”

It’s a pile of hard copy classics secured by a gold ribbon. A tiny bite size cupcake sits on top.

“Thanks Cass. I really appreciate it.”

She hums, casts a glare at Damian and sways out of the room.

“Well,” Alfred snaps. “I’m going to clean this buttercream off of me while you all fix this ...mess. Master Jason, it appears I owe you a cake.”

“It’s fine, Alfie.”

Dick slams his fist to the floor, fuming. “ It’s not.”

“It’s ok—“

“Jay we’ve been trying to plan something special for you all day. This was the best we could do— just us, just a cake and some presents— and we found a way to screw it up.”

“That’s what the other group chat was for.”

Tim chimes in, rolling out of the chokehold Damian has him in.

He sees the guilt hanging around the dropped corners of their mouths like anchors. So that’s why they were so unattached, they were just being annoying amongst themselves.

“This is….it’s great actually. That,” he points to Damian on the ground. “Was quality entertainment. Duke is still a PUBG genius, which it was nice to be reminded of and this—,” he raises the books and cupcake. “—is really all I need.”

He and Dick split half of Damian’s pizza out of sheer spite. Bruce comes in at some point to let them know Alfred’s making another cake and then he somehow gets sucked into a game of Super Mario. Later, they’ll all gather around in the kitchen to force feed Jason cake and watch him open presents. It’ll be quiet and intimate and just right for him.

He’s not bored to death anymore.

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up to four hundred messages in the group chat and the world will right itself.

Wiffle: We’re all going to remember what we’re getting Damian for his bday next yr, right?

Duke☀️: lessons in decorum

Timbits: tickets to the Crayola Experience?

Timbits: tickets to Sesame Street live?

Wiffle: no

Wiffle: a trip to Home Depot to get him a big ass hoe

#no editing we die like mne #jtbdayweek #jtbw19 #lilbrowngyal writes #not an imagine #fic #i kinda hate this #but i did it last night so i was a difference person down #jason todd #duke thomas #dick grayson #damian wayne #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #tim drake #cass cain #haha i hate myself

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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malamente part 7 (branjie) - evan

art by @k-i-t-e-98!

AN: oh hello! It’s been a while! I’ll admit I had abandoned this story and dove headfirst into school this past semester, but I can’t move on from this little world and I really want to see this through. There’s no telling how long the next chapter will take, but I have a plan. This might have 11 chapters total, but that’s an estimate. Let’s see what more trouble I can get these two into. Shoutout to Meggie for her constant encouragement!

New to Malamente? Catch up here on AQ or over at AO3. I’m @formercongressman.

–

It’s a slow news day, but every day is a slow news day in this town. So Yvie’s got her sketchpad unabashedly open over her work computer’s keyboard, knowing there’s no easy way she can make it look like she’s actually hard at work were someone to come in and check up on her.

She’s trying to find the line between human and starfish for the five-limbed creature she’s sketching, and it’s proving more of a challenge than she had anticipated. There’s only so many places you can locate a face.

“Knock-knock,” a voice says aloud. Yvie cringes before she turns around, trying with little avail to block her sketch pad with her body.

Her boss is in the doorway. He looks chipper, he’s got his fist raised as if he was going to knock on her cubicle wall but no, that would be too normal and unobtrusive of a thing for him to do. She smiles with as many teeth as she can show. “Hi, Patrick.”

“How’s that school carnival story coming along?”

“Almost done,” Yvie lies. It’s been sitting in her drafts folder completed for two days. It wasn’t a story she could make anything mildly edgy out of, so she banged out a haphazard scene of kids and goldfish and smiling parents that she couldn’t get away from quickly enough. “Just putting in some final touches.”

He must know Yvie hates him; she’s not subtle, and it bugs her even more that he pretends everything is perfectly peachy-keen.

“That’s great! Because I’ve got something new for you.” He hands her a manila folder which she doesn’t open. “Something a little more exciting, a little more up your alley.”

“Great, I’ll take a look at it.” She sets the folder on her desk, turning away in the hope that he’ll leave.

“What are you drawing? Is that a starfish?”

Fucking hell.

She tosses the sketchpad into her desk drawer and slams it shut. “It’s nothing.”

“Well. Get me that carnival story by the end of the day!”

“Yup.”

She waits until she hears his footsteps recede, muffled by the dreary brown carpet, before she finally opens the folder. She’s curious, truly; that much she can’t pretend.

And damn, he wasn’t lying. It’s a big story, technically. Definitely not the kind of thing Yvie usually gets assigned. The first page is a police report of a rich white lady getting carjacked in the middle of the day about a week ago. The woman is important; she’s the wife of the chair of the symphony board. Yvie’s seen her smiling face on a billboard near the bank downtown, and she looks chipper even in the driver’s license photo paperclipped right below the report.

She knows the story she’s supposed to write. Community Rocked by Violence: Your Personal Wealth is Always Under Threat, with a picture of this woman looking stoic and a little hurt. She’ll write a paragraph about maybe why the guy did it, trying to realize and flesh out the narrative, and Patrick will cut it in editing and simultaneously lob off another piece of her willpower and soul. This story is an opportunity, sure, but she already knows where it’ll go, knows how it’s supposed to end.

She flips to the next page and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

It’s Victor fucking Paulson, smiling with his teeth but not with his eyes, in his Best Buy employee photograph. He’s the suspect, rumored missing for about a week, having taken off with this Nina West’s minivan. There’ll be no sympathetic paragraph for her editor to cut on this one, that’s for sure. She thinks of the screen door to his apartment slamming and waking Yvie up at three in the morning, Vanessa’s voice ricocheting off the buildings as she shouts back up at him, his cold and terse words back at her lost in the buzz of the bugs chirping in the night. He’s an asshole, Yvie knows that for sure. But this level of criminality is downright eerie. She whips out her phone to tell Scarlet.

Y: Have you seen Victor at all this week?

S: no, why?

Y: He stole a car, nobody’s heard from him in a while

Y: Just got assigned the story at work

S: sounds about right for him

S: that’s a big story baby!! happy 4 you

Y: Thanks, but it’s weird right?

