#there's no way she lived at least a decade in Park Row and not make an impact on *somebody*

[azol-otl]

So while I know that asking dc to make decent Jason Todd content is futile at best and a monkey paw’s curse at worst, there are some ideas I wish that they’d explore.

Imagine, a story that shows us more of pre-homeless Jason’s life and contrasting that with current Jason’s isolation. No overt tragedy. No focusing on Catherine’s addiction or Willis’ abuse/crimes. Just a normal ass day where the angst is created by the juxtaposition of happy baby Jason and current depressed Jason. Like I love angst and tragedy, but sometimes instead of showing us how fucked up his life is, why not just show us some good days and make the reader sad via fluff.

This is going to be kinda long and rambly so I’m putting the rest under a cut.

Have the story follow Jason on a day off. Just straight up no vigilante work. No costumes, no planning, no crime. 

When he wakes up, have him already be kind of melancholic (and for a free fanservice shot because it’s a Bat comic and those are a requirement now I guess) and make sure to show the date as May 10th *.  There is a message from Stephanie on his phone telling him, “Thanks for agreeing to cover me on Sunday.”

Have us follow him to a corner store that he used to go to when he was a kid. Have him be known as Cathy’s Boy instead of Willis’ kid. Fuck Willis we’ve had enough of him, show us Catherine’s relationship with Park Row. Have the shop owners call Jason “Flaquito”, because we’ve seen the Harlowe’s call him “Skinny Jason Todd” and nicknames never die. As George Lopez once put it, “You shit in your pants one time, you’re Caca for the rest of your life. It could be a grown man, fucking Caca. “Guess who’s getting married.” “Who?” “Caca.”  

Have it so that not everyone knows what happened to the Todd family (even in tight knit communities you have to remember that people are self-centered and sometimes someone just disappears and you hope that it was because they moved. Plus would you think that the kid you once knew got adopted by a billionaire? Also, despite everyone making the Waynes celebrities, I can assure you that most people don’t know shit about them.) and they’re happy to see Jason again. 

Have Jason pick up ingredients for a recipe he remembers Catherine making when they had money (because I don’t know how to tell you guys this, but when you’re poor you still splurge on some things. Money is always tight and money is never a guarantee so you need to enjoy things when you’re able to). Maybe she learned it from some old neighbors. Maybe Jason knew these old neighbors who moved away from Gotham. (Give the boy some fucking bonds that didn’t end in tragedy dc!)

 Have Jason go to a family selling flowers by the road. It’s a different family then the one he remembers, but over a decade later and there’s still people here selling flowers. He specifically buys some pink carnations with a flashback showing Jason ask Catherine for her favorite colors so she could get the prettiest flowers. She says favorite colors are pink and yellow but she doesn’t like yellow flowers because, “Yellow is too depressing a color for flowers, Jay.” **

On his way back home Jason passes by a group of people having a party in a small plaza near the apartments. There’s a bunch of people dancing but it seems to mostly be middle-aged women having a blast with one another. Have a flashback to the exact same women but younger dancing with Catherine who encourages Jason to dance with them because “Women love a man who takes them dancing.” 

Have Willis be someone who used to take Catherine dancing because my god do authors try to fit Jason into this toxic-masculine role (which they can I guess) but if Latinos, a group of people who are entrenched in a toxic-masculine mindset, still have some non-violent or oppressive ways of expressing themselves physically (dancing) then so can Jason. Please let me give my son some sort of physical way to destress that isn’t tied to cape-life (I know Dana called Jason a shit dancer but here’s the thing, you can be good at dancing some good things and horrible at others. The amount of people I know who can fucking slay at rumba, samba, bachata, cumbia, etc. but are lost as hell when it comes to American music is staggering. Even more when they only know how to dance with a partner). Plus there needs to be a reason why Catherine stayed with Willis pre-Jason, might as well make him be a bomb-ass dancer. 

Jason gets roped into dancing with the group of aunties because you can’t say No to aunties it's against the law.  Have him be a little clumsy before getting back into the hang of it (again flashbacks of a happy Jason dancing with the same tias because if there’s anything a tia loves, it is a polite (which we’ve already had confirmation that Jason was a polite boy from the Harlowes) boy who listens to them and can dance) and have the exact woman he danced with as a kid be the one he’s dancing with now but years older.

Just keep going through his day and have him try and connect with his old neighborhood in memory of his mom. Let him bring his walls down for one day.

The story would end with simultaneous panels of child and adult Jason putting on music (with child Jason putting on a CD while adult Jason is using his phone) before cooking dinner with the words of Juan Gabriel’s Amor Eterno playing in the background as we slowly zoom out.***

Some info for things I didn’t really explain:

* May 10th is Mother’s Day for Mexico and Guatemala but I’ve seen other Latinos adopt it. My own personal experiences with this day are that several working class Latina moms would take this day off to celebrate and then pick up extra shifts on American Mother’s Day so they can make more money by working all day while other moms try to get the day off. I believe Catherine would do the same so she could spend the day with Jason and not lose money.

** This quote is straight from my mom’s mouth. Yellow flowers aren’t generally seen as depressing, but cempasúchil (Mexican Marigolds) are famously used for Día de los Muertos so some people associate yellow flowers with funerals.

Catherine’s favorite color being pink is also a little nod to fandom’s take on Talia being like a mother figure to Jason. Since her main outfit for a good while was a pink jumpsuit I made it Catherine’s favorite color so Jason can honor them both in one action.

*** Amor Eterno is a famous song created in 1984 by Juan Gabriel about his mother after her passing. It is an incredibly famous song and one that is played both at funerals and Mother’s Day.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

dress

pairing: sheriff lee bodecker x younger! reader

warnings: cheating, smut, age gap, angst, blackmailing 

a/n: the reader is at least 10 years younger than lee. if that upsets you, please don’t read this work. additionally, i based reader’s 60′s style mostly out of  that oufit margot robbie wore for once upon a time in hollywood and megan from mad men, you can see my inspiration outfits here [x] [x] hope you enjoy it xx

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk. Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about all of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you ...

The rain fell harshly and unkindly on the pavement for the fifth day in a row, the sun having forsaken the forgotten hellish town that was Knockemstiff, Ohio. Few could say the name and ever fewer dared to enter the town. Even God’s afraid of it, his mother would tell him after nursing what felt like another one of her endless bottles of liquor. It was a haunted town, not a lot left and those who did never crossed paths with it again. Murder and crime were all time highs but not even the government dared to come in and try to to anything which meant any police force in the town were like gods, deciding who lived and who didn’t. One of those god-like men was Lee Bodecker, however he preferred you called him Sheriff Lee Bodecker.  He was a chubby man in his early thirties, tall but the beer belly made him hunch making him look shorter than he was. He had once been the envy of the town, one of the most handsome men of the town but years of living in Knockemstiff wear down everyone. His own poison had been alcohol which had ended up with him in therapy with his wife and with a therapist who had told him to curb the craving of alcohol with sweets instead. It had little to nothing as he still drank like his life depended on it and tonight was no different from other nights. He took off his hat as he entered the local bar in town, the only bar in town, and everyone looked his way, silence installing the ever noisy bar. He liked it, Lee liked it. He knew he was not the handsome one, in fact his look made him quite funny so he made himself scary. Lee made sure that everyone who looked his way, heard his voice or saw his shadow was afraid of him. It definitely worked as once he sat on the bar stool, there was already a glass with 5 fingers of his favourite drink. 

Everything was silence except for the mumbling of men discussing their days until suddenly the mumbling was no longer about the hell that was living in Knockemstiff. He turned around in his chair and understood why the men were suddenly so interested. There she was, dressed in a high neck black shirt which stood over a white skirt. Matching go go boots left her legs bare, something women in Knockemstiff did not do, still stuck in decades of last. She wasn’t from around and everyone knew it merely by the way she dressed but Sheriff Bodecker knew different. Men watched like dogs as she made her way to the bar, to his side. 

     - Y/N. - he greeted her. - What are you doing here? Trying to disrupt the town?

     - My grandmother died.

     - I heard. My condolences.

     - She left me all of what was hers including the house so I’m here to sell it. 

     - The one in Brewer Heights? - she nodded. - Tis a nice house, but I don’t think anyone here would have enough to buy it.

     - I’ll decide that. - she held the glass the bartender in between her hands, her eyes roaming over to his hands were his wedding ring had started to become tight around his finger. - Still with Jane?

     - Why wouldn’t I be? - he cocked an eyebrow at her. - What are you doing here, Y/N?

    - I told you, I’m here to sell ...

    - No. - he interrupted. - Why are you here, at the bar? What do you want?

    - Nothing ...  I see you’re not in the mood to help me anyways. - she got up from the stool she had sat on, straightening her skirt as her feet hit the floor. - Good evening, Sheriff Bodecker. 

He was sat, watching her leave but also giving an aura to the men who too watched the modern girl exit the building not to get any ideas. Lee knew these men, they were like dogs and once a suitable amount of time passed, he took to returning to his cruiser and follow her. How could he trust this town with her, an outsider? Y/N had been brought up in Knockemstiff, the daughter of store owners who had both been killed in an assault gone wrong. After that, she was ushered to live with her grandmother, the last of socialites in Knockemstiff. Rumours said her grandmother had moved from New York to wed with a penniless man already expecting once she wore her wedding gown. Rumours or not, she still held much more money than anyone in the town together and she wasted not a cent in her granddaughter’s education, moving to a more upscale house in Brewer Heights once she got her under her care. She was always the one with everything and Lee remembered seeing her while still an officer driving around a brand new glossy red car, hair loose through the wind. In all honesty, he thought her never too leave town but as she reached her tender 21st year of life, she left leaving everything behind. 

He parked outside her grandmother’s home, stopping just a bit away from it looking at the house that was so eerily sketched in his mind. He leaned against his seat watching Brewer Heights, the place he so wanted to have lived in his youth. Of course he now owned a place there too but it was faint, fickle. If he were to not be sheriff anymore all would shatter. He would do everything he could to keep his position. He deserved it, he deserved it more than any damned soul on this planet. A knock on the glass removed him from his mind state as he looked the way of his window to see her. 

     - Can I come in? - she asked, eyes lingering on the passenger seat. He stretched over to the side, opening the door for her but not exiting the car. She entered, closing the door as she sat on the seat. - I’ve always hated when you were mad at me. 

     - I’m not mad.

     - You have no reason to be. I know what you’re mad about and it’s your own fault, you know that.

     - Is it my fault you left? - his hands tightened against the wheel of his cruiser, anger coursing through his veins. Lee never liked to hear the truth.

    - She knew, Lee and she was right ... If anyone knew, if the town knew I would’ve been ruined and I didn’t deserve that. You must understand I didn’t deserve that. 

    - I didn’t deserve you leaving without saying a fucking thing now did I, darl’?

    - You were married. - she almost spat the words in his face. - You are married, Lee. Now you can be mad at me all you want, you can hate me for all I give a damn but I was not gonna destroy myself for your happiness, and I will certainly not allow you to destroy yourself for lust. 

    - Y/N ...

    - I don’t need your help anymore and I would enjoy it if you parked your cruiser away from my house. I wouldn’t want any rumours about your infidelities to resurface. - she exited the car and climbed the small incline of grass up to her home. Lee still remembered seeing her in a little white dresses her grandmother would buy for her, climbing that incline while holding the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up. She seemed to have gotten the hang of it.

Lee had met Y/N when she volunteered at the station back when he was still a patrol officer. She did the duties of every single secretary plus cleaning which was what she had volunteered for. It’ll be good for my university application, she told him when Lee asked what she was doing there. She started at 17 and remained there until she was 18 and ready to leave and become something other than a Knockemstiff resident. However, her mother having sudden heart attack ruined her plans and she decided to stay to take care of her. Lee didn’t see her for two whole years until she was 20 years old and he spotted her at the supermarket getting an earful from Mr. Collins about dropping a bottle of olive oil while trying to reach something from the higher shelf. Lee didn’t like it, he didn’t like Mr. Collins berating her for a simple mistake so he stepped in. He remembered her thanking him before reintroducing herself to him. 

He wasn’t one to be swayed by women, he’d married his Jane when he was fresh out of high school and while his relationship was more than stale, he had his mind on work and alcohol. Sure he could’ve divorced, found someone else but he wasn’t the teenager he used to be anymore, he was hardly someone who women would be attracted to besides a single man for a Sheriff? That surely wasn’t gonna happen. Yet, he couldn’t help but be entranced by her, fresh into adulthood with a mind full of ideas about what she wanted to do. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to start a relationship with her, to start an affair yet he couldn’t say he regret it. He didn’t regret the nights where she’d meet him in the woods, covered by a black trench coat. He could still feel his, his hands against her back, feeling the fabric of her undergarments as the windows fogged. 

Y/N was upset. Her friends had told her she better not expect the man who she had left without any notice to help her but she was upset. What choice did she have? After her grandmother heard about it, it would’ve taken no time for everyone in town to hear about it and she would’ve been a disgrace and Lee would’ve certain not become Sheriff. Nevertheless she was upset. Instead, she asked an old friend from school, Billy. It was no surprise he was here, nobody left, nobody ever left. She had left but yet here she was once again, 4 years later wondering about an affair which shouldn’t have happened. Her grandmother had berated her for ages “you don’t sleep with a married man” and of course she knew she shouldn’t yet she had. She didn’t know better. 

She had boxes and boxes packed with whatever it was left of the house, photo books, clothing, bedding, all of it packed. Once she got to New York she could sort through it but right now all she wanted to was leave. Her friends even offered to come over and do it for her but the damned lawyer said it had to be her. In the morning she waited for Billy in the steps of her home, dressed in one of her old 50′s fashioned white dress, a far cry from the mini skirts she used at home and off he came in the exact same car he had when they were both teens. 

   - Y/N, look at you. - he walked off the car. - You look gorgeous, darl’. 

   - Thank you, Billy. - she scratched the back of her head. - Uhm it’s only 5 big boxes. I’ll pay for the gas if you help me take them to post office. 

   - You’re not keeping the house?

   - And live in Knockemstiff? - she rolled her eyes, climbing up the stairs to grab the boxes from the front of the door. The boy helped her pack the car before the two hopped onto the car. - So, how’s the town been?

   - Nothing changes. Mr. Collins died, no one was upset about it and that Bodecker guy became Sheriff. - he light up a cigarette as he turned on the engine. - It’s still as boring as its been and people mostly gossip around the same old gossip.

   - What’s new in gossip?

   - Eleanor still says you and Bodecker were fucking. - he chuckled. - As if ... I mean, look at you, you were prom queen and he’s a fat bastard. 

    - You should watch your mouth, Billy. He’s the sheriff. 

    - Because he bought it. - he shrugged. - Dad says he’s pretty much doing everyone’s dirty work. I mean his sister and her husband disappeared and were found dead. 

    -  I don’t really care for that type of gossip. - she leaned against the seat, watching the trees pass by. It wasn’t that she and Billy were good friends but she needed help and she’d rather die than go beg Lee to help her out. She had tried and it’d failed. Besides what was the worse that could happen?

The worse that could happen became very clear as instead of driving into town he took a left into the woods. She rose her head from the seat as all the ways one could reach town rushed through her mind. This definitely wasn’t one of them, it was hard to even get to the town through the woods. She knew that because, well ... it was where she would meet Lee to ensure no one from town found them. The car came to a stop and Billy got off the car. Maybe he just needed to pee or to get some air. She waited til he was on his back to open the car door and start running but he rushed after her, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the ground before standing over her, hands holding her wrists above her head.

   - Billy, what are you doing? - stay calm, that was what they always taught her, stay calm. 

   - Come on, Y/N. They always wanted us to be together in high school, remember? 

   - I don’t know what you’re talking about. Billy, calm down. 

   - You fucking calm down. I know you want me too, Y/N. You called me, you need my help, darl’. I can make you feel so damn good ... - his mouth lowered down and she started to trash around, trying to get rid of him. 

   - Stop, please stop. - she looked up at the sky, the morning sun barely up as she recalled why you don’t come back to Knockemstiff. You don’t get back because you get stuck. As she convinced herself there was nothing the do, a short was heard through the air. 

  - What the heck are you doing William? - she recognised the voice. She had never been more grateful for that voice. Billy jumped over to his feet.

   - Sheriff ... me and Y/N were just having a bit of fun ... You know, you understand, right?

   - Y/N ... - he looked her way. - What were you doing?

   - It was against my will, Sheriff. - she climbed onto her feet, leaning against a tree at a healthy distance from him.

  - Get the fuck out of here. - the young boy in his mid 20′s rushed out like a child afraid of the dark, forgetting his car and everything he had left behind. Y/N watched him running, tripping onto his legs as Lee fired a warning shot in the air. If this was NY, there would be someone here already but this was Knockemstiff and gun shots were as usual as rain during winter.

He smirked, happy to have once again imposed the authority he so much treasured. Lee never liked Billy, he never liked when he’d drive Y/N home from school even when she was volunteering at the police station. That boy was no good news and always looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Lee still remembered the old Sheriff telling her that boy was no good and looking at her now, dressed in one of her white dresses stained in dirty and green grass stains, he guessed he was right. 

  - Billy, Y/N? Don’t you have other friends?

  - Billy’s the only one with a car. - Y/N mumbled as she grabbed his keys from the floor to take her stuff off his car before he could return. - Thank you but I had it under control.

  - ‘Course you did. - he put his hands on his waist. - Come on, I’ll drive you to wherever you want to go.

  - I don’t want any favours from you, Sheriff Bodecker. - she held her boxes against her chest. Well, if she started now maybe she could be at the post office with all the boxes at nighttime. - That’ll be all.

  - Y/N, come on. I’m a public server so let me help you.

  - I don’t want your help. - she almost barked at him, taking another box from Billy’s car. Maybe she could drive the car, yet again she knew the captain particularly liked Billy and could fine her if 

  - Fine, can you tell me what you’re doing at least?

  - I’m shipping these boxes to New York. I don’t have time to completely go through them so ...

  - Put them in the cruiser. I’ll take them to the post office and take you home. 

  - I don’t want any favours.

  - It’s not for you, it’s for your grandmother. Now get into the car, please. - he opened the door to her.

Y/N huffed. The last thing she needed was a favour from Lee Bodecker yet in all honesty she had no other choice. She packed her boxes into the truck of his cruiser and sat on the passenger seat, arms crossed as he sat in the driver’s seat. Her mind played tricks on her, reminding her of what they used to do in that driver’s seat of his back when she was younger and full of ideas for the future. She shouldn’t have done it and she knew it, Jane Bodecker wasn’t the best woman but she didn’t deserve having her husband sneaking around with a 20 year old despite her herself having had her fair share of affairs. Not that Lee knew and she wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him about the time she was working late in the station and saw his wife getting busy with a new patrol. She didn’t have that right, after all he was doing the same to her. She shouldn’t have done it, nevertheless. Her grandmother died ashamed of her and now she had to deal with it. 

   - Billy said Sandy died. Is it true? 

   - Yeah, last year.

   - Oh ... I’m sorry, I didn’t know. 

   - She had it coming. That weird husband of hers ended up driving her off the edge. That Arvin kid shot them yet I can’t say they hadn’t it coming ... She was still my baby sister. 

   - I’m sorry, Lee. I’m so sorry ...  - she looked down at her skirt. 

   - Almost got me too ... stupid kid. - he shrugged. - Good thing I was fat enough to stop the bullet, I guess.

   - Well, I’m sorry about Sandy. - she said as she saw her house become clearer through the window. He stopped in front of her home, unlocking the doors so she could walk out. 

Y/N walked out before she could do something stupid. Whatever she did, whatever he had, whenever they were together she always ended up doing something stupid. She sat in the empty house of her childhood, only now containing furniture. She could remember it so well from her years as a child running up and down the stairs, not knowing what awaited her outside the world. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to owe anything to Lee. She knew who he had to answer softly too, she knew those men Billy spoke about. They always ran for Sheriff ever since she was a kid. 

She looked at the clock on the wall, 3PM. She knew exactly where those men would be at that time and so she changed and took her way downtown. Everyone turned their head as she walked into the badly light, old bar in tones of musky green which greatly contrasted with her baby blue short dress. The town had gotten stuck in the 40′s and 50′s, women barely showing their legs or any skin and there she was, a woman born and raised in Knockemstiff dressed like a movie star. The table of three men clearly noticed, the under-sheriff, the division chief and the captain. She stood in front of the round table, taking her sunglasses and setting them on top of her head, a nice, covergirl smile on her pink painted lips. You can get the girl out of Knockemstiff but you can’t get Knockemstiff out of the girl.

    - Hello boys. You mind if I seat with you? - she put her hand on one of the chairs. 

    - Hey, you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter aren’t you? - Frank, the under-sheriff asked, pulling the chair for her. - I thought you were in New York.

    - I was but I just came here because of my grandma’s inheritance, but I have something to discuss. 

Another night, another day of useless parading around for Lee. He’d pass by the post office and shipped Y/N’s boxes and that had been the highlight of his day. As per usual, he made his way to the bar only to found the environment was slightly different. He knew this town like the back of his hand, anything off always rang alarm bells. As the bartender placed his usual poison in front of him, he decided to get to the bottom of the situation. 

   - Why’s everything so quiet?

   - I don’t know, Sheriff. - the man replied while cleaning glasses. - Elizabeth’s girl was here and I don’t know what she did but Frank, Jonah and Fitzwilliam left as if she were the devil.

Fucking hell. He drowned the last of his drink before grabbing his hat and entering his cruise. Damned Y/N, she used to be such a nice girl before leaving to New York. God, the only complaint he ever got about her was when the mayor complained about her wanting to run a march. He drove to her home like a mad man. What was she doing messing around with those three? He’d seen them do worse things for much less. Lee climbed the grass patch up to her door, knocking on it as if his life depended on it. 

   - Y/N, open up. Right now. - he thumped the door again. - I’ll break in if you don’t answer it!

   - Jesus. - the door opened up to Y/N dressed in what he was almost entirely sure was the shortest dress he had ever seen a woman wear. She stood against the door, hand on the wood while the other on her waist as he entered her home. 

   - Took you long enough. - he stepped into the home which he had never dared to step in.

   - I was upstairs. - she closed the door, locking it behind her for good safety. No one can be trusted in this godforsaken town. - What do you want?

Lee walked further into the house ignoring her question as he shut all the windows of the ground floor, anything that could allow anyone to look inside the house. Last thing he needed was for anyone to see inside the home and start any rumours. Stupid bastards. Y/N followed him around asking the same damn question anytime he shut any window and pulled any drapes down. 

   - Stop touching my stuff. - she put herself in front of him. - What do you want, Lee?

   - What do I want? - he sat against the couch, sighing. - What the fuck did you do, Y/N? Why were you at the bar?

   - I didn’t do anything. - she batted her eyes innocently. 

   - Y/N, I have another election coming up soon. I’ll ask again, what did you do at the bar?

   - It’s none of your business. 

   - Y/N, I’ve seen those men kill for less so you tell me now what you did. 

   - Stop ordering me around. - she rolled her eyes at him. - I don’t like owing anyone so now we’re even.

   - We’re even? - he pitched the skin of his nose. - What the fuck, Y/N? 

   - You wanna know what I said? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you feel like you rule this damn town, Lee? - she looked down on him, almost teasing him. Had it been a few years ago she would’ve been under him already. - I helped you out.

   - Y/N ...

