#I NEVER KNEW I AGED THIS RAPIDLY ! the mid twenties are hard !

[garoujo]

HAPPY BDAY EMMIEEE!!!! You always make my day I hope you have the bestest of best day today hahahah!!

How old do you become?💞💞💞

FANK U NONNIE !!! mwah ur soooo sweet i’m so glad i can make ur day a lil nice (✿◠ᴗ◠) it seems i aged rapidly overnight cause all my bones cracked as i got out of bed this morning !!! what is happening to me !!! <3

[drwcn]

maybe after today’s acls training i can finally write that chengqing ER oneshot. 

— “Patient male, mid-twenties, motor vehicle collision, eta 3 mins” 

— “What no vitals? No GCS? ETA 3 mins? Who’s on the paramedic team?!” 

— “No one….Dr. Lu hit someone with her car on her way out of the hospital.” 

【A Midnight Conversation in Your Local ER】- Complete

[1] 

The night hunt had gone to shits.

That much was undeniable.

Jiang Cheng heard the panicked shout of his disciples just as he saw the array that he had stepped on.

Fuck.

The ghost of an once mediocre demonic cultivator wanna-be was going to bring Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wanyin - the Sandu Shengshou - to meet his maker. The irony of the situation would be laughable, if he wasn’t so irrevocably screwed.

That was his last thought before his entire body was engulfed by a blinding light and the world he knew disappeared.

The ground beneath his feet gave away, weightlessness paralyzing his body though he did not fall. He felt…launched, his body warping and squeezing and stretching, the air sucked from his lungs into the endless black vacuum.

But just like that it was over. Jiang Cheng barely had time to make peace with his death before his feet touch solid earth again.

Or at least….he thought it was earth, this black, tarry hard thing striped with yellow and white. He stared at it dumbly, breathless and disoriented, barely able to react when a loud blare assaulted his senses and his world went blindly bright yet again.

This time there was pain.

Jiang Cheng clutched Sandu, ready to fight, but then his head hit the ground and everything went dark. When he woke up again, an indeterminate amount of time later, he was in a small tube and had a distinct feeling he was not wearing pants, socks or shoes.

How the fuck do you ‘scan’ a cat???  

[2]

Method actor. The nurse, from the other side of the curtain, mouthed silently.

“Sir, can you tell me your name.”

“Jiang Cheng, Jiang Wangyin.”

The resident paused, awkwardly contemplating how to continue. “Uh…..which is it? Jiang Cheng or Jiang Wanyin?”

“Jiang Cheng, zi Wanyin.”

“Traditional parents?” The resident tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. The strange man stared up at him with a blank look in his eyes and a frown that was rapidly deteriorating into a scowl. The resident cleared his throat and cast his eyes back onto his clipboard. “Uh, ahem, just the name on your ID please.”

“My what?" 

"Your personal ID….like a driver’s license?”

“Cultivators of the gentry fly on swords or ride horses. We do not rely on carriage valets.”

“Eh… right. Uhm, can you tell me how old you are and what year it is.”

“I’m 39, and the year is jiachen.”

Lu Qi frowned from where she stood by the door, arms crossed, watching her resident and medical student work. 39? He looks like a college student. But he also thinks he can fly, so I guess age is the least of our worries. 

“Jiachen.…?”

The M3 fished his phone out from his scrub pocket pocket and typed it in. “Sounds like the ganji system, like an old timey way to record year used in the past.” He whispers clandestinely to the resident.

“….Right. And uh, do you where you are?”

The man scowled at him. “Am I supposed to?” 

The resident scribbled something on the chart, and then looked up with a plastered awkward smile. “Well, thank you Mr. Jiang for your patience. Wang Fei here is the medical student on our team. He’s going to stay and ask you a couple more questions if you don’t mind. Afterwards we’ll confer with our attending and the team will be back to see you shortly.”

As he turned away, the R3 grimaced and shared a look with Lu Qi, who was the youngest attending physician in their ER, but was not technically working at the moment and so was not on the case. And technically, as the perpetrator who hit Jiang Cheng with her car, she had a severe conflict of interest.

At least this Jiang Cheng dude didn’t seem keen on pressing personal charges against her for MVA or suing the hospital in general… but that being said…

Yeah, they’re going to need a psych consult. 

Unless he’s on acid. 

Well… okay, psych consult either way. 

[3]

"It’s okay, you can relax.” Jiang Cheng said, waving dismissively at the woman standing by his bedside. “I’m not going to take you to the magistrate for hitting me with your carriage - car. You didn’t mean to, and I just came out of nowhere.” 

“....Thank you.” 

“You’re not Wen Qing. I know that now. Your name is Lu Qi. You can call off those psychia - psych - psychics - head healers - or whatever, I’m not crazy. It’s not my fault, you just… look so much like someone I used to know."

"Wen Qing.” Lu Qi echoed. 

“Yeah. Wen Qing. She was a healer - a doctor - like you, but different.” 

“I see. What happened to her?"

"She died. Almost twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry... that's awful.” Lu Qi’s response rolled off her tongue so well, because she had said those word a thousand times during her residency. So much so that it no longer had much meaning to her. Tonight however, she meant what she said. “Were you two close?"

"No, well…yes, maybe. No we weren’t exactly friends if that’s what you’re asking. She...operated on me. Without my consent or knowledge. Took my brother’s golden core and put it in me and then lied with my brother to my face about it. So no we weren’t “close”, but Wen Qing saved my life - well the purpose of it anyway. Saved me from a life of ordinariness.” 

Lu Qi did allow herself to dwell too much on what the fuck a “golden core” was, because her gut response was almost instantaneous. “That’s shitty of her.”

She clamped down on her tongue. 

God, why did I have to say that? To his face?! He was obviously in love with this Wen Qing person and they were encroaching on some dangerous emotional territories, but Lu Qi swallowed down her caution and plowed on nevertheless. There were things she felt she had to say, and since she’d already hit him with her car, how much worse could this shit get? “What I mean is she shouldn’t have. Not without telling you. Besides...there’s nothing wrong with ordinary.” 

Jiang Cheng chuckled bitterly. “Maybe you’re right. Still...she didn’t deserve to die. What her clan did was not her fault.” 

Now that threw Lu Qi off. Did this guy...kill her? 

Lu Qi half wondered if she stumbled upon a Yakuza-esque member whose psyche finally snapped after years of murder and violence. And yet, he seemed perfectly coherent, no flight of ideas, no tangential thought, no hallucations. Even his delusions seemed...logical. 

I must be the one losing, damnit.  

Jiang Cheng scratched a little at his chest, as if palpating for the “golden core” that he spoke of. "She saved my life, but when she needed help, I couldn't save her. But, if I were to go back… I can't say I'll choose differently. My clan needed me, my clan who was almost cleansed by hers. No, no I wouldn’t choose differently. I don’t regret my choices, but I am sorry. Sorry to her, sorry to my brother. I'll always be sorry that she died, and that I failed her when she needed me." 

Jiang Cheng had no idea why he was telling this stranger any of this, but maybe after twenty years, he was finally ready to address this guilt that he lived with. I mean who else was he supposed to tell? Jin Ling? It was nice, to have that face as an audience, receiving his words of confession. 

"She would forgive you." 

Lu Qi had no idea why she was offering absolution as if she had authority in this matter, but when she said it, the conviction she felt was so real, it was almost as though some external force was acting through her.

Which was ridiculous of course, but... 

"How do you know? You're not her." Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I wouldn’t forgive me.” 

"No, but you said she was a physician. So she should know, more than most, that sometimes there is no choosing who gets to live or die."

Jiang Cheng fell quiet at that, and his gaze grew distant. Lu Qi thought perhaps he was no longer seeing her as she was in front of him - white coat, scrubs, stethoscope -  but someone entirely different. The tension he held in his shoulders slowly eased, and he sighed. In the silence that stretched between them, Lu Qi hoped that this strange man with his strange past could find a sliver of peace. 

[4]

— Did you love her? 

— I thought so, foolishly, but maybe I didn’t. Even if I did, it was not well enough. 

— Do you love her still? 

— No... I don’t know. It’s been too long...but sometimes, late at night when Lotus Pier is quiet, I think I do. 

...

— Are you ashamed of it? 

...

— No. No I’m not. 

[5]

The patient known as Jiang Cheng left AMA, that is, against medical advice. It was the term they used sometimes for people who just up and leave without informing the team. 

Lu Qi had gone out to check on his labs, which came back with bonker numbers (I mean really, a hemoglobin of 455, sodium of 200, and a HCO3 of like...3?), but Jiang Cheng was gone from Bay 6 when she returned. The nurse made the overhead page, a code yellow was called, but four hours later, Lu Qi was ready to admit that she was never going to see this Jiang Cheng ever again. 

Somehow, she was okay with that. She had said what needed to be said.  

Her chief had given her a call on her cell and told her to go home and sleep. The guy didn’t look like he was gonna press charges, let’s count our blessings and move on. But the night had just been too damn strange that Lu Qi was all wired up from it and couldn’t possibly fall asleep. She had handover at 10 anyway. There was a change of clothes and toiletries in her bag. She could always take a shower in the anesthesia staff’s on call room and sleep until then. 

Dr. Sun was the anesthesia staff on-call tonight and was currently stuck in trauma OR. They were buddies since medschool; she’d understand.

Sighing, Lu Qi took a seat on the bench across from the bougie cafe in the lobby of the hospital. At this hour, it was the only one still open in the entire facility. The drinks they sold cost an arm and a leg, but Lu Qi needed the pick-me-up after the night she had. 

As she nursed the last bit of her matcha latte, two bickering voices pulled her attention to the front entrance. 

“Aiyo, A-Liang I already said I’m fine! I don’t need to be here!” 

“Fuck out of here with that bullshit, Chen Zhaoxi. You fell off the fucking roof! If Wu Kun hadn’t called me, you’d have gone on -”

It was him! Lu Qi shot up. It was Jiang Cheng! 

But no...no it wasn’t him. The well-dressed man dragging the second man (dressed in red pajamas) into the hospital was not Jiang Cheng. He had the same face - chiselled, handsome, scowling - but it wasn’t him. For one, his hair was trimmed short and neat, unlike Jiang Cheng who looked like he walked straight out of a BL xianxia tv drama. Secondly, his face was softer, eyes younger, and he couldn’t have been older than Lu Qi herself in her early thirties. 

“I was just trying to get to the litter of kittens trapped -”

“Yes, yes, and it was very heroic and I’m sure it would’ve made Wu Kun very horny, and you morons probably would’ve fucked once he got home had you not made a valiant attempt at breaking your neck -” 

“Excuse me,” the security guard manning the information desk chastised sharply. “It’s 4am. This is a hospital! Lower your voices, sirs.” 

“Sorry.” The men apologized sheepishly. 

Then, A-Liang, Jiang Cheng’s doubleganger asked, “Could you please direct us to the ER? This is my brother, he fell off a roof.” 

Lu Bin had no idea what possessed her to interject. “I can take you there.” 

All eyes fell on her. She walked towards them, heart pounding. 

This can’t be happening, this kind of thing just can’t happen... 

A-Liang’s face broke into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Miss -” Then his gaze trailed to her badge, and he corrected himself, “Dr. Lu. I’m Shen Liang. This is my brother Chen Zhaoxi. I think he fractured...well multiple things, please help him.” 

“Of course, come with me. Let’s get him a wheelchair. If he fractured is leg, he probably shouldn’t be walking.” 

“I didn’t fracture -” 

“You, you shut up.” Shen Liang rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He can lose three out of four limbs and say ‘ t’s but a flesh wound’.” 

Lu Qi couldn’t help but chuckle as she put an arm under the complaining Chen Zhaoxi and helped him towards the wheelchair. 

Shen Liang’s smile widened. 

[Extra]

“Holy shit, took you long enough!” 

When Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui finally dragged Jiang Cheng to their portal site, Jiang Cheng realized that the transportation talisman had created a channel through realities between what looked like two metal garbage dumpsters in a back alley behind a food establishment marked by giant yellow bunny ears.

Standing guard there, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen were each munching on a strange layered bread and holding tall drinks contained in...what was it called again? Right. Styrofoam. 

“What is that?” Jin Ling wrinkled is nose at it. Brat. 

“It’s a Big Mac.” Replied Lan Jingyi as if Jin Ling was stupid. “And this is a milk shake.” 

Jin Ling scowled. “I said the bag of gold I gave you was for emergencies.” 

“Yeah but we were hungry.” Ouyang Zizhen defended. He neglected to tell them that the cashier had refused to accept the gold and instead asked for “cash” or “card”, neither of which they had, so Zizhen used a liiiiil confounding talisman he learned from Wei Wuxian. They did leave more than enough gold though...and that ought to cover the restaurant’s cost for their “burger”lary . Reaching into the brown paper bag he held under one arm, Zizhen pulled out a little box that opened to show pieces of... something. “These are chicken nuggets. They’re delicious! Try one! They’re really good with this sauce....hold on...” 

Lan Sizhui sighed. “We don’t have time for this. The portal will close soon. Let’s get Jiang-zongzhu home and we can sample these exotic food later.” 

The boys agreed. 

Jiang Cheng shook his head and huffed. 

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!Reader)

A/n: this chapter may be a little gory for some people. It contains lots of blood and angst and tears, broken bones, and the like. If you are uncomfortable with it, you can read until bold words after the cut. That’s when the gore starts. Then it ends at the highlighted, bold word, you got me?

Present Sebastian means the adult Sebastian, orite? In this time frame, everyone will be aged down, so here’s a headcanon of their ages. All the ages of bachelors and bachelorettes have been taken into account by their appearance, current height, personality and maturity.

(Y/n) and Abby: 6 years old (currently 23) Sebastian: 8 years old (currently 25) Sam: 7 years old (currently 24) Penny: 7 years old (currently 24) Maru: 3 years old (currently 21) Emily: 9 years old (currently 26) Haley: 7 years old (currently 24)

Lewis, Evelyn and George: mid Forties Robin, Demetrius, Caroline, Jodi, Pierre, Gus: late twenties to early thirties Pam, Marnie: late thirties

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Where am I?’ Sebastian wondered to himself. It was bright all around him, but it was quite cold. He looked around him, trying to figure out where he was. 

‘The bus stop?’ he concluded as his eyes landed on the meter that stood at the side of the road. The foliage around him was somewhat similar to what it was now, but the trees were bare of their leaves and if they did bear any, they were orange and yellow.

But he knew this wasn’t in present time. 

The bus that stood idle on the tar road was gone, most probably still up and running in this time frame. But if it was, then, this must be pretty far back. But when exactly was th--

“Sebby! Wait up!” his train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a little girl. Instinctively, Sebastian turned his head around, accustomed to the nickname he had been called by people closest to him.

But it wasn’t regarded to him, well....not the him now.

A young black haired boy in a dark colored, sleeveless hoodie was in his sight, despite the cold autumn wind, was running towards him. He flinched, as if preparing for the impact from collision.

But it never came.

He slowly opened his eyes and chuckled to himself. The boy had run through him, telling him that this wasn’t reality, despite how real it looked. 

He turned to see a little boy, before his right hand unconsciously grabbed his chest. Right above where his heart was. It hurt. But why? Was it this child? The child that was without a doubt, him?

The same thing happened when (Y/n) first moved here. The same feeling before his vision temporarily swapped with an old, worn-out memory, too muddled for him to even identify who was who in it. And suddenly he had a small horrible feeling in his chest.

He decided it was nothing though, and just shrugged it off.

The boy turned around, his bright black eyes glimmering with joy and innocence of a child as a large smile had taped itself permanently onto his face.

“Abby! _____!” Wait, what was that? He heard Abigail’s nickname, but the next was just plain white noise. And all noise disappeared when her name was spoken. As if a chunk of sound was extracted from a record and was left empty before playing the next part, leaving it incomplete.

But before he could think any further, two more figures came running over, hand in hand. Two little girls. A girl with wavy chestnut hair in a frilly blue dress and another with long (h/c), hair reaching her waist who wore a white turtle neck and (f/c) cotton skirt with flower patterns. 

“What are we going to play today?” the (h/c)-haired girl asked, hand still lingering in the girl who is apparently Abigail’s past self. Young Sebastian thought, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Let’s play tag!” he suggested, but Abby refused. 

“No! It’s no fun with three people!” Abby retorted, sticking her tongue out. The other girl remained silent, as if she were thinking up a better solution.

“Well, Sebby, if you still want to play tag, lets invite the others, then! At least, if it’s four people or more, it would be more fun!” she offered, her sweet voice sounding outstandingly familiar.

Sebastian had no idea why this girl was radiating a strong sense of nostalgia. And he was heavily confused why he had proposed the game of tag. For as long as he remembered, he hated the game tag. All this was surely just a dream.

“Okay then,” Abigail agreed. “Let’s bring Emily and Haley and Penny and Sam, then!” she said happily, looking at the other two who nodded their heads.

“Abby, since you suggested Penny and Sam, you go get them!” Sebby said. But Abby refused, stomping her small foot on the ground. “No! Then _____ has to come with me!” she protested, grabbing hold of the confused girl’s hand.

“No!” Sebby said, grabbing the other (s/c) hand. “She stays with me!” he shouted back, tugging her arm. “_____! You’re staying with me, right?!” he asked, but Abby shouted back. “No! She’s coming with me, right? _____?!”

“I’ll go with Abby! Then, I’ll come back Sebby! How about that?” she asked, “I’m still gonna come back to you anyway!” the little girl spoke boldly, making past and present Sebastian’s face redden. Who was this little girl?! Why is she so determined? Why does this feel so familiar? It was starting to mess with him. As if the white noise whenever the little girl’s name was spoken wasn’t already bothering enough.

“Fine! You two better come back, got it?!” Sebby gave in, letting go of the small wrist with a red face. Sebastian chuckled. His imaginary younger self had a crush on this unknown girl? This dream really was something.

Or so he thought.

Abby grabbed little _____’s hand, as the two departed. As they were out of sight, Sebastian heard his younger self say, “I wanted to tell her something. And this was her last day here! Why does she stick to Abby so much?!” he grumbled, kicking a nearby stump. Sebastian chuckled. Was this dream to fulfil his unfulfilling childhood?

Cliche. A young boy wanting to confess to his childhood crush that was going to move. But was she really a citizen here in Pelican Town? Abigail told him, well, Sam, at the Saloon, that there was a little girl that visited during a certain season. Was this it?

Moments later, the two came back with another four in tow. Young Sammy, Haley, Emily and Penny. And the game of tag began.

“Remember! Avoid the road!” was the only rule little Abby stated before all of them scampered around, avoiding the first person tagged. Little Sammy.

The game went on, each child successfully tagging another. Sammy, Abby, then _____, Sebby, _____again, Penny, Emily, Abby, Haley, Sammy, Haley and the list kept going on.

Until Sebby was tagged again by Abby, he ran to tag someone else. Of course, it was common sense to avoid everyone, right? And little Sebby was chasing the closest person to him, their blonde blue eyed boy, little Sammy. 

Sammy was cornered and the only way he wanted to evade the dark haired boy’s attack was to cross the road, even though it was considered out of bounds. He ran and crossed the road, ignoring all the cries and shouts from his friends and stood triumphantly on the other side. 

Sebby wasn’t about to give up though. He was going to chase Sammy and tag him next. So the black haired boy ran right after him. But from all the noise and excitement, he never realized an incoming vehicle from the tunnel. And Sebastian had heard it even when Sam was crossing.

Sebastian felt himself calling out his own name, repeating the same words, ‘No’, as if his younger self could hear it. Tears began running down his face for no apparent reason. His chest hurt so much, despite not knowing why. This was bad. The horrible he shrugged off earlier was growing in him rapidly. 

~Something bad was going to happen.

Despite all the shouts, little Sebby ran to cross the road, before a large blue lorry entered his sight. He stopped in his tracks, too afraid to move. His black eyes watching as the large vehicle was going to hit him.

Everything happened so fast.

“SEBASTIAN!”