S: it is

S: but as they say

S: bye bitch

Yvie chuckles and send back the thankful emoji. That explains why the neighborhood has felt different, why she hasn’t seen anyone coming or going from Victor and Vanessa’s apartment in the last couple of days. She wants to roll her eyes a bit at Vanessa for moving in with that older blonde woman the second her boyfriend skipped town, but she’s seen quicker U-Hauls and frankly doesn’t blame her.

She finds a sticky note on the back of Victor’s photograph. It’s in Patrick’s neat handwriting: police dragging their feet, he’s friends with cops, maybe investigate?

“Oh fuck yeah,” Yvie mutters aloud.

The non-starfish in her desk can wait. Yvie’s finally got a real mystery to solve.

–

“Vaaaaaanjie! Your girlfriend’s here with coffee!”

Silky’s voice booms through the dress store, earning them a concerned look from the few people shopping and a narrow glare from Vanessa’s boss behind the register. Brooke flushes red, nearly spills the latte she’s holding on the wall of wedding dresses beside them. Silky cackles as Vanessa pokes her head out from the dressing room.

“Bitch!” Vanessa hisses under her breath, loosely shoving Silky out of the way. Her cold glare melts as she shoulders up next to Brooke.

“Vanjie, huh?”

“You better not start calling me that.” Vanessa takes the coffee from Brooke’s hand with a well-concealed smirk. “Thank you, baby.”

She doesn’t bring up the “girlfriend” thing. They’re not girlfriends. They haven’t discussed it, haven’t thought to put a word on it. It feels risky, trying to cram whatever tenuous but wonderful arrangement they’ve managed to develop over the past couple of weeks into the box of a word. Besides, “girlfriend” feels frivolous. This is something else, not quite documented with language yet.

“You get off at six, right?” Brooke tucks a loose strand of Vanessa’s hair behind her ear.

“Six, yeah.”

“How does stir fry sound for dinner? I got some purple cauliflower at the farmers market and some Thai peppers and I wanna give it a go.”

“They make cauliflower in purple?”

“Vanessa!” A woman pokes her head out from behind the dressing room curtains, and Brooke watches the ice sink back into Vanessa’s eyes. “I think you already took your break?”

“Be right there!” Vanessa affects her voice, a kind of faux-sweetness that makes Brooke laugh while Vanessa’s manager turns away with a stern eye.

“That sounds real good baby,” she continues, voice softer, “but everything you make is good.”

Brooke rolls her eyes, knows it’s not worth it to argue with Vanessa on that. “I’ll have it ready a little after six, then.”

“I’ll be there.” Vanessa pops up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Brooke’s lips. She breaks into a smile that Brooke can’t help but mirror.

So it’s like that, mostly. It’s easy.

Brooke doesn’t really notice when Vanessa stops promising she’ll go back to her apartment eventually. Brooke didn’t really believe her in the first place, especially when the promises always came when Vanessa was splayed out adorably on the couch or picking up a pile of recently discarded clothing next to Brooke’s bed. Eventually Brooke suggested that Vanessa hang her work clothes up in the empty closet that used to be Jason’s, and that’s probably the moment that solidifies it.

Vanessa moves in. Her duffel bags empty out and disappear, and her makeup spreads across Brooke’s bathroom counter. The cabinets fill up with Takis and sour candy and other foods that would scald Brooke’s mouth, the fridge is stocked with leftover Chinese food Vanessa picks up for them both after work some nights.

It’s nothing like when she first moved in with Jason. He liked space, distance, room to think. Even in those early months he would lock himself away in his office after dinner and go to bed without saying goodnight. But Vanessa joins her in the shower, wraps her arms around Brooke’s waist when she’s cooking, falls asleep with her fingers laced against Brooke’s. Brooke thought maybe she just wasn’t cut out for domesticity. But this feels so fresh and good and right.

Whatever the opposite of loneliness is, Brooke thinks this is it.

It’s a week or so later and they’re sitting by the fireplace, wrapped up together underneath a knitted blanket Vanessa’s abuela had made, while Brooke flips through a Chekov play and Vanessa scrolls through her phone. Vanessa curls against Brooke’s side, a closeness and comfort that’s become thrillingly normal.

“This feels so easy,” Vanessa breathes into the collar of Brooke’s shirt. “Should it feel this easy?”

Brooke knows what Vanessa means. She tucks her book between the couch cushions and cards a hand through Vanessa’s hair. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“I just…” Vanessa sighs, straightens up, bites her lip. It’s a serious and vulnerable face, one that reminds Brooke too sharply where they are and how they got there. “I always wanted some fairytale romance, you know I love that sappy shit. Like in a rom-com where everything sorts out nice and happy in the end. And this, you, this feels like the end of the movie.” Her fingers trace around Brooke’s wrist. “But I keep looking over my shoulder. I keep checking under the bed. I keep biting my lip when I drive past cops, and I don’t know if that’s going to get any easier.”

Brooke pulls her close again, feels the emotion welling up in Vanessa’s shoulders and presses a hand against them, wishing she had her own magic to will it away. “I want it all to be easy. But life’s not a movie.”

“I know. I just want it to be.”

It’s quiet except for a few sniffles. Brooke holds her because it’s all she can do.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to be normal?” Vanessa asks after a moment.

Brooke smiles a little. “We were never normal.”

“Can we try it for a while? Cook dinner together, watch trash TV, tell me the shit from your past and I’ll tell you mine?”

That Vanessa’s eyes can glimmer like that after all of it, after everything, is reason enough to agree.

When Jason was still alive, Brooke had given up on a home. Hell, she’d largely abandoned love, or the concept of getting anything she’d expected or hoped for in life. Even someone who seemed like the most brilliant match – wealthy, educated, with famous friends and a divine record collection – could ruin your world, take and take until you were hollow and fragile as a seashell. Vanessa was far from her fairytale fantasy. Vanessa ticked none of the boxes she’d learn to look for. But life is not a movie, and maybe she could throw out that broke-ballerina-to-trophy-wife storyline script along with the coldness and cynicism she’d so far managed to shake.

“I want that,” Brooke breathes. “Yes, please, let’s be normal.”

Vanessa smells like spice today, cinnamon sugar with cloves. She laughs a soft laugh that’s just for Brooke, one that crackles like a fireplace. It’s warm here, Brooke thinks, the kind of place she could make a home.

–

The next morning, normal gets off to a rocky start.