   - It’s not just you who was sleeping around with a younger girl. They were sleeping around with friends of mine. The only difference is I have evidence of it ... - she grabbed her purse from the hanger, taking a beige envelope from it and throwing it his way. Lee looked up to her and then to the envelope opening it to see various pictures of girls he knew in compromising positions with his opponents, letters, everything. - They don’t have anything on you because unlike my friends, I don’t keep souvenirs from my affairs. 

  - You blackmailed them? Are you stupid, Y/N? They are going to kill you.

  - Please. - she rolled her eyes at him. - My grandmother owned half this town, if I die everything goes to charity and this town falls apart. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning to stick around for longer. 

  - So what now? You had fun playing femme fatale? You’re bored, is that it?

  - I just won you an election without any competition, Lee. You could be nicer about it. 

  - I don’t need your help. 

  - I don’t need your help either. I was just repaying a favour. - she leaned against the wall. - You can go now. 

   - Did you need to wear that? - he pointed at the dress. - Couldn’t have struck blackmail dressed appropriately?

   - Do you not like my dress? - she looked down, hands grabbing the baby blue fabric as she expanded the flowey skirt. - You know, I bought it for you. I was planning on using it for birthday a few years ago but you know ... had to leave earlier.

   - You bought that dress for me? - he rose from the couch, walking up to her until he had her caged against the wall.

   - I bought it so you could take it off, actually. - Lee must’ve been hallucinating because he swore she was pouting.

She looked up at him with that look she used to give him after a long day at work when he needed something to unwind. Both of them had promised each other not to do anything else when she left, Y/N had told herself no more coming bak and Lee had decided to spend his life content what whatever shred of marriage he had. Yet, she was there in what looked more like lingerie than a dress and he was in uniform, both of them were never good at making good decisions, and this was Knockemstiff. Lee took the first move, leaning down to kiss her like his body dependent on it which in some way he did. She held onto his shoulder, flushing her body against his as his hands started trying to pull the dress away from her body. Baby blue fabric flowed to the ground as he picked her up, throwing her against the couch he had just been sat on. He stopped kissing her to look at her, to look at the body he still dreamed at night or whenever he shut his eyes. She could’ve been gone for 4 years but she sure never left his wildest fantasies. 

  - Lee, wait. - her hands stopped him from returning to kiss her. - Let me treat you, please.

  - Oh sugar, you don’t need to ask. - she got up, walking slowly past him, her matching baby blue undergarments much more racy than what she used to wear back in Knockemstiff. She pushed him against the couch, smirking as she went down on her knees. - What are you doing down there, sugar? It’s more than you can handle. 

  - Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m a big girl. - her hands unbuckled the belt off his trousers, throwing it to the floor followed by his trousers. She peppered kisses over his thighs down to his knees and then to the edge of his underwear. Slowly, she peeled them away, making eye contact with him. The silent girl he had known before was definitely long gone and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Before he could make up his mind, she took him entirely inside inside her mouth. - Fuck, you look fucking flawless with my big cock in your mouth, sugar.

She smiled at his praise, moving her head up and down still at a painfully slow pace, his balls in her hands. Lee pushed his head back, groaning at her motions and thinking it could no get better until she started to move her head faster, his tip reaching the back of her throat, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Instead she moaned against him, the vibrations making him feel like he was on cloud 9. Fuck being sheriff, nothing made him quite higher than having the one who got away with his cock down her throat. He started twitching against her mouth, his hand grabbed a handful of her hair, pushing her against his pelvis and starting to control her moves. She kept moaning against him, bringing him over the edge until he just couldn’t hold himself anymore. His grip loosened on her head as his muscles gave up on him.

Y/N got up from her kneeling position, thumb pushing whatever cum had spilled over into her mouth. That image alone made him harden up again like some horny teenage boy. She smiled at him, hands on his shoulders as she sat on his lap. 

   - What do you want me to do, Sheriff? - she batted her eyes at him, leaning down to kiss his ear lobe lowering down to his neck. 

  - You wanna ride my cock, sugar? - he hooked his hand on her nape, pushing her so she was looking at him. - You wanna make up to me for leaving me all alone?

  - Yes, Sheriff. - she lined up and slowly sunk down on him, both of them moaning. 

   - Come on, sugar. Show me what you can do. - she started riding him as if the devil had possessed her. He pushed her lips against his, a sloppy messy kiss which definitely was more lust than anything else as she moved up and down against him.  - Yeah, you like that don’t you, sugar? Tell me you like it, sugar. 

  - It feels so good, Lee. - she leaned against him, her hips still moving as he pulled her bra down, pinching her nipple. - Fuck.

  - You’re never gonna leave me again. - he started thrusting up, moving her from under him so she was laid across the couch. - Promis ... fuck ... promise me, sugar. Promise, you’re not gonna leave.

  - Lee ... - she moaned against the couch’s pillow as he speed up his pace, hands holding her hips and moving them against and away from him. 

  - You’re not gonna leave. - he groaned, feeling the way her walls milked him with such need. - You’re not gonna leave me, sugar. You’re not, right? You’re gonna stay.

   - Lee ... - she cried out before her mouth opened up in a perfect O, her orgasm washing over her. He didn’t take too long to cum, groaning like a wild animal as strings of white painted her walls. He slipped out of her, holding her before turning so she was standing on top of him. - Lee, I can’t stay. You know that, right? 

   - Why not? Things were good when you were around. 

   - I left for a reason, Lee. - she got up from him, grabbing her dress and quickly slipping it on. - And that reason still stands. 

   - Y/N, please listen ...

   - When I was 20 and we started this, I truly believed you were going to divorce your wife. You were going to divorce her and you were gonna marry me and ... and my grandma would’ve been upset but she would’ve learned to deal with it and then she would’ve taken me to the altar. I waited a year to see if I would ever become something other than a mistress and then the elections came around and I understood you were not gonna divorce Jane. You were going to be Sheriff and you’re still going to be Sheriff and maybe sometime Mayor. I’m not gonna be your mistress anymore, Lee.

  - Y/N ...

  - Please, leave. - she wiped whatever tears were threatening to fall off. Lee furrowed his brow, putting on his trousers before trying to approach her but she stopped him, arm raised firmly keeping distance. - Please, leave.

  - Y/N, c’mon. Let’s talk.

  - LEAVE! - she rose her tone at him. Lee wasn’t going to argue with her, it wasn’t his place to argue with her at her own house and so he left. Y/N stayed in the middle of her leaving room, arms crossed until she broke down crying.

She could almost hear her grandmother’s words “there’s no use crying about it” when she told her Lee was running for Sheriff. Funny how even after being dead, the old nag still was as right as she was four years ago. She wiped her tears with her hand and climbed the stairs up to her bedroom, sitting on the bare bed. It was going to be alright, tomorrow she’d be able to sign the rights over to the letting agency and could return to New York. Things were fine there, or at least she wasn’t sleeping with a married man there.

The sun didn’t raise up that morning, rain instead replaced it and so Y/N remained laid in bed watching the rain drop rush down the fogged up windows until a loud thumping on her door forced her to get up. She wrapped herself in her robe and went down the stairs to open the door. 

  - Good morning, miss. - she opened the door to her letting agent. - How are you?

  - I’m alright, Don. I’m sorry, I thought the open house was later. I’ll just get my stuff and leave.

  - No, it’s all right miss. I am just here to tell you that we’ve sold the house was above the price you were asking for.

  - Pardon me?

  - At least two times the asking price. It was such a good price, he had to take it. Paid upfront.

  - What really? Who?

  - He should be coming to see the place in an hour. - he said. - We’ll bring you the check later on. 

  - All right. Thank you Don.

That was good news at least she got to leave Knockemstiff before anything else happened. She didn’t know what had overcome her to decide to have sex with Lee. Pull yourself together Y/N, you’ve had four years to learn how to deal with it. It was fine, it was going to be fine. She packed whatever was left of her stuff into her small patched up luggage and put it by the door. She just needed to wait for Don to bring her check back and she could go on back to New York, where her mistakes only included putting coloured clothes with whites and then having pink clothes for the rest of her life. A knock on the door made that decision come much faster. Okay, Y/N. Get the check and go.

  - Lee? - she opened the door to see the least person she wanted to see. - Go away, I’m expecting someone.

  - I know. - he walked in as if the house was his. - You’re expecting me.

  - This is not funny, Lee. Don should be bringing my check anytime and the owner will be here in an hour.

  - Yeah, I’m sorry I’m early.

  - Pardon? - she rose her eyebrows at his statement. - What do you mean?

  - It’s my house now. I was thinking of upgrading, ya know? This house is the best one in Brewer Heights after all.

  - Are you fucking kidding me, Lee?! - she stood in front of him before he could walk further into her home. - You’re bringing your wife into my childhood home? YOU’RE BRINGING YOUR WIFE TO YOUR MISTRESS’S HOME?!

  - How many bedrooms is this house? They said they thought it was over five in the contract. 

  - You have a perfectly good house. Why do you want mine?

  - Mine is too small. Only one bedroom, I’d have no place to build a nursery.

  - A nursery? You and your wife are having a baby? In my childhood home ... how swell. 

  - You know I’m thinking about running for mayor. I mean, it’d look good if I had a family.

  - Good luck convincing Jane. - she gave him a cynical smile. 

  - I don’t have to convince Jane. I’d have to convince you. 

  - Me? Fuck off, Lee. I’m not having a baby for you and your wife. Fuck off. 

  - We’re a good team, Y/N. Besides, Jane is no longer in the picture.

  - Lee ... - she sighed. - Please.

  - You see, my wife isn’t as good as me at keeping her infidelities casual. The other candidates have caught wind of it ... I need someone who’s almost as good at blackmail as me.

  - I’m better at blackmail than you. - she crossed her arms at him.

  - So what do you say, sugar? Want to be the sheriff’s wife?

  - Do you promise I’ll get to be the mayor’s wife someday? 

  - With you on my team, I think you’re gonna be the mayor’s wife sooner than you think.

taglist: @buckysteveloki-me​ 

[datawyrms]

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

[19gumi]

WHEN THE SUN SETS | KUROO TETSUROU

Summary: Kuroo hates the way he can never tell what’s on your mind (and also, you eat your cherries ridiculously slowly)

Genre: Fluff (childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining)

Word count: 1.8k

Porcelain plates now stained with chocolate are neatly tossed to the side, bearing the remnants of the croissants Kuroo treated the two of you with. Secluded in your favorite part of the park, you try to get one last whiff of the sweet pastry that you ate a little too quickly for your liking, making a mental note to pay that bakery another visit soon.

The final beams of sunlight graze your face as you observe the birds above you, hurrying to find a shelter before the rosy sky hues turn dark blue. You’ve missed their renowned song – the winter fell into a silence after their departure, sometimes too deafening when paired up with the freezing December cold.

Your field of vision is obstructed by a muscular arm reaching for the cherries in the bowl placed beside your head. You observe his Adam’s apple move as he swallows the fruit, eyes focused on the horizon sprawled in front of him. And then they suddenly shift to your figure, your head soundly placed in his lap.

“You okay?” he asks, thumb rubbing circles in your shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You seemed lost in thought.”

You’re about to respond when his body abruptly shifts under yours, the motion prompting you to sit up straight. Kuroo’s hand flies to the back of his head, and you assume he’s received a hit to it.

That is shortly proven to be true when a distressed mother shouts after her son who you don’t even notice at first, standing a foot away from the two of you. His arms are folded behind his back, lips pouting as his eyes search for the ball he had previously been playing with.

Kuroo’s furrowed brows shift back to their original shape, face muscles relaxing as he takes in the sight of the kindergartener. The mother pants as she approaches the two of you, crouching down next to the child that you assumed wasn’t more than 5 years old.

“Hi, I’m very sorry to have caused-“

Kuroo swats his arms in the air. “It’s not a big deal really, didn’t even hurt.” He then smiles at the kid, extending his hand towards him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo.”

The kid buries his head in the crook of his mother’s neck as a response, refusing Kuroo’s handshake. She spots the ball and sends him off to pick it up, sighing deeply.

“He gets shy sometimes,” she chuckles, scratching her forehead.

Couple of more apologies and one goodbye later, the sun now long hidden and the moon greeting you (this time only one half of it), Kuroo wishes he could take a peek at your mind.

He knows that’s not possible, though, leaving him with the only option of staring at the side of your face, alluringly illuminated under the evening sky. Admiring the faint glint in your eyes, he sighs when he realizes he is about to go to bed with the same unanswered questions another night in a row.

Kuroo is too lost in the way his fingertips itch to sink themselves in your cheeks, his body starving for that addicting warmth of yours – the one he sensed once for the first time many years ago and never wanted to let go of again.

You turn your head around unreasonably quickly – he’s unprepared and so, so exposed. The look in his eyes is soft, way too soft for you to have a full view of it. He hasn’t said a word, but the faint burning in the pit of his stomach convinces him he’s spilled the most tender secrets of his.

“You know,” you begin, reaching for the bowl with cherries behind you. You chew painfully slow, he thinks, the time that it takes for you to swallow the cherry seeming like an eternity.

“That child from earlier,” you continue at last, fiddling with your hands in your lap. “He reminded me of myself when I was his age.”

Kuroo doesn’t know what he was hoping for, but your words do cause a change in his stance. “How so?”

And there you are, flashing him your signature smile one more time. The enigmatic one, the exact one that he’s been trying to decipher unceasingly.

The same one that causes him to miss serves in practice.

The one that keeps him from entering the world of his dreams at night, but also the one that makes him feel like he’s living the sweetest fantasies of his when he gets to see it up close.

“Just like the birds we watched earlier, the pink sky alerts everyone that it’s time to find a shelter for the night,” you glance at him, to which he nods, prompting you to continue. “My mom would always tell me to go straight home once the sky changed colors, and you know I always followed that rule.”

“Yeah, I remember going home and sulking during dinner because I didn’t get to spend more time with you.”

He mouths an ‘ouch!’ when you poke him in the ribs, clutching at his chest. “Dramatic much?” you chuckle, rubbing circles in his back.

“Anyway,” you continue, retracting your hand. “Sometimes I’d lose my toys just like that child from earlier did, but I wouldn’t have enough time to look for them. The street lights would already be turned on and I didn’t want the monsters to catch me.”

Kuroo lets out a hearty laugh. “Monsters? What monsters?”

You shift your eyes towards your hands, which he sees as a chance to inch closer, just enough for him to feel your shoulder against his.

“Dunno,” you say. “But I knew once I’d reach my mom’s arms that I was safe. She’d always nag at me for forgetting to wash my hands – when in reality I didn’t, I always remembered to do it. But I guess I craved that noise which served as an additional proof that I was secure between the four walls of my room, when the silence of the night was the loudest.”

“Well aren’t you a poetic one [name],” he teases, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

A hush descends between the two of you. Kuroo can feel his lips bruising as he chews on them, unsure whether to verbalize the words that could possibly hint at the desires he held close to his heart.

In the end he does it anyway. “It’s way past sunset now, though. So why,” his voice cracks, before he swiftly disguises it as a cough. Or at least he tries to. “Why aren’t you rushing to get home? What if as we speak, the monsters are actually coming to get you?”

It’s your turn to stare at his side profile now, your pulse forming an unsteady rhythm in your throat as you study the slope of his nose, unsure of what was about to come next.

A confession? Were you really ready to ruin a decade long friendship just because rather than playing catch with him you wanted to kiss his lips instead?

His question is silly, you aren’t that eight year old child anymore – the one who’d run away and leave their friends in the street the same instant the clock stroke seven-thirty.

It’s way past seven now, air breezy and short of any sunrays piercing through it, but not even the scariest monster in this world could make you budge from the tranquility surrounding you in this very moment.

It’s almost as if the thought of a life without Kuroo Tetsurou horrifies you more than anything else that’s out in the wild, waiting for you.

“That’s what I was wondering too”, you sigh. “It might be because you’re here.”

And just like that, your secret is disclosed; it’s a simple statement that makes your lungs feel lighter, the burden of having to bear it within your chest for so long now easing with every exhale you take.

He gulps. The arm around your shoulders seems to have become stiffer, too. He’s already close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek and all you wish for is to lean into his embrace, all of this talk turning your eyelids heavy.

“But I was there all those years ago as well. What changed?”

“Well, for starters, I was what, eight years old?” you scoff, meeting his eyes momentarily before you let your head fall on his chest, inhaling deeply. You have yearned for the scent of the fresh new leaves ever since they wilted last October. “I guess I wasn’t in love with you back then, Tetsu.”

It’s silent. You think it’s unfair – everything you’ve built over the years rapidly slipping through your fingers, just because of one sentence full of longing, anticipation. But then his arm travels down to wrap itself around your waist, the other one finding its way to the nape of your neck.

It’s not the first time he’s heard those words leave your mouth - his imagination has deceived him multiple times already. He’d wake up only to find himself clinging onto his pillow, providing enough heat to trick him into thinking it belonged to you.

However, your scent is way too real for everything to be fake this time around; it simply can’t be. The words he’s been longing to hear are there, the confession lingering in the air only for him and the trees around you to know.

All it takes now is for you to learn his answer, even though the way he’s pulling you into his body gives you an idea of what it might be.

“Do you know why I never went home before you did?” he asks.

“Mm. Why?” your voice is muffled by his hoodie, the vibration sending chills down his spine. He’s convinced now. This is truly his reality he’d always been wishing for.

“Because you were there,” he tilts his head, moving your chin so you can look up at him. He’s grinning, and if he didn’t just admit he was in love with you, you’d probably be now telling him how lame you thought he was. “I couldn’t understand it then, the way your presence made me feel at peace. I realized what it was only when we started high school. I didn’t want to say anything, though.”

“So?”

“So,” he says, his hand leaving your waist to join his other one on your face, lightly squishing your cheeks. “I’m very much in love with you, too.”

His gaze momentarily shifts to your lips, before it’s back on your eyes. “I really want to kiss you, [name].”

The entirety of your body heat accumulates in your face, and his fingers effortlessly melt against it, your body sinking into the grassy earth as if it’s sand.

“Do you?” you ask, your thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“Yes. Can I?”

You nod, and Kuroo swears his heart skips a beat. Hypnotized, he allows his eyes to flutter shut, ready to memorize all the various flavors you have to offer.

When finally he gets to savor your bare, delicate skin - sweeter than anything he has ever tasted before, it’s like the world stops for the both of you.

Or maybe you only drift to your own, each swipe of his tongue guiding you through a new route, the destination of which has yet to be discovered.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Marriage is a Contract and My Signature is Unreadable

Read on AO3

John’s never seen a bride wear fishnets with their stunning white dress, but Dinah Lance is pulling it off somehow. Admittedly though John hasn’t seen that many brides that weren’t ghosts or the earthly demonic embodiment of some sort of hell beastie so maybe his experience in weddings and bridal wear is a bit skewed.

Of course he’s also a bit skewed because in his eyes no one at this wedding, not even the bride no disrespect to the woman who’s by far one of the few supers he can truly say he likes, is as stunning as his date. Zatanna sits beside him at their table, the reception in full swing now, her legs crossed the deep navy-blue asymmetrical dress she’s wearing showing off a tantalizing bit of her leg. Her tattoo, the twin to his peeks out from the front of the dress right next to the silver lining at the edges where the dress straps around her neck. She’s a fucking vision his Zatanna.

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Zatanna says gliding her silver French tipped nails with little crescent moons on them along her glass of champagne. “I really thought Lois and Clark would be the only ones to take the plunge.”

Supers aren’t known for tying the knot, their world is so complicated and their relationships so wild they never find the time to actually get around to it. The fact that Dinah and Oliver managed to not only successfully get engaged, but plan a real wedding and have the ceremony without any major incidents happening in the middle is a miracle if John’s ever actually seen one.

“Who do you think’ll be next?” John says surveying the room. Every hero he’s ever met and ever butted heads with is here out of costume and all dressed up to the nines. There’s a congregation of Green Lantern’s by the bar, Superman is on the dance floor poorly attempting to floss as Nightwing laughs his fine ass off at him, the Flash is somehow dancing with his girlfriend and eating every item on the buffet simultaneously.  “Seems like two in a row will make a domino effect, yeah?”

Zatanna hums in thought her piercing blue eyes with the glittery navy blue and silver eyeliner around them shimmering in the light as she tilts her head in thought. She carefully scratches at the space beside the cluster of tiny rhinestones artfully placed around her right eyebrow and settles her eyes to a table across the room with a smile.

“Wally and Linda for sure,” she says tilting her head their direction. John swivels to look at them. Unlike Barry who’s still zooming back and forth from Iris to the buffet, Wally is wholly engrossed in every movement Linda makes as she talks rapidly her hands moving all about as she speaks to Mia Dearden on the other side of the table. That is a man wholly in love, enraptured by the woman he gets to call his own. John understands the sentiment as he looks back to Zatanna her dark blue painted lips still resting in a beautiful smile.

“What if it was us?” John asks leaning in closer to her a wicked smile on his face.

Zatanna snorts, a harsh indelicate thing that on anyone else would be unattractive.

“Aww, love you too, Zee,” John says faux offended falling back against his chair. He knew it was an absurd suggestion the moment he said it.

“I’m sorry, you know I love you,” she says holding up a hand attempting to hide her laughter. “It’s just look at us, we’re coming up on our first and only three-year anniversary. We’re not exactly known for being good at this.”

It’s a valid point. Despite the fact they have technically been together for over a decade they’ve gone through their fair share of ups and downs, break ups and make ups and even a few trips to hell and literal deaths. John has screwed up more times than he can count and even Zatanna has bungled it once or twice. Complicated has at almost all times been their relationship status, but the past three years, ever since John got his head out of his ass and finally decided to sort out this one particular aspect of his life they’ve been good, solid.

“Okay, true, but you’re stuck with me and we can’t act like there aren’t benefits to the whole marriage sham,” he says stretching his arms behind his head.

“It’s extremely comforting you called it a sham,” Zatanna says giving him a fondly exasperated look. “But you know maybe you’re right the tax incentives alone are a real benefit.”

“Now, the tax incentives would be appealing if I had ever in my life filed my taxes,” John says with a laugh.

“You’ve never filed taxes?” Zatanna says with a slightly startled look.

John just shrugs tossing back the remainder of his champagne. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any real upstanding type of job that would require me to fill out a W4 or whatever.”

“It’s a W2,” Zatanna corrects. “And John you live with me, our landlord made me put your name on the lease because he saw you there so much. You could totally get caught.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” John says with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “The fact that I’m not technically a citizen of this country is probably a bigger issue than the tax thing anyway.”

“John!” Zatanna exclaims with a laugh.

“What? You can’t have thought I actually went to a baseball park and held my hands up and did the national anthem or whatever,” he says kicking his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

“Clearly you haven’t considering that’s not at all how citizenship works,” Zatanna chuckles. “But hey there’s a potential benefit of marriage for us, citizenship.”

“Ah the romance of marrying not for love, but so the government pricks don’t send your ass packing,” John reaches out a hand tangling his fingers with Zatanna’s on the table his thumb running small circles into her hand.

Zatanna hums. “I guess lack of romance aside it wouldn’t matter since I can always just portal you back into the country on a whim anyways.”

John nods in agreement trying to come up with another benefit they might be able to actually take advantage of. “You couldn’t testify against me in court, that could be incredibly useful down the line.”