Sebastian felt a hard push in the back and he stumbled to the ground. 

Screeching tires. Panicked yells. Scrambling on the grass. A loud colliding sound between metal and something hard. A dull, sickening thump on the ground. Horrified screams and wails. 

He remembers everything. Everything came back to him in that small instance. Despite looking at the ground, he can see everything that happened. He lifted his head, wishing that what he’s about to witness wasn’t what he hoped to be.

“No...no it can’t be! NO!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet as more tears ran down. 

The children around him were screaming, crying, wailing, in fright, horror, sadness, pain. 

For the one that laid still on the tar road.

A pool of blood circled the head of the young child, it’s long (h/c) strands mercilessly disheveled and painted in the warm liquid beneath, staining the white shirt she wore. Her clothing was slightly torn and dirty from rolling on the ground, but that didn’t conceal the horrifying angle her right arm was. 

Her left side was vulnerable to the lorry, but when she rolled, she used her right arm to stop herself. And that horribly failed. Her shoulder was completely shattered, but bits of bone were poking out of the tender flesh and white cloth. Her face wasn’t visible. But he knew there was a horrible gash across her forehead.

The children were calling her name out repeatedly, running over to their fallen friend. Calling her name to get her to respond. Kneeling by her side as the lorry driver came running out. The cries of the children bringing attention to the townspeople. All of them came running to see the commotion. 

“No....” Sebastian whispered once more, tears endlessly dripping from his eyes. “No! No! No!” he stood there, too shocked to even move. What was all this?! What was happening?! What was--

“(Y/N)!!” 

He shot up, sitting up, tears running down his face from the dream. He was in the safety of his dark basement. He looked at the time. 2 AM. But he knew it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. A trauma that left him trembling for years. That locked itself up in his mind. Too shocked to remember.

The dreams before this were just snippets and altered versions of the real event. The more twisted, but safer version that never disrupted or triggered his memory in any form.

He remembered everything that happened.

When he ran to chase Sam, he froze in the middle of the road. Young (Y/n) moved fast enough to push him out of the road. But in exchange, she got herself hit. And that horrible event brought despair upon the children, to the point where they grew up completely opposite of what they were during children. Closed off to their memories due to trauma, unnerving and odd feelings towards childish things like the game tag.

He remembered all the adults that rounded them. First it was Jodi and Caroline who were chatting in the town square and heard the collision. Then, it was Robin who was taking a break from her blueprints. Being the adventurous and boisterous female she was, she immediately bolted down the mountain, through the Farm. 

She called out the old man that resided there, asking about her child and his grandchild before the two ran off to the bus stop. Evelyn with George outside together on the bridge near the empty lot Joja was on now. Even George was worried, so he asked Evelyn to push him over.

Demetrius had to stay with Maru since he saw his wife bolt in front of the house in a hurry and panic. Lewis was out tending his garden when he heard the shrill screams.

All the adults began to run over and Lewis immediately dialed the ambulance when he arrived. All of them were shocked, shook by the gruesome scene before them. But only (Y/n)’s grandfather didn’t freeze in place. Instead, he ran straight to his beloved granddaughter.

The old man broke down crying, holding the limp left hand of his precious but unconscious little girl, too afraid to move her. Robin next to him, grabbing her son, checking over for injuries before pulling him to her chest, weeping silently from worry and sadness. Pained, from the broken shouts of her son who still scream the little girl’s name before evidently breaking down.

Jodi stood pale before bolting over when she heard her son’s cries pulling him into her arms. Caroline and Pierre cradled little Abby in their arms, shutting her eyes as she continued to weep on their embrace, her throat too hoarse and dry to call out her friends name anymore. Emily and Haley’s parents turned their children’s head away from the bloodbath scene, the image of the limp girl burned permanently into their memory core. Pam ran to Penny, who refused to turn away from her friend, screaming out her name none stop between her wails.

All of it returned to him. The most impacted one, was undoubtedly him. The one he loved being run over from trying to save him. She was taken away by the ambulance and he was brought along with the rest for a check up. 

It was blurry when they had the check up, but they stayed the night. (Y/n) was wheeled into the ER and brought into the room when they were all fast asleep. Her head and arm were all wrapped out, her left ankle was bandaged.

When they woke up, (Y/n)’s parents had come and had a huge fight with her grandfather, his mother, Abby’s, Sam’s, all while cradling their unresponsive child in their arms.

Remembering all that in an instant took a heavy toll on Sebastian. His tears never stopped falling, and brought his knees to his face. He muffled his sobs that were filled with guilt and pain, but relief that the girl was still alive, and came back like she promised.

He had to make things right. 

But with the way he is now, he’s a little uncertain how to approach her. And the crush thing was long gone. Perhaps already replaced with Abigail over the emptiness. 

Maybe he should just stay quite and let time work its wonders.

[firelord-boomerang]

You can't just say "The Old Guard but make it Jetko" and move on like nothing happened. I need more please.

Okay so the bare bones of it is this:

Everything is the same except the war has been happening for 20 years (and the start of the show doesn’t take place yet).

Zuko finds out about his immortality after his father kills him. He wakes up in the earth and had to claw his way out from his own grave.

Confused and scared, he goes to the only person he knew would help him-- Iroh.

In his grief, Iroh realizes that he must stop Ozai and the Fire Nation and the only way to do that was to find the Avatar.

Before he sets off on his secret journey, Zuko shows up alive and perfectly healed.

Zuko and Iroh set off to the world in search for answers, peace, and save some people along the way.

Meanwhile, Jet suffers a similar tragic fate. During the raid on his village by the Fire Nation, Jet dies along with his family. In the smouldering remains of his home, he wakes up alone, afraid, and healing.

Jet dreams about fire, but he’s not sure if he’s dreaming about his own death or someone else’s.

He discovers that he can’t die. He can heal from whatever injury, he’s invincible. And he knows exactly how to put his immortality to good use.

He liberates villages from Fire Nation’s control. One by one. He’s reckless and brash because he knows no burn or sword can ever truly hurt him. Jet has died too many times to care.

During Zuko and Iroh’s travels, they cross paths with Jet, who knew they were Fire Nation right from the beginning. Jet tried to kill them but Iroh escapes because Zuko rushes in to sacrifice himself for him.

Jet watches in equal parts horror and wonder as the knife wound in Zuko’s chest stitches itself together. Before Jet could say anything, Zuko stands up and cuts his throat.

It’s a couple of weeks later when Zuko dies again at Jet’s hands. Zuko has had years of training, both firebending and dual swords, to avoid death but when he does dies often enough. He’ll never get used to it.

Jet and Zuko discover that along with their healing, they never age too. Forever in their mid-twenties watching everyone they love grow old and die.

Iroh dies of old age some decades later and Jet attends the makeshift funeral. Zuko burns him on the spot.

They spent decades like that. Killing each other over and over again. At some point it becomes familiar. Achingly so. (It’s sort of funny how Jet never went for Iroh, only Zuko.) And Zuko is so attuned to Jet’s shadow that he can tell the arrow coming for him from a mile away, yet he doesn’t dodge. Some might consider this friendship.

They stop fighting one day. With violence everywhere, it’s hard to keep your humanity, especially when an integral part of what makes you human is gone.

Zuko goes to Jet one last time and kneels before him. He tells him that if Jet is going to kill him, please make it last.

Instead of a blade on his throat, he feels Jet’s arms around him pulling him close into an embrace.

The war has been raging on for a hundred years, and they’re both so tired of fighting. Yet they fight anyway. They find solace in each other, the only good constant in a rapidly changing world at war.

It starts here.

[roman-writing]

bring home a haunting (2/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 16,092

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

Danielle had never meant to delve into the habit of eavesdropping. She didn’t particularly like it, knowing it was a rude practice, but one developed out of necessity. It was a risk, sitting near the top of the stairs with an empty glass in hand, overhearing her mom’s daily phone gossip. If her mom were to step out of the living room and see Danielle there, she wouldn’t be happy at all. But after nearly a year of cold shoulders and being kept in the dark, there was a strange comfort in hearing the ongoings of their small town. 

There was a new family in North Liberty. A woman and a young girl her age, spotted moving into one of those old houses by the decommissioned train tracks. And it was without a doubt the most exciting thing to happen in decades. 

“And they’re British too?” her mom said with a small gasp. “How exotic. God, if only it were a man. The Lord knows I’ve been sick and tired of the men in this town, it’d be so refreshing to meet someone new and distinguished.”

Danielle twisted her mouth when her mom laughed. All she had wanted was another glass of orange juice and a sandwich, her stomach growling uncomfortably, but the news of a new girl at school was too intriguing. This though — the discomforting reminder of the revolving door of strange men knocking on their door to take her mom out on dates well into the night until Danielle couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer as she waited for her to return — it left her curling up into herself as her stomach twisted tight.

She didn’t like those nights. She didn’t like having to carefully peek open mom’s bedroom door to see if she was back, biting at her nails, only to find Karen asleep on the living room couch, smelling strongly of smoke and alcohol, still dressed in her nice clothes from the night before. It was almost as if dad never had existed at all. It left a rotten feeling in her stomach that she never knew what to do with except to drape a blanket over her mom’s sleeping form and help herself to some breakfast. 

But it was the smoke now that enticed her back into action, thin ropey entrails floating from the living room upstairs towards her. She winced and choked down a cough, and considered for a moment whether it was worth sticking around to make herself a late lunch, or sneaking out to the O’Mara’s across the street and trouble Judy for something more filling. 

By next week, on the first day of school, everyone seemed to know. 

Her mom had dropped her off nearly an hour early, flustered and late for work with a sharp grit to her teeth, leaving Danielle to sit alone on a bench by the playground. With the late August sun hot on her back and shoulders as she waited, head buried in a book, she had ample opportunity to observe the rippling wave of gossip underlying the happy reunions and chatter as other kids piled into the schoolyard. 

A familiar beige car rolled up to the curb and Danielle sat up straighter. From this distance, she could spot a pile of boys scrambling out of the car with half-hearted waves of goodbye. When the car remained idling on the curb as the boys made their way into the yard, something tugged at Danielle to stand, to rush over and say her hellos and receive her well wishes. Just as soon as the thought emerged, the car slowly took off down the street. 

Carson was the first to spot her, his arm waving so enthusiastically that it shook his small frame. She laughed and waved back. Eddie followed suit, his round glasses flaring in the sunlight as he started toward her mid-wave. The other two, the twins David and Tommy — older than the rest and already towering over them in both stature and something they claimed to be emotional maturity — merely raised their hands before wandering off into the crowd of kids. Danielle refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. 

“Have you seen her yet?” Eddie asked in lieu of greeting. 

Danielle shrugged. “No. We don’t even know what she looks like.”

“How hard could it be?” He said, bouncing on his toes with his hands clutching the strap of his new satchel as he keenly scanned the horizon of the crowded schoolyard. “We know what everyone else looks like, right?”

“Do you think she speaks funny?” Carson asked, hovering just behind Eddie. 

Eddie spun around and sighed, as if just now noticing that his baby brother had followed him. “Why would she speak funny? She’s British, not an alien.”

Carson shrugged before turning a smile towards Danielle, and said, “Hi.”

“Hi, Carson,” Danielle said, patting the space next to her on the bench. “You wanna sit with me?”

Carson’s eyes lit up and he scrambled to sit with an eager grin. 

“Danielle,” Eddie hissed with a displeased frown when she caught his eye. She offered him a weak grin and a shrug. He looked to his brother and said, “Carson, don’t you have friends?”

Carson shrugged with a non-committal hum, not meeting either of their gazes. “Yeah. Lots.”

“Why don’t you go hang out with them before school starts, then?”

“But Danielle is my friend too.”

Danielle bumped her shoulder with his, matching his wide grin. 

Eddie huffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Fine.”

As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long to lay eyes on the already infamous new girl. Homeroom was buzzing when Danielle found her seat in the middle of the room. Whispered wishes of hoping she’d be in their class that year. Witness remarks of catching sight of the girl as she was escorted into a side door by the principal, colorfully narrated in between questions on if she was actually as pretty as they said; the answer had been an unflattering snort. Danielle buried her nose back in her book, even as Eddie in the seat next to her twisted away towards the gossip. 

By the time the bell finally rang to start the new year, there was still a hum of restless energy as everyone quieted down and their teacher, Mrs. Walker, introduced herself to the class and took attendance. But a knock on the door, a sharp staccato, both promising and sudden, made the class erupt again into whispers and laughter. Without looking, Eddie reached out over the aisle and rapidly tapped at Danielle's arm. Caught up in the energy of the room, she grinned and pushed his hand away. Just as abruptly as sound had erupted in the room, it was just as quick to cease.

A drop of a pin could be heard as Principal Davis escorted a young girl into the room with a hand on her shoulder. It were as if all the air in the room had been sucked out by way of twenty-odd kids holding their breath in anticipation. Danielle leaned forward in her desk, unable to help herself, biting at her nail. She zeroed on the new girl, and tilted her head curiously at what she saw.

She was smaller than Danielle had imagined. Petite and hunched over, as if curling up on herself with her hands stuffed firmly and stiffly in the pockets of blue overalls that seemed a size too small for her. Long brown hair strung over one shoulder in a braid and eyes stared a hole into the linoleum floor with a firm frown. 

Danielle blinked, and thought with a surprising clarity, she was pretty. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Principal Davis said, guiding the girl directly to the front of the room and staring firmly down his nose at them. “As I’m sure you’re all well aware by now, we have a new student.”

Tearing her gaze from the girl, Danielle risked a glance around the room. No one uttered a word, all of them transfixed. 

Principal Davis continued. “I expect you all to show her your utmost hospitality, and welcome her to our school and town. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Danielle murmured along with the rest of the class.

He smiled in that unpleasant way of his. “Good,” he said, and nodded towards Mrs. Walker before showing himself out. 

The sound of the door shutting echoed loud in the once again dead silent room. Danielle’s eyes strayed to the girl again, knitting her brows as the girl stood tense and alone at the front, shifting on her feet. 

“Well,” Mrs. Walker finally said, voice uncomfortably loud in the unusual quiet. “Why don’t you tell us your name, sweetheart?” The girl’s eyes flickered around the floor as she twisted her mouth, looking almost hesitant. “Go on. We’ve all been waiting to meet you.”

“Name's Jamie,” she said, eyes remaining firmly to the floor.

“Jamie…?”

“Jamie Taylor.”

Snickers and hushed giggles spread across the room, along with a loud whisper. “Isn’t that a boy's name?” 

“Quiet,” Mrs. Walker drawled with a stern stare. When the noise died down again, she turned back to Jamie with a smile that seemed too saccharine. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

Danielle frowned at Mrs. Walker, sparing another glance towards an increasingly tense Jamie. Surely, Mrs. Walker could see Jamie was uncomfortable, even Danielle could see that, suddenly all too aware of the anxious twisting of her own stomach as she watched Jamie stew silently. 

She didn’t know Mrs. Walker very well — just as much as any other kid in the room — but Tommy and David had once told her and Eddie that she had given another boy detention for yawning obnoxiously loud. So naturally, Danielle planned on being on her best behavior for the entire school year. 

“Well?” Mrs. Walker said, quirking an impatient eyebrow. 

Jamie shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

“Anything,” Mrs Walker said. “Tell us three things.”

When it became clear that Mrs. Walker wasn’t going to let her leave, wasn’t going to let her sit and hide away from being showcased like a prize animal at the state fair, Jamie finally cracked and rolled her eyes. 

“Fine. M’ten years old, I’m from Lancashire, and I hate the Beatles. Can I sit now?” She said it in one long rush of breath, rough and sharp all at once. 

Mrs. Walker’s mouth thinned, and after a brief tense silence, she finally relented with a sigh. “Yes, you may,” she said and gestured towards the class. “Sit behind Danielle. There’s a seat there for you.”

Danielle straightened at the sound of her name, and suddenly all eyes were on her. She struggled not to shrink down in her seat as a round of snickers made its way around the room again, and Jamie’s eyes finally lifted from the floor for the first time and darted towards Danielle’s direction. For one brief moment, their eyes met and Danielle almost made the stupid mistake of lifting her hand in an awkward wave. Instead, her mouth curled in what she hoped was something close to a sympathetic smile and not a grimace. 

Jamie blinked for a moment before returning her gaze back to the floor, her jaw hard-set as she stiffly and swiftly strode down the aisle to the desk behind Danielle, roughly settling into her seat with a loud screech of the chair against the floor. Wincing at the sound, Danielle somehow refrained from turning around and offering another smile. As Mrs. Walker finally resumed her syllabus introductions, the low exhale behind her was telling enough. 

Another day maybe, Danielle thought. Another time.

 --

The first week back went by in a similar fashion. Almost worse now that the student body had finally seen Jamie and decided she was some grand celebrity. The rumor mill churned steadily, and much to Danielle’s silent horror, continued to spew more outlandish things that she’d never repeat in polite company. The novelty of the new girl, as it were, hadn’t worn off yet. 

After a few weeks into the school year, somehow, throughout all of it, against all good reason, Jamie remained as silent as she’d been on that first day, barely saying a word unless called upon. Danielle still offered Jamie a quick smile when she would arrive to class each morning, briefly catching her eye on the way to her seat. But instead of smiling back, or showing any signs of acknowledgment at all, Jamie would duck her head and take her seat without a word. 

But when it came to recess and lunch, Danielle would usually spy her sprinting at top speed across the grounds to disappear around the corner or inside the school, followed by a small group of students a good distance behind her, jeering as they went. 

“Why are they chasing her?” Carson asked one day after such an event, sliding next to Danielle where she and Eddie sat on the ground against the brick walls of the school. 

“Chasing who?” Eddie muttered, head buried in a thick tome that said Lord of the Rings on the front. 

“Jamie,” Danielle replied, her own book held, forgotten, in her hands as she stared with a frown in the direction the group went. 

Eddie shrugged. “They’re probably playing, or something.”

“It didn’t look like she was playing,” Carson said, unconvinced. “Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

A part of Danielle was inclined to agree, but Eddie finally pulled his attention away from his book to give his brother a troubled frown. 

“You shouldn’t get involved with things like that,” he said. 

“But —” 

“It’s none of our business,” Eddie interrupted with finality in his voice, and shrugged again. “She seems like trouble anyways. Kyle said she called Jackie 'a daft cow' and stomped on her foot before running away the other day.”

Danielle had to bite her lip to refrain from laughing as Carson’s face twisted in bewilderment. “What does that even mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know. She’s weird. Just stay away and don’t get involved,” Eddie said, and stared at them both long enough for them to nod in agreement before returning to his book as if that was the end of it, satisfied with the outcome of setting things straight.

Danielle met Carson’s gaze and the pair shrugged in tandem. While Danielle still felt unsettled, Carson seemed mollified at Eddie’s guidance, and he reached into his lunch bag to pull out ziploc bags. 

“Mom packed you some snacks again,” he said, holding it out to Danielle.

Warmed to her bones, thoughts of Jamie briefly forgotten, she gratefully took the bags. "Thanks."

"Do you want to come over for dinner again?" 

Hearing that, Eddie's eyes jerked up from his book, and he looked at Danielle with an encouraging nod.

Danielle's hand froze in the bag, midway through fishing out a handful of cashews. The urge to accept the offer was overwhelming. The alternative was making herself a cold, barely palatable dinner and waiting for her mom to stumble home after dark. But it was the end of a week, the most likely time for her mom to go out and come back well into the night, needing someone to lock the doors and put out spare cigarettes littering the house.

In the end, she shook her head. "Sorry. I need to be home for dinner tonight. How about tomorrow?"

Eddie and Carson gave her near identical smiles. "Yeah," said Carson. "Tomorrow!"

 --

Out of all of her classes, Danielle hated gym more than anything. 

They were starting track and field this week. Warm up laps were already an absolute nightmare, and track meant constant running, constant movement, and zero opportunity for Danielle to find an excuse to hang back, to huddle in a corner, to rest for the duration of sitting out her turn, or hide from Mr. Roberts’ disapproving eyes. 