The doorbell rings at eight A.M., and Brooke wraps herself in a robe to answer it. Her shoulders tense when she sees the gardener, who’d dug up her backyard before there was another body to bury. She had forgotten to call him to tell him there was no garden to fix, an oversight that snapped her immediately awake.

“Morning, ma’am. Warmer day today, thought I’d fill in your garden plot out back.” He’s chipper.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. It’s already filled in.” She mirrors his smile. “Just eager to start planting, that’s all. I’ll still pay you for today, of course.”

The gardener looks at his shoes, and then towards the gate. Brooke holds the silence, an old trick she’d learned at fundraisers with Jason to maintain control of an unpredictable situation, when someone else was thinking. Any awkward silence can be a power grab if you minutely twist it in your favor. Fortunately the man doesn’t need much convincing.

“Alright then, Ms. Hytes. Thank you for your business.” He turns to leave and grabs something at the base of the doorstep. “Oh, and here’s your paper.”

She takes the paper from him, lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as the door clicks behind her. That hadn’t been suspicious, she’s pretty sure, and her confidence grows by a centimeter.

She’d never cancelled Jason’s Sunday paper subscription, and she barely kept up with local news anyway. She lays it absently on the kitchen island while she fumbles with the french press, still a little too sleepy to remember exactly how strong Vanessa liked her coffee. Very strong, she guesses, and dumps and inordinate scoop of grounds into the glass.

“You bringing me breakfast in bed?” Vanessa appears in the archway, wrapped tightly in the comforter she dragged along with her.

Brooke smiles. She can’t think of a better morning. “Yeah, get back in there.” She pops a few slices of sourdough in the toaster.

“It’s cold without you.” She moves towards Brooke, nestling back into her. For a brief moment she allows herself that indulgent, cliche thought: they fit well together.

“If you were wearing clothes–” Brooke starts to tease, but then she catches sight of the front page of the paper, and her face contorts in shock.

“What? Did I–” But then Vanessa sees it too, and her shoulders tighten. “Shit,” she breathes.

The lower quarter of the front page is Victor’s face in black and white, stern and unfeeling. It’s his Best Buy employee badge photo. There’s a smaller photograph of Nina with Jon and the kids, their Christmas card photo from this year. But she can’t look away from Victor, whose gaze seems to be boring holes right through the newsprint.

Brooke reads over Vanessa’s shoulder. Thankfully, there’s not much there. It’s a scathing indictment of the police working on the case, who refused to tell the reporter nearly any of the details they had, apparently because they weren’t looking into it. It’s a call for answers, ones that the reporter herself wasn’t able to find. That’s good. That’s something.

“They’re still looking for him,” Vanessa says, worried.

“The police aren’t.” Brooke bites her lip, and rubs small circles into the skin of Vanessa’s shoulder with her thumb. “And Nina won’t push them. There’s nothing here to worry about.” And Brooke surprises herself by believing it.

The toast pops up. The kitchen smells like rosemary.

“Let’s forget about it, then.” Vanessa turns away for a moment, shakes her joints loose, and then looks up at Brooke with the trusting beginning of a smile. “We can forget about it.”

Brooke rolls up the newspaper and wedges it underneath folded cardboard in the recycling bin.

–

“The front page!”

Scarlet elatedly drops the newspaper down on the bed where Yvie is still cocooned in the covers. Yvie saw a draft before it went to print, so this is no surprise, but Scarlet’s bright energy this early in the morning hits squarely her like a dropped pallet of bricks.

“Under the fold,” Yvie murmurs, snaking an arm out to peek at it.

“Yeah, but it’s the front page! My girlfriend is on the front page on a Sunday. I’m getting this framed.” Scarlet bounces on and off the bed, then heads for the kitchen. “And I’m popping champagne.”

Scarlet likes champagne, always keeps a bottle or two in the back of the fridge to mark the smallest celebratory occasions, so it’s not that rare of a moment. There’s no orange juice for mimosas, but that doesn’t stop her. Yvie knows it makes her happy to pop a bottle, so she lets Scarlet shoot it off over her bed and the cork smashes directly into the light fixture. Scarlet cackles, Yvie rolls her eyes, and they drink directly out of the bottle.

“I hope this doesn’t lead to them actually finding him,” Yvie says between sips. “It’s been so much quieter next door.”

“He’d end up in jail, right? Or at least if he came back there’s no one left for him to shout at.”

“Lucky Vanessa.”

Yvie missed having her around, and she knew Scarlet missed having someone to snoop on. But even then, she knew that anything would be better for Vanessa than staying in that place. Yvie left home on her eighteenth birthday. She knows the allure of an escape hatch.

Still, there was more that just felt… off about Victor’s disappearance. While she had been researching the story, Yvie had called the toll companies for the highways outside of town, and there was no evidence of any plates matching the ones on the stolen car. D15NEY, a cheesy vanity plate she’d repeated too many times to forget. He could have taken back roads, sure, but stolen cars just usually don’t stay stolen for long. It got under her skin that the police hadn’t called to ask those questions, though they still didn’t have any satisfying answers.

Maybe that wasn’t her job. Maybe that was well above her pay grade. Maybe she shouldn’t be so bothered about a rich white lady who lost her minivan. But she had a feeling that kept itching at the back of her neck, Victor’s gaze glaring vacantly from that Best Buy photo, and the persistent inability to drop it.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, snapping Yvie back to reality. “I’m proud of you. And you should be proud of you too.”

Yvie leans over to kiss Scarlet’s forehead. “I am.” It’s not a lie. It’ll open up more interesting projects at the paper, maybe even a promotion out of working under Patrick down the line. And then a bigger paper, and then something national… She’s getting ahead of herself.

“And hey,” Yvie says instead. “You know I love you, right?”

Scarlet beams and nods and scoots up the bed to kiss her, but her foot gets caught in a blanket and she topples forward. Champagne splashes on the comforter, which has seen much worse, and Yvie laughs as Scarlet rolls into her arms.

“Drinking on an empty stomach at nine in the morning…” Scarlet muses to herself. “Bad idea.”

Yvie finally pulls herself out of bed, and drags Scarlet along with her. “C’mon, put a shirt on. I’ll make you toast.”

–

It still looks a bit like an unmarked grave, so Brooke plants her garden.