Zatanna raises one jeweled eyebrow, “Is there a crime you’ve committed lately you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

John thinks for a moment genuinely scanning his memories in case there is something he forgot to tell her about. “No,” he settles on confidently. He’s pretty sure at least. “I’m just thinking in general considering my track record in the past.”

Zatanna pats the top of his hand with a smile. “As if any prison could hold you long enough for me to even be asked a single question.”

John just laughs again, “Alright so maybe there aren’t that many marital benefits for us to take advantage of then.”

“No parents to satisfy,” Zatanna sighs. “And of course making medical decisions for one another doesn’t really matter when you use magic and superhero doctors that definitely don’t accept any sort of co-pay,” she adds on with a contemplative bite of her lip.

“Half your friends hate me,” John says thoughtfully with a chuckle.

“And half your friends are dead,” Zatanna says ruefully tapping a nail to her chin. “The wedding party would be abysmally uneven.”

“I haven’t bought a new tie in years,” John says tugging at the red thing around his neck. He looks hilariously basic compared to Zatanna’s ensemble essentially wearing what he wears any given day of the week the only difference being Zatanna had forced him into a subtly lace patterned black jacket for a change and repainted his chipped nails for the first time in two weeks. “It’d make the pictures look horribly out of place.”

“Plus let’s be real I’m a show woman, I’d probably hate having to share the spotlight with you for one day,” Zatanna smiles teasingly. John smiles back shifting so that he’s scooting his chair closer to hers. He lifts a hand to her face twisting a long dark hair that’s slipped from her twisty updo held in place by two sharp silver hair pins with crescent moons at the end to match her nails and tucking it back behind her ear.

“So, basically there’s not a benefit in this world or a thing that would change if we got married,” John says letting the silky hair go.

“The only thing I can think of is that I like shiny jewelry and you look hot when you wear silver rings,” Zatanna says reaching back and pulling the two pins from her hair letting it all fall across her shoulders, the one stand out streak of navy blue appearing as it falls.

“And we can buy each other jewelry anytime without a reason,” he says brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into her eyes away.

Zatanna smiles at him once before standing holding out a hand that he instantly takes. She guides him to the dance floor twining her fingers behind his head slowly.

They sway slowly to some sappy love song John vaguely recognizes their eyes locked on one another.

“You know,” she says after a while her fingers pulling through the hair that’s getting a bit too long at the base of his neck. “Just because I don’t want to get married doesn’t mean I don’t want you for as long as I can have you, right?”

He does know that. It’s inexplicable to him why someone as bright and vibrant and good as her wants him, but she does and he intends to keep it that way till the demons or the cigarettes kill him.

“I know. I’m happy how we are, knowing us, and by us I mean me, marriage would end up mucking everything up anyways,” he says pulling her in closer his hands moving from their grip on her waist to the exposed small of her back. “We can just keep going to everyone else’s weddings and raiding their open bars.”

Zatanna laughs then leans up kissing him once soft and slow not even smudging her lipstick in the slightest. She stays close when she pulls back resting her head on his chest as they continue to sway.

“We really need to get your name off of my lease though, I don’t need the government showing up and trying to audit me,” she says softly. “I’d be a nightmare for Mistress of Magic brand.”

John laughs loud and bright leaning his head down to kiss her once atop the head already planning a minor break in to the landlord’s apartment. It’ll be okay if he gets caught, married or not he knows she won’t testify against him.

[honeymoonjin]

part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k  ||  rating: sfw  ||  genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

------

Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

~

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

[mercyprevaild-a]

Stretching from Second Street to Seventh, there is a charming neighborhood that has old roots, with some parts dating back to the early 1900s. History seems to bleed out of every crack and crevice of the rowhomes, apartments and the shop fronts of its own little market place. There's bit and pieces scattered about; plaques built into brickwork that mark the erection of significant buildings and statues in the small park to honor important local figures from the past. By just scratching the surface, all anyone might see is the charm of age, a place captured in time. But dig a little deeper and one can easily find that the true past of these streets are much darker than the residency lets on.

Rick is intimately familiar with the history of this place, all the intricate little secrets that are well kept and private to the families that have lived here for decades upon decades. When dealing with the criminal world, one learns quickly that it's best to have some knowledge of who you're dealing with and in Rick's case, knowing exactly whose blood might end up on his hands is sometimes crucial to his own survival.

He didn't used to be a regular visitor to the main row, as it's mostly a quiet place now and has been for some time. The families with their criminal ties, at least those who are still relevant here, are not the sort to make a lot of commotion that might draw the public eye. It's bad for business, Rick can respect that. But as of a few months ago, during a low risk intel job, he scored himself an invitation to a little up and coming establishment.

On the corner of Main and Fifth is a quaint French cafe that's been in business for nearly thirty years under the same family name. The coffee there is expensive, imported blends and the pastries are fancy, always fresh. This is not the place of which one might need an invitation, but it happens to house the place that does. The family who owns the cafe rented out the basement level, which had only ever been used for storage of old kitchen equipment, tables and chairs after their big renovation a few year ago.

In a short span of time and right under Rick's own nose, a modernly designed speakeasy popped up in that basement,. Rick wasn't quite aware of it's existence until his official invitation, but again he never used to frequent this neighborhood in the past.

Now, it seemed impossible for him to stay away.

The owner of the establishment, La Rose de Nuit, is a woman who he knows far too much about, but not nearly enough. Lori is just younger than himself, with the body and touch of an angel. He's been out of country for the past two weeks and not a night has gone by that her bright forest eyes and sweet, elegant lips weren't haunting him his dreams, teasing him to come home, begging him to finish the job so he could return to her warm embrace. He knows enough about her so far to know when he's in trouble and though she hasn't kicked him out of the bar, he can read her frustration in the way she handles the money from the till and how she disguises her feelings with a look of concentration while she completes the night's deposit.

"Did y'miss me?" he asks her with a lopsided and teasing smile, blue eyes dazzling beneath the bar lights. It's clear he's a bit buzzed. Last call doesn’t apply to him, neither does the fact that the doors are locked and half the lights are off. The music is turned so low he can hardly hear it and her staff have finally scurried into the night after pocketing their tips and weekly wages. It's just them now, "Or y'still mad at me?"

Rick knows it's not the duration of his recent disappearance that bothers her as much as the fact that he had given her no notice of it. He had just up and left. In his defense, he's not used to owing anyone an explanation for his business travels and he still believes he doesn't, in fact, owe anyone anything, unless there's exchange of payment. But he's not stupid. She's miffed and it's his own fault.

"C'mon, Lori," he shuffles down the bar a few steps to the left, where on the bar is a whiskey bottle of his favorite brand. Sitting pretty in the neck of the bottle is a beautiful, recently bloomed french rose. The petals of a soft pink hue look gorgeous under the dim lights, it was the prize bloom of their kind in his own shop. He guides the bottle across the bar top, eyes flickering between the peachy petals and the woman behind the bar. There’s some small hope that if his gift, and a little sweet talking, might pacify her just enough. 

"Ain't nearly as gorgeous as you are, but..." he trails, his smile softened as he delicately thumbs one of the petals, "It bloomed just for you as soon as I got back into town."

@mamagrimes​

[jamielea81]

Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 9

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, pining, fluff

A/N: This is NOT the final chapter. There is one more after this one. Per the usual: this fic is simply for fun. I know nothing about the personal lives of the two actors in this series and mean no harm. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome.

Word Count: 3,932

Catch up with Chapter 8

**

“What’s going on with you?” Monica asked.

“Nothing.”

She’s asked you this question for the better part of a month. Not Yours only had a couple of weeks left to shoot, but filming had seemed to drag on despite it it’s short two month schedule.

“Are you still down about Travis?”

Okay, yes, you were still lying. Kind of. After the night of the wrap party where Chris Evans walked out of your life, you took the ring off and put it back into your jewelry box saying a prayer of sorry to your grandmother for wearing her ring. Surprisingly no one brought it or Travis up except for Monica. You kept it vague. Said he wasn’t right for you and the two of you were friends. All of which was true and she didn’t press. Except for when she asked what was wrong.

“Travis and I are friends. And I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You’ve just been down this whole shoot.”

“Have I not been getting the job done? Have I dropped the ball in anyway?” you asked, nose buried in your copy of the script.

“Duuuuude,” she said bumping you.

“Fine,” you tossed your script on to your desk and gave her your full attention. “I’m just tired. Honestly. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Maybe your pregnant.”

“You’d have to be having sex to be pregnant, Monica.”

“Maybe you’re like three months pregnant and don’t know it,” she said with a smug grin. She was pulling your chain per the usual.

You gave her a smile that verged on a laugh. “You suck.”

“Maybe so. But you still love me,” she replied.

And you did. The two of you had become extremely close on this shoot. Probably because it was being completely shot on the lot with teenagers and people in their early twenties who liked to go out to clubs. Most of the crew were in their thirties so you stuck together. It was for the best. Look where being besties with Chris got you.  

You tried. Honest to goodness tried. The morning after the wrap party you called him with your hands shaking the whole time only to be dumped in his voicemail. You texted him about twelve times that first week and didn’t receive a response. Two weeks later he responded.

Chris: Maybe it’s best we just don’t speak.

Getting that message shot a pain through your heart you didn’t think was possible. Twenty minutes later he messaged again.

Chris: I can’t be with someone who isn’t honest with me. Any type of relationship is built on communication and honesty.

He was right. While he was busy falling for you, you were pretending to be engaged.

Y/N: You’re right. It’s something I’ll always regret but I’ll accept your request. I won’t contact you again.

There was no use pouring your heart out to him again. You had already done so a few times in voicemails and text messages. If anything, you were mad at yourself. Mad for not telling him when the two of you had first gotten close. And again, when you were sick and staying in his rental. Or the numerous times the two of you hung out after filming was complete for the day. You were so ready to let him go after the wrap party until he told you he was crazy about you. Of course, you were crazy about him too, but you had locked that away.

“I’m just having a problem with a friend. I wasn’t honest about something and now we aren’t speaking,” you told her with a shrug.

“If they’re a good friend they’ll eventually come around.”

“I hope so.”

**

“She’s unbearable,” Ian said, running a hand through his hair making it stand on end. “Can you please just stay with us? Or maybe, um. Maybe you can convince her she’s not working enough?” You chuckled at your crazed friend. “The people at Sony must have professionals on staff that can manage her. I just... I just can’t anymore. Not to mention I haven’t put together any of the furniture in the nursery. Haven’t washed any of the clothing or bedding. There just isn’t time.”

He bent over the sink, hands resting on the polished stone on either side, breathing deeply. You clicked the pulse button on the blender giving it another minute to come together. Ian had come into the room with his mouth moving when you were in the middle of blending the pink concoction making you pause. You released the button, walking past Ian’s arched back to grab glass from the cupboard. Walking past him once more, you took off the cover and poured the fruit and spinach filled smoothie into the glass.

Joanna was on the couch, her legs reclined on the empty seats with her tablet in hand.

“Here you go my dear. I’m taking your hubby out for a beer.”

She rested the tablet on her large belly and smiled. “Thank you. He’s driving me up the wall.”

You kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

**

Travis and Gemma were seated at a four top sitting opposite of each other when you and Ian walked in.

“Oh look, Gem! It’s my lovely bride,” Travis nearly shouted as you took a seat next to him.

Flicking him on the arm, he flinched but kissed your cheek. “Are we ever getting over that?” you whined.

“Never,” he whispered.

“I still can’t believe you assholes never told me,” Gemma replied.

“Ye-ah. It wasn’t my most shining moment and I’d like to forget it. He’s all yours,” you tease, raising your eyebrows up and down.

“Been there. Done that,” she replied.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Travis interjected.

You put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to you. “You’re so pretty.”

“Brat,” he replied.

“I just want a beer,” Ian said, his head resting on the table top.

Travis sprung out of his seat and made his way to the bar to grab Ian his beer because waiting for the server to arrive was just too many minutes wasted.

“So, you’re really done?” Gemma asked, mouth immediately going back to the straw in her glass. Some sort of mojito you thought.

“Mhm. It was for the best. The whole lying thing just was too much.”

During the last week of filming for Not Yours, you gave your notice. You kept it simple that you had some family things going on so you couldn’t commit for the next film. Barbara Floyd, the head of production told you that you had a standing offer there whenever you were ready. It was nice having steady income and influx of films being shot, but you couldn’t continue to work for an employer like that.

Travis returned with three pints, passing one to Ian and yourself.

“Thanks, Trav,” you grinned.

Ian chugged the glass of beer half way down before turning to look at Travis. “Yeah, thank you.” The server stopped by at that moment to check on the table. “One more please.” You chuckled softly causing Ian to look at you. “Anyone else?”

“No, we’re good,” you chuckled again.

“What’s next then?” Gemma continued.

“A low budget, independent. But it’s not a student film. I’ve officially retired from those.”

“Have you official retired from bartending?” Travis asked, knocking an elbow into your side.

“Probably not. It will be my go-to between jobs, probably until I retire.”

**

The drive to Studio City during rush hour was torture. But truly, it was always rush hour in LA. You really couldn’t complain as the film was being entirely shot in Los Angeles. As much as you did like to visit a new location, sometimes you just wanted your own bed.

With a few worthless honks and a hand gesture you would deny later, you found yourself parked and walking with Jonathan to the shared space amongst the production crew. Jonathan was executive producer and welcoming party for the cast and crew of currently titled, Untitled. Hopefully it would be named before filming wrapped. Being that it was an independent and rather short on funds from what you could tell, you were the sole script supervisor.

“And this is your desk!”

You gave Jonathan the politest smile you could muster. “Perfect.”

It really wasn’t. While your “office” in Vancouver was a cubical, it was modern and new. You didn’t even have walls. It was a small table about the width of two cookie sheets. Spaced on either side of you with about thee feet apart were two other tables for other production crew. At least you figured.

“Great. We are firing on all cylinders today with a table read this afternoon. We hope to start filming tomorrow,” Jonathan added.

“I’ll be ready.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’m just down the hall if you need me. You have my number?”

“Yep. I should be set, but we’ll know more after the read through.”

Jonathan clapped his hands together, spun around and headed down the tight hallway, presumably to his own table. Maybe it was an office. An executive producer at the very least should have a cubical.

**

A large banquet table was set up in the middle of sound stage B with more than a dozen chairs for the cast around it. A row of chairs for the producers, the screen writer, director, assistant director, yourself, and a few others circled around the outside. You were a few minutes early per the usual, chatting with the small crew you had just been introduced to. You were getting aquatinted with Simone, the assistant director that was seated to your left when the cast started to trickle in. If you were being honest, you hadn’t looked in to any of the actors that were cast. You had taken on the job last minute when the previous script supervisor had backed out. It was less than a week to prepare, so you spent that time reading through the script a few times and rescuing Joanna and Ian from each other.

Simone had just given you a run down of all the films she had worked on as the two of you compared friends and colleagues in common when you felt someone lightly squeeze your knee. The offending knee groper walked on as your eyes trailed up to see Scott Evans make his way to a chair on the other side of the table. He sent you a wink and you audible gasped.

Fuck. This is going to be weird.

Really, it was only you that was being weird. Scott had squeezed your knee and gave you a friendly wink. But still. Had you known he was going to be in this film, you would have passed on the project. The last thing you wanted to do was make it awkward for him or his brother.

With the reading finished, you briefly addressed the actors letting them know where your desk was located and to come to you with any questions. When no one said anything, you gave a smile and quickly made your escape. Chris didn’t want to speak to you anymore. He made that perfectly clear. Keeping Scott at arms-length would be respecting that.

**

Scott didn’t film the first week of shooting. It helped ease your nervous stomach knowing you wouldn’t run into him on set or have to provide notes after a scene was shot. You knew he’d be filming the next week, but at least you had the weekend to freak out and hopefully you could just deal with it on Monday.

Cleaning up your table slash desk for the weekend took all but five seconds. Since it wasn’t an enclosed space, you left all personal items including Mr. Fern at home. He was blossoming much to your surprise.

“Hey Y/N.”

You knew that voice. There was no mistaking it. You looked up from your bag you were currently stuffing with your laptop to see Scott in front of you.

“Uh…”

Say something! Anything!

“Hey there Scott. How’s it goin’?”

Yep. You were talented at the art of speaking.

Scott chuckled softly, pulling up a chair from the empty table next to you. “Relax. I come in peace.” You took a shuddered breath. “I’m happy to see you on set. You come with high praise not only from my brother, but from other people you’ve worked with.”

“I doubt that. Your brother is not exactly my biggest fan.”

“I meant work wise sweetie. He can’t deny that.”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were in this film. I took the job when someone dropped out. I’m not like stalking you or trying to get to your brother.” Your bottom lip going between your teeth as soon as you finished your thought.

Scott chuckled again. Shook his head and propped it between his hands, resting his elbows on your table. “You’re cute.”

“Well, I just…I just don’t want to give you the wrong impression is all.”

“You’re not. I never thought that,” he sighed, smile dropping for a second. “Chris is thick headed. I don’t even care if you repeat that. While I think it sucks you lied, I think it sucks that a company also operates like that,” he said.

“Well, maybe they were right.” Scott lifts an eyebrow at this. “What I mean is, Chris and me did get close. Too close.”

Scott sits up straight, hands going to his knees. “But that’s not always the case. Sometimes people are going to fall for each other whether it’s frowned up or not. Listen. My brother has been pretty grumpy for the last couple of months. I was frankly happy that filming started this week because I needed a break from him. He’ll come around. Don’t give up on this.”

You nodded and stood up from your seat. “Walk me out?”

“You got it.”

Despite what Scott had said, you weren’t too sure. Yes, you kissed him and boy, was that quite the kiss. But he didn’t know how you felt. You never got to say the words. And he made it perfectly clear that the two of you shouldn’t speak to each other.

**

After a month and a half of filming, you were officially on vacation. Well, not really. You just didn’t have another film lined up at the moment. Scott had been nothing but a peach during the shoot. He was as sweet as pie and kept you quite entertained. You weren’t quite sure if you were happy or disappointed that Chris never came to visit Scott on set. In all honesty, you probably would have shutdown and hid, so it was probably for the best that he didn’t. You didn’t pry, but Scott had offered up that Chris had been in Boston, so it made sense he wasn’t around.

You were back to bartending part time. It was something to do with your free time and it was nice to have extra cash in your pocket. Thankfully, you were a saver and lived in a one-bedroom rental, so you could afford to take a few months off.

In your free time you were with your friends. Joanna’s mood swings had subsided and Ian didn’t call you for backup as much as he had been. You didn’t necessarily think she had mood swings. She had a rough few months with bouts of sickness and her emotions were running high. But it was nice to be able to go to her house and have fun like you used to.

“Trav, could you pass me the popcorn?”

He shook his head no, holding the bowl against his chest. “You and Gem are just going to eat it all and not share. I know you two.”

“Wow... I am hurt.”

“No you’re not,” he chuckled.

“I promise to make more after we all finish this bowl.”

“No, you won’t,” Gemma whispered beside you.

You knocked her with your elbow and shushed her quietly. Travis stood and passed you the bowl.

“I’ll go make my own,” he muttered before walking to the kitchen.

You let out a loud laugh, taking a large handful of popcorn and shoving it in your mouth.

Jana laid on the couch across from you with her feet in Ian’s lap. He was rubbing them with a peaceful look on his face while Jana smiled at him. They were happy and that’s all you wanted. You hoped that someday you’d find your person.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for a napkin, you wiped the butter off your hands before picking it up.

Scott: Whatcha doin’?

Y/N: At my friend’s house. I work tonight.

Scott: That bites. You work all week?

Y/N: Tonight, tomorrow, and Friday. What are you up to?

Scott: Being lazy. Thinking about a solo dance party.

You smiled at his text.

Y/N: I could really go for one of those.

Y/N: Are you going to be in town for a while?

Scott: A couple of weeks at least.

Y/N: Want to grab lunch next week?

Scott: Sounds good angel. Let me know when.

Y/N: Will do. Have fun with your dance party.

**

Tuesdays were generally quiet, but people seemed to tip better. You weren’t sure if it was because patrons knew your tips would be few and far between or if the Tuesday crowd was just generous.

You had a tall can of energy drink behind the bar that you snuck sips from as the night went on. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but staying up until three in the morning on the nights you worked wasn’t easy. Making it to midnight was no problem, but after that, you were dead on your feet. It was only eight and you were already dragging. Grabbing the can, you brought it to your lips taking a pull.

“Those things will kill you.”

You put the can down and spun around to face the bar top. Your stomach dropped as you gripped the edge of the counter to keep yourself standing.

“Chris,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling his black ballcap low on his face.

“Uh, hi?”

What the fuck is he doing here?

“Can I get a beer?” he asked. You stared blankly at him as he took a seat in the stool directly in front of you. “Whatever IPA you have on tap.”

You couldn’t move. Chris was here and speaking to you as if this was an everyday occurrence.

“Sweetheart?”

“Uhhh. IPA?” you asked, somehow getting your voice back.

Chris nodded his head. He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the bar. You walked to the far side of the bar to give yourself a minute to breathe. It didn’t matter than there were two IPAs on tap two feet from where he sat, the taps on the far end is where you went. You filled the glass and gave yourself an extra ten seconds to calm down. This was Chris. Your friend Chris who you were crazy about and he was crazy about you. At least he once was. You on the other hand were still crazy about him. You could deal with him in your bar for fifteen minutes or however long it takes him to finish his drink.  

You walked back the length of the bar, grabbing a coaster and setting both in front of him.

“What are you doing here, Chris?”

He took a quick sip, licking the foam from his lips before setting the glass back down. “Straight to the point. I can deal with that. Uh, Scott told me you worked here.”

Scott. You internally rolled your eyes.

“That’s why he asked about my work schedule yesterday.”

Chris cringed a little bit, shrugging both shoulders. “I asked him to. I should have just called you, but I wasn’t sure if you would have picked up for me.”

This time you actually rolled your eyes. “I would have taken your call. You’re the one that doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” It came out way harsher than you meant it to. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” You shook your head, placing your elbows on the bar top and leaned in. “I thought about what I’d say if I saw you again and that wasn’t it. What I meant is I’m sorry. When you and I became friends, I should have told you what was going on, but I was scared. It seemed like such an innocent lie in the beginning but it kept getting bigger. I trusted you, but when it came down to it, I didn’t honor that trust and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Chris visible relaxed, his back hunching as he rested his forearms on the bar. “Sweetheart,” he started. “This isn’t all on you. I get why you didn’t want to tell me and while I wish you would have, I can’t hold that against you. I was hurt. Once we started hanging out, I started to fall for you even though I knew I shouldn’t. It was hard, so hard to hold back and respect the relationship I thought you had. So, it hurt when I found out it wasn’t real. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away that I had. I wish I hadn’t sent you that text message after ignoring you for weeks. So, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry too. I’d like for us to be friends again.”

Friends. Not exactly what you hoped for, but you’d take Chris back in your life anyway you could get him.

“I would like that,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I’ll be right back.”

A couple had come in and taken a seat at table. You walked over, grabbing their drink orders before returning to the bar. It was probably the quickest margarita over ice and whiskey coke you’ve ever made, but you were walking on air at the moment. Chris wanted to be friends again.

Chris had apparently chugged his beer in the few minutes you were gone. You guessed he was just as nervous as you were about this conversation. “One more?” you asked, coming to stand in front of him again.

“Please.”

This time you went to the taps closest to him. You filled a new glass and stuck his old in the dishwasher.

“How long are you in town?” you asked.