“Hurry it up, Danielle, you’re lagging,” Mr. Roberts said after her first lap around the clay track outside, his arms folded around his lanky frame. 

If Danielle had any energy or gumption left, she would have glared half-heartedly at him. Instead, she was distracted by the hot glare of the sun bearing down on her back, and more importantly, the burning in her chest. For more years than she could count, she’d lived with the inability to run long enough without her lungs burning with every struggling inhalation. Spring came with the annual occurrence of a cough that rattled her lungs for weeks, and the thick smoke of her mom’s cigarettes inhabited every room of the house until every breath Danielle took wheezed to the point where it was difficult to sleep. 

By a lap and a half, Danielle was already exhausted and red from the effort. She steadily ignored the beat of her classmates' footsteps as some of them already began to overlap her, focusing on just trying to breathe. It was difficult to not notice how Jamie was already ahead of the pack, jogging steadily with little effort as she and a few of their classmates pulled farther and farther ahead. Danielle scowled enviously after them, trying not to wince at the growing pain in her chest. 

Eddie came up to her next, shooting her a concerned look. He had kept pace with her at first, a quiet steady company by her side to suffer through Mr. Roberts’ relentless drills and heckling, but Kyle had egged him on into a race of who could run the fastest lap, and off he went, leaving her in the dust as if he had suddenly forgotten how much she hated track. She had scowled after him too. 

Now, she tried to smile, feeling it come across as a grimace. 

He slowed to match her pace, and asked in between breaths, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she lied, the words sending a sharp pain from her lungs up to her throat. She slowed, wincing and pressing a hand to her chest. 

Eddie slowed with her until they were walking along the track. “You should get some water,” he said, pulling her to a stop with a hand on her arm. 

She winced again and dared to shoot a short glance over towards Mr. Roberts, who was scowling at them. “Keep moving, or you get an extra lap!” Mr. Roberts called across the field. 

With a pained huff, Danielle and Eddie resumed walking. 

“Seriously, you should get some water,” Eddie said, wiping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt. Danielle twisted her mouth with apprehension. “It’s not like it’s illegal.”

Try telling him that, Danielle wanted to say, but even the thought of speaking in between heaving breaths kept her quiet. She briefly considered asking Eddie to come with her. Even if Mr. Roberts allowed only one of them a visit to the drinking fountain, at least she would have Eddie by her side to split his ire.

“Go on,” Eddie said, nudging her with a grin.

“Hey, Eddie! You better hurry it up if you don’t wanna lose!” Kyle taunted as he jogged passed them with a group of others. 

Danielle watched them pass by. She tightly crossed her arms, and in that same moment, her eyes briefly met Jamie’s as she overlapped them again, head turned to glance back at Danielle with a blank expression before turning and picking up the pace. 

Gritting her teeth, her cheeks burning, Danielle left Eddie on the track with one last weak smile and crossed the field towards Mr. Roberts with her fists held tightly to her sides and every breath a struggle. At her request for a water break, Mr. Roberts mouth twisted in more disappointment than he probably had any right to feel and nodded with a jerk of his head back towards the school. 

She didn't get very far. The burning sensation in her chest tightened until it abruptly felt like she was drowning on air. The thought was so alarming that a cold sweat broke out on her skin and she leaned heavily against the wall; her breath started coming in faster and her hands began to shake. She wished the pain and pressure in her chest would stop. She wished Eddie had stuck with her instead of leaving her alone. She wished she had stopped running sooner and stuck up for herself. She wished she could call her mom. She wished she didn’t feel like she was currently dying —

“You all right?”

The voice shocked her back into her body, blinking her eyes open that she didn’t even realize she had closed. The sight of skinny legs with scabbed over knees greeted her as she swallowed past the lump in her throat and the next panicked and pained breath. Danielle looked up from where she had unknowingly slid to the ground to see the newly recognizable form of Jamie standing a few feet from her, wearing an expression of hesitant concern. 

Humiliation crashed into her like a flash flood. Perfect. The first opportunity to speak with Jamie, and Danielle was curled up on the ground, red faced and having some freak out episode. Pressing her eyes shut, Danielle nodded and folded her arms across her knees where she promptly buried her face, telling herself that maybe if she hid here long enough, Jamie would go on her way and leave her alone. And with any luck and any sense of kindness, she would keep this moment to herself. 

It was quiet for a moment, beyond the sound of Danielle’s wheezing breath, until finally she could hear the sound of Jamie’s shoes on gravel. Rather than moving away, they slowly moved closer until Danielle could hear the ruffle of clothing.

“Is it Roberts, then?” Jamie finally said, her voice measured and calm in a way Danielle wished she felt herself. When she shrugged in response, Jamie huffed. “Prat. He’s gonna blow out someone’s ears with all his whistling one day, I swear. Though, I reckon you could give him a run for his money with the way you’ve been wheezing about.”

The laugh that erupted from Danielle was so sudden, that she pulled her face away from her arms from the force of it. After hesitating for a moment, she finally pulled her eyes up to find that Jamie was crouched in front of her, wearing a pleased grin. Slowly, the corners of Danielle’s mouth flickered into a frail smile, a hand moving to press gently against her chest as it slowly became easier to breathe.

A glint appeared in Jamie’s eyes. “Want me to have to have a go at him?”

Danielle’s eyebrows furrowed. “A go?”

“Y’know, beat him up.” At Danielle’s wide eyes, Jamie’s grin was wolfish and entirely too mischievous. “Could do us all some good I think.”

“You - you’d get in trouble,” Danielle said. “You could get hurt.”

Jamie shrugged. “Bet I could take him. He’d fall over the second I’d try to tackle him.”

At the image of a small skinny Jamie football tackling Mr. Roberts with ease, Danielle giggled breathlessly. At the sound, Jamie grinned again, looking almost surprised. 

“Thank you, but no,” Danielle said finally. 

“Suit yourself,” Jamie said, pushing herself to her feet and calmly looked Danielle over, her head tilted to one side. “You all good, then?”

Danielle took a moment to take stock, to inhale deeply. It was easier now, the moment of rest and the distraction of Jamie making her laugh having helped, but it still hurt, a dull ache like the embers of a dying fire. More than anything, all Danielle felt now was an acute sense of exhaustion. 

When she nodded, Jamie held out her hand. For someone who had been running for the past half-hour, Jamie’s hand was warm and dry when she grasped it and was gently pulled up from the ground. 

“Let’s get some water, yeah? This heat is a nightmare.”

“Is it different? Back in England?” Danielle asked as they made their way to the drinking fountain further along the building.

Jamie winced up at the unwavering glare of the sun overhead, and said, “Definitely didn’t feel like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.”

The trip to the drinking fountain was short, mostly in fear of Mr. Roberts wrath after having already taken so long, regardless of Jamie’s courageous claims of winning in a fight. It was short, but it was still long enough for Danielle to get a sense of this more open and expressive Jamie who gulped down water for nearly a minute straight before splashing it all over her face and hair. This Jamie who leaned against the wall, patiently waiting as Danielle took slow careful sips and chuckled when she followed Jamie’s example and splashed her own face with a shock of cold water. 

Jamie walked back towards the field without another word of what had transpired, and playfully flicked the remaining water on her hands at Danielle’s face with a smile. At Danielle’s flinch and glare, she laughed and said, “Chin up! It’s almost over.” 

When Danielle smiled, shy and charmed, Jamie winked before jogging back onto the tracks. Watching her go, she decided then and there that she liked Jamie immensely. 

 --

It was a few days later during lunch when once again Danielle caught sight of Jamie sprinting across the grounds like her life depended on it. The small group of four or five chasing her was relentless, not having been the first time Danielle’s spotted them on the hunt. But Jamie was fast, faster than most kids in their grade. It wasn’t like the steady jog she kept up during gym glass, this kind of running was arms pumping and feet pounding, as if she learned how to move that fast from years of experience. The only difference this time was that Jamie was yelling back at them.

“Piss off you fucking wankers!” She shouted behind her as she sped past, the group hot on her tail, jeering and laughing. 

Any other day maybe, if Jamie had never spoken to her, Danielle’s eyes would have widened at the curse flowing freely from her mouth, but today her stomach sank like lead as Jamie disappeared around the corner, away from the watchful eyes of supervising teachers. 

Carson and Eddie’s head shot up at the shout, distracted from their game of marbles Danielle had been observing. 

“What’s...a wanker?” Carson slowly asked.

Eddie’s mouth thinned. “I don’t know, but I don’t think you should say it. Especially not around mom.”

As the group followed Jamie around the corner, Danielle’s eyes darted around for any nearby teachers to find none. At the sound of laughter coming from that same direction, panic and worry swelled within her chest, followed by the feeling of swift indignation and an anger that caught in the back of her throat. Before she knew what she was doing, Danielle shot up to her feet, her hands balled into fists. 

Eddie blinked up at her in surprise, and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Someone should do something,” she said.

“Like what?” Eddie sounded so incredulous that Danielle rolled her eyes. “It’s none of our business.”

“Well, I’m making it my business.”

Carson stood up next to her, his face wary but determined. “Should I get a teacher?”

Danielle paused. Getting a teacher had been her first option as well in the midst of her helplessness at the situation, but then she remembered Jamie’s hunched figure at the front of the class, shying away from the principal’s hand on her shoulder, looking for all the world like she would rather be anywhere than at the center of attention. 

“Let’s -” Danielle swallowed heavily. “Let’s check it out first, and then I’ll let you know.”

More serious than she’d ever seen him, Carson nodded and pulled his shoulders back as if that might make him look taller. She spared him one last brief tense smile before starting towards the sound of laughter and yelling around the corner, knowing he’d be following right behind her. 

“Hey! Wait!” Eddie called after them, panicked. “Danielle!”

She did not stop. Instead, she rounded the corner towards the small group crowded around one of the school dumpsters at the end of an alley, only to come to an abrupt stop at the sound of their voices.

“Isn’t that the same shirt you wore yesterday? Don’t you have any clothes?”

“It’s called laundry, you twat,” Jamie shot back, her voice seething. 

“I bet you clean them by the river. Is it true that people who live by the old tracks can’t even afford electricity?” 

“Ew, the river? How backwards do you have to be to clean your clothes there? How do you not reek?”

“Do you remember that scar on her arm the other day? My cousin Charlie said you only get scars like that from cigarette burns.”

“You mean the time you pinned me down and stole my lunch money, sure I remember,” Jamie snarled. 

“Wait, I didn't see it, I wanna see it.”

“Come near me again, and I swear to god I'll bash your fuckin' head in this time.”

Beneath the dark promise of Jamie’s words, there was a sense of panic underlying them that Danielle recognized after spending so many years in the O’Mara household when roughhousing became more than what the younger members of the family could handle. 

“Danielle…” Carson murmured, his voice worried as he tugged on her shirt. 

“Wait here,” she replied, and with her heartbeat rushing through her ears and a storm of indignant fire in her chest, Danielle started towards the commotion. 

The group of kids didn’t part easily, but Danielle was far beyond being polite at this point. She roughly pushed her way forward, ignoring the disgruntled sounds behind her until her eyes finally landed on Jamie, backed into a corner in between the brick wall and the green dumpster, her jaw squared and shoulders hunched, holding herself so tightly coiled that the only noticeable movement she made were her shallow breaths, the trembling of her fists, and piercing eyes that darted around at each face before her. 

When Jamie’s panicked gaze — somehow darker against the furious red flush across her cheeks — eventually landed on Danielle, she blinked. The muscles of Jamie’s jaw stood out as she clenched her teeth, exhaling slowly, as if steeling herself for a physical blow. It made Danielle pause. Sparing her one last look of concern, Danielle spun around. She was met with a collection of stares ranging from bafflement, to annoyed, to faintly amused.

“What’s going on?” Danielle said, bracing her hands against her hips. 

The boy nearest to her, Sterling, shrugged. “Just trying to get to know the new girl.”

“It didn’t seem like that’s what you were doing,” she said.

Jackie, standing just behind him, rolled her eyes and sighed. “We were just having some fun. What’s the big deal?”

Out of nowhere, Carson popped up right next to Danielle. “It didn’t look like she was having fun,” he said. 

Sterling snorted. “What would you know, dork? Aren’t you, like, seven?”

“I’m eight, so shut up!” Carson insisted hotly, his face flushed.

Sending Sterling a glare, Danielle didn’t notice Eddie finally arriving until he was pushing past the group. “Carson!” He hissed, rushing forward to pull a grumbling Carson back to stand near the edge of the crowd, away from the center of conflict. At the sudden movement, almost everyone turned to stare at him. He seemed to shrink away from their gazes, his eyes darting around. Meanwhile, Carson glowered.

“I think you should leave Jamie alone now,” Danielle said, calling their attention back towards her, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin. “She hasn’t done anything wrong, and you’ve already made your point anyways.”

“Aw, is the perfect golden girl actually sticking up for poor little orphan Jamie?” Jackie taunted with a smirk and tilt of her head, blonde hair glinting in the sun. 

Heat spread across Danielle’s cheeks as there was an audible growl from behind her. “Oh, I’ll show you little orphan, Pullman,” Jamie said darkly.

Danielle shot her a look so firm that Jamie jerked to a halt, glowering and breathing hard, before huffing and looking down to burn a hole in the ground. When Danielle was sure Jamie wasn’t about to make any sudden movements, she turned to face her classmates again and folded her arms tight across her chest.

“I think you should go now,” she said. 

“Or what?” Sterling asked, mirroring Danielle and crossing his arms. 

She worried her bottom lip for a moment, considering. Eddie, who had by now pushed Carson a little more behind him, stared at her. “Danielle,” he muttered, his eyes flickering around. 

He looked so anxious, so much like he wanted to grab Carson by the arm and run away, but Danielle knew he wouldn’t, that he’d never leave her to face the wolves alone. A pang of guilt struck her, knowing that this was exactly what Eddie had wanted to avoid. They had silently agreed to it, to keep their heads down after surviving their own fair share of ridicule over the years. To keep Carson out of harm's way, and yet, here Danielle was, dragging them right into the middle of it as if she’d lost all her senses. 

Another boy named Roger that she only vaguely knew due to an infamous fighting spree a year ago laughed. “What are you gonna do about it? Stare at us to death?” he said with a cruel smirk, taking a step forward.

Danielle’s heart was pounding in her chest like she had run a mile, and played her trump card. “If-if you try to bother any of us again, I’ll tell Tommy and David.”

At the mention of the elder O’Mara twins, older and bigger than any of them, many of her classmates visibly blanched and shrank back. 

Danielle held her breath. While Tommy and David had no qualms with wrestling around with each other and their younger brothers, they had once retaliated so swiftly and succinctly the last time Eddie had crossed hairs with some boys who had shoved his head in a toilet, that there had never been a repeated incident. Danielle only just happened to be an extension of that protection, being glued to Eddie’s hip for so many years. The closest Danielle could say that Tommy and David’s protective streak reached out to her had been two years ago when a boy had pushed her off the monkey bars at the local park. They had chased him two blocks down the street, and returned completely windswept, shrugging when she shyly thanked them, like there was more fun to be had in the chase than defending their little brother’s best friend.

“Yeah, they’ll beat you up!” Carson shouted.

“Shut up,” Eddie muttered, elbowing Carson in the ribs.

Jackie scoffed. “Whatever. I’m bored now anyways,” she said, and began retreating.

A few kids had already begun backtracking towards the main school yard, but at the first sign of Jackie backing down, they all began to shuffle away until all that remained was Roger, who sneered down his nose at Danielle.

Sterling and Jackie lingered by the end of the alley. “Come on, Roger,” Sterling called.

With one last smirk over Danielle’s shoulder towards Jamie, he sauntered away. 

“Bye, Jamie,” Jackie drawled with one last taunting wave and snort, and finally they were gone. 

An exhale escaped from her nose, long and trembling. Her jaw ached from how hard she had been clenching her teeth, and her shoulders finally relaxed from the tense hunched position she hadn’t realized she’d been holding that entire time. 

“Woah,” Carson said, awe in his voice. "That was amazing.”

“Was it?” Eddie said, grimacing. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Carson made a face and promptly jumped away in case Eddie did just that. 

Turning, Danielle faced Jamie. She frowned in concern, glancing her over for any signs of bruises or scrapes. “Are you okay?”

For a long moment, Jamie didn’t answer, meeting Danielle’s gaze with wide eyes just this side of wild. “M’fine,” she said finally in between gritted teeth, gaze darting back down to the ground. “I was handling it.”

Danielle almost reared back at the caustic tone, blinking in confusion.

“Didn’t seem like it,” Eddie muttered. 

Danielle opened her mouth to tell him off, but stopped when a sizable rock dropped from Jamie’s shaking fist onto the ground. She eyed the rock for a moment, her brow furrowed deeply, before looking up at Jamie with unease. Jamie was still flushed red, eyes no longer panicked but still the center of a vicious storm as she was visibly shaking all over now. She wrapped her arms around torso, coiling tight around herself as if it would stop the trembling. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Danielle asked slowly. 

“Said I was, didn’t I,” Jamie said. 

Danielle frowned, but when she took a step forward with an outstretched hand, Jamie jerked away as if stung. Danielle froze.

When the silence stretched too long, Carson stepped next to Danielle. “I’m Carson by the way, and that’s Eddie, my older brother,” he said softly. “Do you want to sit with us for the rest of lunch?”

Jamie shook her head. “I’m good.” When there was no other response forthcoming in the awkward quiet, Jamie nodded to herself. “Right then,” she said softly, and marched off past Danielle without another word or glance back, disappearing around the corner of the school building.

Danielle felt her face fall as she watched her go and tried to swallow down her disappointment in the form of a thick lump in her throat. 

“Maybe I should’ve offered her some snacks.” Carson said softly, fidgeting with his hands. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, and said, “It’s not worth it, Carson.”

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Danielle felt herself nodding distantly as she bit her lip, though she wasn’t sure if that statement was true or not. 

 --

Danielle didn’t really know what she had been expecting. Another day passed of her stomach sinking as Jamie continued to refuse to acknowledge Danielle’s daily morning smile. Maybe a part of her had hoped for something. She just wasn’t sure what. 

At least the bullying had stopped, as far as she could tell. She no longer spotted Jamie being chased about or harassed, but there still lingered a tension in the air, as if a penny was waiting to drop. Of who might be the first to risk Danielle’s proclamation of protection. When Tommy and David had heard wind of it and confronted her after dinner at their house one evening, she had put on her best doe eyes and promised to never do it again if they were to just help keep an eye on Jamie. Just for a little while. They had rolled their eyes and shrugged, surly but acquiescing in that big brother way. It was more than Danielle could’ve hoped for, and she went home that evening relieved and pleased as punch. 

Gym class turned out to be an outlier. For all her cool gazes and apathetic slouch throughout the day, in gym class Jamie lingered. During laps, instead of taking off ahead of the class, Jamie jogged at a steady slow pace just a little ahead of Danielle, letting everyone easily overlap her. When it became clear that Danielle needed to stop and rest, wheezing audibly, Jamie would take one glance at her and collapse on the grass, splaying out on her back where inevitably Mr. Roberts’ ire would skyrocket, giving Danielle the opportunity to sneak away for water without much issue. Jamie would shrug and smirk in the direction of his red face and take her extra laps without complaint. 

When they moved on to other field sports that didn’t involve running, Jamie would loiter. Arms loosely crossed just a few feet away, indifferent and visibly bored, but Danielle would always still feel her watching closely as she attempted a long jump or a shot put toss, frowning with a twist of her mouth. It always made her stomach tighten and her cheeks flush from embarrassment at her inevitably poor attempts at athleticism. Whenever Mr. Roberts took aim with criticism, Danielle would always turn around to find Jamie glowering darkly at him. Every time, it was as if Danielle could see the wheels turning in Jamie’s head, as if she were genuinely considering football tackling the man. 