It’s winter, but they’re pretty far south and Brooke researches some plants that are hardy enough to still grow. Spinach, kale, rainbow chard; dropping the seeds into the soil feels like she’s sending them on a doomed mission, but she does it anyway. But soon they sprout, soon they flourish, and Brooke can hardly contain her excitement.

“It’s all the extra nutrients they got in there,” Vanessa jokes when Brooke drags her out into the yard to show her the leaves peeking out through the dirt. Brooke isn’t sure whether to grit her teeth or laugh, so she does both.

Maybe Vanessa’s right. A corpse in a garden is something like compost.

Soon they’ve got more greens than they know what to do with. They make salads and stir-frys and smoothies but it’s still more than they can eat. Brooke snags a small stand at a weekly farmer’s market, and gets hooked on this new reason to get out of the house. She quickly learns why it was the last spot available, nestled between a particularly smelly fishery and an apiary that likes to bring along some of their bees, but she learns to live with it and breathe through her mouth and she sells the veggies off at rock bottom prices. Turns out Vanessa’s magic can get rid of bee stings like they’re nothing.

Time passes. The cold air softens, and a weed springs up from a crack in the cement under the carport and weaves itself through the spokes on the wheel of Nina’s van.

Holidays with their respective families come and go. Brooke is grateful her family is too cautious and uptight about grief to ask her if she’s seeing anyone, but when she facetimes with Vanessa that night she finds out there’s a horde of Mateos eager to meet her. They come over in early February, and Brooke and Paula cook side by side while Vanessa’s cousins gleefully raid the liquor cabinet.

She overhears Paula whispering something in Spanish to Vanessa in the hallway – esta suerte, para encontrar alguien tan sincera y cálida e inteligente, es algo que solo ocurre una vez en la vida – too fast and affected for Brooke to understand. A second later she sees Vanessa dabbing at red eyes, careful with her makeup, and Brooke gathers her up in her arms.

“They’re happy tears,” Vanessa explains. “Really happy ones.” Brooke kisses her eyelids anyway.

They manage to get Nina, Silky, and A’keria together in the same room for a dinner party, and the night seems to be off to a rough start when Silky shouts over every carefully planned conversation starter Nina tries to initiate. But there’s very little an entire bottle of tequila can’t fix, and soon Nina and A’keria are dancing to Nicki Minaj while Vanessa and Silky shout out less-than-tasteful alternate lyrics over the music. They all crash in guest rooms, and Brooke is pretty sure she can hear Nina mumble, “Much more comfortable than the back of my car,” before she falls asleep on top of the covers with her clothes on.

Vanessa says it first. Brooke brings her an iced dragonfruit tea with boba home from the farmer’s market on a Tuesday afternoon. Vanessa is wrapped in a tangle of blankets on the couch, nearly finished with the Donna Tartt novel Brooke had gifted her just a few days before. She takes a huge sip from the drink, and with a mouth full of tapioca pearls, it’s a grateful sigh: “Ugh, I love you.”

It’s so casual that Brooke almost doesn’t catch it, and Vanessa is so wrapped up in the book that she doesn’t even look up. But Brooke pauses, waits, hopes.

Vanessa looks up quizzically and Brooke watches the gears in her head turn. The color rushes from Vanessa’s face as she catches up. “Oh fuck, I mean–”

“I love you too.”

“I love you,” Vanessa says it again, and Brooke knows that the dopiest smile is spreading across her face. Bubble tea forgotten, Vanessa climbs into her arms. They say it back and forth until the words almost lose meaning on their tongues.

She’d said it to a few high school boyfriends, said it to Jason, said it to the Icelandic ballerina after a week and scared her away, but this is the first time it’s felt right, and mutually true. Now Brooke says it whenever Vanessa leaves for work for the day; Vanessa says it when she comes against Brooke’s mouth and she could never have imagined I love you sounding both holy and obscene.

It’s like nothing ever happened. Normal works, until the ground thaws.

For a few rainy days in early April, Brooke lets the garden go untended. She’s about to plant her first tomatoes, and she wants to make sure she has the perfect weather to be able to spend all day lining them up in perfect rows. Her shoes squelch in the mud, a feeling she’s almost come to enjoy, along with the dirt that cakes into her knees as she crouches down.

But then she catches it. There’s a corner of a black trash bag peeking up from the dark soil.

She wants to live in the moment where it’s just a piece of trash that’s blown in from another yard, before everything clicks into its horrible place. It’s torn on the edges, tattered like an animal had gnawed at it. Shit. She’s scooping soil on top of it before she can even think, pushing it back down into the ground and far away. She feels something shift, something that is decidedly not soil underneath her hands but she refuses to think about it, refuses to give it a name.

The tomatoes won’t get planted today. She’ll wait for another day of rain to wash away that texture beneath her fingers, and that memory from her skin.

When she stands, she feels a tweak in her back and winces. It doesn’t resolve when she stretches or twists, just pinches back harder with every breath. Of course. Phenomenal.

Brooke pours herself a glass of wine and takes a bath. It’s three in the afternoon, but that doesn’t matter. Warm water doesn’t loosen the tension in her muscles, and the lavender scent of the bubble soap seems oddly tinted with hints of iron. She closes her eyes and resists excavating anything she’s managed to keep buried for months now.

She’s dressed in sweats when Vanessa gets home from work, curled still uncomfortably on the couch.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I pulled something, I think.” Brooke omits any mention of the trash bag in the garden. It’s gone now, and it will stay gone, no need to bring it back up.

“Here, sit up.” Vanessa’s hands on her shoulders are an instant relief.

Vanessa doesn’t use her magic often, doesn’t need to. She’ll use it to wipe away her own bruises from running into cabinets or when Brooke’s got a pimple in the middle of her forehead, and on the rare and glorious occasion, in bed. Now, Brooke feels the warmth from Vanessa’s hands sparkling under her skin. The knot against her spine comes undone, the stress that she hadn’t noticed before melts from her shoulders.

Vanessa catches it. “You doing okay?

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” It’s a lie, and Brooke hopes Vanessa can’t sense that.

Vanessa hums and Brooke feels her reaching deeper, into the base of her spine. Something opens. “I think I–”

Lightning strikes. It feels the way broken glass sounds, exploding in shards that crackle their way up and down Brooke’s back.