“Just a couple of weeks. I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” You leaned on your forearms as you waited for him to continue. “I start shooting a new movie in a few months. I’m directing again.”

Your face lit up at his news. “That’s great Chris. Are you starring too?”

He took a sip from the glass and nodded his head. “I am. Which is the problem.” You crinkled your brow and quirked your mouth to the side. “See, if I’m directing, it’s kind of hard for me to give myself notes and keep me in line.”

“Yeah, you are a tough one to work with,” you sassed.

Chris smiled, letting his eyes go soft. “So, I need a good script supervisor. Any chance you know of one that doesn’t currently have a new film lined up?”

You smiled brightly before giving him an intense stare. “It’s not in Canada in the winter is it?”

“Nah. New England in the fall. What do you say, Y/N?”

You drummed your hands on the bar. “I’ll take it.”

**

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[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #11: One Last Heist

Words: ca. 3,000  Setting: Modern AU Lemon: no CW: Swearing and name calling

***

Tonight, on Arendelle News Network. Westergaard Groups has secured rights on the coin of the kingdom Arendelle. The coin, which has the observe of two ruling Queens of the kingdom of Arendelle in the 19th century, took the world by storm early this year. The coin confirmed the theory of two female monarchs rule the kingdom after being debated for decades.

The CEO of Westergaard Groups has assigned Hans Westergaard to be responsible for the safety of the coin. The young and capable Hans has been favored out of thirteen brothers.

However, the coin may be targeted by high-profile robbery groups. The infamous Snow Sisters has a tracked record of successful heist that has caused fear among security firms. Rumor has it the elder sister possesses ice power that contribute to their success but no confirmation on the claim. The coin may be their next target.

When asked about the Snow Sister, the CEO believes Hans could handle the responsibility. He had faith with the young prodigy to keep the company’s most valuable item in good hands.

Westergaard Groups also holds other ornaments and artifacts in its collection.

***

The car drove into the falling rain at midnight. Puddles of water slush through as the car goes by. It was Elsa’s favorite weather, next to snow because she was in her element. As she was born with ice and snow powers, she had a knack with water since snow was just frozen water. She was more confident than she normally would. Which is important for tonight’s heist.

They received a job a month ago to rob the medieval form the Westergaard Groups. The client was interested in the symbolic of the coin and would be ashamed if the coin was kept by someone who didn’t appreciate history. The job was from one of Elsa’s oldest clients. Not that Anna knew who they were since the older sister was the one who dealt with them. Anna would usually prepare the gears and come up with the plans. Elsa gave her second opinion on it. Most of the time, Elsa agreed with Anna’s plan which made her really happy.

It was a simple heist job. Nothing too difficult for them. Especially when Hans overseers the security. Oh, she had not heard that name for a long time. That douchebag of a child wanted to guard the coin. As if he was something to prove to his others 13 brothers or something. Could not wait to see his face when he found out the coin was no longer under their possession anymore.

They arrived at the targeted location, the Westergaard tower or what Anna would call it, the Dick tower. The reason was the phallus-like design, similar to a certain human’s body part (no need to describe it). So fitting with the family’s personality.

Based on Anna’s research, the coin stored at the underground level of the tower. Secured inside a vault with sophisticated security and what not. Luckily for the snow sisters, Hans and his men were idiots and left some loopholes that the sisters could exploit. Was it intentional or not wasn’t the matter, all that mattered was that this heist would be done swiftly.

Elsa’s blue eyes met with Anna’s green eyes. No word needed to exchange as they could communicate by staring at each other in the eyes. But as usual, Anna stole a peck on the lips. Elsa still falls for it after many Anna had done it. A hint of blush could even be seen under dim light from the dashboard, making Anna so satisfied that Elsa was still a shy person under those regal and serious demeanors. It never got old.

Elsa parked the car across the street and went outside. Elsa stood facing the tower and Anna joined her afterward while put on her hoodie. The falling rain-soaked Elsa’s uncovered hair. Even though Anna found it silly to not cover it, the sight of her sister was breathtaking. The look of determination and focus made Anna feel hot inside.

Focus, Anna. Focus. Be like Elsa. You have an important job tonight. The plan is simple, break in and break out, and nobody gets hurt.

Anna’s inner hype vanished when a chill hand held hers. Anna turned her head to see Elsa gave her a warmest smile.

Would be great if this was a date?

Even since they started their career five years ago, they have been working non-stop. Started from a small chocolate house and slowly raised to the banks and vaults. Anna was there every step of the way at her sister’s side. She and Elsa worked as a team efficiently. Able to know to do and what each other thought was a blessing and an advantage in the field.

Although Anna could not help but wished to have at least kept one of the items that they stole. She knew those items for the clients and breaking their trust would be bad for them, but the stolen items caught Anna’s eyes. And tonight, was no differ.

***

Elsa walked alone to the main lobby. There were two guards sitting behind the counter, one of them was looking at their phone and the other was asleep. The loud footsteps from Elsa’s hills alerted the guard. He snapped at Elsa’s direction, “Ma’am, this place is closed.”

And with that, Elsa’s raincoat dropped and so did the guards’ jaws. She revealed the bodice that hugged her body, showing her model-like silhouette. Her eyes opened half-way and nipped her lips. Elsa sauntered with a wide swing of the hips. Footsteps on the marble floor reverb in the lobby, mesmerized for those who heard them.

The guard dropped everything that he was doing, and his partner opened his eyes wide open. The guard suddenly collapsed and snoozed away after Anna zapped them from behind. Anna took the access card from them.

“Damn perverts. I hate it when they look at you like that!”

“It can be like that sometimes,” she holds her hand, “Jealous?”

“No.” Elsa gave her a smirk. “Okay, yes. I’m jealous, so what?”

“Don’t worry,” Elsa stood closer to Anna, “I only have eyes on you.“

Gosh, Elsa. You’re making me flustered.

“You’re welcome. Nice shot, by the way. You always amazed me with your sharpshooting.” said the elder.

This was going to be a difficult night.

***

Rows of monitors stood in hanged on the wall. The two night watch monitored the tower’s CCTV to see any unusual activities. One of them spotted one.

“Look, the camera on hall six is foggy again.”

“Relax, sometimes the camera got foggy. It happened a few times before.”

The guard looked back to the monitor, “Hope nothing bad happens tonight.”

***

They walked to the hallway to the vault. Since the CCTV has been dealt with, Anna could zap the other guards with ease. She asked Elsa to obscure the vision of those cameras by fogging the lens. The older sister used the vent to channel her power to reach out the camera. It alerted them to the anomaly in the first week but died down after a month. They think it was a normal occurrence by now.

The vault finally opened after a conversation with the guards, which may boil Anna’s blood by how friendly the conversation went. The coin displayed inside the glass display box in the middle of the vault. The camera will not be problem, but Anna took out a can and sprayed it around the vault. Lasers can be seen along the path.

“Allowed me,” said Anna.

Anna slithering her way through the web of lasers. She had trained back at their safehouse by replicating the laser exactly as now. She took a month of training so she could do this without break a sweat.  She glanced at her sister and pleased to find out she was watching her intently. Every step she took brings her closer to the coin. Anna could see the intricate detail of the coin. The engraving of the 19th century monarch was so detailed, Anna could see the faint freckles on Queen Anna.

She had seen the coin before, based on her research and planning, but when looked at them up closely, nothing short of breath taking. Two queens ruled the kingdom side by side. Not only that, but they were also sisters. Talked about defying the status quo of the 19th century. Lesbian and incest, such scandalous. She wondered how they managed to live life with such a controversial lifestyle. From what she researched, the youngest was warm while the elder was cold. Together, they made up a great pair. No wonder why they ended up together.

Anna reached in front of the display. She sprayed more to see there were any hidden lasers, which were none. She looked around the display, only to find out the coin placed on seemed to be a pressure sensitive detector as she expected. She brings out a dummy coin which weighs the same as the coin. But she needed a placeholder while switching the coin.

When she was ready, she lifted the glass display and slipped a chewing gum on the detector. She needed to do it previously. Failure to achieve might activate the lockdown procedure and trap them inside. She applied pressure on it and lifted the coin. So far, everything went well. She put the dummy coin on the stand and kept the coin inside the cushioned case. She admired it for a few seconds before storing it inside her bag.

She slithered her way back to her sister. She moved a bit suggestively this time to see if she could make her sister flustered. She stretched and bended her body inhumanly. The laser was all forgotten. She locked her eyes with her sister. She trusted her instinct to cross the laser field. Anna put a bit more stretched on her acrobatic because why not.

Anna safely out her laser field and judging from Elsa’s expression, she quite enjoyed the show from her little sister. Eyes dilated and lip biting. Elsa pulled her sister and pinned her on the wall, followed by a chaste kiss.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Don’t know. You judge me,” Anna smirked.

Elsa kissed her again. This time, the kiss lingered longer. After a while, they parted lips. The older sister rested her forehead on the little one.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Anna.”

“I know. I like when you worry about me.”

“Always.” Another peck from Elsa. Anna addicted with the kiss. She just wanted more.

“C’mon, let’s get out here.”

***

“Wanna play a bet?” said the guard.

“What is it?”

“We guess which camera will be foggy next. Every time you’re right, I’ll give you ten euros, and every time I’m right, you have to give me ten euros. If either of us are right, we keep our money.”

“Sound fun. Let’s bet.”

“Deal.”

***

They walked out after a successful heist.  However, a figure stood tall at the end of the door. Elsa and Anna cautiously walked towards it. Anna could see familiarity, however.

“We meet again, Anna,” the figure spoke.

Oh, it was him.

“Anna, you met Hans before.”

She sighed in defeat, “Yes, I met him before. He’s my ex from high school,” said Anna timidly.

“And you’re still cunning as always. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this moment? Ever since the foggy CCTV, I knew it was you two doing. I stayed up all night for the past month. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for staying up late because I was expecting you two to come.”

“Looks like you plan worked, Anna.”

“Yup, poor Hans for being responsible. Just like I planned.”

“Excuse me, Miss Elsa. I hope you wouldn’t mind if I talk to you sister.” Said Hans.

“Proceed, ” Elsa said in monotone.

“How are you being? I heard you’re fucking with your sister now. Gosh, I’m glad I broke up with you.”

Anna gritted her teeth to stiffen her anger. Hans and his snarky remark always made her blood boiled. She glad she with Elsa now.

“Shut up, Hans. That’s none of your business. Besides, I’m the one who broke up with you. You cheated on me. I can’t believe you’re dating someone else behind my back.”

“At least I didn’t fuck my own siblings.”

“That doesn’t make you less of an asshole.”

“Whatever, sister fucker. Now that our past is settled, let’s talk about the present. The coin?”

“Sorry, this thing is on its way to the new owner.” said Anna.

“You know I won’t let that happen.” 

“Oh yeah, what are gonna do? Stop us?”

“I do what I must.”

He brings out something from this back. A rifle-like contraption with a tank placed on top of it.

“Behold, ze flammenwerfer.”

“Why does he call that in German?” said Elsa.

“He does that sometimes. To make him look smart by being bilingual. I may have liked him back then because of it,” said Anna.

“Is that why you always flustered whenever I speak in our mother language?” Elsa smirked.

She could not hide the blush crept into her face as a flash of memory hit her. “What? No, of course not,” said Anna.

“Er du sikker på det?”

“De… de… definitely.”

“Ladies, I’m right here.”

“We will continue this later,” said Elsa. “May I know why you’re in charge with security?”

“As you know, I was chosen by my father to guard the coin. All my thirteen brothers were against his decision, but I managed to persuade him to give me the task, with a catch. I need to prove myself worthy to bestow this position. And what better way to prove by capturing the infamous Snow Sister. Now, you two are here. I shall capture you both and show you to my father that I’m worthy and proving to my brothers they were wrong.”

Hans ignited the flame thrower, “With the power of fire, I shall stop you…”

An ice blast pushed him back and pinned to the wall with ice. His flammenwerfer fortunately survived from the blast. He struggled to move as the ice covered his lower torso and both his arms.

“He brags a lot, doesn’t he?” Elsa said.

“Yeah. He won’t stop talking. Always talk about this and that.”

“Good thing you broke up with him.”

The sisters walked to poor Hans stuck on the wall. He still tried to free himself from the frost but with no avail.

“You two are going to pay for this.”

“I don’t think so, playboy.” Anna snide.

He grunted. “Go and run off with sister, Anna. You’re disgusting, sister fucker.”

Anna was about to punch him only to be stop by Elsa.

“Yes, Anna is a sister fucker because she only fucks me. Unlike you, womanizer.”

“Fuck off.”

“We will.”

“Say hi to your thirteen brothers and your father. I’m sure they will be proud of you.” They fled off from the tower.

“Curse you, Snow Sisters!”

***

“This is ridiculous.” 

“Said the loser. While I am 100 euros richer tonight.”

He grunted by the loss. As the fog faded, he saw someone familiar. “Hey, it’s that the boss?”

“Yeah. Oh shit. Scramble the alarms! The Snow Sisters are here!”

***

The alarm blared after they went outside. but the police arrived at the scene. The shower of rain still poured when they got out.

With a flick of her finger, ice shards formed at the bottom of the police’s car. It punched the tires and froze the door the prevent the policemen from getting out. Another flick, wind rushed through from the west. Frost started to build up as the temperature of the surrounding plummeted to subzero. The police had to keep their body low to prevent them from being blown out of the place.

Some of the cops attempted to chase them but their vehicles broke down due to the extreme weather.

While chaos ensued, the snow sisters used this chance to get to their car. Elsa led the way, holding her sister’s hand as she guided through the snowstorm. They giggled along the way in. After safely boarding the car, Elsa turned on the car and zoomed out from there. The snowstorm slowly faded away as they drove away.

***

“Um, Elsa. I want to tell you something.”

“Is it something important?”

“Yes.”

The one of Elsa’s hands left the steering wheel and pressed the autopilot button. The car chimed to indicate the car had engaged the autopilot. Only then, Elsa let go of the steering wheel and turned her head towards Anna.

“I’m listening,” Elsa said.

The stern voice from Elsa left Anna goosebumps. She was a woman with focus and when she focused, she would give full attention to the subject matter. And that subject matter now was her little sister. Anna gulped as she tried to proceed with her conversation.

“I was thinking if we could take a break from this,” she paused to see if there were any reaction from Elsa. Since there were none, Anna continued, “It’s been five years since we began our career and we’ve been working non-stop since. I was hoping we could go somewhere where no one knows. Just you and me. Spending time together and forget the world for a while.”

The stern from before softened and a smile crept to the elder’s face, “Anna, you have no idea how long I am longing this moment. The truth is, this was meant to be our last job.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

“As you said, we spent so much of our time into our career that we didn’t spend time for ourselves.” Elsa held Anna’s hand. “And actually, this job wasn’t for a client. It’s actually a personal reason. And it was for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I never gifted you anything all those years and tonight I wanted to change that. The coin symbolizes two sisters who engaged one another to become one. I want to be like that with you. I want us to become a thing.”

Elsa took the coin and placed it in Anna’s hand. Anna could not believe her wishes had finally come true. To spend time with her sister together and also the coin.

“Thank you,” said Anna sincerely.

“You’re most welcome. Jeg elsker deg, Anna.”

“I love you too, Elsa.”

***

A/N:

Language translation: -

German: ze flammenwerfer – the flamethrower

Norwegian: Er du sikker på det? – Are you sure about that? Jeg elsker deg – I love you

Disclaimer: I used Google Translate to translate from English to the respective language, which might be wrong. Sorry in advance if I translated it wrong.

[vylequinnewriting]

Telvan Tale: Whale of a Time

Here’s the first Telvan Tale! (More information can be found here) It’s probably one of the most horrific ones I’ll write so viewer discretion is advised. It’s heavily inspired by a mix of myths around Alcatraz and typical slasher story tropes. Instead of writing of a retelling of the urban legend, I instead chose to write the truth that no one knows. 

Content Rating: Mature

Content Warnings (send me an ask if you think of a tag that should be added): Graphic violence, blood & gore, murder, forced captivity,  cannibalism, death, extensive body horror, war (mentioned), memory loss

Word Count: 2374

Telvan Tale Taglist (ask to be added/removed): 

General Taglist (ask to be added/removed): @ecwrenn

“The best time in my life was when I went to Kromhold.”

“Well golly, that makes me feel great to hear but you don’t look like you're having a whale of a time.” I laugh heartily. Not much I can do for him besides try to lighten the mood. 

“I mean before all the barbed wire and concrete.” He takes his head out of his hands and looks off to the window. I know that look, I invented it. It isn't focused on what’s here or what’s to come, is to look back on what was. He didn’t need to say much past that. He’s told me plenty about him and where we are. His tone is genuine and his gaze is forlorn enough that I can’t help but feel pity for him. 

My friend here talks about Kromhold when it was under a different name. I remember those days but not as clearly as him. This was back when it was a castle open to all instead of a fortress designed to contain and isolate. One could enter for a pittance and in exchange be given a memory worth a lifetime. Decadent foodstuffs lined every street. A friend lurking behind every corner. Every poster, every coat of paint, every leaf was prim and proper. I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed. It was wonderfully, perfectly, saccharine. All thanks to an anonymous benefactor, Bellanaya was able to stay open for years, ensuring at least three generations had seen its glistening walls. That was the past, and all that’s left now is a bitter aftertaste.

“What was your favorite part? Mine was the whale watching. I could catch up with the whole family from right on the beach.” Another jest, but what could I do, tell the truth?

“The teacups.” He nodded, as if to agree with himself. “Definitely the teacups.”

“You always striked me as a coffee person.”

“No, no,” waving his arms like he’s swatting away my witty retort. “The ride. Never could handle most of the others, even the bumper cars would tumble my stomach around like a washing machine. I threw up plenty of times on the trip here. “ He looks out the window and locks eyes with the sky.

Even in the past he wasn’t worth his salt it seems. It’s fair I suppose, the only thing he has to hang onto is me after all. Even his skin looks ready to leave him. Dry and gray, it clung to his bones shivering with shallow, dissonant breaths. He had to look better than this at some point, if he’d been here back in the heyday. The cars were taken out around the 14th year of business. Another 11 before we had to close up shop. Back then his name wouldn’t have mattered, only how much he was willing to spend. They needed it more than he would. But just like everything else, discounts and promotions wouldn’t help what was to come.

He takes a break from his staring match and sighs. “How’d this happen? You were here from when the park was still a park, weren’t you? What happened?” 

I let loose a giggle. Unintentional and all it does is serve to unnerve him. We’ve had this conversation so many times I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Despite all the trust I’ve cultivated with him, he has troubling matching eyes with me. Granted, all he can do is look down at me from this position. “You aren’t from around here are you? From the south I bet, beyond the sea and all?” He doesn’t need to answer yes, he’s already talked about the plains where he lived enough for me to guess with certainty. I continue, “The same thing happened to this place that happened everywhere. Money was the only thing keeping us in business. Memories stopped being made and started being sold. Then the war hit the mainland. We were ready to shut down and leave, but that wasn’t an option with the flames licking away at the island. So we stayed. When all was said and done, the Sangreguila came and forced us to stay open. As you can see, the objective was still to give our visitors memories they wouldn’t be able to forget. This time they couldn’t leave.” 

He curls up into a ball at the foot of his cot. “Zastüd didn’t help.” He couldn’t help but shudder and sniffle after uttering those words. For some it was a victory the likes of which no one had seen, and for others it was a loss felt around the world. He fell into the later camp it seems. A shame.

“Wiping a city off the map didn’t do much for international relationships. Not to mention Zastüd was a technological marvel. It was even worse that they couldn’t find out who did it. After everyone was done pointing fingers, they picked a couple patsies to throw in here and tossed the key in the ocean. They wanted to make a place for just the absolute worst society had to offer. People who wanted the world to burn and chose to do so with their own hands. Just like you.” Those words hurt him, but I know he couldn’t redirect his anger at me. I’d been his only friend since he arrived here in Kromhold. 

Gods, I hate that name. Cold and hard, so I guess it's at least truthful. Bellanaya was such a better name. Regardless, Kromhold did it’s best to break him down but he refused. He was innocent, after all. When he’d first arrived he was greeted with a fist to the mouth. Despite his absolutely rancid reputation and overpowering stature, he fell apart at the first sign of a conflict. Being given what was in essence a death sentence didn’t help his confidence either. Those who wanted fights found a whimpering dog. Those who wanted friends found a monster only held back by a tight leash. But then he found me.

I’ve been the only companion this poor boy has known. I’ve given myself the task of helping him throughout this trial. The only way I can is to help him remember. The good times, the bad times, the times in between, they all fade away with a nice rosy pink when you look back on them. It was my Mother who first told me about what I could do. She once had it herself but thought it better to give it to me. “People will always forget about you until they need you,” she said. I’ve always hated that word. Forget. I still took the gift gratefully, it was my Mother’s and to have anything from her was the greatest honor. Even now, that gift is the only thing I have of value. It’s all the boy has needed fortunately. As long as I flash a smile or say some outdated slogan he stays sated for the day. It’s a small price to pay for what he’s done for me. He always forgets the next day or sometimes even right after I’m done speaking but I’ll always start talking to him the next time he asks.

“Oh gawrsh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Best friends don’t hurt best friends right?” I squirmed over and offered a “hand”.

 He looks up and wipes his face. He appears to mull it over but I know his answer. He takes my loose fibers in his claws and mutters, “Friends till the end.” 

I hate being in this position but it’s the only way I’m still here. At least I’m not in the same situation as the other mascots. They usually “enforce” the rules around here along with the standard armed guards. One of the boys on my friend’s block snapped and stabbed one, only to find out it was another prisoner. Warden made sure they stayed in character and kept silent, permanently. The rumor was the Warden wore the suits too, but no one had the fortitude to try and hunt him down after the first incident. The boy came to me that day, crying up a storm. Took ages to calm him down. When he could finally look me in the eye, I didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. It came from a deep, dark place that even he didn’t know he had. Perfect, I thought. 

Many a day and night has passed and that boy has turned into an old man. He’ll still be a boy to me, bright eyed and gentle, not wanting to hurt a fly. This place changed him. It made him rough and broken. This is one of the few days he can speak to me with clarity. Normally, he can’t help but keep looking out that window and hoping for something different. I think it’s high time I gave that to him. This is not the first time I’ve said these words, but I believe it is the first time he’ll hear them. 

“Do you remember your first day here? They needed five men to drag you in. All you could do was scream ‘I’m innocent’. That didn’t matter to them. Everyone in here could be innocent of their crimes but the guards don’t care. Still, they needed five to bring you in, and that wasn’t even with you trying, bud.” 

He looks wide-eyed. Confused, even. Enough to register what I said. That’s all the proof I need to continue. 

“Do you remember the day you met me?” He shakes his head. Words escape him and so does the memory. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was just a scratch on the floor and a prayer sitting in between the walls. Forgotten. All I could do was sit, wait and listen. And then you came in. You wanted to never forget. Not Kromhold, but Bellanaya. It was pretty shoddy workmanship but you made a burlap sack into the spitting image of Wilfredo the Whale. You know, me! I scared you half to death the first time I talked but we’ve been friends since then.”

He grinned ear-to-ear. Revealing a row of sharpened, yellow teeth. Not fit for anything but meat. Ironic since all he’s eaten for the past couple of years is gruel.

 “I remember.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Excuse me?” He’s a bit taken aback. Understandable but unwanted and unnecessary. All I need is a “yes”, not a “yes and”. 