By the next week, things remained the same with the exception that Danielle had finally admitted to her mom of her now daily episodes. She was promised a visit to the doctors soon to the sound of her mom’s sigh and a haphazard pat to her cheek. It was scheduled just a little after lunch on a Tuesday, but as lunch came and went, Danielle had completely forgotten about it, because Jamie hadn’t returned to class.

A ball of worry formed in Danielle’s stomach. Maybe Jamie was sick, or maybe she also had a doctor’s appointment. Whatever it was, she tried not to think too much about it, biting at her thumbnail as Mrs. Walker droned on in the background. Even so, she wouldn’t have had time anyways, because soon after lunch, she was called down to the school office. 

It wasn’t a place she ventured too often. If there was one thing Danielle was proud of, it was her impeccable record and her grades. When she arrived and greeted the receptionist, Ms. Reeves with a timid hello, the woman smiled kindly at her and carefully explained that Danielle’s mother had called, citing that she’d be unable to pick her up from school for her doctor’s visit.

“Oh,” Danielle murmured, feeling a sharp ache in her chest. “What about my appointment? Did she say anything about it?”

Ms. Reeves nodded. “She said that she rescheduled for sometime later this week. Is that all, sweetheart?”

Danielle pressed her mouth into a thin line and frowned. The ache in her chest grew, but she swallowed down her disappointment and finally nodded. 

Ms. Reeves smiled kindly again, sending her off with a gesture of her hand before busying herself with another phone call. Danielle hesitated, wanting for a desperate moment to ask if someone else could take her, knowing that if she was able to call Judy, she would agree immediately. Worrying at her lower lip, Danielle pulled away from Ms. Reeves' desk with her hands balled into fists by her sides. She turned to leave the office but jerked to a stop when her eyes landed on none other than Jamie, staring directly at her. She was sitting on the long bench along the wall near the principal’s office, slouched in her seat and holding up something to her face, hidden away in a corner. Danielle’s eyes went wide in the same moment as Jamie’s darted away. 

Risking a glance towards Ms. Reeves, who was still distracted by the phone, Danielle edged her way closer to Jamie. Jamie’s shoulders bunched up to her ears, scowling at nothing in particular, and Danielle could finally see that her knuckles were bruised red and purple. She held a ziploc bag with fast melting ice up to her cheek. 

Danielle swallowed heavily, her stomach twisting, and carefully she asked, “Are you okay?” 

Jamie shrugged. “Fine.”

Danielle looked her over, worrying again at her lower lip as she took in how absolutely miserable Jamie appeared. “What happened?” she asked, and then frowned, amending, “Who - uh - who did this to you?”

A long exhale escaped Jamie. She rolled her eyes and her expression settled into one of resignation. “Roger,” she muttered. “Jumped me in the stairwell. Fuckin’ tosser.”

With a quick glance around to see if anyone heard Jamie cursing, Danielle pressed her mouth into a thin line, and huffed. She was going to have to have an annoying conversation with Tommy and David in the future. 

Danielle wrapped her arms loosely around her stomach, shifting awkwardly on her feet. “What does ‘tosser’ mean?” she blurted out.

Arching a puzzled eyebrow, Jamie shrugged. “Dunno. Just means tosser.”

Danielle nodded, not knowing what else to say except for what she actually wanted to say. Taking in a steadying breath, she gingerly took a seat next to Jamie, eyeing her carefully, and finally said, “I’m sorry they’re so mean.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Jamie said, not meeting her gaze, “I’m used to it.”

Danielle blinked at her. “But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Slowly, Jamie finally turned to meet her gaze, her eyes softening, and for the first time, appearing actually affected by Danielle’s words. But, as was expected by this point, Jamie's face shifted to indifference, hiding away whatever vulnerability Danielle managed to pull out of her.  

“S’alright,” Jamie said, then smirked, “You should see his face.”

Danielle was actually looking forward to it, but it still didn’t erase the fact that Jamie was also hurt, and now in the office, no doubt awaiting some kind of punishment. She glanced at Principal Davis’ closed door. 

“How bad is it?” Danielle asked, curious.

“Black and blue,” Jamie said with a proud smirk, and then abruptly frowned, flexing her right hand with a wince. “Got his nose pretty good too. That one hurt a bit.”

"Jamie Taylor!”

The pair jumped, startled at the sudden bellow of Jamie’s name. Even Ms. Reeves looked taken aback as they all looked towards the source of the sound where an old woman with silver struck red hair, imposing and livid, marched in with a cane in hand, and glowering directly at Jamie.

“Christ,” Jamie muttered under her breath, “Let’s get this over with, then.”

“What am I going to do with you?” The old woman said, standing before them. “Fighting at school? I’ll scalp your fuckin’ arse.”

“Nan,” Jamie whined. “I can explain, I — ”

“Not until I’m through with you,” Nan interrupted. “Imagine me picking up the phone at work to hear about this after all those promises.”

“Wasn’t my fault,” Jamie said, glowering and sinking in her seat.

“Aye, and I’m the Queen Mother,” Nan snapped. When Jamie only responded with a huff, Nan sighed and shook her head before looking down at Danielle with such shrewd eyes behind thick glasses, that she almost shrank back into her seat. She had an accent both like and unlike Jamie’s. More lyrical somehow. Every word held a burr. “And who’s this, then?”

As if suddenly remembering all her manners, Danielle shot to her feet and held out her hand with a polite smile, and said, “Hello, ma’am. My name is Danielle Clayton, and I’m Jamie’s new friend.”

Nan arched an eyebrow, staring at her for a moment before grasping her hand and giving it one hard shake. “New friend?” Nan said, giving Jamie a curious look who was looking up at Danielle with wide eyes. “Where’d you find one so polite?” 

Jamie shrugged, looking down at her lap with a petulant frown. 

“Might do you some good, finally. Stop you from getting into all these fights.“

“Ma’am?” Danielle started, hesitating briefly when Nan returned her piercing gaze to her. “I just wanted to say that it really wasn’t Jamie’s fault.”

“That right?”

Danielle fidgeted with her hands. “Yes. She was defending herself,” she said. “Kids here can be very mean.”

Nan stared at her for so long, Danielle almost thought that maybe she didn’t hear her, until finally she sighed and looked back at Jamie. “You and I are going to have a very long chat later.”

Still hiding her face, Jamie nodded silently, though she was visibly less tense than from moments before. Seemingly satisfied with Jamie’s response, Nan left them with a nod and marched over to Ms. Reeves’ desk. Danielle watched her go anxiously, avoiding looking at Jamie in fear that maybe she overstepped a line. 

“You’re not,” Jamie suddenly said.

A little startled by Jamie speaking without warning, Danielle faced her with a puzzled frown. “Not what?”

“You’re not mean,” Jamie said quietly, not looking at her. 

“Well, I sure hope not,” Danielle said, smiling when Jamie’s eyes flickered up to meet hers. Jamie smiled back, slowly as if unsure. 

Danielle returned to her seat. “So, how much trouble do you think you’re in?”

“Grounded for life, no doubt. Detention for a couple days too. Could be worse, I guess.” Jamie sighed, finally dropping the ziploc bag from her cheek where there remained some condensation moisture, revealing the dark bruise that spread across her cheekbone and underneath her eye. Jamie winced as she wiped away the wetness, and Danielle almost winced along with her. 

“I was wondering, when you’re not grounded anymore,” Danielle started slowly, briefly glancing down at her lap before catching Jamie’s eyes, “If you wanted to hang out after school. Away from all this.”

Slow like the sunrise, Jamie’s eyes brightened, a smile overtaking her face. “Really?” she said, and at Danielle’s nod, she chuckled breathlessly, “Okay, yeah. You could come to my place? We have lots of cool places to explore there.”

Danielle nodded, grinning wide. Though she was sure she had explored the majority of the town with the boys, the thought of exploring through the new eyes of Jamie was too exciting to pass up. But abruptly, Jamie’s eyes dimmed, her face flickering with a frown as she suddenly looked down. 

“What is it?” Danielle asked, concerned at the sudden change.

Jamie hesitated, her mouth opening and closing, until finally she started, “Danielle, I…”

Some part of Danielle recoiled, the sound of her full name out of Jamie’s mouth sounding so wrong, so suddenly and intensely, that she blurted, “Dani.” Jamie’s eyes darted back to her, blinking in confusion. “Call me Dani. I-I don’t really like Danielle.”

Jamie’s frown was puzzled, as though recalling Danielle’s introduction to Nan, but she only said, “Bit of a boy’s name though, inn'it?”

Danielle shrugged. “So is yours, and I like your name.”

A small smile emerged on Jamie’s face. “All right,” she said, “Dani then.”

The sound of it, said so simply and easily, felt almost like coming up for air for the first time in a year. Danielle bit her lip, containing what would surely be a thrilled smile, until Jamie sobered again, guilt visibly shining in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said. 

“For what?”

“For the other day. Behind the buildings. With -” Jamie looked down, her shoulders tensing. “- Jackie and Sterling and everyone else.”

Danielle stared at her for a moment. “That’s okay,” she said, nudging Jamie’s shoulder with her own until Jamie returned her gaze, “And you’re welcome.”

Jamie’s shoulders dropped, nodding before exhaling loudly. “Christ, this day’s giving me whiplash,” she said, grinning when Danielle laughed. 

Principal Davis’ office door suddenly swung open, and out walked a balding man and Roger, an eye and cheekbone bruised red and purple, and his nose swollen and stuffed with gauze. 

Smirking, Jamie nudged Danielle in the arm and said, “What’d I tell you?”

Catching sight of the pair of them, Roger blanched, eyes widening as they landed on Danielle before shuffling away with what must be his dad to a bench as far away from them as possible. Danielle glanced back to Jamie to find her glowering after him. 

Before she could have a chance to comment on it, Principal Davis interrupted her. “Miss Taylor,” he said, his voice stiff as steel, holding the door open.  

Nan appeared before them again. “After you,” she said, gesturing with her head towards the office. She tapped Jamie’s ankle impatiently with the end of her cane. 

Jamie sighed and shot Danielle a grim smile. “Wish me luck,” she said.

“Good luck,” Danielle replied, standing along with Jamie to watch her go, to see her pressing her shoulders back and marching towards the office with her jaw squared, but not without twisting around to send Danielle one last wink and cheeky grin. 

Danielle snorted and rolled her eyes, crossing her fingers that Jamie wouldn’t be in too much trouble before finally running back to class.

 --

The timber-framed house was peeling with paint. Curlicues of white stripped away to expose sun-bleached beams and boards. Danielle stood on chipped concrete steps leading to the front door of a single-story bungalow along the old abandoned train tracks. The front lawn was obscured by a wild tangle of grass nearly as tall as she was, and an ancient oak tree leaned over like someone reaching for a jar in a cabinet, casting her in dappled shade. Sunlight beat down through the leaves, and she rubbed at the sweat beading on her forehead with the back of one hand.

She was still debating with herself whether she should knock or just leave, when the door opened, revealing a familiar old woman. One of her bony hands clutched a wooden cane, and she squinted at Danielle with eyes magnified behind a set of round tortoise-shell spectacles.

"Were you ever going to knock?" Nan asked. "Or were you just going to stand out there all day?"

"Um -" said Danielle.

Nan waited for her to form a coherent sentence, then quirked an eyebrow. "What happened? Few weeks ago you were bold as brass."

Straightening her shoulders, Danielle took a deep breath and announced, "Hello, Mrs. Taylor. I'm here to see Jamie. Is she home?"

"Mrs. Taylor, my fat arse. Call me Nan."

"Uh - Nan?"

"Better." Nan turned and began walking further into the house. "Come along, then. We're all out back."

Cautiously, Danielle poked her head inside before the rest of her followed. When she closed the front door behind her, the only light in the living room was shut out, so that it felt like the interior was encased in dark resin. The walls were wainscoted, clustered with artwork and pictures until the room curled round like a kenophobic mass, and all the furniture huddled within, worn yet comfortable. Danielle hesitated to venture too far inside with her shoes still on, but she wiped her shoes on the mat and hastened after Nan, who had already passed through a door leading to the kitchen and was now pulling at a screen door that opened onto the back porch.

"Your new friend's shown up, love," Nan said, and gestured for Danielle to head out through the door. "I'll put on the kettle. And don't forget that patch at the back!"

Danielle stepped out onto the porch, and there was Jamie kneeling in the backyard, wearing a battered old straw hat and a pair of workman's gloves that were four sizes too large for her hands. Danielle smiled, waving her hand enthusiastically so that her whole arm rocked. When Jamie waved back, the glove went flying, and she said a word that made Nan yell recriminations from the open kitchen window.

"Sorry!" Jamie grumbled, pawing through the grass for the glove, but then her face lit up again and she motioned for Danielle to join her.

The backyard was fairing far better than the front. A line of trees sectioned off the property from the old rail line, but Danielle could still see the tracks extending up the way. Most of the yard had been excavated of its weeds, and piles of uprooted greenery were strewn about, wilting in the heat. The trees had yet to shed their leaves, but they were just going yellow at the edges. It wouldn’t be long now until the ground was covered and crackling underfoot.

Jamie had found the glove and held it up in triumph before she put it back on again. "You came!"

"Well, you invited me," Danielle said.

"Didn't mean you had to come."

"I wanted to."

Jamie beamed, and it was almost as potent as the late summer sun burning high in a cloudless sky. Danielle found herself smiling back before she could help herself.

Nodding at the nearest pile of weeds with the toe of her shoe, Danielle asked, "Did you do this?"

Hands on her hips, Jamie said, "Yeah. Nan made me. Says it builds moral fiber."

"What's that?"

Jamie shrugged and made an 'I don't know' sound. Then she reached down and yanked on a particularly stubborn patch of dandelions.

"How do you know which ones to pull up?" Danielle asked. "They all look the same."

With a grunt of force, Jamie wrenched the plant free and shook out the dirt on her knee. "Dunno. I just find the ones that don't seem to fit and -" she chucked the weed into the pile. "- do that."

"But that's a flower."

"An ugly flower."

"It's not ugly. I like yellow."

Jamie grinned up at her from where she moved onto the next patch on the ground. Her shaded eyes seemed to sparkle beneath the brim of the hat. "We can plant nice yellow ones, then. Over there by the house."

Danielle glanced where Jamie was pointing, and saw Nan shuffling out onto the porch with a teapot. The old woman lowered the teapot onto a rickety round table before lowering herself slowly into a mismatched seat. At her feet, the flower beds already bloomed with a riot of small blue flowers.

"Did you grow those ones?"

Jamie shook her head. "Nah. Those were there when we showed up."

Danielle opened her mouth to say something but before she could speak, Nan called out behind them. "Tea's ready!"

Jamie was up like a shot. She raced towards the opportunity to strip the gloves and hat off, and toss them onto the porch while she clambered up after them.

"Use the stairs, you wee scrote!" Nan barked at her when Jamie trampled through the flower beds on the way. 

"Sorry," Jamie said, not sounding sorry at all. 

Danielle was already halfway up said stairs, and Nan pointed towards her. "At least Danielle’s got manners!"

“She likes to be called Dani. She doesn’t like Danielle,” Jamie corrected her.

For a moment it seemed that the two would come to odds — there were narrowed eyes and bullishly squared jaws that made the resemblance between the two unmistakable — but in the end Nan merely grunted into her cup of tea and muttered, “Dani, then.” Her gaze flicked to Danielle and she was scowling. “Could’ve just told me that yourself.”

Danielle had to tamp down the urge to apologize. The force of Nan’s attention was quelling and indivisible. Instead, she turned to Jamie, who was already reaching for a steaming mug of tea, pouring in a dollop of milk from a little saucer. Danielle watched this in confusion, taking the milk when Jamie handed it to her and dumping enough into her own chipped mug so that the tea looked like the bleached pine timbers of the house. It wasn’t until she had spooned a few heaps of sugar into the mug that she realized both Jamie and Nan were staring at her in abject horror. 

“What?” she asked slowly, setting the sugar spoon back into its bowl.

Nan just shook her head and took a sip of her tea. Jamie made a motion for Danielle to follow her, and soon the two of them were seated on the edge of the porch, their legs hanging down so that the bottom of their shoes skimmed the tops of the flowers. Jamie drummed her heels, while Danielle curled one foot up under her opposite thigh. The woodgrain of the boards beneath them dug into her knee and she shifted her weight until she was comfortable.

Jamie had already buried her nose into her mug, nearly a quarter way into her tea. Hesitating for a moment, Danielle lifted her own mug to her mouth. The first taste was a burst of bright sweetness, followed by the barest hint of earthy tea-tones. She made a face and set the mug aside.

"Ruined a perfectly good cuppa, and then doesn't want to drink it," Nan groused behind them.

"It's too hot for a hot drink," Danielle insisted, even as her fingers were curling around the handle of the mug again. "Can I make iced tea next time?"

The idea of a next time had Jamie twisting around to breathlessly await Nan's reaction. Jamie gave Danielle an encouraging grin when Nan just said, "So long as you don't expect me to drink it."

"Want to follow the track and see where it goes?" Jamie asked.

Danielle nodded, but behind them Nan's voice was stern, "Not until you finish your chores."

Jamie whined, but Nan was unrelenting. Chores first. Playtime later. Listening to this exchange, Danielle lifted the cup of tea for another experimental sip. It was still overly warm for a day like today, a day still clinging to the last gasp of summer before the inevitable autumn. She cradled the mug between both hands and craned her neck to watch the others argue.

And it wasn’t like any argument she had seen before between a child and their guardian. Jamie was belligerent in a way that made Danielle tense slightly and peek at Nan for some sort of physical reaction, but Nan only scowled and poured herself another cup of tea.

"You got a mouth like your mother," Nan said sharply.

Jamie's face flushed, and before she could retort Danielle said, "I can help."

The others turned to look at her. There was still the glimmer of a fight caught like a bit between Jamie's teeth, and Nan's expression was beyond stern at this point.

"With the garden," Danielle clarified. "I can - I can help with the garden. And then we can finish faster and go. Right?"

But Jamie shook her head. "No. It's fine. I'll do it quick."

"It's okay. I want to help."

"You can sit with Nan. Drink some tea," said Jamie. "The garden is hard, and you'll start wheezing again."

A hot blush rose up Danielle's cheeks. "I can do it!" She was adamant, gripping the mug tighter. 

"Nan, tell her she can't," Jamie said, twisting around.

Danielle turned as well, the two of them waiting for Nan — an ultimate arbiter as the only resident adult could be, no matter Jamie’s choleric streak — to hand out judgement. 

Nan’s frown had turned quizzical. “Wheezing? You’re sick?”

Danielle studied the milky white ripple of tea in the mug clutched between her hands. The doctor's appointment had finally gone through. Asthma. They'd given her a device that fit over her nose and mouth with a cylinder on the end with proper instructions and apologies. Incurable, they'd said. Just something she had to live with.

“Only -” Danielle licked her chapped lips and said, “Only when I run a lot. Or when there’s smoke. Or in spring. Or -”

Nan held up a hand to keep her from continuing. “Had a cousin like you. Used to beat him in foot races to the neighbor’s paddock.” She lowered her hand with a sigh to the handle of the cane which was leaning against the armrest of her chair. Tapping the end of the cane against the porch, she regarded the two of them thoughtfully. Then, she gave a dismissive wave of her free hand. “Go on, then. Go. Play. But when I flash the porch light twice, it’s time to come home.” 

The effect was immediate. Jamie set down her tea and Danielle barely had time to follow suit before Jamie had grabbed her hand and was hauling her off towards the abandoned train tracks behind the house. 

“C’mon!” Jamie urged and her grin was infectious. 

Danielle found herself stumbling to keep up until she regained her footing. She wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace for long, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Jamie slowed once they’d passed the trees, but she kept their hands linked firmly together. Behind them, Danielle could hear Nan calling after them, but Jamie’s hand was warm in her own, and her eyes were bright, and the day stretched before them like a promise. 