“Fuck,” Vanessa shouts, pulling her hand back sharply and shaking it like she’s been burned.

“What was that?” Brooke tries to reach for Vanessa, tries to comfort her, but she holds her hand close to her chest. The electricity lingers in Brooke’s body, crackling like a blanket loaded with static.

“I don’t know.” Vanessa rubs her palm, pain in her face. Brooke wonders if she can heal that kind of thing herself. “Abuela never… I don’t know. Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

Vanessa gets up and runs her hand under cold water. Brooke sits on the couch, silent and particularly helpless.

Something is catching up with them, but Brooke has no words for it. It’s seeping into their normal, which turns out to be more fragile than she had thought. Ordered rows of tomatoes and the easy comfort of fresh love feel a bit distant. She feels it in every vertebra.

They decide that if nothing else, it’s a safe night for a TV binge. They order pizza and curl up on the couch, as Brooke holds tight to Vanessa and tries to settle into the weird static sensation in her spine. She catches Vanessa flexing her hands, rubbing her fingertips together, still feeling the aftereffects of the shock. They settle into bed like any other evening, huddled in the weight of too much unexplained.

Most nights sleep comes easily, but tonight it’s miles away. She silently counts to ten, fifty, a hundred, and still can’t get the thrumming feeling of worry in her chest to go away. After an hour or so of sleeplessness, she slips her arms from around Vanessa and gets up to find a book in the living room.

She stops suddenly before she can even make it to the living room.

Jason is sitting in a chair by the bar.

There are a few things you expect from a ghost. They’re supposed to be see-through, or pale and ragged like a corpse, or at the very least levitating. Jason is none of those things. He looks solid, human, too comfortable in a spot where he so often used to sit. He’s got a glass of dark liquor in his hand, swirling a large ice cube around, with a rueful smirk carved into his face.

If she hadn’t watched him die, hadn’t felt him go cold, she might think he let himself back in with the key.

“Brooke Lynn.” His voice has a sour edge, and she’s instantly reminded of how much she hates the way her name sounds when he says it. “It’s been too long.”

“This isn’t real,” she says confidently, elbow planted on the back of the other chair.

He cocks an eyebrow. “You wanna test that?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Jason throws his glass at her, and she braces herself, but the glass passes through her, no impact. She glances over her shoulder, looking for glass shards or any sign that this was real.

“I thought so.” Brooke narrows her eyes knowingly, a little self-righteously, and god it feels way too good to be able to look at him like that with no repercussions. A bit callously, she sits in the chair across from him.

“You still flinched,” he notes. There’s another glass in his hand, refilled with scotch and ice that clinks against the sides.

“Why are you here?”

“You drank all my scotch.”

“Well, you weren’t drinking it.”

“And there’s a 26-year-old shop girl sleeping in my bed.”

“My bed, now.”

“You always were a vindictive bitch, weren’t you? Under all of that? She can’t see it now, but give it a year. You know you’re meant to be alone.”

Brooke bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. Jason always knew how to drive a knife.

“Why are you here?” she repeats.

“You’re getting too comfortable, that’s why.” The ice clinks against his glass. “I’m here so you don’t forget.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you didn’t even know him–”

“I’m talking about me,” he smirks.

“You always are.”

“Would you listen? God. Justify that body in your garden all you like, but can you justify what you did to me? Have you heard of divorces, Brooke Lynn? Police reports? Fighting back?” Brooke feels her jaw tighten, and Jason catches it. His eyes light up, his words drip with sickly-sweet contempt. “No, instead of facing me, you spit on the life I gave you and killed me. You’re cheap, you’re greedy. But there’s quite a few different ways to stab someone in the back, huh?”

“Stop.”

Brooke feels ice prick at the base of her spine. It’s subtle, the first snowflakes just starting to fall.

Jason laughs softly to himself. It’s a face she’s seen too many times on him, that smug self-righteousness, one she never imagined having to see again. It’s engraved in the contours of his face, she notes. There’s no way to know the cruelty behind those laugh lines.

“You said it, honey. None of this is real. What does that say about what’s going on inside your head?”

Brooke stands, turning to leave, to run. She wishes she had a drink to throw in his face, wishes she had some way to hurt him. “You’re burning in hell.”

“Go back to that girl,” he calls after her, and she can hear his cruel smile. “You’re going to destroy her.”

In the hallway outside the bedroom, Brooke presses her face into the sleeve of her sweatshirt and breathes. Each breath is ragged, threatening to turn into a sob, but she packs it up tight, pulls it inwards and downwards. The pinpricks spread. Fuck.

Jason knows right how to get to her, how to wedge into those soft spots and make her wish they were never there. It’s impossible to write off. Ghost or fever dream, she’s haunted.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, sets her shoulders, and goes back to bed. She settles in next to Vanessa, who rolls back into her touch.

“Hey, were you up?” she murmurs softly.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“You talking to someone?”

“Nina.” Brooke lies. “On the phone.”

“Mmm.” And she’s asleep again.

Two lies in one evening. You’re going to destroy her, he said. Vanessa twists warm against her, settles against her chest. Brooke hopes Vanessa can’t feel her heart racing from where she rests her head.

Sleep comes in fragments, waves of unconsciousness so shallow she’s not even sure if she’s slept. Ice blue shards slice up and down her spine through the night.

–

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #branjie #scyvie #hurt/comfort #magical realism #malamente #evan #tw domestic violence #tw murder #concrit welcome #lesbian au

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Note

💫 - Amnesia stansort au

💫 - Amnesia

Quick note - Everything spoken is in Lironian, except for things italicized, which are spoken in French. Anyways, I was inspired by foreign accent syndrome (look it up, it’s wild), and decided to take it a step further. Enjoy.

Send an emoji and one or more characters!

“Who isthis guy?” Lute asked Angie quietly. Angie shrugged. They stared atthe young man that had been fished out of the sea by their father and olderbrother. He was visibly disoriented and seemedto struggle to focus on Pa McGucket trying to take his vitals. Pa McGucket let out a small hiss as heinspected the stranger’s head.

“Banjolina,”he said. Angie snapped to attention.

“Yes, Pa?”

“Go getyour mother. Now. He’s got a head wound.” Angie paled and rushed away.