“What would you do if I said I could take you back? To the days where you were free. No man could control you. If they tried, they’d learn why they shouldn’t. You are the only important person to me. I can’t let you rot in this cell.”

“What do you mean you can take me back?” There wasn’t disbelief in his voice, only contemplation. They love it when you play the hero. Thanks for teaching me that lesson, Lecuto. What a wonderful Sister. 

“I can give you back your body, silly. All you need is to put me on your head. Say the magic words, then watch as the magic happens.”

He thought for a second. And then another second. He did not take a third. Years upon years of friendship does that. I waited initially, just to add a sense of suspense. I’d do my Mother wrong if I didn’t have a dramatic flair. 

“What are the magic words?” There was a slight tremble to his voice. He didn’t believe something so incredulous despite my entire existence. Hilarious.

“There aren’t any.”

My body didn’t have much to offer as it was, so I could do little besides spread my fibers. A bit of resistance and they began to slink under the skin. All the natural pathways of his body were too easy to explore, invade, and conquer. He didn’t have much to offer in terms of a protest. Was it shock that I’d betray him so easily or was it a staunch belief that I’d help him? 

It mattered little in the face of what I was presented with. All the juicy goods he’d amassed over the years sitting in front of me like a feast before a king. The first birthday he could remember was light and refreshing in a place like this. Benito, his childhood hound was next to go, rich and flavorful, like his surprisingly long life span. Almost fifteen years, that one. As delicious as they were, they were unimportant. 

Ah, here it is. 

His first kill. The rage. The bloodlust. The emptiness. The overwhelming fear. And finally, hunger. 

He’d never truly been strong, especially when it comes to impulse control. The other piece I’d needed came soon after, about five or so years. Countless bodies scoured those days but none were like the first. He became complacent and slow. He wanted to savor the meal rather than simply consume. When he was caught he had nothing but regret. He said plenty that meant nothing to the Sangreguila. It wasn’t his hands that made the first cut. He wasn’t there to bathe in blood, he merely slipped onto a scene and unsuccessfully tried to make himself scarce. That wasn’t flesh stuck between his teeth, he just so happened to rip into livestock with reckless abandon moments earlier. 

I could tell some didn’t deserve the pain Kromhold had  inflicted upon them. My friend here was not one of those poor souls. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they didn’t shoot him right then and there. Haven’t they heard the saying “a legend is made when someone hides the truth?” 

When I was done sifting through his head, I drained out all that wasn’t important. I didn’t require much magic to remold his shape back to those years. He still remembered them fondly somewhere deep down. Muscles atrophied by years of misuse and malnutrition now pulsed with power. Legs that trembled with each step stood straight. Teeth that reeked of disease and looked a putrid yellow instead became fierce, white fangs. A perfect weapon to be used by me. I couldn't have wished for a better present. Now only one thing was left.  To leave this prison behind with a trail of terror. 

No one will ever forget me again.

[legemjohn]

an introduction.

by now the "vinyl resurgence" has been so talked about, so reported on, so lived in that even kids know about it. you can easily catch children barely old enough to drive flexing a collection deep enough to make a lifelong aficionado envious, or a few choice cuts that are worth enough second hand to pay off someone's student loans. this isn't anything new anymore, it simply is. but for me, growing up, i didn't know what the hell "vinyl" was. my first experience with it was crawling around the floor in the family room of my childhood home, pulling back a door on our TV stand, and finding a short row of tall, colorful spines hidden behind a bag of playstation controllers. the pigments were faded, the text eaten up by missing pieces of print, the corners dented... they looked neglected, almost like antiques. i carefully grabbed one and pulled it out from the back of the cabinet, holding it in front of my face and trying to figure out what the hell it was. the picture on the front, while desaturated from years of dusty living, held a bright and warm color scheme that grabbed my eye immediately. hues of red and purple blended together on top of a large drawing of what kinda looked like bird wings, kinda looked like a flower in full bloom. a marble in the middle held a bob ross lookalike landscape inside, almost like a snowglobe. across it all was a single word in blue: "journey". "wait, journey? ugh, i hate journey." in my house, the only music that ever played was journey adjacent. any soon to be "classic rock" hair metal and blues rock bands you can think of, the more stereotypical the better, were the norm. journey, bon jovi, aerosmith... these were what i exclusively heard growing up. before i heard anything else, i enjoyed the music enough, but at this point, i had already had a borderline religious experience listening to "hybrid theory" by linkin park for the first time and realized what i had been missing out on. those aforementioned bands, with their flaccid riffs and sing along choruses just didn't hit anymore. regardless, my initial confusion wasn't quite solved. so, this has to do with the band journey, but what was this? i turned it over to see a list of songs on the back. i didn't really recognize any except for "wheel in the sky", a track that would often play from the speakers on top of the tv stand i was curled under. did this thing have music on it? i flipped it back around and felt one side of it gently open. looking inside, i was taken aback by how bad it smelled. it reminded me of my grandparent's basement, especially the corner of it filled with bins of old picture books that probably had seen more mold than air in recent years. the symptoms of neglect began to pile up. despite the less than stellar sensory experience at hand, i reached inside and grabbed hold of what felt like a thin plate. pulling it out softly, i found myself holding a flat, black disc. looking at the label, the deeply etched grooves, the rainbow pattern that would faintly shoot across the surface just in the right light, it dawned on me... i had seen these before! it wasn't rock music that introduced me to vinyl, but hip-hop... albeit, somewhat subliminally. countless music videos, photo shoots, album covers all featured these flat, black discs... either spinning endlessly or being pushed, flipped, and altogether manhandled by DJs. i didn't know what DJs did, but i at least knew that if someone was behind a machine with these discs on them, they were a DJ. eventually, my mother walked in and tersely told me to put the item back. i obliged and didn't think much of it for the immediate future. but as i got older and my passion for music grew insatiable, what i now knew as "records" or "LPs" became a curiosity i just couldn't ignore. my deep love of hip-hop led me to learn the history of house parties and sampling, educating me not only on LPs as a medium but as a tool. artists like trent reznor would speak endlessly about their experiences at record stores, how a single copy of pink floyd's "the wall" changed their life

beyond just the music in the grooves. i was entranced and i wanted in. meekly, i asked my mother if i could have some of the records sitting in the cabinet, maybe even just the duplicates. she flat out rejected the idea, to my dismay. i didn't even know how i could get a hold of these! i didn't have a credit card, so ebay was out of the question, plus i didn't have any record stores near me. but, i knew i could eventually find one if i looked online hard enough. for what i believe was my 12th or 13th birthday, i spent all my collected present money on a mail order shopping spree. i dropped something like $50 on CDs and 2 records from chicago's reckless records, to the confusion of my parents. while my love of music was growing in a way they couldn't ignore (despite them not even knowing yet i had been releasing music online already), any holiday money i would collect almost immediately got dropped off at a gamestop (or eb games when they were still around... or a babbages when they were still around) and exchanged for the newest tony hawk or gran turismo game. but no, not this time. this time, i was cashing out on music. so, when the package finally arrived and i excitedly had my mother open it, euphoria rushed in at lightning speed when i saw a black square inside, the same dimensions as that "journey" record all those years ago. sure, it was a cheap and somewhat scratched copy of a "the hand that feeds" remix 12" from nine inch nails (and a 45 copy of the "somewhere i belong" single from linkin park below), but it was my cheap and somewhat scratched copy. i didn't even have a record player, but i had finally did it... i bought my very own record. over 10 years, numerous moves, one massive sell off, and a half-decade tenure at a record store later, i currently have a record collection of over 500 pieces. i spent years and years endlessly curating and collecting LPs from all across the world, of any and all genres, and in all manner of conditions. and now i'm selling them. see, now we arrive at the point. (sorry for making you wait so long.) after all this time, i've made the decision to sell the vast majority of the collection i've basically spent a lifetime putting together. it wasn't an easy decision to make, as the idea bounced around in my head for years before i finally succumbed to the necessity of it, but this blog will be my way of giving the history i've been so lucky to collect over the years a proper, respectful send off. so here we go. over the next however long, i will be melodramatically and probably infrequently giving chunks of my collection one final rotation on my turntable, making my peace and saying my goodbyes to a part of my life that's come to define my relationship with my deepest passion: music. i'll reflect and share any stories or thoughts here as i go through, and hopefully someone other than myself will find some joy, entertainment, or even connection in these words. let's begin.

[samanthaxreed]

                                               SOLO THREAD

Locale: Sam’s apartment / Oceanside Cemetery

Mentioned: @fireinhislungs, @gracetaylorwilliams, @jessexmarino​, @naomixjones​

Dinner with her father went off with only a few conversational lulls, far less awkward than anticipated and yet not completely fluid. Like two people rowing a canoe at different speeds, both attempting to turn it in the same direction without being fully in sync. It would come with time Sam supposed and as she began cleaning dishes, bright hues caught sight of her father throwing a cursory examination of the window latches before shifting attention to the folded sweater on her couch. “Are you holding that for somebody?”

It took everything in her not to snort. “Real subtle... It doesn’t belong to some secret lover if that’s what you’re getting at.”

His chagrin at being caught was palpable enough to soften Sam’s raised brow, almost lingering on the edge of amused before he continued. “I worry about you living in this place alone, Samantha. No roommate, no boyfriend, or... girlfriend?” The blonde visibly winced then, hands resuming the task at hand to avoid discussing something so personal with a person she truly didn’t know well at all. Her father, still a near stranger. “Look, take it from me that too much alone time drives you a little nuts and it’s probably safer in numbers around here.”

The audacity to gently lecture as if his brand of advice mattered in the grand scheme when he never deemed it necessary until now. A measured swallow and breath came before she pivoted features to address him in a way that wouldn’t entirely nuke their still rather tepid relationship. The pair lingered a hair away from disaster and the only indication she managed to give was a firm warning. “Dad, I know what you’re trying to say, but I can take care of myself. I’m doing just fine and you’re forgetting that I literally lived here at one point.” With him and her mother, ironically enough. Apparently Oceanside had been worth settling in during her formative years, but once she could choose for herself it no longer suited the narrative.

“You always did have your mother’s stubbornness.” That, at least, managed to ring true and she might have been able to ignore that comment with a scoff or quick humor picked up from his side, but her father always prodded the right button. “I’m trying to keep you safe, okay?” Definitely a hothead like her abrasive mother because the knife she’d been wiping down tightened within Sam’s slender grasp. Hell of a time to start giving a shit, but she digressed. “Because Oceanside isn’t how you remember it and ignoring that fact’s gonna get you hurt if you don’t pay attention... I understand if it brings you comfort being here, but it’s not the same.”

The sharp utensil she had been cleaning finally clattered against metal as it hit the base of her sink, dropped in frustration because it wasn’t his business. None of it. He surrendered that right when the ink dried on her custody papers; parental claim relinquished unequivocally. “I’m not blind. I can fucking see that it’s worse and I’m not walking around the city with rose colored glasses.” Quite the opposite, suffocating every blossom of nostalgia before it could spring out of the dirt... Or ash, depending upon how one looked at it. “The whole me getting poisoned thing shot that down right out of the gate, but I’m not just–– I’m not giving up on this and lots of people I care about live here.” She swallowed against the vulnerability, choking it down like a bad tequila shot. “Which means there’s something worth sticking around for, so if you’re trying to talk me out of it then go ahead and call up Fletcher. Let him tell you how well that worked out the last time somebody tried.” 

“Take it easy,” he cautioned with infuriating ease against her rising temper. “I’m only trying to look out for your best interest. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” The chuckle she gave in response lacked both humor and warmth, practically bewildered at his entire savior complex... And bitter, so unfathomably jaded at this ill conceived timing. Too little, too late. “Yeah, well, you’ve been asleep on the job for twenty-eight years so it’s convenient that you woke up to do it now.”

That must have cut deep because her father maneuvered out of the kitchen doorway, hands raised defensively as if she were still holding the knife. It sort of felt like that, but her tongue became the barb instead. Stabbing repeatedly when he hardly deserved it, angered more at unseen and unresolved forces. “I know I wasn’t always as involved as I could have been, but I did raise you––”

“You didn’t raise me, you avoided me because it was easier to spend time at the casino than come home to the life you picked out. And before you start accusing me of favoritism, Mom didn’t do shit either. You want to talk about romanticizing the past? Take a look in the fucking mirror.” Fists clenched against her side were blanched white at the knuckles, three decades of resentment spilling out in verbal blows that Sam knew she couldn’t take back. Nor did she want to, not tonight. “The Williams raised me. And when they were gone, I raised myself and I did a damn good job at it.” 

Some part of her would regret this moment later when his features came to mind, the shame and clear heartbreak written across them undeniable. “I didn’t realize that’s how you felt.” They had backed up fully into her living room, or perhaps she simply cornered her father with truthful criticisms when he’d only wanted to help. So much for repairing their relationship. “Yeah, well... I ruined your lives so I guess it’s only fitting that you ruined mine.” Arms crossed protectively over her middle, both avoiding one another’s gaze out of mutual hurt and then she heard the door unlock. 

“I wish you hadn’t come back here, Samantha.” 

While sounding bad on the surface, she knew full well it was meant as a last olive branch and proof that he loved her despite the vitriol, but Sam’s throat had tightened too far to respond. He slipped out into the evening air and despite how she wished to move, or scream, or burst into a thousand shards to match her internal schism, both feet remained firmly planted for several minutes. 

Then she darted across to her purse, snatching it up along with the sweater draped along the back of her sofa. No phone, she didn’t need to talk anymore. At least no one listed in there.

–––––

One bottle of some cheap rosé from the grocery store later and she was back on the road, navigating some vaguely familiar route down the coast. GPS wound up becoming necessary at some point much to her embarrassment, but twelve years away wasn’t nothing and darkness made fools of everyone. Her car pulled into the cemetery parking lot and for a minute she simply sat with the engine idled, replaying pieces of their conversation in her mind. Not just with her father, but Fletcher, Grace, Jesse, Naomi... People who existed in her former life that now began slotting into this new, convoluted one. 

The gate’s lock was either open already or rusted by the sea air, but it hardly mattered because Sam entered without much barrier. Weaving through headstones, she discovered that the path to her destination sprouted from memory which was altered by nighttime shadows and the fickle mistress of time. After getting turned around once, she eventually made it and settled into a small plot of grass, unscrewing the lid of her bottle and toasting in mock cheers to her company.

                        In Loving Memory of Brooke Williams

The sight alone was enough to tighten something imperceptible within her chest, washed away by the peachy drink and a half-hearted joke. “Sorry for sitting on you, but that should be nothing new. Kick me off if you hate it.” Talking to a ghost as if the long deceased girl were able to hear felt stupid on about three hundred levels, but Sam hadn’t been granted the privilege of catching up for so long. And after arguing with her parent, she just needed her best friend and other half. 

“I think that maybe... everything in my life is temporary now,” she admitted to the silence. “And sometimes I can even convince myself that I’m okay with it. Never attaching myself to anybody or anything.” Mostly through her own design, sabotaging any concept of permanence before it, too, could be ripped away without warning. A self preservation measure concocted when she was far too young; no kid should delve so far into their own fear that they only knew how to run. “Except here. I feel like I keep circling back to this place and these people... And you. Always you.” For someone who only an hour previous claimed to raise herself, she truly did an immaculate job at creating an adult who wound up successful, capable, and so unbearably alone.

Maybe she should have called Fletcher instead, the thought interjected itself and became quickly dismissed. Hadn’t enough trouble been thrust upon his shoulders? And Grace’s? Stripped of their entire family in the course of a single night, tossed into a system which spat them back out, and molded to fit a world that clearly didn’t give a shit. The last thing either one needed was a reminder walking back through their door, but she had with such unfathomable selfishness. Perhaps guilt brewed in the pit of her stomach over how she treated her father tonight or that continuous fear of making the wrong move, but uncertainty brought the rim to parted lips once more.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore, B.” It was easier to draw honesty from her bones out here, less like pulling water from a stone with only a bottle and the faint ocean breeze answering back. Rather than eerie or unsettling, the dim light provided a quiet comfort of remaining unseen in the midst of such raw admittance. “I don’t think I belong in this city like I used to, but I’m scared––” There was that thickness in the far reaches of her throat again. “I’m afraid that if I don’t belong in Oceanside then I don’t really belong anywhere. So what the hell do I do?”

She had belonged once, in a flickering memory of happiness that remained pure despite life’s valiant attempts to extinguish it. Friendship bracelets with her name misspelled on accident. Brooke telling Fletcher he could only join their pillow fort if he killed the spider inside. Grace’s laughter from beneath the hood of an old car as she threw a grease laden rag at Mr. Williams. They were supposed to grow old together, buy houses on the same street, live out impossibly normal lives. So beautifully mundane in their cookie cutter regularity. Even after the worst overtook them, she had been naïve enough to believe in some echo of that future; a broken shell, but enough to keep her head above water.

In that alternate time, Grace taught her to drive manual and took Sam to get her license, the pair bonding in a way that she only dreamed of as a child who idolized the eldest Williams beyond words. She would have thanked the brunette for being the only stable adult in her life and the only one worth counting on. In that alternate timeline, she got Fletcher trashed on his twenty-first birthday and sat on the bathroom floor with him all night in apology. She would have told him the truth at some point, even if he didn’t reciprocate. So many what if’s that were robbed before they even began and now she grasped at smoke, unable to hold it between desperate fingers. Why couldn’t she just let things go like a well adjusted person? Why did she leave claw marks etched into every memory?

More wine, but this time it tasted distinctly of saltwater as the wind brushed over damp cheeks.

[kmseokjins]

Twisted Tails (Chapter 1)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / (Future) Poly!OT7 x Reader / Hybrid!BTS x Human!Female!Reader Warnings: angst (Jimin is upset) Words: 5.5k words (GOOD LORD.)

Summary: When you meet with your later sister’s lawyer, you’re not expecting to suddenly own two hybrids. Of course, things end up being a tad more complicated than that once you get to the shelter. Upset Jimin inbound.

Hybrids: GermanShepherd!Namjoon, BirmanCat!Jimin, more to come later!

Notes: Well, looks like I’m jumping on the Hybrid!BTS train. For now, this is mostly Jimin and Namjoon centered, but the other boys will be introduced down the line (feedback depending). I hope I didn’t make Jimin too clingy or anything. I’m so excited yet incredibly nervous to post this fic tbh. I hope y’all like it! Depending on the feedback I get, we shall see if there’s future chapters on the horizon! ;)  Special shoutout to @mygsii for help with this fic title! <3

Archive Of Our Own || Next Chapter

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“Your sister left her hybrids to you.”

“Wha-? I’m-I’m sorry, what?”

“Her two hybrids. She left them to you.”

“There has to be a mistake, I...I don’t know how to take care of a hybrid.”

“Her Will states it so, there is no mistake.”

You’re downright flabbergasted. When you had received the call from some lawyer’s office last week about your late sister’s estate, you hadn’t been expecting this. On top of the fact that you’d been shocked to hear that your sister had a Will; she was only four years older than you, for Pete’s sake! Leave it to your sister to give you grey hairs from beyond the grave. She’d left everything to you, including her two hybrids.

You knew about hybrids, of course. One would have to be living under a rock to not heard anything about them before. It had been a wild craze for decades now: “Own your own Hybrid! Companionship, pets, and more!” It made your stomach queasy just thinking about it. You heard the horror stories about hybrids being forced to participate in underground fighting (more often than not, to the death), subjected to hard labor, or used as sex slaves. You literally shuddered, and not in a good way.

Hybrids were half human, exhibiting the physical traits of whatever species they were crossed with in the form of tails, ears, claws, and eyes. Usually hybrids displayed one or two of those traits, although it wasn’t uncommon for them to display all those traits. In addition, hybrids also displayed the instincts of said species, some more than others.

You were somewhat familiar with your sister’s hybrids; you had met Namjoon and Jimin several times. They were both sweet and docile, and despite the fact that you had never owned a hybrid before, you were certain you had lucked out with the two. At least you weren’t bringing home two hybrids that didn’t know you..

“Where are they?” You straightened from your thoughts as you realized you hadn’t seen the hybrids yet. You hadn’t thought to ask about them last week when you’d been asked questions by the police; you had been too upset, wallowing in the grief of losing your big sister. How could you have been so heartless in not inquiring about Namjoon and Jimin? They had surely been grieving just the same as you at the loss of your sister.

The lawyer sitting at the desk in front of you glanced up at you over his thinly rimmed glasses, eyebrows furrowing slightly before he relaxed when he seemed to know what you were questioning him about. 

“They’re at the shelter downtown, the police too-,”

“What!?” You shot up from the chair you had been uncomfortably perched in, barely aware of the man jolting slightly at your sudden movement and your shout. They took them to the shelter? While most shelters weren’t bad, you could only imagine the stress Namjoon and Jimin were going through right now.

You were almost to the door when the lawyer stopped you, “Wait! You have to sign some things. I have documents and folders for you from your sister. Please, Miss L/N.” 

Your shoulders slumped before you whirled around and hurried back to the desk, hoping this signing wouldn’t take long.

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

“It won’t take long, Miss. It’s only a few signatures and then you can be on your way.” 

You grumbled sarcastically under your breath as you drove through downtown, fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel. What you thought would take ten minutes ended up taking twice that. The few documents and folders from your sister ended up being a box full. The said box, black and heavy, sat in the passenger seat of your SUV. The thin folder resting on top contained the papers for Namjoon and Jimin.

You wanted to look through the box, but you decided you could do that later after you got Namjoon and Jimin from the shelter. They didn’t need to be there any longer than they already were, it had been at least a week or so, according to the lawyer. God, what if someone had come in and adopted them!? Your sister would be rolling around in her grave if that were true. You’d seen how much she’d loved the two hybrids, if anything happened to them under your watch...she would come back to haunt your ass, you just knew it.

Your heart was fluttering in your chest as you pulled into the parking lot of the shelter and pulled into an empty parking spot, turning off your vehicle before taking a moment to survey the building. The parking lot had a few cars, which you assumed was mostly workers. The building was nice; a little too nice, if you really thought about it. The concrete walls were painted beige, the sign printed with the shelter name was big and neat, like it had just been put up to hang on the front of the building over the set of glass doors.

Taking a deep breath, you snag the folder on top of the box before sliding from your SUV and shutting the door, pressing the lock button as you made a beeline for the glass doors.

As soon as you stepped into the front lobby, you shivered slightly at the coolness. Someone apparently had the air cranked down. The lobby was a decent size with white walls, a few aesthetic paintings of flowers, and a row of chairs along one wall. The main desk was directly ahead, and you frowned at the sight of an empty chair. Clutching the folder in your hands, you approached and peered around.

“Hello?” You called out, wishing there was a bell or something you could ring. You jerked your attention towards the door behind the desk at several muffled shouts from behind it. Tilting your head curiously, you jerk back slightly when the door suddenly bursts open and a tall, blonde woman steps through.

“Oh! Hello!” She greets after a moment of silence, clearing her throat before she quickly takes a seat in the chair behind the desk. “I apologize if you’ve been waiting too long. Can I help you?” She flicks her dark eyes up to you expectantly for your answer.

“Oh, um, well,” You fumble to place the folder down on top of the desk as you also stumble for words, “I’m here to pick up two hybrids that the-,”

“You’re here for hybrids? Wonderful! Is there a certain species or gender you’re looking for? We have several prey hybrids and a few predator hybrids. We have deer, squirrels, wolves, cats, dogs…” She flips her hand around as she explains, “Most of our hybrids are males, but we have a few females if you would prefer them!”