 --

The first time Danielle brought Jamie over to the O’Mara household, Mike was the only parent home. He greeted them with the smiling befuddlement of a man far too accustomed to seeing strangers’ kids trooping through his house as though they belonged there. He told them to have fun and not break anything, and then gently reminded Eddie that he had baseball practice in twenty minutes. Eddie, eyes widening behind his round spectacles, chucked his bag onto the ground of the atrium and raced upstairs to change his clothes, taking the steps two at a time. 

“Hey! Shoes off, buddy!” Mike yelled after him, then shook his head when Eddie’s shoes came tumbling down the staircase a moment later. He smiled gratefully at Danielle, who was already neatly lining up her shoes by the front door. “At least you always remember.”

Feeling far more proud than was probably good for her, Danielle grabbed Jamie’s hand and tugged her further inside, the two of them pursued by Carson, who was all too eager to have them to himself for the afternoon. Not long after they had pulled out a game of Operation, Eddie came thundering down the stairs dressed in his baseball uniform, hurriedly stuffing his curly hair beneath a cap. Carson jerked at the noise, and the buzzer went off as the tweezers touched the side of the board. Laughing, Jamie held out her hand for the tweezers and her turn. 

“Bye, Eddie!” Danielle called out as Mike held open the door, gesturing for Eddie to hurry up so they could get to practice on time. Eddie scrambled around for his mitt, found it, then waved goodbye on his way out. 

“Get the horse one, Jamie,” said Carson, pointing at the board. “I can never get the horse one.”

“All right, all right. Wind your neck in.” 

The front door swung open, and the three of them looked up, expecting Eddie to come charging back inside for some item he had forgotten. Instead, Judy strode through. Her arms were laden so high with brown paper bags that the top of her head was barely visible over them. 

“Eddie, Carson, Danielle,” she said, walking right by them and into the kitchen without a glance in their direction. “Can you please help unpack the car?”

The three of them exchanged puzzled looks. Jamie pointed at herself and mouthed ‘me?’ Danielle and Carson both shrugged at her.

“Now, please,” Judy urged, already pulling open the fridge and stowing things away. 

She used that brook-no-nonsense tone that immediately had Carson and Danielle jumping to their feet to do as asked. Jamie shuffled after them looking utterly bemused, and the three trotted to the car outside in their socks — Carson paused by the doorway to jam his toes into his shoes — and carry groceries inside. 

“Oh, thank you, Eddie, honey,” Judy murmured in an absent-minded way, as Jamie deposited a bag on the countertop. 

Frozen in place, Jamie’s face was a mixture of confused and horrified. Danielle snorted. At the sound, Judy glanced over her shoulder, then did a double take.

“You -” she said, pointing at Jamie, “- are not my second youngest son.”

“No,” said Jamie. “Thank god.”

Judy gave a snort of laughter, her mouth pulling into a wide grin which Jamie matched with a crooked one of her own. “Oh, I think we’ll get along just fine,” Judy said. And then she held out the car keys. “Be a dear and put the car in the garage for me?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up, and she snatched up the car keys, scampering outside at the opportunity to drive the car a few feet forward in a straight line. 

“Carson, go make sure your new friend doesn’t crash into the washing machine,” Judy said, her attention already turning back to stashing all of her groceries away in the pantry. Danielle remained in the kitchen, idly peeking into the bags to see if there were any goodies to eat immediately. Judy shut the bread box and tilted her head at Danielle. “So, that’s the new girl in town?”

Danielle ducked her head. “Yeah. Sorry. I should’ve asked before we just -”

But Judy waved her away. “Don’t be silly. The more the merrier.”

From a distant part of the house in the direction of the garage, they heard a crunching noise, followed by Carson’s excited voice.

Sighing, Judy emerged from the pantry. “Finish up here, won’t you, Danielle.” She walked off towards the garage, opening the door and saying, “Well, aren’t you a regular Kowalski, running over my laundry basket?”

Biting back a smile, Danielle continued unpacking the groceries.

 --

They found the old tire half buried by the train tracks. Jamie dug it up with her hands as if unearthing buried treasure, and the two of them rolled it all the way back to Nan's house, chatting all the way.

"What are we even going to do with it?" Danielle asked as she pushed at the top of the tire a little too hard and it went careening off in a wide circle. "Oh, shoot!"

Jamie made a whooping noise and chased it down, the baggy flannel tied high at her waist flapping like a cape. Rolling it back with both hands, she said mockingly, "Oh, shoot!'  You talk like an old lady at church."

Danielle stuck out her tongue at her. "But not your Nan."

"Oh, fuck no," Jamie laughed.

"If I said a bad word around my mom, she'd ground me for a week."

"Yeah, and my Nan boxes my ears. So, we're even, I guess. Here." Jamie shoved the tire towards Danielle, who rushed forward a few steps to stabilize the tire before it could fall over, keeping it rolling.

"So, what are we doing with it?" Danielle asked again.

"I found some rope in the basement," Jamie said. "We're going to hang it from one of the trees and make a swing."

At that, Danielle's eyes lit up, followed by a thoughtful frown. "Is that safe?"

"It's fine. I've seen it done before."

"Where?"

"Movies. You can twist the rope, too, and make the tire spin real fast. It'll be fun!"

It did, indeed, sound like fun, until she remembered — "Tommy did that to Eddie on the school swings last year, and Eddie threw up everywhere."

"Have you eaten recently?"

"Not since breakfast," Danielle answered.

Jamie shrugged. "Well, there you go, then. She'll be right. Pass it here!"

When Jamie surged ahead, scraped knees flashing red with every step, Danielle heaved at the tire with all her might so that it rolled forward. Jamie stopped it with the bottom of her foot as though it were an oversized soccer ball, then proceeded to nudge it along, hopping as she went. Danielle shook her head and laughed, loping easily along to catch up.

They reached the edge of Nan's property, and immediately Jamie left the tire behind to race towards the back porch. Danielle watched from the tree line, sitting down on the tire in a puff of dirt, as Jamie scarpered up the steps and yanked open the back door. She emerged not long later, fly screen banging in her wake, with a long black and yellow construction rope coiled around one shoulder.

Danielle nodded towards Jamie's dusty shoes. "Don't let Nan catch you running through the house with those on."

Jamie waved her off. "She's out. Running errands or whatever."

Unhooking the rope, Jamie unraveled one end and began twirling it through the air to gain momentum so she could fling it up at an overhead branch. The rope fell uselessly back down to the ground, draping itself across Danielle's legs.

Danielle did not move, and gave Jamie an unimpressed look. "Nice one, Taylor."

"Shut it," Jamie said, making a face and tugging at the rope, but Danielle grabbed the end and held on with a smirk. Jamie's eyebrows rose, the corner of her mouth pulling into a smile. "Oh? That how we going to play it, Danielle?"

The exaggerated lilt of her full name was incentive enough for Danielle to haul back on the rope as hard as she could. She managed to pull a good amount before Jamie yelped and tightened her grip. The tug of war scuffle that ensued was short-lived, ending with Jamie suddenly releasing the rope and causing Danielle to fall backwards off the tire with a cry of surprise.

"Shit!"

"Ohh!" Jamie crowed, pointing. "You swore! Perfect little Dani Clayton said a swear!"

Scrambling upright, Danielle brushed dirt from her hair and back. "You -! You cheated!"

"Won though, didn't I?" said Jamie, and she held up the end of the rope they had been fighting over. She waggled it back and forth, grinning.

"Bet you still can't throw it over the branch," Danielle challenged.

"Oh, you're on."

If Danielle hadn't spent so many years in the company of the O'Mara boys, she might have been less combative with her friends. As it was, she giggled when Jamie cursed fluently with every failed attempt to fling the rope high enough.

"Needs more weight," Jamie muttered to herself, tying the end into knots.

"Needs more muscle behind it."

"You're one to talk," Jamie shot back. "Miss. I-Die-In-Gym-Class."

"Hey!" Danielle said. "I try!"

"Stop being lazy, Danielle! Keep running, Danielle!" said Jamie in a scarily accurate impression of Mr. Roberts. "Honestly, I could kick him next time he does that, you know."

"Don't. Please. The last thing I want is you getting in trouble with your Nan."

Jamie grinned at her. "Not the principal?"

Danielle shook her head vigorously enough that her long ponytail swung over one shoulder. "No way. Your Nan is way scarier than detention."

"Aye, that she is."

Jamie, finished with the knots, began swinging the rope again. This time when the end skimmed the grass, it trimmed a trail through the lawn, until Jamie whipped it up into the air, where it just managed to sail over the branch.

"Yes!" Jamie punched a fist into the air in triumph, then jogged over to pick up the end.

Danielle stood to join her, dragging the tire with her. "Now what?"

"Uh -?" For a moment Jamie seemed at an absolute loss. She held the two ends of the rope in both hands, staring between them and the tire. "We tie them around it?"

"Test the branch first," Danielle said with what she felt was the most sensible thought of the afternoon.

Far more obediently than she ever was with adults, Jamie wrapped her arms around both ends of the rope and tugged. She sawed back and forth, and even dropped all of her weight onto them. Over their heads, the branch creaked slightly and a scatter of loose leaves drifted down. Otherwise, nothing happened.

"Seems safe to me," Jamie announced with a confidence Danielle could only dream of. "Give it here."

Danielle did so, and Jamie made quick work of the rope. At Danielle's insistence, she rolled her eyes but nevertheless looped the ends around once more before tying them off together over the top of the rubber. When they stepped back, the tire hung off the ground at waist height. It rotated gently in place.

Jamie nudged Danielle's elbow with her own. "Want to have the first go?"

"Mmm," Danielle said uncertainly.

"Oh, come on. I'll push you."

"Well -" said Danielle, but she was already stepping her feet through the center of the tire so that she sat partially through it. She clung to the ropes that held the tire aloft as though they were lifelines, while Jamie circled around behind her.

Jamie's hands covered her own, and Danielle jerked slightly when she felt as much as heard Jamie's voice beside her ear. "If you hold onto that any tighter, I think it'll run out of air."

With a snort, Danielle shrugged Jamie away, but loosened her grip all the same. Jamie laughed softly behind her. Not a moment later, Danielle could feel Jamie's hands at her back. She tensed, readying herself for the shove, but it never came. Instead, Jamie rocked her back and forth, building the momentum up until Danielle was swinging as gently as a pendulum, her toes just barely scraping the top of the grass.

"What?" said Jamie to Danielle's shocked silence. "Did you think I was going to fling you off or something?"

"Well - Yeah. Kind of." All too clearly Danielle could remember seeing David do exactly that to Tommy, so that Tommy was sent sprawling off the swing in a slurry of tan bark.

"What kind of friend do you take me for?"

Danielle felt something warm as honey flooding her ribcage. It was the first time Jamie had, herself, referred to them as friends. And though Danielle had assumed that was the case — of course, it was; it must be — that simple statement made her feel light-headed. As though she had just run a lap around the football field.

Danielle straightened her legs, dragging her heels against the ground to bring herself to a halt.

"Something wrong?" Jamie asked behind her.

"No," said Danielle, and she ducked through the center of the tire so that she could step out onto the ground once more. "I just think I should push now. It's your turn."

Jamie grinned. "Okay."

Unlike her, Jamie on the tire urged Danielle to push her harder, higher. She stood mid-swing, feet planted firmly in the tire's sagging center, hands gripping the ropes, and the shift in weight sent the swing in a wild twirl. Laughing, Danielle had to grab ahold of Jamie's legs to get her to stop.

"You're going to fall," Danielle said, though she returned Jamie's smile.

"Am not." Jamie held out a hand and crooked her fingers. "Come on. Hop on up."

Danielle opened her mouth to demur, but then found herself reaching out to grasp Jamie's outstretched hand when Jamie winked at her. A tug against her wrist, and then Danielle was lurching up onto the tire, which nearly tipped the both of them onto the ground. Danielle yelped, grabbing at the rope and clinging for dear life, while Jamie's laughter rang through the air.

It took a moment of repositioning — Danielle was stepping on Jamie's foot — before they both balanced on the bottom rung of the tire. They faced one another, and Jamie waggled her eyebrows.

"Ready?" she asked.

Danielle nodded.

"Okay. We're going to switch who pushes with their legs to get it swinging. Like this." Jamie lifted her weight slightly from the tire, so that the end leaned out, pushed by the soles of Danielle's shoes. Danielle followed suit, and soon they were chatting away while the swing rocked them back and forth.

"So, what did good ol' Ed want the other day?" Jamie asked.

"Oh." Danielle could feel a flush spread across her cheeks in spite of herself. "Nothing, really. Just to hang out."

Which was true. Eddie hadn't wanted to do anything more than usual. The two of them playing board games where his older brothers couldn't bother them. Teasing Carson, who by virtue of being the baby of the group was always the easiest target of his brothers' dubious affections. It was Danielle who had upended the afternoon. Not Eddie.

Jamie was giving her a funny look that seemed to cotton onto Danielle's skin. She shrugged it away and said, "Actually, I dared him to kiss me."

Jamie's face scrunched up as though she had just bitten into a lemon. "Ew. Why?"

To that Danielle could only shrug. "Jackie at school kept saying — anyway, it doesn't matter. I wanted to try it."

"Yeah, but — with Ed? Really?"

"Who else was I supposed to dare? Carson?"

Jamie rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Anyone else. Bloody hell. It's Ed."

"I like Eddie," Danielle said, knowing that the statement was somehow both true and false all at once, but not understanding exactly how. "He's a good friend."

"He looks like a mop."

"So do you, when your hair is down."

"Oi!" Jamie pinched Danielle's flank, and Danielle squirmed away from her as much as she could while remaining on the tire, laughing. "So, did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Kiss you."

Danielle nodded. "Yep. And then Tommy told him that's how you get a girl pregnant, so he came back and tried to get me to marry him."

With a snort, Jamie shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered. Then her eyes went very wide. "Wait — you didn't say 'yes', did you?"

"What? No! Don't be dumb!"

"Well, I don't know! You kissed him!"

"That doesn't -!" Danielle spluttered. "It's -! It wasn't even that nice!"

"What did you expect?" Jamie looked suddenly curious. "Did he poke you with his glasses?"

"A little?" said Danielle with a shrug.

"Should've taken them off."

"I'll have to remember that for next time," Danielle said dryly, and Jamie looked genuinely horrified at the notion. "I'm kidding. And how would you know? You've never kissed anyone before."

"I have," Jamie said.

"Liar."

"I have!" Jamie repeated adamantly, and she rocked her weight into the next swing so that the tire's arc was pushed higher.

"Who?" 

"Not telling,” Jamie said in a sing-song voice.

Danielle scoffed at that.

The corner of Jamie's mouth curled into a grin. "Why? Jealous?"

"Yeah, right," Danielle laughed. "Jealous of some boy?"

"Wasn't a boy."

It took a moment for Jamie's words to register. When they finally did, Danielle blinked. "Oh." Her brows furrowed. "Was it nice?"

Jamie lifted one shoulder. "Wasn't bad."

The tire swung back and forth a few times while Danielle contemplated this revelation. She was still thinking about it, when Jamie knocked their knees together. "Hey."

Danielle glanced up at her. "Hmm?"

"Want to see just how high we can swing?" Jamie asked, and her face was full of its usual mischief.

The branch had been fine so far even with the two of them. So, Danielle nodded, matching Jamie's smile. "Yeah. Sure."

The tire bowed beneath their combined weight as their feet pushed against one another. On each upswing, Jamie would sink down nearly into a crouch to gain as much momentum as possible, until the rush of air caught in their hair, and Danielle felt a swooping sensation in her stomach every time they began a new steeper descent.

They were too busy laughing, caught up in the exhilaration of it all, that they didn't hear the low groan of the old rope.

Something slipped. Danielle was cognizant only of a hitch, as if gravity stuttered, and then the rope unraveled at the peak of their swing. For a fleeting moment, she felt weightless, rising in a parabolic arc, until the earth was replaced by a revolving sky, and it all came crashing down. 

By some miracle, she rolled, tumbling headlong and landing in a heap, not knowing which way was up. Danielle tried to shake herself free from a heady dose of adrenaline, but her heart was hammering in her chest. She glanced around, orienting herself. She was sprawled on the back lawn, her clothes streaked with green from where she had skidded across the grass. With a wince, she pushed herself upright, but apart from a few scrapes on her palms and elbows, everything seemed to be in working order.

From a few feet away, she heard a low groan of pain. 

“Jamie?” 

Scrambling to her feet, Danielle’s head whipped around. Jamie was curled up in a ball nearby, and the tire had flown straight into the flower bed. Danielle staggered over and dropped to her knees. She reached out with shaking hands to roll Jamie onto her back. Jamie did so with a long drawn out moan, clutching one arm to her chest.

“Ow,” Jamie gasped. 

“Are you okay?” Danielle asked breathlessly. When Jamie hissed, Danielle tore her hands away as though scalded. “Oh, my god. Your arm -?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Jamie gave a jerky little shake of her head, and said through grit teeth. “No. My shoulder. Ow.” 

“Do - Do you have a telephone in the house?” She didn’t wait for an answer, already lurching to her feet. “I’m going to call 9-1-1. Just - Just stay here! Don’t move!”

She got no more than a step towards the house, when the back door opened, and there Nan was, one hand holding a bag of groceries, the other leaning upon her walking stick. The bag slowly slipped from her fingers, and she stared, taking in the scene.

“Jesus wept!” Nan said, gaping. “What the bloody hell have you two gotten up to this time?”

 --

Three weeks later Danielle's mom booked the local pool for Danielle’s birthday party, and invited kids that Danielle barely even knew. The day was hot, but clouds blanketed the sky an ocean grey the color of Jamie's eyes. The eldest O'Mara boys were the first in the pool, sprinting off into the deep end with a splash that encouraged others to follow suit. Carson lurked on the sidelines with Danielle — the two of them not confident in their swimming abilities — until Eddie came up behind them and pushed Carson into the pool, laughing. 

"Edmund, be nice to your brother!" Judy called out from near the barbeque, where her husband was arguing with a few of the other dads about how best to operate the grill. 

Eddie just shrugged. He squinted at Danielle — his glasses had been safely left behind on a chair draped with his towel — and nodded towards the pool. "Want to jump in?" 

Danielle looked down at Carson, gasping and paddling furiously in the water, feeling like she should throw him one of the floating pool noodles from shore. He managed to reach the concrete siding and clutched at it like a lifeline.

"Not bad!" Eddie said to him, sticking his foot into the water so he could splash his younger brother in the face. 

Carson spluttered. "Screw you, Eddie!" 

"Carson! Language!" Judy barked. Though how she managed to hear this exchange over the shrieking babble of ten year olds was a mystery. 

"Is the water cold?" Danielle asked. 

Hanging from the ledge with his elbows, Carson shook his head, his dark hair plastered against the back of his neck. "No. It's pretty warm. I think someone peed." 

"Yeah," said Eddie. "You." 

"Shut up, Eddie!" Carson lunged for Eddie's ankle in an attempt to pull him in, but Eddie danced out of reach with a grin. 

Danielle glanced around for a ladder into the pool, but the nearest one was being hogged by a group of girls led by Jackie who recently picked up the habit again of calling her names at school and avoided her in the hallways. She scrunched up her nose and looked away. Her eyes scanned the guests for any sign of Jamie, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, steeling herself for the plunge, Danielle stepped off the ledge, splashing into the water feet first. Her arms lashed out and Danielle bobbed to the surface beside Carson, who was still holding onto the ledge. He'd been right. The water was balmy and her eyes stung with chlorine. 

Wiping at her face with one hand, Danielle gestured to the far end of the pool. "Want to swim over and get some noodles?" 

Carson nodded eagerly, and with a brief exchange of glances, the two of them began splashing in that direction. 

"Hey!" Eddie called after them, suddenly the man left out. "Hey, wait up!"

Behind them Danielle could hear the sound of Eddie jumping into the water and thrashing in their wake. Once in the shallower end, Eddie was just tall enough to stand without his head being submerged, while Danielle and Carson argued over who got the pink pool noodle.

"Pink's for girls," Eddie said firmly. Danielle nodded along. Not necessarily because she agreed, but because she really wanted that noodle.