“What do wedo in the meantime, Pa?” Harper asked. The stranger began to shiver.

“Get asmany blankets as you can find and tell the captain we’re turning around.”

“On it.” Harper bolted off.

“Lute,come here,” Pa McGucket instructed. Lutesat on the deck next to his father and the stranger. “He’s about your age, maybe he’ll be a bitmore comfortable with you around.”

“Okay.” Lute eyed the stranger. “Uh, hi.” The stranger squinted at him. With one eye. The other waslooking in a different direction, like a lazy eye. “Okay. Do you know Lironian?” Thestranger didn’t respond. “English?” hetried, switching languages. The strangerfrowned at him, visibly not understanding.

By thetime Ma McGucket arrived with Angie, Lute had gone through all the languages heknew, with no reaction from the stranger.

“What’sgoing on?” Ma McGucket asked.

“Harperand I fished this young man out of the water. He doesn’t seem to understand any of the languages Lute knows.”

“Parlez-vous français?” Angie asked thestranger. His brow wrinkled.

“Oui,” he mumbled after a moment. His eyes widened. He began to speak French quickly.

“Whoa,whoa, calm down,” Lute said. Thestranger stared at him. He started totalk again. Lute grimaced. “I don’t know what you’re saying, buddy.”

“He says hedoesn’t know why he knows French,” Angie said slowly. She cocked her head and asked the stranger aquestion. The stranger took a beat torespond. “He doesn’t think he knowsFrench, but he doesn’t know what language he’s supposed to know.”

“Angie, Iknow you’re trying to help, but stop asking him questions,” Ma McGucket saidfirmly. “We need to keep him calm.”

“Sorry,Ma,” Angie said quietly. She started toleave. The stranger said something toher in a desperate tone. Angie noddedsilently and responded in French. “Hewants me to stay,” Angie informed Lute as she sat down. Lute and Angie waited as their parents tendedto the stranger, Ma McGucket giving him instructions in French occasionally. After about fifteen minutes, Ma McGucketclosed the first aid kit and asked the stranger one last question.

“Je ne sais pas,” the strangerwhispered. Lute looked at Angie.

“What’sgoing on?” he asked.

“He doesn’tknow what his name is,” Angie answered.

“With ahead injury, we can’t be too surprised,” Pa McGucket said.

“He needsa name,” Lute said. “We can’t just callhim ‘hey you’.” His eyes widened. “I just had the best idea for what we could call him.”

“He’s ahuman, not a goldfish,” Ma McGucket scolded.

“Whatabout Jonah, though?” Lute pressed. “Hecame from the ocean, after all. Pa andHarper fished him out.” Ma McGucketlooked at her husband. He shrugged. Ma McGucket asked the stranger aquestion. After a moment, henodded. “Well?”

“We’llcall him Jonah until he remembers his real name,” Angie said. She smiled at the stranger – Jonah. “I’m sure he’ll remember it fast.”

—–

“No, Jonah, stop messing with your bandages,”Angie scolded. Jonah scowled at her.

“They itch,” he grumbled.

“I don’t care. You need to heal.”

“What’she saying?” Lute asked. He, Angie, andJonah were in one of the smaller rooms in the castle set aside for studying. After staying with them for over a month,Jonah had yet to remember anything about himself, and was starting to learnetiquette and Lironian, since it was starting to seem like he was going to be withthem for the long haul.

“LearnFrench,” Angie shot at him. Lute rolledhis eyes. Jonah let out a small laugh.

“I know just enough Lironian to know whatyou said.”

“Good,” Angie said. “You’relearning.” Jonah nodded.

“Yeah. I just-” Jonah huffedimpatiently. “I wish I knew more about myself. I keep getting these feelings like, I can almost remember something. But I can’t. It’s on the tip of my tongue all the time, and I can’t-” He cut himself off, irritated.

“Is hegetting upset about how he can’t remember stuff?” Lute asked. Angie nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Angie said sweetly,placing her hand over Jonah’s. “Even if you never remember, we won’t treatyou any the less for it.” Jonahsmiled weakly at her.

“Thanks, Angie.”

“No problem. Now, let’s get back to verbs.”

—–

“Daddy,Daddy!” Daisy squealed happily, running towards Jonah. Jonah chuckled. He scooped her into his arms.

“Hey,pumpkin. What’s got you all riled up,huh?”

“UncleFidds is here.”

“Oh, heis?” Jonah looked out the window. A town car had pulled up in thedriveway. “He is. I didn’t know he was visiting.”

“You needto keep your head on straight, dear,” Angie said, walking over. She kissed Jonah on the cheek. “I told you this morning.”

“You knowI can’t remember stuff sometimes,” Jonah said. Angie’s gaze strayed to the scar left on the side of Jonah’s head fromhis accident years ago.

“Yeah. I know. Sorry, darling.”

“It’sfine.” Jonah grinned. “Just means I get surprised sometimes.” Angie smiled.

“That’s avery upbeat way to look at it.”

“So,Fidds is coming here?” Jonah asked. Angie nodded.

“Yes. And he’s bringing his research partner. Apparently he just now found out Fidds isroyalty.”

“Geez,how dumb is this guy?” Jonah muttered. Angie laughed. The front dooropened.

“Hello?”Fiddleford called. Daisy wriggled freefrom Jonah’s arms and dropped to the floor, then raced towards the door. “Aw, hi there, sweetie!” Jonah heard a quick conversation in Englishcommence. He frowned.

“What’sgoing on?”

“You reallyneed to learn English,” Angie said, shaking her head. “I can’t be your translator forever.”

“Hey, it’sa tough language,” Jonah said defensively. “It never really stuck. At least Iknow the basics.”

“Fairenough.”

“What thehell are they calling Daisy?”

“Apolydactyl,” Angie said. “Someone withextra fingers or toes.”

“Oh. Yeah, she is one,” Jonah said. Angie cocked her head, frowning. “What?”

“Itsounds like they’re saying Fidds’ research partner is a polydactyl, too. That’s quite the coincidence.” At the sound of footsteps, Jonah and Angieturned. Danny raced down the hallexcitedly, her bare feet slapping against the carpet.

“UncleFidds!” she squealed. She passed Jonahand Angie without even glancing in their direction. Jonah raised an eyebrow.