You gape at her for several moments before you’re shaking your head, “No, no. The police brought in two hybrids last week, I think? Namjoon is a dog hybrid and Jimin is a cat hybrid. If I had known they were here sooner, I wouldn’t have let them stay so long…” You inch the folder towards her, “I have their papers right here.”

The woman tugs the folder from your grasp and flips it open, eyes scanning the documents within for a few moments before she glances up at you, “I know these two,” She offers you a look of sympathy, “They’ve had several interested parties, and they’re currently being visited by one of those parties now.”

“You can’t adopt them out, I have their papers and they belong to my sister-,” You choked on the words, clearing your throat, “I mean...I...they’re...they’re in my care now, and I have papers to prove it,” You gesture at the folder the woman still has clutched in her hands.

“We give owners 72 hours to claim their hybrids before we make them available for adoption, Miss,” She offers the folder back towards you, “If you leave your name and number, we can contact you if their adoption doesn’t go through..?”

You felt sick as soon as the words passed her lips. You couldn’t leave without Namjoon and Jimin. You didn’t know the first thing about taking care of hybrids, but you couldn’t let your sister down. She had trusted you with them. Not doing everything in your power to make things right didn’t settle well with you. You wouldn’t give up that easily.

Squaring your shoulders, you offered the secretary a beaming smile, “Actually, can I be shown some hybrids? I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” You grit the words out as sweetly and innocently as you can to the woman, who has her eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden shift in demeanor.

She must not dwell on it too long because she straightens after a moment with a smile, “Of course! Let me call Jackson and get you set up for a look around.”

You hoped you could lay eyes on Namjoon and Jimin during your tour. You wanted to make sure they were alright and that they were actually here. You didn’t want to disrespect your late sister’s wishes, but you knew that such matters could already be out of your hands. If worse came to worse, you suppose you could call your sister’s lawyer and get his help with this mess.

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

“Amanda said you weren’t sure what you wanted, is that right? We usually recommend a breed of dog or cat hybrids for first time owners….you are a first time owner, right? I’m assuming you’re not interested in our more exotic hybrids? We recommend more domestic hybrids to first timers.”

Jackson, it turned out, was a very happy and excitable person. He’d been rather enthusiastic ever since he’d come barreling through the doorway five minutes prior, a wide (and rather blinding) smile plastered on the tall brunette’s face. You’d been startled enough at his entrance to not put much effort into fighting him off when he’d rounded the desk and hugged you. You had tensed up immediately at the contact, eyes wide at how little he respected personal space. The hug, thankfully, was quick and brief before he’d offered out his hand to shake. You’d stared at his outstretched hand for several moments, perplexed that he hadn’t offered his hand in the first place. You would have preferred that.

You followed him through the door he had emerged from behind the secretary (Amanda apparently), folder tucked safely away (mostly) in your purse. “Yeah, first time owner,” You answered him, looking back and forth at the various doors that lined the brightly lit hallway. All the doors were shut, but a window in the doors offered you glimpses into the rooms beyond; the beds, desks, toys, and personal items you’d seen indicated they were the hybrid’s rooms.

“Most of them are out in the social area right now.” Jackson gestures to the door that you’ve both approached as he turns the handle and pushes it open, urging you through into the room, “I can introduce you to a few if you like?” 

You had been expecting to enter a room that was entirely too small and lackluster to be the social area for hybrids. You’d seen the pictures before of poor environments of shelters and adoption centers, little to no care for the enrichment of the hybrids that stayed there. You were, for lack of a better word, quite speechless at the room you stepped into.

The room was huge and brightly lit, walls painted an off white. It was filled with several tables, beanbags, and benches throughout, along with several enrichment items (including platforms that resembled trees) and toys. Hybrids of all kinds dotted around the room, most playing, sitting, or lounging around. You caught sight of several cats perched in the tree platforms. At the sound of you and Jackson entering, a few hybrids glance your way curiously before resuming what they had been doing prior. 

The surprise that filters over your face as you take it in causes the man beside you to laugh, “A lot of people have walked through that door with that same look on their face. Impressive, yes?”

“Very.” You agree, “I’ve heard so many horror stories over the years about how some shelters look and treat the hybrids there. It’s...nice to see something like this.” You continue honestly, catching the slight bob of his head in agreement with you.

Over the years, you had heard countless stories on hybrid shelters: poor living environments, sick and ill hybrids, very little enrichment tools afforded to the hybrids housed there. A poorly cared for and neglected hybrid without the proper tools to keep them happy often lead to hybrids falling ill, and some cases, even brought about their death. Unhappiness really could drag them down. Of course, hybrid shelters weren’t the only ones with a bad rap: the horror stories coming out of breeding centers were even worse.

“We try to keep the hybrids in our care as stress free as we can.” Jackson urges you further into the room, earning a few more curious looks from the hybrids in the social area. “Of course, it comes with challenges, especially when hybrids are brought back.” He sighs softly at the admission, “We are strict with the hybrids that have been returned more than three times, adopting them is much more rigorous than a hybrids that’s never been adopted or only returned once. We’re rigorous regardless, but you can never be too sure…”

You’re half listening to him as you look around, desperately trying to catch sight of Namjoon and Jimin, but your shoulders slump when you don’t find them. You’re disappointed, even if the shelter did appear to be great keeping hybrids happy. You glanced sideways at Jackson, wondering if you should ask about the two hybrids and let him know that they were, legally, yours. Then again, what if they were adopted by someone nice, who was much more qualified to take care of the two rather than you? What had your sister been thinking?

Apparently she hadn’t been thinking at all.

Turning slightly to face Jackson, you opened your mouth to question him about the two hybrids when a commotion from the doorway opposite the one you’d entered caught both of your attention. There’s a muffled commotion behind the door for several seconds before it’s hastily shoved open by a short, brunette woman who looks rather stressed before her eyes land on Jackson. She immediately seems relieved, mostly.

“Jackson! Thank god, can you spare a few minutes to help?” She glances behind her down the hallway, a shriek echoing behind her before she’s jerking her head back to Jackson. All the hybrids around you are tense and looking towards the woman and the commotion behind her. “Jimin is very upset, he-,”

At the mention of Jimin, you’re immediately perking up, tilting your head as you attempt to figure out what exactly is going on behind her. She could easily be talking about another Jimin, but your gut is quite certain she’s talking about the Jimin you know. A hand pats your shoulder, muffled words reaching your ears before you take note of Jackson hurriedly moving towards the woman. He moves quickly, but it's more of a fast walk, no doubt to avoid stressing or startling the hybrids in the room more than they are now.

“I don’t want to! I can’t! You can’t!” Your eyes grow wide at the familiar voice of the cat hybrid that you’d known for the two years that your sister had owned him. Why was he so stressed out? What was going on? Unable to stop yourself, you followed after Jackson, trying to keep your strides even, barely able to catch the door he and the woman disappeared behind before it could close behind them.

You knew that you probably weren’t permitted back here with permission or an escort, but damn the consequences. You had a soft heart and you had never heard the panic and fear in Jimin’s voice like that before. Surely they weren’t hurting him.

Slipping through the door, you let it close behind you as you stopped to survey the scene further down the hallway. In addition to Jackson and the woman, four others were present, including a young woman standing near the wall directly across from three males. One of the men was obviously staff, if the uniform similar to Jackson and the woman’s was any indication. He was halfway between the woman and the other two males, hands raised slightly in surrender as he murmured softly to the males. You couldn’t make out what he was saying to them and instead focused on the two hybrids.

You instantly recognized the two hybrids: Jimin and Namjoon. The black haired cat hybrid was practically wrapped around the back of the tall, brown-haired dog hybrid. You couldn’t even see Jimin’s dark ears, no doubt laid flat enough to blend in with his hair, and his fluffy dark tail was flicking back and forth in clear agitation with the situation. The male he was clinging to was just as tense, his larger ears straight and rigid. He had one hand gripping hold of the cat’s arms around his neck.

“Jaebum, what’s going on?” Jackson asks the question you’re trying to piece together, catching the attention of the four standing further down the hallway as he approaches.

Jaebum, the staff member standing between the two parties, looks away from the two hybrids towards Jackson as he lowers his hands and gently gestures in the direction of the woman against the wall, “Miss Yeri had an appointment to meet Namjoon and Jimin today. Everything was fine until she expressed that she only wanted to adopt Jimin,” He gestures towards Jimin now, who vehemently shakes his head, “I told her that I would have to check with you before we made a decision and Jimin just freaked out.”

“You can’t separate us, please,” Jimin whines, tightening his arms around Namjoon’s neck in the process. Namjoon grunts at the tighter hold that the Birman cat hybrid grips him with, sliding his attention towards Jackson as he nears.

“No one is going to separate you two,” Jackson soothes as he nears the two hybrids, apparently ignoring the young woman by the wall at her soft noise of protest. “I promise, Jimin, we don’t do that here, okay?” He stops advancing towards the two when Namjoon shifts slightly in place, nostrils flaring as he leans forwards slightly towards Jackson, sniffing at him. Jimin makes a soft noise by his ear at the action, but follows the dog hybrid in also sniffing.

It takes only seconds for a pair of blue eyes and brown eyes to meet yours. You can’t help the small and nervous smile you offer, hand raising nervously with a wave. The last time you’d seen the two hybrids had been at least three weeks ago. You gulp as the humans turn to see what’s caught the two males’ attention.

“Y/N-,” Jackson starts, but his voice is drowned out by the cat hybrid.

“Y/N-ah!” The lithe cat hybrid detaches himself from Namjoon, easily darting past Jackson and the short woman before they can stop him. He quickly closed the distance, practically bowling you over when he reaches you and attaches himself to you.

“Jimin-,” You squeak at his tighter-than-necessary hold as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, stumbling slightly at his weight, eyes wide as you look over his shoulder at the audience down the hall. You reach up to loosely clasp your arms around the hybrid, feeling a little awkward at doing so. The humans are all wearing dumbfounded looks, not making any effort to stop Namjoon from slipping past them to follow Jimin to you. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but his longer strides cover the distance almost as quickly.

“I knew you’d come, I kept telling Joonie!” Jimin pulls back slightly to search your face, “You’re here for us, right?” He doesn’t hesitate to bury his face against your shoulder, the ears atop his head no longer flattened like they’d been before. Noises of contentment rumble from his chest as his cheek rubs against your shoulder.

“Yes, I planned on it,” You tell him truthfully, glancing over at Namjoon as the German Shepherd pauses beside you both, “But I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be.” If there was already a claim on them, you weren’t sure how things would proceed if you tried to fight it. You were certain you had a good case, but according to Amanda, the ownership rights to the two were no longer in your hands.

You had doubted whether or not the two would want to even go home with you, despite your sister’s wishes. You’d visited them enough over the years for them to be familiar with you, but you had never really been subjected to such affection, especially from Jimin. The dark-haired male with his brilliant blue eyes was a sweetheart, but his affection had mostly been reserved for your sister and Namjoon. To be smothered against the cat right now was quite shocking. Was he really happy to see you because of you, or because you were the last connection he had to your sister?

Your eyes desperately searched for Namjoon, silently begging the dog hybrid to help you. Namjoon’s lips twitched slightly at your expression before he reached out to slip an arm around Jimin and peel the male away from you, much to the male’s protesting whines at Namjoon. Just when you thought you were free from suffocating from affection, something soft wrapped around your wrist and tugged. Unprepared for the tugging, you stumbled sideways slightly, bumping into the two hybrids.

You chose to ignore the cheshire-like grin on Jimin’s face as the three staff members approached, followed hesitantly by the young woman, Yeri. She didn’t look too happy, if the stormy look on her face that she sent you was anything to go by.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jackson apologized immediately as he approached, eyebrows raised as he took note of Jimin’s tail wrapped around your wrist and your close proximity to the two; you could barely feel the brush of Namjoon’s chest at your back. “Jimin isn’t normally like this. He usually prefers to keep his affections to Namjoon,” Jackson indicated the German Shepherd behind you.

“It’s fine,” You assure him softly, meeting Jimin’s stare before quickly focusing back on Jackson, “Actually, I’m interested in Jimin and Namjoon,” It’s another nervous smile from you, a little uneasy with all the attention focused solely on you. Jimin’s tail tightens slightly on your wrist and you can feel Namjoon’s chest crowd slightly closer to your back. Obviously they can smell your distress with the situation. You do your best to relax and shove aside your nerves.

“What?” Jackson seems taken aback, “Are you sure? You’re a first time owner and handling two hybrids is a lot of work. You hadn’t had time to look at the other hybrids..”

“Yes, I’m sure. Actually, I have their paperwork right here with me.” You reach with your free hand to pull the folder with their papers from your purse and offer it towards Jackson, “Jimin and Namjoon belonged to my sister. She signed them over to me in the event of her death in her Will. I would have gotten them sooner, but the lawyer’s office didn’t contact me until recently.” You explained as quickly as you could as Jackson flipped open the folder to look over the papers within, “Your secretary, Amanda, told me that owners only have 72 hours to claim their hybrids when their brought to the shelter, but I wasn’t informed that I was their owner until literally an hour ago.”

Jackson hummed and nodded along as he listened, “The proper paperwork is here, but...we’ll have to discuss it with the Director and see how we proceed with this from here. The two have had several interested in them, including Miss Yeri.”

The mentioned woman straightens, “She can have the dog,” She says stiffly, sliding her attention from you to Jimin, who refuses to acknowledge her, head tucked under Namjoon’s chin, his ears camouflaged in his hair once more. “I’m only interested in the cat.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her balant disinterest in Namjoon, appalled that she thought she could separate the two. They’d been together since before your sister had adopted them, at least that’s what she told you, and despite the fact that cats and dogs were notorious for not getting along, the two surprisingly had very few spats. Jimin’s display of distress at the thought of being separated from Namjoon hadn’t seemed to make the woman change her mind; how many people had been interested in them, only to want one of them? Had Jimin or Namjoon been thrown into distress more than once since they’d been here?

Had your sister been here, you had no doubt she would be threatening to throw hands with Yeri. The mental image almost made you crack a smile. You, on the other hand, bit your tongue and said nothing. At least, for now. Where your sister was quick to anger, you had a much cooler head on your shoulders.

“Like I said before Miss Yeri, we don’t separate hybrids that are bonded.” Jackson repeats, not even looking towards the woman he’s speaking to, “Doing so causes untold stress on the hybrids and diminishes their quality of life.” He closes the folder and looks at you expectantly, “Let’s go to the director and get this sorted out, yeah? This is a bit too complicated for me to deal with.” He offers a smile before turning his attention to the two hybrids, “Namjoon, Jimin. Please let Jaebum return you to your room?”

“But-,” Jimin starts to protest, reaching out to loop through yours and tug you closer. You reach over to brush your fingers over his arm in an attempt to comfort him, frowning as he trembled against Namjoon.

“Jiminie,” Namjoon’s voice was low and soothing as he speaks for the first time since you’d come across the commotion, “It’s alright,” You glanced upwards to look at him, watching curiously as he rubbed his chin against the top of Jimin’s head, the cat still tucked against him. Namjoon reached out to gently disentangle Jimin’s arm from yours and carefully unwound the younger’s tail from your wrist. “C’mon, let’s go take a nap, okay?” Jimin whined at the loss of contact, but he slowly nodded, wrapping his arms and tail around Namjoon.

Jaebum took a step towards the two, but immediately froze at the rumbling growl from Namjoon. You didn’t have the heart to blame Namjoon; Jaebum hadn’t helped the situation earlier.

Namjoon gently pulled Jimin away from you, his tail brushing you as he passed, murmuring softly to the smaller male tucked against him as they moved slowly down the hallway, Jaebum cautiously following behind.

You watched them quietly before Jackson clearing his throat brought your attention to the three humans still standing in the hallway with you.

“Shall we?” Jackson asked, gesturing towards the door behind you that lead back to the social area. You nod slowly, stepping aside to let Jackson lead the way.

“I’m coming with as well,” You turn to look at Yeri with furrowed eyebrows as she immediately stomps past you to follow after Jackson. She’d been repeatedly denied her request, but apparently she was far from giving up. You had a feeling that she was more than willing to play dirty to get what she wanted.

Surely if what Jackson said was true, this Director would shut down her request to separate Namjoon and Jimin and send her on her way. You didn’t particularly feel comfortable with even the slightest possibility of Jimin going home with her. Perhaps she would be a better owner than she appeared to be, but could you really let Jimin go home with her if it came down to it?

No, you decided. Your sister would haunt your ass. Scratch that, she would become corporeal and kick your ass.

Straightening, you sent one last look down the hallway before turning and following after Jackson and Yeri.

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You were ready to throw hands at Yeri fifteen minutes into the meeting with the Director.

Calm thoughts. Margaritas on the beach. Warm towels fresh out of the dryer. That carton of Rocky Road ice cream waiting for you at home. 

“Suri will just love him, Jimin can bond with her.”

God, she was still talking. You closed your eyes, chin propped on your hand as you sighed deeply for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. After your first dramatic sigh, Yeri had taken to promptly ignoring you, focusing solely on the woman sitting behind the desk in front of you both. 

Mrs. Choi, the Director, didn’t seem quite impressed with Yeri either, but she had yet to tell the woman to shut up and leave. She remained quiet, aside from the initial introductions and a soft, “Our policy states that we don’t separate bonded hybrids” directed at Yeri once the woman had started in.

Of course, Yeri was either too stubborn or too daft to even care. She started to talk about her other hybrid, a ragdoll named Suri, and how well taken care of and loved Jimin would be once she adopted him. She had everything ready for a new hybrid and you had sworn her eyes got all teary-eyed when she explained how taken she was with Jimin at first sight.

You wanted to punch her. She kept going and going and going, and even now, she hadn’t taken the hint to close her mouth. 

“I’ve owned Suri for five years and she’s been my only ever since. Jimin would be so perfect for her and gosh, the cute little kittens they’d-,”

Jerking upwards in the chair, you slammed your hand on the arm rest, startling the woman beside you enough to actually make her look over at you in shock.

Satisfied you had her attention now, you fixed her with a glare, “You are not separating Jimin from Namjoon. You saw how distressed he was at the mere thought of it, but apparently you don’t care. Are you really that heartless?”

Your sister would be so proud right now. “My sister adopted them together and that’s how they’re going to stay.”

Yeri stared at you, mouth agape for almost a minute before she seemed to get over her shock on your outburst, “Well, where’s your sister? If she cared about them so much, why are they here in the first place?”

“Because she’s dead. Murdered.” You’re surprised you keep your voice steady, although you can feel the fresh burn of tears in your eyes. Tilting your chin up slightly, you force yourself not to let the tears fall, “You’re not separating them. I won’t let you or anyone else. They’ve had enough grief since losing my sister, and I sure as hell am not going to subject them to more.”

“Ms. Chae,” Mrs. Choi’s soft voice filters into the silence that falls over the room and Yeri slowly turns to look at her, “The two hybrids in question will not be separated. Either you are willing to adopt them together or not at all. That is final.”

Yeri opens her mouth and closes it several times before she huffs and abruptly stands before stomping dramatically from the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Good riddance.

“Ms. L/N,” Turning sharply back to the woman behind the desk, you straighten in place, “There has been another party that has shown interested in both Namjoon and Jimin. They have filled out the necessary paperwork this morning to begin the adoption proceedings for the two.”

You deflate almost instantly at her words, sitting heavily back against the backrest of the chair. That was it then? You had been too late by mere hours. “I...I see.”

“However,” Mrs. Choi continued, and you glanced up at her curiously, “Since this is..a unique situation, along with the fact that you know the two hybrids in question, we’ve decided to make an exception.”

“Really!?” You perch at the edge of the chair at the prospect.

“If you fill out the adoption paperwork today, we would like for you to come back tomorrow for an interview.” She smiled ever so slightly, “In cases where more than one party is interested in a hybrid, we conduct an interview with the parties and then have them to meet with the hybrid in question and see how they interact.” Mrs. Choi paused to gauge your reaction before she continued, “Ultimately, the decision is up to the hybrid, but the interview and paperwork does help us weed out the...less-than-desirable applicants. Is that alright with you?” She prompts gently, leaning forward in her chair.

 You’re nodding almost immediately in answer, “That...that would be great!” Were you really doing this? There wasn’t even a guarantee that it would work out in your favor.

“Where can I fill out the paperwork?”

TAGLIST: N/A

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[kkulmoon]

SUGAR & SALT |”In the winter things brew”(1)

— pairings: a friend of a friend/ rich boy!kim taehyung x baker!reader (f) + park jimin x named OC & kim seokjin x named OC

(appearances by other idols, to be announced when appropriate)

— genre: angst (?), romance, smut (later chapters), slow burn, fluff (occasional)

— word count : 5,197 words

— warnings/content: enemies to lovers (?), slice of life, unrequited love, discrimination (later on), religion (writing about very lightly, so some may take offence), countryside-ish au,

— synopsis: You're a small town baker, whose business is on the line following questionable decisions made by your town's political board. You decide to take action in order to salvage your reputation as the town's favourite baker. 

What you didn't expect was to fight for your precious secular life that keeps being invaded by the best friend of the owner of your rivalling bakery, Taehyung. He also happens to be the one in charge of your lack sugar, due to a minor (depending on the point of view) mistake, though he's known as quite the conscientious count.

You're a baker.

A bad one, it seems. Even with Taehyung, Jimin, Seokjin and Ada, the finest products and tools at your disposal, you seem to cook up a disappointing dish. So whose fault is it really?

☁︎ next chapter ☁︎

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You and your roommate, Ada, just arrived at the ski resort. Scraping sounds resound as you drag your luggages and clump them by your respective beds. It's now officially year seven of "Vacation for those with low earning reports", which meant visiting your local (almost) ski resort in Punniton for the seventh year in a row. The first one happened back in your first year of high school after you wanted to feel independent which lead you to meet your best friend, Ada, and planning what turned out to be the most unplanned trip of your life but you still made it. You managed to go and come back and that's what counted.

"Soooo I want to go and check the slopes but I know how you much you like your afternoon nap, so I'll leave you to it." Ada says riffling through her bag for her skiing pants.

You just hum in response, already liking the firmness of the mattress. Though it has been seven years in a row, going to the same resort every winter break, you still adopted your same mundane routine. You change into a cosy fit, and make your way to the lobby to take a look at the restaurant. While you did like skiing, you particularly liked food, so to you, bad food meant a bad vacation. You make a quick beeline for the pastry section and let your eyes get inspired by the plethora of new-age and classic pastries. One of the other reasons you visited the resort each year was to scout any new pastries that you could debut back at home, in the bakery. Punniton's ski resort was known for providing a variety of pastries for its international guests.

So yes, while you did go for skiing the first two years, the remaining five where simply to spark your creative juices in the kitchen, but that's something only you needed to know. Looking at the display had your mouth watering like a Pavlovian dog. One piece before your nap wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I have a-" you say.

"Could I have a-" another voice echos beside you.

You turn to your side.

"Oh!" the more than familiar male exclaims.

"Woahhhh, Jimin?! like for real, THE Park Jimin!" You lunge at him, wrapping your arms around him.

You feel the vibrations from his chest as his laugh fills your ears. You take a step back, making a thorough examination of your more than dazzling former high school dance partner. You're happy to see that not much has changed, at least not on the outside but he seems to carry an even brighter aura around him.