Carson whined while he awkwardly treaded water with his legs. "It is not! It's just a color!"

"A girly color," said Eddie.

"I like it, though."

"Yeah, but it's my birthday," Danielle said, playing the ultimate trump card that nobody could deny.

Grumbling, Carson let her have it, and took the blue one with a grimace of distaste.

"Thanks," said Danielle.

"Yeah, whatever," Carson said, his voice burbling slightly as he bobbed away in the water.

"If you weren't so short," said Eddie, "you wouldn't need a noodle."

In answer, Carson took said noodle and thwacked his brother over the head with it. A scuffle ensued, Eddie yanking the noodle and flinging it away before shoving Carson's head under the water. Danielle watched them wrestle with amusement, but when the gate leading to the pool opened with a creak, she glanced up to find Jamie pushing through it, flip flops clacking along the pavement.

Jamie's arm was still in a sling. She had excitedly shown Danielle and the O'Mara boys the x-rays of her broken collarbone, and would have taken to carting the black and white photos around in her pocket had it not been for Nan snatching the pictures from her hands and hiding them somewhere in the house where Jamie couldn't find them. This had inevitably resulted in Jamie and Danielle tearing the house apart while Nan was out one day, and — inevitably — the two were found with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Or rather, with Jamie's feet on Danielle's shoulders as she pushed at loose ceiling boards in an attempt to find a hidden storage space.

Now, Jamie held the gate open with her hip for Nan, who limped through, cane in one hand and a lumpy wrapped present in the other. Danielle's eyes lit up and she waved across the pool. Jamie's head turned, a frown on her face as she scanned the crowded space, until she saw Danielle. She waved back with her good arm, and Danielle began swimming towards her.

"No swimsuit?" Danielle asked when she'd reached the ledge.

"What for?" said Jamie, crouching down on her haunches by the water’s edge and lifting her injured arm slightly. "I'll just get my feet wet. It's okay."

On land, Nan had approached Judy, who was reigning as the host of the party despite only being the next door neighbor. Danielle's actual mom was standing with a group of other parents in the shade, well away from any screaming children, a cigarette trailing smoke between two fingers, and a half-finished glass of wine cupped in one palm. The third glass of the afternoon so far, Danielle knew. She kept count.

"So glad you could make it, Ruth," said Judy, taking the present Nan offered her and setting it atop a small pile on a nearby table. 

“Not at all,” Nan replied. “Couldn’t have avoided it even if I wanted to. The girl’s been talking non-stop about this for weeks.” 

Danielle’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Your Nan’s name is Ruth?” 

“Yeah,” said Jamie. “Ruth Heron.”

“Heron?” Danielle repeated. “Not Taylor?”

“Nah. She’s my mum’s mum. Can’t stand my dad.” Then she added, “Or my mum, for that matter. Why?” 

The water rippled around Danielle’s shoulders when she shrugged. “I don’t know. She just doesn’t seem like a Ruth.”

“More like: Ruth-less. Eh?” Jamie winked, and Danielle gave a snort of laughter. 

"Danielle!" yelled a voice from the pool. "Dan -! Oh. Hey, Jamie!" 

Danielle turned, and Carson was making his way towards them. Eddie had been waylaid by his older brother, Tommy, who was attempting to lift him from the water with David so they could fling Eddie back into the deep end. From here, Danielle couldn't see Eddie struggling, which meant it must have been an idea cooked up between the three of them as a good time had all around. 

Jamie lifted her chin in a curt nod to acknowledge Carson. "Hey, yourself. Nice pool noodle." 

Carson beamed, balancing his weight atop the pink pool noodle that Danielle had left behind. "How's the bones?"

"Still broken," said Jamie. 

"Damn," Carson said. "I was hoping you and Danielle could throw me in, too." 

"Can't you get Tommy and David to do it?" Danielle asked. 

Carson mumbled something under his breath about how they didn't let him play with them.

Jamie tilted her head to one side. She straightened, kicked off her flip-flops, then gingerly sat back down — careful not to bump her arm in any way — to hang her legs over the ledge and into the water. "Why do you keep calling her Danielle?"

Carson blinked up at her. "Huh?"

Instead of repeating herself, Jamie turned to Danielle. "Didn't you tell them you prefer being called Dani?"

Danielle's mouth dropped open to reply, but no noise came out. What could she say? That Dani had been a nickname used exclusively by her father? That nobody since his death had deigned to use it despite her asking them? That her insistence on it had resulted in a row with her mother that she could still feel the sting of, as though there was a permanent impression of fingers against her reddened cheek? That Judy had told her Danielle was such a nice name, and she hadn't had the heart to correct her again? That it felt rude to impress her will upon a family who had always welcomed her into their home as though she were one of their own?

“It - uh -” Danielle fumbled for a response. “It never really came up,” she lied. And Jamie seemed to sense it, for she scoffed under her breath and rolled her eyes. 

Carson was watching her intently, but his voice was hesitant when he spoke. "I can call you Dani. If you want. Do you want me to tell Eddie, too?"

"No," Danielle shook her head, feeling her stomach clench unpleasantly. "No, it's - It's fine. Really. You can say Danielle. I don't mind."

Jamie arched an incredulous eyebrow at her, and Danielle could feel her face flush.

“But if you don’t like it -” Carson said, slowly, “- why didn’t you just tell me?”

Dani licked her chapped lips and gave a helpless shrug. She felt something drop atop her head. Flinching slightly, she tilted her face up and peered at the sky. Another fat drop of rain landed on her brow, followed by another, and another, until the pool was leaping with scattered rainfall and the air was filled with the shrieks of children caught up in it. Soon, parents were rushing about with bowed heads, urging their kids out of the water and back into their cars. Judy was orchestrating the saving of the presents and food, while Dani’s mom simply sighed and flicked her cigarette stub to the ground so she could shield the contents of her wineglass from the rain. 

Jamie helped pull Dani from the pool, Carson lumbering out behind her — ‘Wait up, Dani!’ — so the three of them could sprint for the safety of the awning extending from the changing rooms. Peeking into one of the rooms, Jamie quickly snagged a few towels, tossing one to Dani and Carson each. 

“Reckon I got the perfect present for you, then,” Jamie said. 

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by the crack of autumnal thunder. Dani wrapped the towel around herself. “What did you get me?” she asked.

Jamie grinned. “A new jacket.” 

Sheets of rain were rolling down now. Huddled beneath the awning with Jamie on one side and Carson on the other, the three of them watched the stir of chaos caused by the abrupt shift in weather. Dani had to swallow down the sense of gloom that rose up in her throat as the sky only continued to darken, and another rumble of thunder ran across the plains. At least this birthday wasn’t as bad as last year’s, too soon in the wake of a funeral. 

“Sorry about your birthday,” Carson said.

“It’s okay,” Dani said glumly. 

“Want to have another one at our house?” he asked, eyes suddenly bright at the thought. “You can come too, Jamie. Mom likes you.”

The rain unraveled from the edge of the awning like pulled strings from a curtain. Jamie exchanged a look with Dani, who nodded, before she reached out to ruffle Carson’s head with her good hand. “Sure, mate. Why not.”

And just like that, the day didn’t seem like a complete waste after all.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 12 paragraph v

But instead, when I threw open the door—I could scarcely believe it— there stood Boris. Rumpled, red-eyed, battered-looking. Snow in his hair, snow on the shoulders of his coat. I was too startled to be relieved. “What,” I said, as he embraced me, and then to the determined-looking clerk in the hallway, striding rapidly toward us: “No, it’s okay.” “You see? Why should I wait? Why should I wait?” he said angrily, flinging out an arm at the clerk, who had stopped dead to stare. “Didn’t I say? I told you I knew where his room was! How would I know, if not my friend?” Then, to me: “I don’t know why this big production. Ridiculous! I was standing there forever and no one at desk. No one! Sahara Desert!” (glaring at clerk). “Waiting, waiting. Rang the bell! Then, the second I start up—‘wait wait sir—’ ” whiny baby voice—“ ‘come back’—here he comes chasing me —” “Thank you,” I said to the clerk, or his back rather, since after several moments of looking between us in surprise and annoyance he had quietly turned to walk away. “Thanks a lot. I mean it,” I called down the hall after him; it was good to know they stopped people charging upstairs on their own. “Of course sir.” Not bothering to look around. “Merry Christmas.” “Are you going to let me in?” said Boris, when finally the elevator doors closed and we were alone. “Or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?” He smelled rank, as if he hadn’t showered in days, and he looked both faintly contemptuous and very pleased with himself. “I—” my heart was pounding, I felt sick again—“for a minute, sure.” “A minute?” Disdainful look up and down. “You have some place to go?” “As a matter of fact, yes.” “Potter—” half-humorously, putting down his bag, feeling my forehead with his knuckles—“you look bad. You are fevered. You look like you just dug the Panama Canal.” “I feel great,” I said curtly. “You don’t look great. You are white as a fish. Why are you all dressed up? Why did you not answer my calls? What’s this?” he said—looking past me, espying the room service table. “Go ahead. Help yourself.” “Well if you don’t mind, I will. What a week. Been driving all fucking night. Shitty way to spend Christmas Eve—” shouldering his coat off, letting it fall on the floor—“well, truth told, I’ve spent many worse. At least no traffic on the motorway. We stopped at some awful place on the road, only place open, petrol station, frankfurters with mustard, usually I like them, but oh my God, my stomach—” He’d gotten a glass from the bar, was pouring himself some champagne. “And you, here.” Flicking a hand. “Living it up, I see. Lap of luxury.” He’d kicked off his shoes, wiggling wet sock feet. “Christ, my toes are frozen. Very slushy on the streets—snow is all turning to water.” Pulling up a chair. “Sit with me. Eat something. Very good timing.” He’d lifted the cover of the chafing dish, was sniffing the plate of truffled eggs. “Delicious! Still hot! What, what is this?” he said, as I reached in my coat pocket and handed him Gyuri’s watch and ring. “Oh, yes! I forgot. Never mind about that. You can give them back yourself.” “No, you can do it for me.” “Well, we should phone him. This is feast enough for five people. Why don’t we call down—” he lifted up the champagne, looked at the level as if studying a table of troubling financials—“why don’t we call for another of these, full bottle, or maybe two, and send down for more coffee or some tea maybe? I—” pushing his chair in closer—“I am starving! I’ll ask him—” lifting up a piece of smoked salmon, dangling it to his mouth to gobble it before reaching in his pocket for his cell phone—“ask him to dump the car somewhere and walk over, shall I?” “Fine.” Something in me had gone dead at the sight of him, almost like with my dad when I was a kid, long hours alone at home, the involuntary wave of relief at his key in the lock and then the immediate heart-sink at the actual sight of him.

“What?” Licking his fingers noisily. “You don’t want Gyuri to come? Who’s been driving me all night? Who went without sleep? Give him some breakfast at least.” He’d already started in on the eggs. “A lot has happened.” “A lot has happened to me too.” “Where are you going?” “Order what you want.” Fishing the key card out of my pocket, handing it to him. “I’ll leave the total open. Charge it to the room.” “Potter—” throwing down the napkin, starting after me then stopping mid-step and—much to my surprise—laughing. “Go then. To your new friend or activity so important!” “A lot has happened to me.” “Well—” smugly—“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can say that what happened to me is at least five thousand times more. This has been some week. This has been one for the books. While you have been luxuriating in hotel, I—” stepping forward, hand on my sleeve—“hang on.” The phone had rung; he turned half away, spoke rapidly in Ukrainian before breaking off and hanging up very suddenly at the sight of me heading out the door. “Potter.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, looking hard into my pupils, then turning me and steering me around, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot. “What the fuck? You are like Night of the Zombie. What was that movie we liked? The black and white? Not Living Dead, but the poetry one —?” “I Walked with a Zombie. Val Lewton.” “That’s right. That’s the one. Sit down. Weed is very very strong here, even if you are used to it, I should have warned you—” “I haven’t smoked any weed.” “—because I tell you, when I came here first, age twenty maybe, at the time smoking trees every day, I thought I could handle anything and—oh my God. My own fault—I was an ass with the guy at the coffeeshop. ‘Give me strongest you have.’ Well he did! Three hits and I couldn’t walk! I couldn’t stand! It was like I forgot to move my feet! Tunnel vision, no control of muscles. Total disconnection from reality!” He had steered me to the bed; he was sitting beside me with his arm around my shoulders. “And, I mean, you know me but—never! Fast pounding heart, like running and running and whole time sitting still—no comprehension of my locale—terrible darkness! All alone and crying a little, you know, speaking to God in my mind, ‘what did I do,’ ‘why do I deserve this.’ Don’t remember leaving the place! Like a horrible dream. And this is weed, mind you! Weed! Came to on the street, all jelly legs, clutching onto a bike rack near Dam Square. I thought traffic was driving up on the sidewalk and going to wreck into me. Finally found my way to my girl’s flat in the Jordaan and layed around for a long time in a bath with no water in it. So—” He was looking suspiciously at my coffee-splattered shirt front. “I didn’t smoke any weed.” “I know, you said! Was just telling you a story. Thought it was a little interesting to you maybe. Well—no shame,” he said. “Whatever.” The ensuing silence was endless. “I forgot to say—I forgot to say”—he was pouring me a glass of mineral water—“after this time I told you? Wandering on the Dam? I felt wrong for three days after. My girl said, ‘Let’s go out, Boris, you can’t lie here any more and waste the whole weekend.” Vomited in the van Gogh museum. Nice and classy.” The cold water, hitting my sore throat, threw me into goosebumps and into a visceral bodily memory from boyhood: painful desert sunlight, painful afternoon hangover, teeth chattering in the air-conditioned chill. Boris and I so sick we kept retching, and laughing about retching, which made us retch even harder. Gagging on stale crackers from a box in my room. “Well—” Boris stealing a glance at me sideways—“something going around maybe. If was not Christmas Day, I would run down and get something to help your stomach. Here here—” dumping some food on a plate, shoving it at me. He picked up the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, looked at the level again, then poured the remainder of the split into my half-empty orange juice glass (half empty, because he had drunk it himself). “Here,” he said, raising his champagne glass to me.

“Merry Christmas to you! Long life to us both! Christ is born, let us glorify Him! Now—” gulping it down—he’d turned the rolls on the tablecloth, was heaping out food to himself in the ceramic bread dish—“I am sorry, I know you want to hear about everything, but I am hungry and must eat first.” Pâté. Caviar. Christmas bread. Despite everything, I was hungry too, and I decided to be grateful for the moment and for the food in front of me and began to eat and for a while neither of us said anything. “Better?” he said presently, throwing me a glance. “You are exhausted.” Helping himself to more salmon. “There is a bad flu going round. Shirley has it too.” I said nothing. I had only just begun to adjust myself to the fact that he was in the room with me. “I thought you were out with some girl. Well—here is where Gyuri and I have been,” he said, when I didn’t answer. “We have been in Frankfurt. Well —this you know. Some crazy time it’s been! But—” downing his champagne, walking to the minibar and squatting down to look inside— “Do you have my passport?” “Yes I have your passport. Wow, there is some nice wine in here! And all these nice baby Absoluts.” “Where is it?” “Ah—” Loping back to the table with a bottle of red wine under his arm, and three minibar bottles of vodka which he stuck in the ice bucket. “Here you go.” Fishing it from his pocket, tossing it carelessly onto the table. “Now”—sitting down—“shall we drink a toast together?” I sat on the edge of the bed without moving, my half-eaten plate of food still in my lap. My passport.

In the long silence that followed, Boris reached across the table and flicked the edge of my champagne glass with middle finger, sharp crystalline ting like a spoon on an after dinner goblet. “May I have your attention, please?” he inquired ironically. “What?” “Toast?” Tipping his glass to me. I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “And you are what, here?” “Eh?” “Toasting what, exactly?” “Christmas Day? Graciousness of God? Will that do?” The silence between us, while not exactly hostile, took on as it grew a distinctly glaring and unmanageable tone. Finally Boris fell back in his chair and nodded at my glass and said: “Hate to keep asking, but when you are through with staring at me, do you think we can—?” “I’m going to have to figure all this out at some point.” “What?” “I guess I’ll have to sort this all out in my mind some time. It’s going to be a job. Like, this thing over there… that over here. Two different piles. Three different piles maybe.” “Potter, Potter, Potter—” affectionate, half-scornful, leaning forward —“you are a blockhead. You have no sense of gratitude or beauty.” “ ‘No sense of gratitude.’ I’ll drink to that, I guess.” “What? Don’t you remember our happy Christmas that one time? Happy days gone by? Never to return? Your dad—” grand flinging gesture—“at the restaurant table? Our feast and joy? Our happy celebration? Don’t you honor that memory in your heart?” “For God’s sake.” “Potter—” arrested breath—“you are something. You are worse than a woman. ‘Hurry, hurry.’ ‘Get up, go.’ Didn’t you read my texts?” “What?” Boris—reaching for his glass—stopped cold. Quickly he glanced at the floor and I was, suddenly, very aware of the bag by his chair. In amusement, Boris stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth. “Go ahead.” The words hovered over the wrecked breakfast. Distorted reflections in the domed cover of the silver dish. I picked up the bag and stood; and his smile faded when I started to the door. “Wait!” he said. “Wait what?” “You’re not going to open it?” “Look—” I knew myself too well, didn’t trust myself to wait; I wasn’t letting the same thing happen twice— “What are you doing? Where are you going?” “I’m taking this downstairs. So they can lock it in the safe.” I didn’t even know if there was a safe, only that I didn’t want the painting near me—it was safer with strangers, in a cloakroom, anywhere. I was also going to phone the police the moment Boris left, but not until; there was no reason dragging Boris into it. “You didn’t even open it! You don’t even know what it is!” “Duly noted.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Maybe I don’t need to know what it is.” “Oh no? Maybe you do. It’s not what you think,” he added, a bit smugly. “No?” “No.” “How do you know what I think?” “Of course I know what you think it is! And—you are wrong. Sorry. But —” raising his hands—“is something much, much better than.” “Better than?” “Yes.” “How can it be better than?” “It just is. Lots lots better. You will just have to believe me on this. Open and see,” he said, with a curt nod. “What is this?” I said after about thirty stunned seconds. Lifting out one brick of hundreds—dollars—then another. “That is not all of it.” Rubbing the back of his head with the flat of his hand. “Fraction of.” I looked at it, then at him. “Fraction of what?” “Well—” smirking—“thought more dramatic if in cash, no?” Muffled comedy voices floating from next door, articulated cadences of a television laugh track. “Nicer surprise for you! That is not all of it, mind you. U.S. currency, I thought, more convenient for you to return with. What you came over with— a bit more. In fact they have not paid yet—no money has yet come through. But—soon, I hope.” “They? Who hasn’t paid? Paid what?” “This money is mine. Own personal. From the house safe. Stopped in Antwerp to get it. Nicer this way—nicer for you to open, no? Christmas morning? Ho Ho Ho? But you have a lot more coming.” I turned the stack of money over and looked at it: forward and back. Banded, straight from Citibank.