“What arewe, chopped liver?” he asked. Angiechuckled. There was another flurry ofEnglish from the entryway. Angieblinked. “What are they saying now?”

“Fidds’research partner said something about Danny’s nose.”

“Hang on,this guy’s insulting my kid?” Jonah demanded.

“No, Idon’t think that’s quite what he’s getting at.”

“Thatfucker needs to back off,” Jonah growled, storming away. Angie sighed and followed him to the door.

“Calmdown. He only said that Danny’s noselooked…familiar…” Angie trailed off. She stared at the man with Fiddleford. “What in the world?” she breathed. Jonah looked at her.

“Somethingwrong?” he asked.

“Jonah,he- he looks just like you,” Angie whispered. Jonah looked back at Fiddleford’s research partner. Something stuck in the back of his memorystarted to wiggle loose.

“I…I knowhim,” Jonah said. Fiddleford’s researchpartner looked over. His eyes widened atthe sight of Jonah.

“…Stanley?”Fiddleford’s research partner asked. Aname finally came free in Jonah’s mind. He swallowed.

“Stanford?”

#Amnesiac Stansort AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Angie McGucket #Lute McGucket #McGucket Family #Stangie Family #I finally got all the prompts for that meme #if there's something you really REALLY want from it tho you can send it in #I may or may not write it but if I like it enough I'll do it #writing meme #ask #my writing #ficlet #Anonymous

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wannawrite · 6 years

Text

Type Of Boyfriend: Yoo Seonho

who?: Cube Ent / Pd101S2’s Yoo Seonho genre: 🌸 type: bullet point blog navigator. • how Yoo Seonho would be your boyfriend • with added Christmas spirit ahhh thank you for requesting @isaluciavevo this, it’s so long overdue I’m sorry Seonho is so freaking cute my heart can’t take this - Admin L