"Hmmm yeah, it's just me," he says sporting his smug face, one that has had you cheesing ever since you met him for the first time in tenth grade.

His eyes soften and performer Jimin takes the backseat as he asks, "How have you been? It's been a hot minute."

You think back to your high school days and remember Park Jimin before he became Park Jimin. He would squeeze in dance practice before classes started. His weekends were spend in one room, the kind with mirrors and his eyes where always set, burning with passion to make it.  With your unassuming character you genuinely thought that someone so ambitious would end up corrupted. You couldn't have been more wrong. Jimin had made it, he was standing right in front of you and it felt like you just left dance practice back in high school and you were on your way to get a bite.

"Good, thanks! But I am feeling a lot better now," you can't help the smile that is plastered on your face, Jimin has always had that effect. "I am still working at the bakery..." you glance at him and you are happy to see that his interest hasn't flattered unlike others, "and I'm head chef now and get to choose what the bakery sells!"

"That's nice to hear Y/N," Jimin says taking an apprehensive look at Y/N.

While Y/N was never one to dream, she still had hopes and fantasies. Something she never knew that Jimin was aware of . Back in twelfth grade, before graduation, Jimin accidentally came across Y/N's recipe log for the bakery. Between the ending pages she had sketched a drawing for a shop sign, specifically a sign for a bakery , on it written "Sugar".

Jimin sighs, shakes his head and asks, "Anyways, to what do I owe the pleasure?" You simply smirk at him.

"No way! You are still doing that???" You nod. "With Ada?" You nod harder as your eyes crinkles.

"I don't know whether to find that sad or cute," Jimin says to which you swat his arm repeatedly as  you glare at him.

"Ohhh I see, just cause you became a big city dancer, now you're too good for our cheap breaks, uh?" You stare at him questioningly. Jimin is just about to answer as you raise your hand," Let me just remind you, Mister Park, that you were a part of this the first three years."

Jimin simply answers, "A very proud participant at that," and now it's your turn to look at him with soft eyes.

You look back at the cashier by the counter, " Could I have two slices of the Banoffee pie, please?" You and Jimin glance at each other .

Back when it was the three of you (Ada, Jimin and you), the first food you ate together at the resort was always Banoffee pie. This happened after you found out you all had a bit of an obsession with cream.

Jimin forcibly pays for the pies as you look for a place for the two of you. While Jimin goes to the bathroom and to fetch the cutlery, you sneak a message to Ada.

[17:15] guess who I just bumped into?

[17:16]  sweetie 💖really, you know I don't like guessing games ?

[17:17] you don't, expect when it comes to _______ ?

[17:18]  sweetie 💖To who?????

[17:19] you're no fun :(

[17.20]Here are some hints: dance, blonde, high school 👀?

[17:21]  sweetie 💖Haha, very funny 🖕🏻, but I told you I was over it, it has been like 4 years christ 🙄

[17.23] You known what, whatever 😑 first don't use the Lord's name in vain and second I'll cut to the chase, Jimin, the one who you have had a crush on for almost a decade / our high school friend is here... we're in the lounge area by the restaurant eating banoffee pie, so if you want to join in on an old tradition please do pass by, Miss "I'm in Denial" 😘

Jimin sits down across from you. You talk about his time in the big city, about getting to dance for a living. The more you talk about it the wider his smile gets and the brighter his aura shines. While your modest self can't comprehend the allure of such a lifestyle, you can understand Jimin, and what his dreams mean to him. That's enough for you to mimic his smile.

Just as you and Jimin are about to part ways, you see the familiar bounce of a black bone straight bob heading your way. As you are about to call out Ada's name, Jimin turns his head at the rustling sound of Ada's skiing pants. Now it's your turn to take the backseat. The atmosphere turns silent and calm. The closer Ada gets the stronger her deep breaths resound. You wonder if she is out of breath from seeing Jimin or from rushing to the restaurant to eat some pie. Her trailing eyes gives you the answer.

"Hey," Jimin cuts through the silent with a small wave and a comforting smile.

"Hey!" Ada responds in an overly cheery voice, black hair strands sticking to her forehead.

 I told you I wasn't lying," you snap your fingers motioning at Jimin standing by your side.

"I see..." she mumbles while fumbling with the straps of her skiing overalls.

"Are you guys just going to stand there like you don't know each other," you comment and they glare at you.

"What!? you make it seem like you hated each other... I mean the least you could do is like hug or something," you add pursing your lips.

Ada looks at you and her face flinches which means she is suppressing her "Really!?" face. You simply shake your head at her with widened eyes and try your best to suppress a smile.

Jimin takes the first step, contradicting his past behaviour. While Ada is looking for a way to reassure him that he doesn't have to do it and that you are just messing with them, Jimin takes another step, more than he has ever taken. Ada's past betrayals keep her rooted where she stands. Just like a bride, Jimin takes the last steps towards Ada, looks at her, smiles at her and finally sees her for the second time, except this may as well be the first. Ada's arms let go of her strap to smoothen her overall, because now Jimin is looking at her. They stare and end up smiling at each other. As cute at this is, you're growing impatient so you give Jimin a little push. As they engulf one another, it's finally time for all three of you to exhale in unison.

Jimin lets go of Ada to brush his hand through his hair while Ada moistens her lips. He reaches back for a bag beside his chair and extends it to Ada.

"I didn't know Y/N told you I was were. I was planning on giving it to you later. But you're here now so... yeah..."

Ada takes the bag, peaks inside with a nose scrunching smile.

"It's tradition, and traditions should be kept, right?" Jimin questions and Ada's smile flattens a bit.

She sighs and says, "Some traditions are meant to be broken." Ada stares right at Jimin, hoping this time around he understands her.

Inside the bag was a carefully packed slice of banoffee pie.

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A couple of days pass by. You and Ada hit the slopes everyday after your collective morning walks. The two of you soak up the festive spirit of the resort. Christmas is a week away, which means that work is slowly but steadily creeping  back into your conscience. But for now, you choose to appease yourself with copious amounts of  marshmallow filled hot chocolate and the resort's exquisite selection of pastries.

Today is no different, with your hot chocolate in one hand, you point eagerly at the Yule Log Cake that wasn't there yesterday. The cashier shakes her head at you while cutting into the cake. You sit by the table you and Jimin shared on your first day and indulge in the delicacy in front of you . You're in such as trans that you don't hear Ada creeping close to you.

"Wahhhh!" she screams as she shakes your shoulder. Your cutlery clings as it hits the floor and you involuntarily spit some hot chocolate onto the table. In your moment of distress Ada takes the opportunity to steal a bite of your cake. You put on your blank look and stare at her dumbfounded. She takes a short look at you, smiles and takes a seat across from you.

"Soooo... I know we didn't plan to do anything this afternoon but Jimin hit me up and said that there was a bus from here that would take us to the ice skating rink." She checks if you're doing fine now and resumes, "You know it would be just like our first trip, tradition and all."

"I thought you wanted to break traditions," you say and it comes out more harshly than you intended it to.

Ada rolls her eyes, "Yes, but I was only referring to some not all," and now it's your turn to roll your eyes at her.

"Anyways do you want to come or no?"

"No." you say and Ada ticks her head to the side surprised.

"Well, that doesn't matter, this is my payback for the Jimin stunt you pulled. Here's your ticket. If you don't show up I will expect a refund by the end of the day," she says slapping the ticket onto your right palm.

Ada stands up to leave, as she's walking you shout, " Don't act like you didn't like it," you scoff, how ungrateful can one actually be.

You take a look at the ticket and cringe at the greyish hue on your hands. The only downside of winter. You basically need to lotion up every three hours. You hurriedly devour the rest of your cake and rush to your room to change.

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Everyone is already seated on the bus when you arrive, panting  from your little 'run'. You take it as a sign to go easy with the cakes. Your eyes skim the seats, the bus is narrow and hot, and you feel both happy and betrayed when you see Ada sitting with Jimin near the back of the bus. You walk towards them sporting an exaggerated fake smile .

"Hey Y/N!" Jimin says while glancing between you and Ada, checking if the current situation is okay.

You nod reassuringly. To that Jimin points at a mop of wavy black hair infront of him.

"This is my friend Taehyung, he's staying with me at the resort." At that you and Taehyung glance at each to other and exchange courteous and straight smiles.

Taehyung is focused on typing on his phone and you aren't interested enough to reprimand him for using it in a phone free zone. To combat the everlasting presence of smartphones in our modern day to day life, Punniton's Ski Resort decided to place certain phone free zones. It seemed people liked the idea enough since no one has yet to complain. Taehyung however doesn't fit into people. This is something you would come to realize the more you got to know him.

You glance at Jimin with a questioning look and he makes a head motion towards the seat beside Taehyung. You keep bickering back and forth about where you should sit that Taehyung ends up stealing a quick glance at you, but this time he gives you an actual genuine smile, though there's still no teeth. Feeling rude and defeated, you sit yourself down next to him. You try your best to properly fit into the bus seat but your winter jacket, which is slightly too big because you couldn't afford the better model in your size, keeps getting in the way. Finally you give up and simply unzip the jacket.

You're in a phone free bus, in the mountains, so you wonder how the hell this Taehyung dude manages to get a reception, but at least he isn't bored like you. You know who else isn't bored? Ada and Jimin, or as you call them "Admin" because they have been affecting your mood for the past days, but right now is gotta be the worst instance of them all. It's all giggles and more giggles and small claps. All I get when I turn to my left is a man with a  handsome face and even better looking hands typing himself away. You wish you could at least have the window seat and busy yourself by looking at the landscape.

You nudge Taehyung a bit, surprisingly he instantly turns his head your way.

"Hmmm..." You start, "not to be rude or anything but would you mind if we exchanged seats," you point as his phone,      " since you're typing and I have nothing to do, I would just like to look outside."

Taehyung motions for you to get up with his hand. You step aside, he gets off his seat and you realise that he's at least a head taller than you. You waddle into the window seat and fix your jacket so that Taehyung has enough space to sit. As soon as he sits back down, he focuses his attention back on the typing. Not wanting to disturb him you mumble to yourself, "Thank you."

Ten minutes pass by and you're bored again. You look at Taehyung who has his head leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. Now that you think about it, despite the endless scrolling and stalking you did on social media you've never seen Taehyung on any of Jimin's social media posts. But you also knew that his social media was more for business than for private reasons. Though you had never seen him before, he definitely looked like a big city boy. He wore classic muted colors, sleek clothing that looked brand new and actually fit him. Between you and Ada, you didn't really care about how you looked from a fashion standpoint, but even with her "low income report" Ada managed to look like she came from the big city.

You, on the other hand, were looking awfully shabby beside the other three individuals. Even if Taehyung himself didn't make you feel this way, just looking at him felt like an insult to your physical appearance. You felt like you were being scolded by your mom to fix your hair, your clothes, your everything, basically fix your entire self.

Now that you think about it, it has been a while since you talked to your mom, you make a mental note to message her when you get back to the resort. You turn around, kneeling on your seat to find out that Ada has dosed off and Jimin has voluntarily remained silent even when he can clearly see that you have no one to talk to. He looks up at you.

"By the way, my mom told me to say hi to you and congratulate you on your sold out show, like a while ago, but better late than never, right?" you say, trying to lift up the mood.

Jimin's eyes are moving around and he's chewing his pinky. He must be thinking about something. Yet he manages, in classic Jimin fashion, to give you his endearing eye smile.

"Well, tell her thank you and that I will come visit her soon."

You give him a shocked face, "Oh so that's how it works, all I need is to compliment you a little and then you will come visit."

You nod your head, "Uh, uh I see how it works."

Jimin glances at Ada before he looks back at you and says, "All you need to do is ask."

You give him a tight smile and sit back down on your seat.

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You wake up from the sudden rush of cold air you feel on your arm. Hastily, you turn you head towards where Taehyung should be, eyelids still dormant and hum softly.

"Errm... Y/N, we have arrived..." Taehyung says poking your arm.  

Still drowsy from sleep, you barely register the sound of Ada speaking in the back. You feel a hand touch your hair and instantly you're awake, ready to attack.

Taehyung furrows his brows at your reaction, clearly confused, but still glad that you're finally awake. You don't know Taehyung, so you decide not to punish him for touching your hair, but you do flip Ada off for giving him a green light. She responds by sticking her tongue out. The bus driver's voice echos through the intercom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our stop, Lake Punniton. It's currently 14:13. You will be able to explore the forest and skate up until it's time for departure at 17:30. I would recommend that we gather back here at this same stop,10 minutes prior to the departure time. Anyways, I don't want to keep you waiting, so enjoy your time here. Once again, thank you for choosing Punniton's Ski Resort!"

Soon after his commentary, everyone rushes out of the bus. You step out of the bus and instantly want to get back in there. Your cheeks are tingling and your ears feel like they are practically boiling. Someone pulls you into a side hug as you see a flash go off in front of you. You're about to protest and say that you did not agree to appear in any promotional content for the resort, but you notice that behind the camera is Taehyung.

"I hope you don't mind me shooting you guys, it's not often that I get to take pictures of other people," Taehyung says waving his camera around. It's only now that your mind registers that this is your first time actively listening to his voice.

"Nahh, you don't have to worry. You can take as many pictures as you want so long you promise that we can get them as well," Ada chirps with a sense of new found positivity.

It's official, you think, the Jimin effect is now rooted back in place. While you're happy that Ada is opening up to Jimin once again, you're slightly uncomfortable because of the uncertain outcome of her trust in him. You don't have time to keep pondering on the issue as Jimin pulls the oversized sleeve of your jacket.

"C'mon, let's go!"

You retrieve your sleeve with a simple pull but keep walking towards the rink. Once there, Taehyung hands you a pair of skates and you thank him.

"You're welcome," he says sitting beside you on the bench. Now that he's speaking directly with you, and it is just the two of you, you pay close attention to the characteristics of his voice. Sleek, classically deep, calm and a tad bit emotionless. He sounds good. Not wanting to compliment him, even in your own head, you convince yourself that that is how people from the big city sound like.

Once you're done lacing up your skates, you motion to Taehyung that you're going for a little round. He nods while gesturing at his camera. You push off from the bench and let yourself glide over the frozen lake. The ice is a bit rough but you can't really complain, it's a lake not an actual skating rink. The only advantage to skating in a lake in comparison to a rink, is the unlimited space you get to roam. Obviously some places are blocked because of the unstable ice but there's still a vast part of the lake available. You skate straight for as long as you can while staring at the sky.

"Y/N!" Jimin shouts, "Come over here!"

Jimin and Ada are ahead of you. You pick up the speed only to fumble when attempting a snowplow stop. You inevitably fall on the ice.

"Karma." Ada utters under her breath.

You give her your best stank face while attempting to get yourself back up. You end up falling down again as you get a gush of snow on your face from Taehyung's perfect snowplow stop. You sigh defeated. Taehyung glances at you worryingly. He extends his clothed hand at you. You are mad but not mad enough to freeze your ass off on the ice, so you accept his help. With a strong grip Taehyung pulls you back up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ma—"

"Yeah it's okay, as Ada said, karma," you cut him off pointing towards the benches by the frozen lake, "I am gonna go for a walk in the forest, just so I can, you know, clear my mind."

As you skate away, Taehyung makes an attempt to catch up to you in order to give you a better apology but Jimin holds him back and tells him, " Don't worry, it's not you, it's just because you come from the big city".

While Jimin isn't wrong, he isn't totally right either. Yes, you are not fond of him because he comes from the big city, though you are unaware of where he actually lives. You also find it hard to like him because you feel inferior to him. Unlike you, Taehyung actually carries a genuine sense of self-esteem and comfortability with oneself. He was never once, ever since meeting you and Ada, intimidated by your friendship with Jimin. He never showcased an ounce of uncertainty with regards to the activities you've shared so far. You, on the other hand, knew that both Ada and Jimin did not inform you about a forth addition to the trip because that would have been a sure way to keep you seated in the restaurant eating your afternoon and health away.

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Beep! Beep! Beep!

You reach for your phone to stop the timer. You were mad which meant you needed a walk. It had been a while since you had taken one of your timed anger walks. Though now that you have calmed down you realise you were more hurt than mad. Once again, walking blesses you with its magic. It has been twenty minutes, you don't know how far you have walked but your shoes are covered with a thick layer of powdery snow. Unexpectedly, a couple white spots show up on your jacket. You look up to find out that it has started to snow. You should probably head back to the skating area before you get lost.

Scrunching sounds fill the forest as you move forward back to the skating area. Now that you're calm, you know that there really isn't a reason for you to be mad at the situation. Yes, you wanted it to be like old times, just the three of you but that's not how things work. Not for you at least, they have never been how you wanted them. That's how you became so modest.

The area around your neck is white. The melting snow is trickling down inside of your jacket. Damn oversized jacket! You will need to buy an extra large scarf to survive this winter.

By the time you reach the ice skating area, your scarf is very moist, your eyelashes are white and your chin is wet. You sit by the bench  to search for Ada's bright red beanie. You had gifted it to her during last years's Secret Santa. Because of this, it was a red knitted beanie with a white motif of a dancer in the center. If she had known it was you, she would have blamed you for reminding her of him.

You can't seem to find the red beanie amongst the crowd. Click. Click. You snap your head to the side to find Taehyung's camera pointed at you. You stare into it. Click. You look away. Click. You stand up to walk away. Click.

Taehyung didn't know you so he could understand your initial dismissal of him. Plus, Jimin had warned him that you weren't very fond of city people but he still insisted that you were friendly. However, you weren't making it easy for him to approach you, let alone get to know you. So he decided to breakthrough in his own way, the one he felt the most comfortable about, by using his camera. Taehyung didn't only approach you to catch your attention but because the scenery, with you on the bench, a slight layer of snow still on top of  your tightly coiled ball of hair, would make a great picture.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Taehyung interjects before you manage to go too far.

Taehyung jogs to catch up with you.

"Where are the others?" you ask, hoping he will get the gist.

"They went for a walk," he says keeping it short, just how Jimin told him. "I stayed because I wanted to take some pictures of the scenery," he adds, lifting up his camera to prove his point.

You didn't ask but he still told you. Something you would find out later is that Taehyung often does or says things somebody asked him to.

Here's all you've gathered about Taehyung so far: nice (or at least seems like it), handsome, artistic, big city boy, stylish, confident and persistent. With of all of this, things aren't looking good for Taehyung with regards to the possibility of you befriending him. While Taehyung's profile was far from ideal, there was one big pro that could compensate for everything.

Heis, after all, friends with Jimin. That must mean something?

"How come you decided to follow Jimin here?"

Taehyung turns his head towards you, a smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing in particular honestly, I was free, Jimin offered, I accepted." Taehyung shrugs his shoulders. This is something Jimin would let you know. Things with Taehyung were often like this, meaning easy.

"That's nice, I guess..." You think you should add something to fill up the silence but there's nothing to be said, so you make shit up.

"Be honest. This must be a downgrade compared to what you are usually used to, right?"

Small ridges forn around Taehyungs nose and under his eyes. Oopps... really Y/N!? You couldn't get your discriminatory ego in check.

"I'm so so-" you start.

"No need to be. I mean, you're not totally wrong," he counters swaying his head side to side.

You turn to look at him, eyes wide. Taehyung looks back raising his eyebrows with a close mouthed smile that accentuates his bread cheeks.

"Ahhhh, how dare you, "you respond with an exaggerated scoff. Now, Taehyung eyes's crinkle and you snicker lightly.

Okay, maybe if you gave yourself some time and a healthy dose of welcoming energy, you and Taehyung could become more than just acquaintances. Not exactly friends but not strangers either.

"First of all, please do not post those pictures of me." You turn to stare at your shoes. "And secondly, I'm sorry for my behaviour, that is, my unwarranted bias towards you"

"No worries, it's all already forgotten." That's another thing Taehyung does a lot, forget on demand.

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You and Taehyung are seated at a table in the eating area by the bus top when you see Ada and Jimin walk towards you.

"Feeling better, Y/N?" Ada asks.

You dismiss her mocking tone. "Yes, I was until exactly 5 seconds ago." You turn to look at Taehyung and take a deep breath.

"Much better," you say.

"Uh oh, I see you have broken the barrier." Jimin smiles at the two of you. "That's great, in fact fantastic! It will make the journey back home sooo much easier," he says visibly relieved.

"What do you mean?" You look at Jimin questioningly.

"He didn't tell you?" he says, looking at you. Turning to Taehyung, "You didn't tell her?"

You wave your hands around.

"Taehyung lives in Warringham," Ada swiftly adds.

Before you have the time to interrogate Taehyung, he's flying off the seat frantically searching through his bag and his jacket.

"What is it?" you ask.

Taehyung doesn't answer. You look at Jimin and he shrugs.

Taehyungs is in frenzy mode for a good five minutes before he calms down. Though I doubt it's because he has solved the problem.

The driver calls for everyone to get back on board. You hurry inside before everyone gets in to get the best seats, the ones at the back.

Though you did not talk about it, you assume the same positions you had on the journey to the lake. It was as if you had gone back in time, experiencing déjà vu. Jimin and Ada are laughing except this time they are beside you, and Taehyung is frantically typing himself away. Only this time he looks worried.

Now that you're in the bus the barrier between you and Taehyung has rebuilt itself and you don't dare to ask him if everything is alright. This will happen a lot of times between you and Taehyung. A constant cycle: open, close, open, close, open and repeat.

You are all seated down in the bus, three best friends and a spontaneous add-on that currently look very distressed. Only you didn't know that the add on would end up making you similarly distressed, if not more.

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— a/n: thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed the first chapter ! Any sort of feedback is appreciated. I do tend to mix the reader’s POV with third person omniscient POV.

[orenstern]

I’d like to admit that I’ve never in my life read the Diary of Anne Frank. I’ve stood outside her house before, almost 14 years ago, and could feel something of her echoes, but never had before or since seen her words or witnessed her mind.

Up until a week ago, that is, when I chanced upon a copy of her diary. I picked it up the very moment I saw it, an instant reaction and so quick I forgot to realize I’d always been innately afraid to read her work, her letters to self. Because it somehow always seemed to me like, of all the work available by now-dead writers, her diary entries would feel the most like ghost stories, like real life talking to a ghost. It’s always scared me, the notion of talking to this particular ghost. No other ghost ever proposed to raise in me the slightest feather of a concern let alone fear.

But she always had.

And I can’t even remember having seen a portrait of her until last week. As hard as that might be to believe.

Where she was concerned, it has been like living in a house where all of the mirrors had blankets covering them. And believe you me, I’ve been in many houses where real life people were still living there and it was just precisely that, blankets over the mirrors, and the inhabitants were just looking at me without a hint of shame, sorrow or remorse in their eyes. Without any hint of knowledge of the display they had erected. If it fact it was them who had erected it. Just, this is the way it is here looks in their eyes.

The fucking things you see over a life. The understated non-plussed near-miss, oh boy did it hit though I am yet unstruck, horror you sometimes see. And how often it doesn’t even faze you. You just step over it like you would any old mound of dirt, not at all an active grave, except the low key and surpressed knowledge reminding you that all the earth is an active 5 billion year old Grave and Tomb and Monument and Pyre all wrapped into one, and all the universe a 20 billion year old same thing.