“ ‘Thank you Boris.’ ‘Oh, no problem,’ ” he answered, ironically, in his own voice. “Glad to do it.’ ” Money in stacks. Outside the event. Crisp in the hand. There was some kind of obvious content or emotion to the whole thing I wasn’t getting. “As I say—fraction of. Two million euro. In dollars much much more. So —merry Christmas! My gift to you! I can open you an account in Switzerland for the rest of it and give you a bank book and that way—what?” he said, recoiling almost, when I put the stack of bills in the bag, snapped it shut, and shoved it back at him. “No! It’s yours!” “I don’t want it.” “I don’t think you understand! Let me explain, please.” “I said I don’t want it.” “Potter—” folding his arms and looking at me coldly, the same look he’d given me in the Polack bar—“a different man would walk out laughing now and never come back.” “Then why don’t you?” “I—” looking around the room, as if at a loss for a reason why—“I will tell you why not! For old times’sake. Even though you treat me like a criminal. And because I want to make things up to you—” “Make what up?” “Sorry?” “What, exactly? Will you explain it to me? Where the hell did this money come from? How does this fix a fucking thing?” “Well, actually, you should not be so quick to jump to—” “I don’t care about the money!” I was half-screaming. “I care about the painting! Where’s the painting?” “If you would just wait a second and not fly off the—” “What’s this money for? Where’s it from? From what source, exactly? Bill Gates? Santa Claus? The Tooth Fairy?” “Please. You are like your dad with the drama.” “Where is it? What’d you do with it? It’s gone, isn’t it? Traded? Sold?” “No, of course I—hey—” scraping his chair back hastily—“Jesus, Potter, calm down. Of course I didn’t sell it. Why would I do any such?” “I don’t know! How should I know? What was all this for? What was the point of any of this? Why did I even come here with you? Why’d you have to drag me into it? You thought you’d bring me over here to help you kill people? Is that it?” “I’ve never killed anybody in my life,” said Boris haughtily. “Oh, God. Did you just say that? Am I supposed to laugh? Did I really just hear you say you never—” “That was self defense. You know it. I do not go around hurting people for the fun of it but I will protect myself if I have to. And you,” he said, talking imperiously over me, “with Martin, apart from the fact I would not be here now and most likely you neither—” “Will you do me a favor? If you won’t shut up? Will you maybe go over there and stand for a minute? Because I really don’t want to see you or look at you now.” “—with Martin the police, if they knew, they would give you a medal and so would many others, innocent, not now living, thanks to him. Martin was —” “Or, actually, you could leave. That’s probably better.” “Martin was a devil. Not all human. Not all his fault. He was born that way. No feelings, you know? I have known Martin to do much worse things to people than shooting them. Not to us,” he said, hastily, waving his hand, as if this were the point of all misunderstanding. “Us, he would have shot out of courtesy, and none of his other badness and evil. But—was Martin a good man? A proper human being? No. He was not. Frits was no flower, either. So —this remorse and pain of yours—you must view it in a different light. You must view it as heroism in service of higher good. You cannot always take such a dark perspective of life all the time, you know, it is very bad for you.”

“Can I ask you just one thing?” “Anything.” “Where’s the painting?” “Look—” Boris sighed, and looked away. “This was the best I could do. I know how much you wanted it. I did not think you would be quite so upset not to have it.” “Can you just tell me where it is?” “Potter—” hand on heart—“I’m sorry you are so angry. I was not expecting this. But you said you weren’t going to keep it anyway. You were going to give it back. Isn’t that what you said?” he added when I kept on staring at him. “How the hell is this the right thing?” “Well, I’ll tell you! If you would shut up and let me talk! Instead of ranting back and forth and frothing at mouth and spoiling our Christmas!” “What are you talking about?” “Idiot.” Rapping his temple with his knuckles. “Where do you think this money came from?” “How the fuck should I know?” “This is the reward money!” “Reward?” “Yes! For safe return of!” It took a moment. I was standing. I had to sit down. “Are you angry?” said Boris carefully. Voices in the hallway. Dull winter light glinting off the brass lampshade. “I thought you would be pleased. No?” But I had not recovered sufficiently to speak. All I could do was stare, in dumbfoundment.

At my expression, Boris shook the hair out of his face and laughed. “You gave me the idea yourself. I don’t think you knew how great it was! Genius! I wish had thought of it myself. ‘Call the art cops, call the art cops.’ Well— crazy! So I thought at the time. You’re a bit nuts on this subject to be perfectly honest. Only then—” he shrugged—“unfortunate events took course, as you only too well know, and after we parted on the bridge I spoke to Cherry, what to do, what to do, wringing our hands a bit, and we did a little nosing around, and—” lifting his glass to me—“well in fact, a genius idea! Why should I doubt you? Ever? You are the brains of all this from the start! While I am in Alaska—walking five miles to petrol station to steal a Nestlé bar—well, look at you. Mastermind! Why should I ever doubt you? Because —I look into it, and—” throwing up his arms—“you were right. Who would have thought? Over million dollars for your picture out there in reward money! Not even picture! Information leading to recovery of picture! No questions asked! Cash, free and clear—!” Outside, snow was flying against the window. Next door, someone was coughing hard, or laughing hard, I couldn’t tell which. “Back and forth, back and forth, all these years. A game for suckers. Inconvenient, dangerous. And—question I am asking myself now—why did I even bother? with all this legal money straight-up for the claiming? Because —you were right—straight business thing for them. No questions asked whatever. All they cared about was getting the picture back.” Boris lit a cigarette and dropped the match with a hiss in his water glass. “I did not see it myself, I wish I had—did not think a good idea to stick around if you get me. German SWAT team! Vests, guns. Drop everything! Lie down! Great commotion and crowd in the street! Ah, I would have loved to see the look on Sascha’s face!” “You phoned the cops?”

“Well not me personally! My boy Dima—Dima is furious at the Germans because of the shooting in his garage. Completely unnecessary, and a big headache for him. See—” restlessly, he crossed his legs, blew out a big cloud of smoke—“I had an idea where they had the picture. There’s an apartment in Frankfurt. Used to belong to an old girlfriend of Sascha’s. People keep stuff there. But no way in hell could I get in, even with half a dozen guys. Keys, alarms, cameras, passcode. Only problem—” yawning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—“well, two problems. First one is that police need probable cause to search the apartment. You can not just call with name of thief, anonymous citizen being helpful if you know what I mean. And second problem—I could not remember the exact address of the place. Very very secretive—I have only been there once—late at night, and not in best of condition. Knew roughly the neighborhood… used to be squats, now is very nice… had Gyuri drive me up the streets and down, up the streets and down. Took for fucking ever. Finally—? I had it pinned to a row of houses but was not one hundred percent sure which. So I got out and walked it. Scared as I was, to be on that street—afraid to be seen—I got out of the car and walked it. With my own two feet. Eyes closed halfway. Hypnotized myself a bit, you know, trying to remember number of steps? Trying to feel it in my body? Anyway—I am getting ahead of myself. Dima—?” he was picking assiduously through the breads on the tablecloth—“Dima’s cousin’s sister in law, ex-sister in law actually, married a Dutchman, and they have a son named Anton—twenty-one maybe, twenty-two, squeaky clean, surname van den Brink—Anton is Dutch citizen and has grown up speaking Dutch so this is helpful for us too if you get me. Anton—” nibbling on a roll: making a face, spitting a rye seed between his teeth—“Anton works in a bar where many rich people go, off P. C. Hooftstraat, fancy Amsterdam—Gucci Street, Cartier street. Good kid. Speaks English, Dutch, only two words maybe of Russian. Anyway Dima had Anton phone the police and report that he had seen two Germans, one of which answers to precise description of Sascha—granny glasses, ‘Little House on the Prairie’shirt, tribal tattoo on his hand which Anton is able to draw exactly, from photograph we supplied—anyway, Anton telephoned the art police and told them he had seen these Germans drunk as gods in his bar, arguing, and they are so angry and upset they had left behind —what? A folder! Well of course it is a doctored folder. We were going to do a phone, a doctored phone, but none of us were nerd enough to be sure we did it totally untraceable. So—I printed out some photos… photo I showed you, plus some others that I happened to have on my phone… finch along with relatively recent issue of newspaper to date it, you know. Two years old newspaper but—no matter. Anton just happened to find this folder, see, under a chair, with some other documents from the Miami thing, you know, to connect to prior sighting. Frankfurt address conveniently inserted, as well as Sascha’s name. All this is Myriam’s idea, she deserves the credit, you should buy Myriam big drink when you get back home. FedExed some things from America—very very convincing. It has Sascha’s name, it has—” “Sascha’s in jail?” “Indeed he is.” Boris cackled. “We get the ransom, museum gets the painting, cops get to close the case, insurance company gets its money back, public is edified, everyone wins.” “Ransom?” “Well, reward, ransom, whatever you want to call it.” “Who paid this money out?” “I don’t know.” Boris made an irritated gesture. “Museum, government, private citizen. Does it matter?” “It matters to me.” “Well it shouldn’t. You should shut up and be grateful. Because,” he said, lifting his chin, speaking over me, “you know what, Theo? Know what? Guess! Guess how lucky we were! Not only do they have your bird in there, but—who would have guessed it? Many other stolen pictures!”

“What?” “Two dozens, or more! Missing for many years, some of them! And—not all of them are as lovely or beautiful as yours, in fact most of them are not. This is my own personal opinion. But there are big rewards out on four or five of them all the same—bigger than for yours. And even some of the not-sofamous ones—dead duck, boring picture of fat-faced man you don’t know— even these have smaller rewards—fifty thousand, hundred thousand here and there. Who would think? ‘Information leading to recovery of.’ It adds up. And I hope,” he said, with some austerity, “that maybe you can forgive me for that?” “What?” “Because—they are saying, ‘one of great art recoveries of history.’ And this is the part I hoped would please you—maybe not, who knows, but I hoped. Museum masterworks, returned to public ownership! Stewardship of cultural treasure! Great joy! All the angels are singing! But it would never have happened, if not for you.” I sat in silent amazement. “Of course,” Boris added, nodding at the bag open on the bed, “this is not all of it. Nice Christmas present in it for Myriam and Cherry and Gyuri. And I gave Anton and Dima a thirty per cent cut right off the top. Fifteen per cent each. Anton did all the work really, so in my opinion he should have got twenty and Dima ten. But this is a lot of money for Anton so he is happy.” “Other paintings they recovered. Not just mine.” “Yes, did you not just hear me say—?” “What other paintings?” “Oh, some very celebrated and famous ones! Missing for years!” “Such as—?” Boris made an irritated sound. “Oh, I do not know the names, you know not to ask me that. Few modern things—very important and expensive, everyone very excited although I will be frank, I do not understand why the big deal on some of them. Why does it cost so much, a thing like from kindergarten class? ‘Ugly Blob.’ ‘Black Stick with Tangles.’ But then too— multiple works of historic greatness. One was a Rembrandt.” “Not a seascape?” “No—people in a dark room. Little bit boring. Nice van Gogh, though, of a sea shore. And then… oh, I don’t know… usual thing, Mary, Jesus, many angels. Some sculptures even. And Asian artworks too. They looked to me worth nothing but I guess they were a lot.” Boris stabbed out his cigarette vigorously. “Which reminds me. He got away.” “Who?” “Sascha’s China boy.” He had gone to the minibar, returned with corkscrew and two glasses. “He was not at apartment when the cops came, lucky for him. And—if he is smart, which he is—he will not be coming back.” Holding up crossed fingers. “He will find some other rich man to live off of. That is what he does. Good work if you can get it. Anyway—” biting his lip as he pulled out the cork, pop!—“I wish I had thought of it myself, years ago! One big easy check! Legal Tender! Instead of this Follow the Bouncing Ball, so many years. Back and forth—” wagging the corkscrew, tick, tock—“back and forth. Nervewracking! All this time, all this headache, and all this easy, government money right under my nose! I will tell you—” crossing over, pouring me out a noisy glug of red—“in some ways, Horst is probably just as glad it fell out like this as you. He likes to make a dollar same as anyone but he also has guilt, same ideas of public good, cultural patrimony, blah blah blah.”

“I don’t understand how Horst fits into this.” “No, nor do I, and we will never know,” said Boris firmly. “It’s all very careful and polite. And, yes yes—” impatiently, taking a quick sneaky gulp of his wine—“and yes, I am angry at Horst, a bit, maybe I don’t trust him so much as formerly, maybe in fact I don’t trust him so much at all. But—Horst is saying he wouldn’t have sent Martin if he knew it was us. And maybe he’s telling the truth. ‘Never, Boris—I would never.’ Who can know? To be quite honest—just between us—I think he may be saying it only to save face. Because once it fell to pieces with Martin and Frits, what else could he do? Except gracefully back away? Claim no knowledge? I do not know this for a fact, mind you,” he said. “This is just my theory. Horst has his own story.” “Which is—?” “Horst is saying—” Boris sighed—“Horst says he didn’t know that Sascha took the picture, not until we snatched it ourselves and Sascha phoned from clear blue sky asking Horst’s help to get it back. Pure coincidence that Martin was in town—here from LA for the holidays. For druggies, Amsterdam is fairly popular Christmas spot. And yes, that part—” he rubbed his eye —“well, I am pretty sure Horst is telling the truth. That call from Sascha was a surprise. Throwing himself on Horst’s mercy. No time to talk. Had to act quick. How was Horst to know it was us? Sascha wasn’t even in Amsterdam —he was hearing it all at second hand, from Chinky, whose German is not that great—Horst was hearing it at third. It all lines up if you look at it the right way. That said—” he shrugged. “What?” “Well—Horst definitely didn’t know the painting was in Amsterdam, nor that Sascha was trying to get a loan on it, not until Sascha panicked and called him when we took it. Of that? I am confident. But: did Horst and Sascha collude to make painting vanish in the first place, to Frankfurt, with bad Miami deal? Possibly. Horst liked that picture very very much. Very much. Did I tell you—he knew what it was, first time he saw it? Like, off the top of his head? Name of painter and everything?” “It’s one of the most famous paintings in the world.” “Well—” Boris shrugged—“like I said, he is educated. He grew up around beauty. That said, Horst does not know that it was me cooked up the folder. He might not be so happy. And yet—” he laughed aloud—“would it ever occur to Horst? I wonder. All the time, all this reward sitting there? Free and legal! Shining in plain sight, like the sun! I know I never thought of it—not until now. Worldwide happiness and joy! Lost masterworks recovered! Anton the big hero—posing for photos, talking on Sky News! Standing ovation at the press conference last night! Everyone loves him—like that man who landed the plane in the river a few years back and saved everyone, remember him? But, in my mind, is not Anton the people are clapping for—really is you.” There were so many things to say to Boris, I could say none of them. And yet I could only feel the most abstract gratitude. Maybe, I thought—reaching in the bag, taking out a stack of money and looking it over—maybe good luck was like bad luck in that it took a while to sink in. You didn’t feel anything at first. The feeling came later on. “Pretty nice, no?” said Boris, clearly relieved I’d come round. “You are happy?” “Boris, you need to take half this.” “Believe me, I took care of myself. I have enough now that I can not do anything I don’t feel like for a while. Who knows—maybe go into bar business even, in Stockholm. Or—maybe not. Little bit boring. But you— that’s all yours! And more to come. Remember that time your dad gave us the five hundred each? Flying like feathers! Very noble and grand! Well—to me then? Hungry half the time? Sad and lonely? Nothing to my name? That was a fortune! More money than I had ever seen! And you—” his nose had grown pink; I thought he was about to sneeze—“always decent and good, shared with me everything you had, and—what did I do?”

“Oh, Boris, come on,” I said uneasily. “I stole from you—that’s what I did.” Alcoholic glitter in his eyes. “Took your dearest possession. And how could I treat you so badly, when I wished you only well?” “Stop it. No—really, stop,” I said, when I saw he was crying. “What can I say? You asked me why I took it? and what can I reply? Only that—it’s never the way it seems—all good, all bad. So much easier if it was. Even your dad… feeding me, talking with me, spending time, sheltering me in his roof, giving me clothes off his back… you hated your dad so much but in some ways he was good man.” “I wouldn’t say good.” “Well, I would.” “Well, you would be the only one. You would be wrong.”

“Look. I am more tolerance than you,” said Boris, invigorated by the prospect of a disagreement and sniffing up his tears in a gulp. “Xandra—your dad—always you wanted to make them so evil and bad. And yes… your dad was destructive… irresponsible… a child. His spirit was huge. It pained him terribly! But he hurt himself worse than he ever hurt anyone else. And yes—” he said theatrically, over my objection—“yes, he stole from you, or tried to, I know it, but do you know what? I stole from you too and got away with it. Which is worse? Because I’m telling you—” prodding the bag with his toe —“the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can’t boil down to pure ‘good’ or pure ‘bad’ like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple. Because—all the way driving here, driving all night, Christmas lights on the motorway and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I got choked up—because I was thinking, couldn’t help it, about the Bible story—? you know, where the steward steals the widow’s mite, but then the steward flees to far country and invests the mite wisely and brings back thousandfold cash to widow he stole from? And with joy she forgave him, and they killed the fatted calf, and made merry?” “I think that’s maybe not all the same story.” “Well—Bible school, Poland, it was a long time ago. Still. Because, what I am trying to say—what I was thinking in the car from Antwerp last night— good doesn’t always follow from good deeds, nor bad deeds result from bad, does it? Even the wise and good cannot see the end of all actions. Scary idea! Remember Prince Myshkin in The Idiot?” “I’m not really up for an intellectual talk right now.” “I know, I know, but hear me out. You read The Idiot, right? Right. Well, ‘Idiot’ was very disturbing book to me. In fact it was so disturbing I have never really read very many fictions after, apart from Dragon Tattoo kind of thing. Because”—I was trying to interject—“well, maybe you can tell me about that later, what you thought, but let me tell you why I found it disturbing. Because all Myshkin ever did was good… unselfish… he treated all persons with understanding and compassion and what resulted from this goodness? Murder! Disaster! I used to worry about this a lot. Lie awake at night and worry! Because—why? How could this be? I read that book like three times, thinking I wasn’t understanding right. Myshkin was kind, loved everyone, he was tender, always forgave, he never did a wrong thing—but he trusted all the wrong people, made all bad decisions, hurt everyone around him. Very dark message to this book. ‘Why be good.’ But—this is what took hold on me last night, riding here in the car. What if—is more complicated than that? What if maybe opposite is true as well? Because, if bad can sometimes come from good actions—? where does it ever say, anywhere, that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes—the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?” “I’m not sure I see your point.” “Well—I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can’t exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you—wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,’ ‘what if.’ ‘Life is cruel.’ ‘I wish I had died instead of.’ Well —think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set? No, no—hang on—this is a question worth struggling with. What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”

“Get where?” “Understand, by saying ‘God,’ I am merely using ‘God’ as reference to long-term pattern we can’t decipher. Huge, slow-moving weather system rolling in on us from afar, blowing us randomly like—” eloquently, he batted at the air as if at a blown leaf. “But—maybe not so random and impersonal as all that, if you get me.” “Sorry but I’m not really appreciating your point here.” “You don’t need a point. The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own. Because—” up went the batwing eyebrow —“well, if you didn’t take picture from museum, and Sascha didn’t steal it back, and I didn’t think of claiming reward—well, wouldn’t all those dozens of other paintings remain missing too? Forever maybe? Wrapped in brown paper? Still shut in that apartment? No one to look at them? Lonely and lost to the world? Maybe the one had to be lost for the others to be found?” “I think this goes more to the idea of ‘relentless irony’ than ‘divine providence.’ ” “Yes—but why give it a name? Can’t they both be the same thing?” We looked at each other. And it occurred to me that despite his faults, which were numerous and spectacular, the reason I’d liked Boris and felt happy around him from almost the moment I’d met him was that he was never afraid. You didn’t meet many people who moved freely through the world with such a vigorous contempt for it and at the same time such oddball and unthwartable faith in what, in childhood, he had liked to call “the Planet of Earth.” “So—” Boris downed the rest of his wine, and poured himself some more —“what are your so-big plans?” “As regards what?” “A moment ago, you were tearing off. Why not stay here a while?” “Here?” “No—I didn’t mean here here—not in Amsterdam—I will agree with you that it is a very good idea for us probably to get out of town, and as for myself I will not care to be coming back for a while. What I meant was, why not relax a bit and hang out before flying back? Come to Antwerp with me. See my place! Meet my friends! Get away from your girl problems for a bit.” “No, I’m going home.” “When?” “Today, if I can.” “So soon? No! Come to Antwerp! There is this fantastic service—not like red light—two girls, two thousand euro and you have to call two days in advance. Everything is two. Gyuri can drive us—I’ll sit up front, you can stretch out and sleep in the back. What do you say?”