• hmm Yoo Seonho • 1/2 of my Cube chicks • y’all know this boy is wild • in the cutest way possible • Seonho goes to the same high school as you do, Cube International Academy • and he’s the vice-captain of the basketball team • captain - Lai Guanlin • Seonho is generally a bright and cheery person who doesn’t have trouble making friends • or keeping them • he practically knows the whole school • THAT Sophomore who is always hanging out with Seniors and Juniors • it’s also kind of pressing how a Sophomore is already the basketball captain • how shady • but that’s because Seonho enrolled into Cube because of his basketball skills • he was scouted when he was in middle school • and look where he is now • playing for one of the best high schools • talent • simply pure talent • can’t relate • but anyway • you’re new to Cube • you transferred over from C9 Academy • bye bye Jinyoung • and your transfer time was at a very odd time of the term • they decided to shove you in right when the last term started • which is around September and exams start in October • It isn’t the first time you’ve transferred schools but you didn’t exactly expect the principal to take ‘as soon as possible’ seriously • it was like they tossed you into the Lion’s Den with no prior warning • who gives prior warnings anyway.... • bad analogy but moving on • Cube is kind of intimidating no lie • there’s good looking and popular people everywhere • you feel out of place :( • luckily, Eunbin, the girl who is assigned to take care of you, is very sweet and introduces you to her friends too • even Wooseok, who sits next to her in class, welcomes you with open arms • you end up spending a lot of your first week with them • one day, you’re walking towards the cafeteria with Eunbin and Wooseok when a loud voice yells from behind • ‘HYUNG!’ ‘NOONA!’ • awkwardly, you stand to one side as a boy embraces his friends • it’s that weird thing when you’re with your friends • and they bump into their other clique • like • ‘uh hi idk if she’s been two-timing us’ • ‘who is the actual best friend.’ • ‘does she spend more time with me or you’ • except you can’t compare because you’ve only known people for two weeks • ahah • rip • take an L • sadly • ‘oh! Seonho, this is Y/N, they just transferred over from C9.’ Eunbin introduce, grinning from ear to ear • you smile shyly and wave • socialising 101 • Seonho brushes his fringe out of his eyes, beams brightly and waves back • HEART MELTED • his eyes just sparkle with happiness and they aren’t hidden by his huge spectacles • they’re too prominent • TOO BEAUTIFUL TO BE HIDDEN • ‘hey! Seonho, let’s go!’ A group of guys holding basketballs and dressed in their sports uniform shout • Seonho nods • ‘okay! I’ll see you around then guys. Welcome to Cube!’ • he skips away to join his friends • you’re left with your mind in a mess • honestly, he’s one of the cuter guys in your grade • actually, correction • the cutest guy you’ve ever seen • there’s no doubt about his physical handsomeness • not one • he’s good-looking, well-proportioned, has a sensible haircut • hair makes a HUGE difference • ‘oh!’ Eunbin clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. ‘you think he’s cute don’t you?’ • ‘n-no...’ • Wooseok ruffles your hair. ‘of course you do! you do! who can’t find him adorable?’ • ‘well, in THAT way but-‘ • ‘so you agree? you think he’s really cute?’ he teases more • You open and close your mouth several times, looking like a goldfish • ‘shut up.’ • Wooseok and Eunbin burst into laughter, playfully poking at you • you just wanted to eat lunch in peace, now look what happened :( • and they’re serving pizza today! • in the queue, Wooseok suddenly says, ‘how many times do you think Seonho or Guanlin queued up for pizza?’ • puzzled, you speak up. ‘aren’t we only entitled to one serving?’ • Wooseok just chuckles. ‘idk what goes on at C9 but this is Cube. no one will really pay attention if you take more than one plate, trust me, and I wouldn’t worry about Guan or Seonho, they’re pretty much Cube royalty’ • and that’s how you figured how popular and significant Seonho was • extremely • the next day, you found a sweet post-it stuck onto your locker • ‘y/n, hope you have a great day! talk to me if anything!’ • and there was also a bar of candy taped onto your door • your heart fluttered • madly, actually • you felt so special, like you owned the world • then, the boy next to you opened his locker and out came a similar looking note and a bar of chocolate • ‘awww! Seonho, he’s the sweetest.’ • o h • the boy collected his books and left with a bright smile on his face, ripping open the chocolate candy bar and tucking the post-it into his wallet • oh wow • your face flushed red and you crushed the post-it and shoved it to the very bottom of your backpack • you wish you could stuff your feelings back to wherever they came from • it was embarrassing to feel so special and close to someone you had barely made eye contact with • Seonho was just that guy who liked to present his friends with acts of his love and kindness • while he was incredibly popular, he was still humble and true to himself • cute • so so SO cute • NO SWEETIE YOU CAN’T FALL FOR HIM LIKE JUST THAT • N O • love at first sight :”) • you kind of dread today knowing that Seonho doesn’t share any classes with you • sigh • in science, Wooseok suddenly turns to you and asks, ‘hey, do you mind helping me return some books to the school library today? I would but Mr Kim called me up for math remedial and then I have basketball practice right after...’ • being the nice and kind friend you are, you agree to help him • ‘ah shit,’ he curses, realising he left the books in his locker. ‘can...you drop by the gymnasium later, I’ll pass them to you.’ • shrugging, you reply, ‘yeah sure, I need to talk to some of my club seniors anyway,’ • ‘thanks! you’re the best!’ • you don’t think anything of it until lunch, after consulting your squad - who screams • ‘why?’ • ‘wOOsEOk asKED yOu tO waTCH hIS PRActIce!’ • ‘....no I’m just getting stuff from him aiya what the heck...’ • ‘no way, Wooseok isn’t like this. Did Eunbin not introduce Seonho to you yesterday?’ • ‘iT MUST BE SEONHO.’ • and that’s how everyone started shipping you two • pls be rational, logical friends • you realise slyWooseok isn’t one of those people when you arrive at the gym • and he dumps a whole pile of books in your arms • you know your arms are bound to break • and the library is on the 4th floor, not in the same block • ‘WOO-‘ • ‘THANK YOU’ he yells, running back to join his team • even though they’re getting a 10 minute break • sighing, you sluggishly stumble out of the gym • ‘here,’ • YOO SEONHO STRIKES • ‘let me help you.’ • AsDFGHJKL • he won’t take your refusals and talks to you along the way • in the end, he smiles at you before bidding you goodbye • AND A NEW CONTACT IN YOUR PHONE • that’s how it started • you found yourself texting Seonho a lot • like • a lot • he was super sweet person to talk to • and often used cute emojis to talk • then if he got mad about something, he would leave you on ‘read’ until 10 minutes later • I’m gonna try and do that ^ • it was such a casual thing when you guys started dating • literally • but your heart was pounding, even hours after he had asked you out • it was right after your final paper • btw, Seonho stayed and studied with you until the library closed when you were cramming • and he also helped you with notes and whatnot • Eunbin and Wooseok even made a bet to see how long it would take for you two to start dating • the cutest tbh • and once he asked you • you said • YES • and then you got to know a lot more people in your grade, older and younger students • how cool • Seonho always gave you his basketball team jacket to wear at games • he was so shy the first time he asked you • it was right after his practice and you were waiting for him near the school gate • he came out of the locker room, trembling hands holding onto his jacket • subtly • ‘h-hey b-babe,’ he stammers • listen • this boy RARELY stutters, he always can find a good excuse or make up something on the spot • you know he’s serious about something • ‘can...c-can you w-wear my jacket to my game this Saturday? if...i-if y-you’re planning to g-go of course!’ he adds quickly, while a blush fills his face • there was no way you were going to pass up the opportunity • and that’s when your relationship was announced to the general public • but who was shocked? • everyone saw it coming • you guys are too cute as a couple to go unnoticed • Seonho is a lowkey sucker for PDA • like the boy will make his relationship KNOWN • it’s the little things that matters • a small peck on the cheek • the way your hand fits in his • sometimes you really want to kiss his forehead but this boy is like a 6’0 giraffe and unless you’re at least 5’11.5 that’s a bit of a struggle • rip me I’m 5’4.5 • I think • he just giggles and bends down so you can kiss him comfortably • or you’re 6’5 and height has never really been a problem • oh, I envy • he will hug you out of nowhere • back hugs • side hugs • front hugs • hugs you and spins you around • collapses into your arms hugs • yes, expect clinginess and extensive skinship • but you love it • you guys don’t argue much unless it’s something roughly related to life or death • you can see the fury in Seonho’s eyes but he just locks himself in a room for a good hour to get the rationality back • maybe that’s the secrets to a good relationship • he doesn’t hold back on the ‘L word’ either • you first said it a good year into the relationship • he said it in a good month • it was the weekend right after his team won a major championship and you took him out for pizza • he said I love you after you promised to pay for the pizza he wanted • but he really means it • dates with him could be quite adventurous and spontaneous • ‘yo, let’s go on a date today.’ • ‘ok. just let me cancel this thing first.’ • it’s either you guys go to the amusement park the time it opens to nightfall • or you go there, take one ride and leave • Seonho could also be the guy who likes cafe dates • not cafe hopping but • you guys could pinpoint a particular place • go there for a couple of dates to try everything you like on the menu • before moving on to another place • on 1 December, Seonho burst into your house and woke you up by singing to Christmas carols • enthusiasts about the holiday • buys matching ugly Christmas sweaters • he tried to DIY ones with you but they weren’t the best • you wear them to sleep though, because don’t waste comfy sweaters • present wise, if you send him a list of things you want/need, he might get all of them just for you • compliments you all the time • but if that shirt is ugly, that shirt is ugly • Seonho tries to teach you how to play ‘Jingle Bells’ on the piano • it involved a lot more hand-holding than you thought • his passion for music is admirable • just watching him immerse himself in the piano can make anyone cry • and the fact that he wants to involve you in something he holds so close to his heart • C R Y ME A RIVER • when it snows, it’s either you two snuggle by the fireplace • or engage in a deathly snowball fight outside • Guanlin and Wooseok joined you guys once • Guanlin nearly had to go to the ER after • Seonho likes to build snowmen with you • only with you • even though it didn’t look like a picture perfect Olaf, he was so proud of it and took a dozen polaroids • all in all, Seonho is a super supportive boyfriend, loves skinship • he can get annoyingly clingy and sometimes sensitive • but you guys always work it out • because love is love • you learn more about Seonho everyday • he will warm up and open up to you, don’t worry • you love him • like c’mon, he helped you decorate a whole ass Christmas tree then let you put the star on top • this is marriage • happy holidays!

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