So I picked up the book. And I gazed at the front cover for a good long while. At her portrait. At Anne. I looked at her portrait for the first time, and I transported my mind back to her house, and I imagined she and I were standing there together, side by side. Outside. Looking at her own house in silence, together. And we both walked away, together, headed for a fast train to Paris, by way of a stroll along the Prisengracht, and short interlude at the Van Gogh museum. No other manifestations than that. I did not even imagine our bodies or our faces. I just remembered having done that before, peering out from the windows of my own eyes, with a companion by my side, and imagined this time, Anne was there with me doing the same.

And then after these thoughts, I opened the book. But I turned immediately to her very final entry. And I read only this Tuesday, August 1st, 1944 entry.

I’m sure I am not the only one who has read her writings and recognized themself in her words. But for certain, what she had written seemed and felt like something I’d written at least a thousand times. Her precise sentiments, and word choices, her very style. Parts of her style is my style. I must have picked that up either from writers who were familiar with her writings or just plucked it out of the wind somehow or some other way. But still that was not the eerie part.

The eerie part was the last two paragraphs. Which I copied down by hand into one of my own journals, with a blunt non-sharpened 3 inch pencil with no eraser no less, was all I had at the time. It was eerie because for at least a decade but more and more lately like the curvings of a quadratic formula, I’ve been hearing the phrase “Set Intentions” like you might hear during guided meditation or whenever someone wants to Exalt the Secret of Manifestation to you.

And I wasn’t at all going to share any of this with anyone. I had no plans to say any of this outloud to write anything on it or engage it any further or even ever again. I wrote the passage in my journal and I’d figured I was fully intending to never ever look back at that passage, or talk about it, or allow myself to recall it, and otherwise resolved to keep the blankets over this mirror forever.

But then I was scrolling this evening and just saw someone had shared a picture of Anne. And that too was a first for me to witness. Now I saw her face twice in a week, at the bookends of the week, both on Wednesdays at roughly about the same time of day. Happy to call that coincidence. Very happy to call it that.

But, I had also been just on a smoke break from my own writings, a letter I was writing to a loved one and the tenor of the letter of where I had left off when I stopped for my smoke break had just moved onto omens.

Oh boy, right?

Well now, still happy to be coincidentally maybe now just only synchronistically having this experience. But given it all, I’d resolved to share.

And by share, I’m not sure I can bring this all into any firm sense of things that could make it any less eerie. Though I will try. And if I don’t fully strike the right note in this attempt, I will know it, you won’t have to tell me, but I will publish the attempt anyway as an earmark of this encounter, and double back on it maybe whenever it is that I have found the right note or chord to strike or strum.

I’m thinking of two things, one I was going to save for my letter when I moved past omens. And one I was going to tell a friend of mine after watching a movie he recommended that I still have not told him. So I will choose neither and tell you both of them in this writing.

Most importantly, this is not at all about victim blaming, please have the courage to see past that, as Anne apparently might say that, at least, one of your two voices, if you only had two, would have such ability. And this, even if that means this courageous voice disappears after only 15 minutes.

First, I can remember back to a time when I am not more than a few months older than my son is now, maybe six months older. I am lying in my little boy bed, in my little boy bedroom in the house I grew up in, a little cape style enhanced cottage. It is night. The walls are blue. The headboard is all white and soft and plush to the touch, and riveted by silken buttons, smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye, though woven round by very fine white thread.

I am laying on top of the covers. This is colorful Snoopy and the Peanuts bedding. It’s not exactly yet bed time. But it must still be before the Vernal Equinox because the sun has been down for a good while and its not yet past my little boy bedtime. And the room is lit golden by a single 40 maybe 60 but really probably 40 watt incandescent bulb. It’s gold in there, it’s almost orange that low gold glow. And I’m laying at angle on the bed. And I’m pointed feet first at the east corner of the bedroom, which is also precisely lined up with Cardinal East. And I shit you not, but on this evening, a few weeks before my actual birthday and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on my original due date, I was thinking to myself, “I must be dreaming in this life. I am going to remember this moment forever. When I get older. And I believe I am going to wake up someday from the distant future back here in this moment, back here in the age, back here just the way I am now.”

I’ve not tampered with this memory at all since then. I’ve remembered it precisely and often ever since. I’ve referred back to it thousands of times. In a sense, I in fact have never left that room or that night. I built it into every single night since. Like one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. And this before I had ever heard Row Row Row Your Boat. And this before I had enough speaking skills to say these thoughts outloud even if I wanted to but enough language understanding to think them and remember.

So that’s the first thought.

The second thought, it’s about that movie my friend suggested I watch over the summer. It was a horror movie, a new one. You may have watched it yourself. Called Ghosts of War.

My feedback to him the day after I watched it was pretty simple. A. I enjoyed it. B. The sniper I think is my favorite. C. It reminds me I have another horror movie That I do not mention to him by name then, but I only say that it is in the genre of horror that is not shriekingly scary, or rather does not rely on shriekingly scary moments. Because it does contain a couple of those potentially frightful jolts. But that is not it’s best foot forward. This type of horror is not the exciting amusement park kind. This type of horror is the kind that enters your bloodstream and stays with you and haunts you over a long period of time, long afterwards. The kind of horror you might find yourself waking up from sleep even a year or more later and not feeling right and having witnessed. D. I might get back to him someday with more commentary. Oh and E. I really enjoyed seeing Billy Zane. Particularly as the dichotomy of American Doctor and SS Colonel.

But wouldn’t you know shortly after I finished writing down that passage from Anne Frank’s final entry, pledging to not look at it ever again, I found myself in another room talking to a person about that actual movie that ghost of war reminded me of that I didn’t tell my friend what that movie was. To this new person I did say its name. It is paranormal activity. The first one. I said that movie is the first time I had witnessed a genuine horror film, That has the capability of genuinely haunting me for a long long period of time, in my adult years. And it doesn’t contain hardly any,if at all, shriek moments.

The horror of that movie is it’s power to slowly and steadily and surely wrap itself around your heart with fear and anxiety, and with full command, Sustain you in that state while flexing and relaxing it’s own valves, to show you who’s boss and who is in command.

Furthermore I told this person, that such a film as this paranormal activity is is not a film to watch when you are in a heightened state of consciousness. You’ve got to be half asleep at the wheel half dead inside to properly survive that film. Because in the final moment, and I admitted this to that person, when you see the demon at last, he jumps straight into your eyes. Straight into you. That movie is perhaps the ultimate act of transgression, that I’d ever seen to that date. And I admitted to this person that it took me a good long while of concerted and methodical effort, to rid myself of that motherfucking demon. Such is the exquisite accomplishment of that particular horror movie. I spared my friend this story, because I’m pretty sure he would’ve shit his pants if I told it to him in person. I think I’m only about 30% joking about that.

But tomorrow being that some stories stay with you longer than others. Some stories you actually have to exorcise from your mind. it’s very good training. Especially if you happen to frequently find yourself in other peoples houses and those houses have all the mirrors draped over by blankets. And those other people walk about aimlessly as though they have no idea how odd that appears to be. if you know what I’m saying. And if you can believe what I’m saying is actually true.

But no I don’t think I’ll ever tell my friend about the paranormal activity story. What I will tell him is another thought I had about ghosts of war. That I think on some level in someway we are all ghosts of every war. Wars that we’ve seen and wars that we haven’t seen, either depicted in books or movies or for trade for real on the news both of foreign lands and domestic. And even wars in our own mind, common place words with our neighbors or friends or family or loved ones. I think in someway we just are ghosts of it. Carrying the crosses of it.

And I remember a story I wrote or a poem maybe it was about a universal snake and a universal monkey. The universal snake head swallowed the universal monkey. Seemingly defeated him in battle. Seemingly killed him. Seemingly was digesting him. But unseeming to the universal snake, the universal monkey to this day will not die. And for all eternity the universal snake has had indigestion on account of the universal monkey’s eternal will not to be extinguished. They say it ain’t over til it’s over. They say don’t stop believing. I say that’s probably very good advice and we should all listen to it. The Monkey is listening to it right now, and has been forever. That monkey won’t quit. That monkey is in a pickle but he’s got a slim to none chance and yet he won’t quit.

How this works back to ghosts to war and how we’re ghosts of war with everyone, and how this works back to Anne Frank. It’s up to you what you wanna believe in, I believe in the fact that God won’t ever let us really kill each other. We might see it happen with our own eyes. Right before us. But I believe that even as it happens it also instantly unhappens.

We have the ability to look backwards in time and forecast forwards in time but we only have the ability to live in one moment of time at a time and that we called the present. We have no idea what actually happens in previous moments of time once we’ve moved past them. Except how they exist in our mind. But for all we know in a moment that someone apparently kills another, whether it’s a person to a person or an animal to an animal. How do we know it doesn’t on happen once we’ve left that moment? Natural law has a place in this world. So natural law gets its way in this world. But there are such things as the overlapping thesis of all the different laws. And divine law is a thing in that overlapping thesis. Just as well as natural law is. So it is totally possible that once we make a mess of things, the Custodian comes along to fix it.

It’s possible along the same probabilities or maybe even slightly better than Lloyd Christmas’ chances of getting the red head which he eventually did.

To another person who overheard me talking to that first person last week about paranormal activity, the next day she came to me with concerns. I listened to these concerns. And my response was what you do is up to you. Including whether or not you trust yourself or not. If I were in your shoes I would try to trust myself. Even as everyone around me might seem intent on leading me to betray my own trust. if I were in your shoes, I would choose to believe that no one actually has the power to do that. No one actually has the will to want to see you fail, to fail yourself. Because that would be them wishing them to fail themselves. And while they might get away with that in one moment in the next that moment is wiped clean. If I were in your shoes I’d be telling that to myself every moment I had these concerns you are telling me about.

I further said, and I stop talking about if I were in her shoes. I further said what you think is happening is happening. What you understand about what is happening is only ever coming into focus more and more. You may not have all the Time in the world, but you do always have the luxury of patience. There’s no rush when it comes to the process of understanding. Something tells me we’ll repeat the lesson infinitely if necessary. something also tells me that won’t actually be necessary. The lesson will come clear eventually. Have faith in that and likely all of your fears and concerns will be abolished. The probability of it being otherwise, however great it seems, as Pascal very effectively demonstrated, infinitely pales to the seemingly tiny probability, the Boson particle infinitesimally small and impossible to fathom yet there it is nonetheless almost something you can now actually reach out and grab but even still something you can see if only by way of prediction probability, of it not being otherwise.

So that in other words no sword actually ever really falls upon the neck but he’s only ever caught by the Hand.

I’ve been waiting to wake up to this reality ever since my two-year-old self woke up to that reality and said I will be waking up here someday again.

But I did tell that second person, be careful the stories you tell yourself. They could be like that movie demon that enters your mind and poisons your body, like that story I told last night. The mind can make almost anything real. That’s a quote from a movie also, but it comes from somewhere. Didn’t it? So possibly probably in all likelihood whatever story you tell yourself whatever imaginary though you have as an objective: if somewhere in this universe. Somehow manifest itself. Somehow find a way to be born and become true. Often a lot faster and more hellishly than you thought possible.

The mind is it’s own place. It can make heaven out of hell and hell a heaven. I don’t need to read the whole diary of Anne Frank, to know beyond what her final entry says. That she was equally gifted at doing both. And that, my friends, is not victim blaming. That is just what it is.

And so behold the final two paragraphs of her final passage:

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

[pyrewrites]

Thirteen Days

Entry number 2 into the @bechloe-week Weekley Bechloe mini-challenge. This for the prompt ‘quarantine’.

Ao3

Thirteen Days

It was only day 6 of lockdown but LA already had a death toll. The rising count statewide was actually what finally got the state government to act. It was scary as hell but Chloe was in lockdown with her favorite person in the entire world. Her roommate, up and coming musician, and the girl she had been in love with for nearly a decade, Beca Mitchell.

Chloe suspected that she would have been in a much worse state of mind if not for Beca. Chloe was suffering from information overload on a near-daily basis before lunch. Beca had on more than one occasion hidden both of their phones and laptops behind the locked door to what had originally been designated as Chloe's bedroom but quickly became a guestroom/Beca's home studio space, and removed the batteries from all the remotes except for the blu-ray player that had Netflix to keep Chloe from looking up any more doom and gloom. And Chloe was grateful. Yesterday had been especially bad. Chloe had come across a pair of reports of deaths that blew a hole the size of the 405 in the claims that 'only the elderly and immunocompromised had to worry'. The first was a college athlete without a single health problem. He was the same age Chloe had been the day she met Beca. The second was a 13-year-old girl. She had spent hours curled up in Beca's arms alternating between crying and having panic attacks as the reality of the situation set in. Beca had run a marathon of Disney movies in their shared bedroom the whole rest of the day until Chloe had drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Chloe was making a sizable breakfast of all of Beca's favorites to bring her in bed to thank her for everything she did the day before. She glanced at the clock figuring she had enough time to finish before Beca woke up. She had just finished plating the food and was turning to the fridge to get the orange juice when her entire world stopped at the sound of a violent coughing fit coming from the bedroom. Her mind immediately flashed back to the last time they had gone to the store to stock up when the rumors of the lockdown started getting serious. The store had been packed. Despite all the talk of social distancing, Chloe would have been shocked if there was a total of six feet of open space in the entire store. That had been a week before the lockdown order had been given. Thirteen days ago.

Chloe sprinted to the bedroom. She slammed the door open to find Beca doubled over, still coughing. The covers on the bed had been kicked away from her body. Her face was flushed, which could have been attributed to the coughing fit. But the sheen of sweat over every inch of exposed skin Chloe could see was not the fault of coughing.

“Oh god no,” Chloe whispered. She rushed forward nearly jumping onto the bed. “Beca!”

Her coughing continued. She tried to speak only to cough again before she could form any coherent words. Chloe placed a hand on Beca's forehead only to yank it away from her burning skin. Chloe ran into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water. After a few moments of searching, she found a bottle of cough syrup and a digital thermometer. She dashed back to the bed. She opened the bottle and handed it to Beca then started running the cold washcloth over the back of Beca's neck as she tilted her head back swallowing probably more than the recommended dosage.

“Thank you.” Beca croaked as Chloe wiped over her forehead and face, then down her chest and arms.

  “I'm calling the doctor,” Chloe said. Not saying '  to find out where to get tested'   out loud. But Beca saw the panic growing in her eyes. She turned on the thermometer and waited for it to chime ready. “Open.”

Beca dutifully opened her mouth and closed it again around the annoying plastic and metal probe. As soon as it was in place she watched as Chloe tried her best not to run from the room to get her phone. After several moments she could hear Chloe's voice but couldn't make out what she was saying until she shouted.

“I know the symptoms! They are all over the news and the internet! The last time we were out in public for any reason was thirteen days ago!”

Chloe's voice dropped again but it was obvious she was coming back to the bedroom just as the thermometer beeped.

“Yes, she is running a fever,” Chloe said as she walked up to the bed and plucked it from Beca's mouth. “Shit. It's 100.8, we need to come in today. As soon as possible.”

Beca watched as the tension in Chloe's face started to relax.

“Yes. Both of us. We went to the store to stock up two weeks ago and have been in close contact with each other in our apartment since.” Chloe paused. “Ok. Thank you very much.”

Chloe took the thermometer and the cough syrup back into the bathroom. She swung the door closed behind her so she could lean against the counter and try not to burst into tears. She only managed to stay quiet when she did start crying.

“Chlo?” Came Beca's scratchy voice from the bedroom after several minutes of Chloe not returning from the bathroom.

“Yeah. Just a second.” Chloe called trying to keep her voice even. She wiped at her face and almost considered doing her makeup, but decided that would make it even more obvious since they had both stopped bothering days ago. She slowly pulled open the door and started towards the hallway. “Just stay in bed. I'm going to bring you the breakfast I was fixing.”

Beca started to shuffle pillows around so she could sit up. She had gotten herself set up by the time Chloe returned with her food. She made another trip to get her own breakfast and climbed into bed with Beca.

“What was this for?” Beca rasped.

“I was thanking you for yesterday and all those Disney movies without complaining even once.” Chloe smiled.

“You didn't have too. But I'm glad you did.” Beca said before coughing a few times.

“Our appointment is at one. They have a mini drive-up testing center set up to keep from exposing other people that have other reasons to go to the doctor right now.”

Beca just nodded, not wanting to talk much more than she had to with her throat hurting.

Chloe turned on the tv and started searching Netflix. She turned on something light and kinda mindless to watch while they ate.

After they finished breakfast Chloe went digging in their closet. At the time the lockdown order had gone into effect they hadn't had any orders about wearing masks in public yet, so Chloe hadn't gone looking since they had stocked up enough food for at least another week and a half. She found what she was looking for tucked into a side pocket of her suitcase. She and Beca had joined the Beale family ski trip last year over Christmas. Chloe had gotten them a pair of 'neck warmer ski masks' that looked like a turtleneck that had been removed from its shirt. It could be pulled all the way up over your nose to keep your face warm and Chloe figured that much fabric would be much better than cutting up a t-shirt like the internet was suggesting. But given they weren't even going to have to get out of the car to get tested they might not even need them at all.

Chloe made them some sandwiches and packed them both a lunch because she had no idea how long they might be waiting despite having an appointment. She gathered a clean change of clothes for Beca, who hadn't gotten dressed yet since waking up. All of this in-between sessions of panicked pacing in the living room.

Once Beca was dressed Chloe changed into clothes that were more acceptable to wear in public before hustling Beca out to the car. She ran back inside to grab their packed lunch and took a long slow look around the home that they had built together, fighting back tears again.

Chloe barely heard the music playing in the car as she drove. The trip took less than a quarter as long as she was planning. There were virtually no cars on the road.

  “Is it just me or does it feel like we are in the opening scenes of some post-apocalyptic movie and we are like the last people left on earth?” Beca was the one to say it, which itself said how deserted the roads were.

They pulled up outside the doctor's office at 12:15, a full half-hour earlier that Chloe had expected. She saw a small tent in one corner of the parking lot and every other parking spot around that corner blocked off. She drove over and was waved down by a person in essentially a hazmat suit holding a clipboard. Chloe opened the window less than an inch, just enough to communicate.

“Do you have an appointment?” The person said.

“Yes, we do. Mitchell and Beale for 1 o'clock. Sorry we are early, I honestly didn't give any thought to how little traffic there would be.” Chloe said.

“Don't worry about. Everybody has done the same thing. We will get you taken care of as quickly as possible. Just wait in the car and we will hold up a sign with your name when it's your turn. Go ahead and park over there.” The person pointed to the end of the row in front of them. “Should be about 10-15 minutes.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said as she put the car back in gear. “How are you doing Becs?”

Beca shrugged and reclined her seat a bit before curling up.

Chloe watched as Beca nearly dozed off then turned her attention to the team working their way through the few cars waiting. They moved with a practiced efficiency that both impressed and frightened Chloe. She zoned out watching their movements until the person with the clipboard waved to get her attention. They held up a small whiteboard with Mitchell-Beale written on it. Chloe's heart skipped a beat.

Chloe pulled up to the spot she was directed to and rolled down both windows. The workers checked their temperatures with laser thermometers, that Chloe thought were pretty cool. They had both of them stick out their tongues so they could check their throats. Then they performed the test, which was very unpleasant. Before they let them leave they did a second swabbing of their throats.

“We will call you when the results come in. Good luck.” One of the workers said as they stepped back from the car to let them leave.

Chloe could barely bring herself to smile at them as she rolled up their windows. She didn't say a word the entire drive home.

When they got home they both changed back into more comfortable clothes and Beca crawled back into bed and took a nap. Chloe wanted to climb into bed and just hold Beca, but instead, she quietly closed the door before retreating to the living room, turning on the tv for some sound, and began crying again.

Chloe jerked awake at the sound of metal clanging in the kitchen. She looked around in confusion. The sun was setting outside. A blanket slipped off of her as she sat up awkwardly trying to move with a sore back.

She shuffled out to the kitchen to find Beca setting a pot of water on a burner.

“What are you doing?” Chloe said, her voice still thick with sleep.

“I woke up from my nap and you weren't there. I found you asleep on the couch so I covered you with a blanket and watched some tv for a while. Then I was in the mood for ramen. So here we are.” Beca said. Her voice still rough but it was better than it had been that morning.

“Go sit down,” Chloe ordered. “You are sick. I'll fix your food.”

Beca looked like she was going to object right up until Chloe shot her a look that said Beca wasn't going to win this argument. She stepped away from the stove and headed for the living room.

“And thank you for the blanket,” Chloe whispered as she placed a light kiss on Beca's cheek.

The next two days went much the same. Beca slept a lot. Chloe cried a lot and tried not to think about the sore throat she was starting to develop. Beca continued to be stubborn and tried to take care of herself as often as possible. And Chloe almost as often either ordered or, on three different occasions, physically carried Beca to the couch or bed to get her to stop.

The afternoon of the third day, after an especially bad coughing fit, Chloe broke. She started crying in front of Beca for the first time since she woke up sick days ago.

“Hey hey hey. It's ok Chlo.” Beca said as she gathered Chloe into her arms and started stroking her hair.

“No. It's not ok Beca.” Chloe's voice cracked. “I can't do this without you.”

“Can't do what?”

“This! Everything. My whole life. I can't lose you.” Chloe said between sobs.

“You aren't going to lose me Chlo.”

“You don't know that! And I don't want to live the rest of my life without you.”

“What the hell Chloe?”

“Beca I am trying to tell you that I'm in love with you and I don't want you to die!”

Beca stared opening and closing her mouth for what seemed like an hour.

A phone ringing startled both of them. Beca reached over and picked up her phone from her nightstand.

  “Hello? … Speaking. … I see. … Both of us? … Ok. … Yes, the one on file. … Yes. Thank you.” Beca hung up. After she set down her phone she took a slow deep breath. “Chloe. I love you too. I'm  in   love with you too.”

  “On no. Nononononono.” Chloe started crying again. She grabbed her own phone and started furiously started typing. “Fuck!”

“What?” Beca asked as Chloe started typing again.

“Apparently the courts aren't considered 'essential services' right now. Maybe they haven't locked down Vegas yet.” Chloe said distractedly.

“What are you talking about Chlo?”

“If one or both of us is going to die in the next few weeks I want to die knowing I got to be married to the love of my life.” Chloe looked up at the sound of Beca gasping. And found tears running down her smiling face.

Beca slowly reached out and took Chloe's phone from her.

“How 'bout you take me on at least a few dates first? But first, you need to make a run to the pharmacy at the Ralph's down the street.”

“Wha...but the internet says there's no treatment yet.”

“They ran a preliminary test here, but they have to send it to the CDC to make sure.”

“And...?”

“They came back negative for both of us. The test that came back positive was for strep throat.”

“So you're going to be ok?” A smile started spreading across Chloe's lips.

“Yeah. After a few more days of this fucking sore throat. And you're probably gonna get it too so they sent prescriptions for both of us to the pharmacy.” Beca grinned. “Maybe you can pick up some pizza while you are out and we can have that first date. Unless you still want to jump right to getting married.”

“After all this time it still surprises me that I am in love with such a pain in my ass.” Chloe laughed.

“'All this time'? Just how long have you been in love with me?”

“Think I'm going to let you wonder about that for awhile. I have to make a trip to the store.” Chloe said as she hopped off the bed giggling.

“Now who's the pain in the ass?” Beca called after her as she skipped down the hall. The sound of Chloe's laughter echoed back into the bedroom and it was the most beautiful thing Beca had ever heard...so far.