“Actually, I think maybe you should drop me at the airport.” “Actually—I think I should better not. If I was selling the tickets? I would not even let you on a plane. You look like you have bird flu or SARS.” He was unlacing his waterlogged shoes, trying to jam his feet into them. “Ugh! Will you answer me this question? Why—” holding up the ruined shoe—“tell me why do I buy these so-fancy Italian leathers when I wreck them in one week? When—my old desert boots—you remember? Good for running away fast! Jumping out of windows! Lasted me years! I don’t care if they look crap with my suits. I will find me some more boots like that, and then I will wear them for rest of my life. Where,” he said, frowning at his watch, “where did Gyuri get to? He should not be having so much problems parking on Christmas Day?” “Did you call him?” Boris slapped his head. “No, I forgot. Shit! He probably ate breakfast already. Or else he is in the car, freezing to death.” Draining the rest of his wine, pocketing the mini-bottles of vodka. “Are you packed? Yes? Fantastic. We can go then.” He was, I noticed, wrapping up leftover bread and cheese in a cloth napkin. “Go down and pay up. Although—” he looked disapprovingly at the stained coat thrown over the bed—“you really need to get rid of that thing.” “How?” He nodded at the murky canal outside the window. “Really—?” “Why not? No law against throwing a coat in the canal, is there?” “I would have thought so, yes.” “Well—who knows. Not very widely enforced law, if you ask me. You should see some of the shit I saw floating in that thing during the garbage strike. Drunk Americans puking in, you name it. Although—” glancing out the window—“I am with you, rather not do it in broad daylight. We can take it back to Antwerp in the trunk of the car and throw it down the incinerator. You’ll like my flat a lot.” Fishing for his phone; dialing the number. “Artist’s loft, without the art! And we’ll walk out and buy you a new overcoat when the shops are open.”

[allisondraste]

on writing kiddos

Hi, hello there, it’s me again back with the first bit of meta in a really long time. I’ve been incredibly distracted with school as well as my longfic, which was actually the inspiration for this post.  Just to provide some context, I write a story that spans the lives of my two protagonists from the time they are young children, all the way to their mid twenties, highlighting pivotal moments in their childhood that have had some lasting impact on their present day selves, and as such, I have spent quite a lot of time writing from the perspective of precocious kids and moody teens.  

Fortunately, I love kids, and I’ve had years of experience in both being a big sister and working professionally with kids as both a childcare worker and a therapist.  I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time around kiddos and learn the inner workings of their amazing, rapidly developing brains, and so I’m here to share some of the things I’ve learned AND how it can be applied in a writing situation.  I know that lots of people have apprehensions when writing kids, and so I hope that my anecdotal tips will be helpful to someone out there.

I’ll drop the rest behind a handy dandy read more to spare your all’s feeds. ;D

Age and Cognitive Development

When we write adult characters, part of getting their characterization pinned down is understanding how they think, and the same thing applies to kiddos! Cognitive and socio-emotional development are long-researched topics, so there are a multitude of varying theories, and it can be quite complex to break down into neat categories that apply to all kids.  In fact, all kids develop at different rates, despite following the same general trajectory.

Generally speaking, children start out understanding the world primarily through their senses, reflexes, and movements (interactions with the environment), and end with a fairly complex system of abstraction and understanding of hypotheticals.  (Note that these development ranges are based upon those who are neurotypical and neurodiverse characters would not necessarily have the same markers, so if anyone has any specific tips for writing neurodiverse kids and would like to chime in, please feel free to do so!)

0-2 years - highly sensory/motor based, lots of reflexes; learn the difference between self and environment and differences between objects.  Emotions develop more rapidly, beginning with anger, disgust, fear, surprise, happiness, and gradually developing more and more complicated feelings.  Even at 2 years old, they are likely to not have a solid grasp on labeling the ways they are feeling, and things are mostly behavioral and reflexive. 

2-7 years - children begin to understand symbols and develop language, beginning with the basics and progressing to fairly complex thoughts.  Children between these ages think in a very concrete fashion and are highly reliant upon objects, but they do begin to pretend and roleplay. Children around these ages are egocentric and usually struggle to take the perspective of others. However, they begin to develop the ability to identify and express their feelings and thoughts simply, but struggle to understand the thoughts and feelings of others. 

Mommy had a scrunched up face when she looked a the mess in the house. Billy didn’t really know why her face did that sometimes. (approx 4ish)

7 - 11(ish) - Development of perspective-taking and concrete problem-solving. Thoughts gradually become more complex and holistic, though children at this stage of development take things literally, and at face-value. They typically can understand their own feelings and infer the feelings of others from facial expressions, body language, etc., although they may be inaccurate in their assumptions. 

Mommy’s face scrunched up when she looked at the mess Billy made in the floor.  It was the same face she made when Daddy didn’t take his shoes off before stepping on the carpet.  It usually meant mommy was annoyed  (Approx. 7-8)

Mom’s face wrinkled when she looked at the mess Billy had left in the floor.  He began to pick his things up so she wouldn’t fuss at him. (Approx 10 or 11)

11+ - The ability to think in the abstract and understand hypotheticals begins to develop around age 11, however, it’s different for everyone.  Children and teens usually start to have rather complex thoughts and make inferences based on subtle cues.  They’re able to manipulate information mentally and come to develop their own opinions and conclusions. 

Billy’s mother wasn’t even home yet, and he could already see the look on her face she would have when she saw the mess on the floor.  He hurredly began to scrub the stain from the rug.  He was going to be in so much trouble. He knew it.  

Teenagerdom - Most teens have all the complex thoughts and emotions that adults have, but often have less experience and/or ability to cope with and regulate those thoughts and feelings. Many teens are stuck in this place of being expected to behave in an adult way, while still being treated as a child.  It’s a rough time.  Not to mention, teenagers experience a re-emergence of  egocentrism that takes the form of “Everyone is watching and judging me all the time,” and also “Nobody has ever experienced what I am experiencing and if they have experienced it, then they haven’t experienced it to this degree.”  That all settles down with cognitive maturation and experiences; however, the experiences of teenagers often extend well into the 20s. 

Examining the mess on the floor, Billy knew that his mother was going to kill him.  Murder.  She’d chew him up and spit him back out, never to see the light of day again.  It was the end.  Unless of course he could scrub the stubborn stain from the rug.  This had to be the worst thing that could have possibly happened. 

Personal Experience and Intelligence

As I mentioned above, those age ranges are broad, general “this is sort of what should be happening when,” but they’re more guidelines rather than hard and fast rules.  When writing children, it is helpful to consider the personal experiences a child has had in their lives up to that point as well as their intelligence.  Those are not the measure of a person (even a little one), but they make a huge difference in the rate at which a child matures and interacts with the world.  Generally kids who have more difficult upbringings and those who end up parenting themselves and/or caring for siblings, often seem older than they really are, particularly in regard to their behavior. 

Just to provide some examples for reference, the children that I write in my story are mostly nobles who have relatively comfortable, safe, and happy childhoods.  My Cousland, Liss, is generally a carefree, impulsive, emotional, messy, privileged child, and so I modeled her development more closely in line with the “guidelines.”  Nathaniel is also a noble, but he’s more thoughtful, and has kind of been placed into a parental role in that his dad is emotionally abusive at the very least, and after his mother dies, he is the rock that his siblings stand on, and at that point in time, he is only 10.  He has to grow up a lot faster than he may have had to otherwise. As a very strong counterpoint, there are other characters who do not have any environmental privileges during their childhood.  A very good portrayal of this sort of thing is this comparison of Isabela and Hawke’s respective upbringings.

Both intelligence and life experiences can lead to a quicker rate of cognitive development and maturation in some cases, that does not mean that they are “grown up” or in anyway done developing.  Even the brightest kids, even the kids who have faced unbelievable adversity are still kids and they often still experience impulsivity, emotion dysregulation, and other things that one might not see in adults with the same experiences.  Furthermore, some kids may not even experience advanced development, instead regressing from the lack of social support and modeling from attachment figures. 

Basically, nothing is hard and fast. 

Personality

The next thing I wanted to touch upon is personality.  I think there is a tendency to portray all kids as Standard Kids (which I have endearingly coined Standard Kid Syndrome).  It is all well and good if the intention is just to show a Standard Kid; however, if you really want to dig deep into a character, into who that child is, it’s so important to consider personality traits.  From birth, children have dispositions, and as they grow and learn more about themselves and the world, those dispositions become personality.  Personality traits should shine through very early on!  Kids can be open to experience or rigid and anxious, they can be introverted or extroverted, they can be impulsive or restrained, they can be aggressive, meek, funny, serious, meticulous, silly, cool, gruff, grumpy, snarky, sassy, nerdy, quirky, shy, friendly, withdrawn, and so on and so forth.  Children are new humans; they are not incomplete humans. 

The Kid Voice

When writing from the point of view of a child, all of the things discussed above factor into word choice.  Just like writing adult characters, the way a kid talks in dialogue, or narrates even, is influenced by a blend of so many different things.  Young kids’ descriptions are going to have simpler sentence structures and words.  They may introspect less and observe more.  They may express themselves through their bodies and actions more.  They may have trouble describing what they’re feeling, or understanding what they’re seeing.  Teens may describe things more dramatically and intensely than similar adults would.  They may not.  What is important is considering the mix of traits and experiences they have in relation to cognitive development.  It’s really no different from writing any other character.  It just takes research and planning to get in The Zone.

TL;DR

- Understanding how kids think is a good starting point to writing kids

- Personal experiences, intelligence, and the interaction of qualities can influence how a child thinks in a multitude of ways

- Kids have personalities!  They’re not blank slates that have yet to be filled.  They are whole people, and it’s good to give proper care to show those unique, wonderful little minds that they have

- It’s not so much different than writing adults! It just takes some time spent looking through a different lens!

- This is not a comprehensive reference by any means, so please feel free to chime in!

[flipomatic]

Internship Chapter 5: Day 2 - Emira

Author Note: Time for some important original character introductions.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

___________________________________________________

When she arrived for her second day of the internship, Emira was far less optimistic than she had been the day before. After following the coven leader around and being forced to watch him perform basic illusion magic, she didn’t want to come back the second day.

Unluckily for her, the internship was required and she had no choice. There would be additional unknown horrors from her parents if she skipped it.

So she arrived right on time, making her way into the Illusion Coven building. The coven member who sat at the front desk, Emira had decided to think of him as a secretary, was sitting at his counter just like he had been previously.

He sat up straighter when he saw Emira, smiling brightly. “Good morning.” He greeted her before saying, “The coven leader is expecting you in his office.”

“Thanks.” Emira replied, before turning towards the employee door. She went through and walked the halls, double checking that she made the same turns as yesterday. She was able to reach the door without incident, though she did pass by another student from Hexside in the hallway. She didn’t know them too well, so she didn’t stop to talk.

Emira knocked on the door, and a moment later was told to come in. When she opened the door, she saw that the coven leader wasn’t alone in his office. Another witch was there with him, someone dressed in neutral colors with shoulder length straight brown hair. They had their back to the door, so Emira couldn’t see more than that.

The coven leader was sitting at his desk, ever present grin in place. “Emira, I would like to introduce you to Jennifer.” He gestured towards the other witch, who turned to look at Emira.

Jennifer was wearing a blouse and skirt, which Emira thought was not a very flashy look for the illusion coven. Emira wasn’t sure about her age, perhaps she was in her 30’s or so. Her brown eyes matched her hair, and Emira already felt like she was being examined closely. They hadn’t spoken yet, but it felt like Jennifer already could see right through her.

“She is one of our coven’s finest witches.” The coven leader continued speaking. “For the next four weeks you will shadow her as she works. She’ll show you all aspects of our wonderful coven!” He waved one hand in a flourish.

“Hi!” Jennifer chimed, waving rapidly at Emira. “It’s nice to meet you!” Her smile was large like the coven leader’s, but didn’t carry the same feeling of malice.

“Hi.” Emira replied with about a quarter of the enthusiasm.

“I’m so excited to work together!” Jennifer beamed. “Let’s head to my office, we have much to talk about.” She stepped around Emira to the door, opening it to lead her out.

“Don’t forget what we talked about.” The coven leader called in a sing song voice as Jennifer set one foot out the door, causing her to pause mid step.

She looked back at him and nodded. “Of course.” Jennifer turned back to leave, pushing the door open far enough for Emira to follow behind her. She turned down the hallway and led Emira back towards the entrance, walking about half way there before stopping at an office door. The nameplate on the door said “Jennifer Smith”.

“Welcome to your office for the next month.” Jennifer said as she opened the door, holding it and gesturing for Emira to enter. “Go on in.”

Emira walked past her slowly, taking in the new room. It was about half the size of the coven leader’s office, with a smaller desk and only two chairs. The walls were decorated with light blue banners, representing the illusion coven. Her desk was covered in papers and some small items, though without getting closer Emira couldn’t see what they were. She had a few books as well, piled in the corner of the room. A staff with some kind of bird palisman was leaned against the desk.

Jennifer shut the door as she entered, moving around Emira to sit at her desk. Emira took this as a cue to sit as well, so she took the chair in front of the desk. She held her hands together in her lap, unsure of what she should say.

“This’ll be where we meet every morning before we head out on jobs. The door is unlocked, so if you beat me here you can just come in.” Jennifer said. It was interesting that she didn’t lock the door; she either didn’t have anything of value in here or she greatly trusted everyone else in the coven.

“Alright, I’ll come here then in the morning.” Emira replied with a nod.

Jennifer smiled at that. “Great,” she replied perkily. “You can call me Jen, by the way. Everyone shortens it.” The coven leader didn’t, Emira thought but didn’t comment on it. That was two things now, two points of interest.

“I’ll try to remember.” Emira replied, mentally changing the name she used for her.

Jen quickly jumped into a new topic. “So, tell me about yourself.” Jen leaned forward slightly as she posed the question, resting her arms on the desk.

Emira thought for a moment about what she should say. Her last name hadn’t been brought up yet, so perhaps she should just not mention it. “My name’s Emira, if you didn’t already hear it.”

Jen nodded. “Our coven leader told me a little bit about you, yes. I still want to hear from you.” Her eyes were locked on to Emira.

Interesting, she was much harder to read than the coven leader had been. “I’m in the illusion track at Hexside. I have a twin brother, he’s interning with the Emperor’s Coven.”

Jen sat up straighter as if that grabbed her interest. “Who’s older?” She asked, more curious about the fact that they were twins than his temporary membership with the Emperor’s Coven.

“He is, but only by twenty minutes.” Emira’s mother never let her forget those twenty agonizing minutes.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a twin.” Jen mused, looking up as she imagined it.

Emira shook her head; she'd been asked that question so many times. “It’s just like having regular siblings.”

For the first time since Emira met her, Jen slipped to a frown. “That’s too bad.” Her tone was glum, but quickly came back up with her next question. “What else should I know about you?” Her gaze had come back to Emira, with that feeling from earlier returning. The wording of the question only added to the thought that Jen could see right through her.

“Hmm, I’m excellent at illusion magic.” Emira couldn’t turn down a chance to brag, since Jen was asking. “Basically the top of my class.”

“Good to know.” Jen said with a nod. “We’ll have some hard jobs, so I’ll be counting on you.” That brought a spark of excitement back, one that had been lost in Emira’s many hours of boredom the day before. “We have two jobs today, so we have to get going soon. I hope that you learn a lot over the next four weeks, and I’m happy to be working with you!”

Emira smiled and nodded. “The same to you.” She already felt more interested than when she arrived that morning.

Jen rose from her chair, picking up her palisman staff from where it was leaning. “Let’s get going then, we have work to do!”

Emira stood as well, turning to follow Jen out of the office. They shut the door, leaving it unlocked of course, and walked towards the front to leave the coven. On their way out, Jen waved goodbye at the secretary.

Once they were outside, Jen flourished her staff horizontally. The palisman at the top spread its wings, allowing the staff to hover in the air. Now that it was open, Emira could tell that it was a dove.

Jen sat on it, near the front, keeping her legs on one side. She patted the back, gesturing for Emira to join her. “Don’t worry, Pippin is a great flyer.” Jen called back to her, which made her more nervous instead of less.

Taking a deep breath, Emira knew she had no choice. Despite her reservations about flying with someone she just met, she had to go. Emira sat down on the staff as well, one leg on each side for stability. She held on tight to the staff, then lifted her feet off the ground.

With a quick whistle from Jen, the staff started to move. It flew up and away from the coven, heading to the other side of Bonesborough.

“We’re helping a branch of the oracle coven this morning.” Jen said over the wind, looking back at Emira. “They want to use illusions to increase returning customers. We’re going to test some of their ideas today.”

So they were going to use some flashy illusions then? That was one of Emira’s specialties. She considered herself to specialize in all types of illusion magic, of course.

A few minutes later and the staff tilted down, heading for a large purple tent. Jen commented on the upgraded space as they landed and hopped off the staff. Emira’s legs shook slightly as she put her weight back on them, but the feeling faded a moment later.

A witch in a purple robe came out of the tent, likely having heard them arrive. “Welcome!” She said, coming forward to shake Jen’s hand vigorously. “We’re so excited to have you here.”

“We’re glad to help.” Jen returned the shake firmly. “Where do you want us inside?” She asked as she released the oracle member.

“Ah yes, this way please.” The oracle member started telling them about the job as she led them into the tent. “We want to do some special effects to match the fortune being told. For example, if they have love in their future little hearts could appear over them. Stuff like that.”

“We can definitely do that for you.” Jen said confidently, with Emira not far behind her. The inside of the tent looked larger than it did from the outside. It had a small table in the center, with two chairs nearby and a large crystal ball perched upon it. The outer walls of the tent were decorated with large purple stars.

The pair followed the oracle member to one of the walls, where she told them to stay. “The customers won’t be able to see you from here. At least, not while they’re having their fortune read.” That was how she explained the location. “Customers will be coming soon; they’ll sit in the center with me.”

“We’ll be ready.” Jen assured her with a smile. When the oracle member walked away, she turned to Emira. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, casting an illusion spell quickly to make little light versions of herself and Emira. “I’ll take the changing images.” The mini illusion her cast a spell to make mini illusion images. “I want you to make a light layer of fog, just the bottom two feet of the tent, to make the overhead illusions really pop.”

This was better than yesterday, since with the coven leader she hadn’t been able to contribute at all, but it still felt like an insult. “Just the fog?” Emira asked, trying not to sound as offended as she felt.

“It’ll enhance the effect of the illusion images.” Jen didn’t really answer the question. “I’m sure you will do a great job!” That also was not what Emira wanted to hear.

It wasn’t worth it though, protesting again. Emira sighed and accepted it, then asked, “How thick do you want the fog?” Might as well get it right.

Jen brought one hand up to her chin as she thought. “Thick enough so they can’t see us here when they come in, so probably denser around the edges and thinner in the middle.”

Emira nodded, she could do that with no problems. She lifted her arm to make a large magic circle, this would have to be a big spell to cover the whole tent. When the circle was completed, a light grey fog appeared out of it. Emira directed it with her finger, sending it throughout the room.

As instructed, she kept it denser along the outside of the tent. The center could still be seen from the side, but the sides could not be seen from the center.

Jen was looking around, nodding at what she saw. “This is perfect.” She said, walking towards the center of the tent to see it from every angle. “Absolutely splendid, great work Emira!”

It wasn’t anything too special, Emira thought, just a single fog spell spread wider than one cast would normally allow. Of course, now she would have to hold the spell for however many hours they were here. That would prove to be a bigger challenge than the initial casting.

Emira sat down to make it easier to hold, knowing that the biggest obstacle would be if she got too bored and lost focus on the spell. She crossed her legs and kept her mind on the fog.

In the middle of the room, Jen was practicing some of the illusion images she was going to make. Emira could see them in her peripheral vision, but she wasn’t watching. The coven leader’s skills before had been pure disappointment; she didn’t expect much better for Jen.

Perhaps that was doing her a disservice, but Emira didn’t care.

This job, of holding a fog spell in place, was mind numbingly boring.

Even when customers started coming in, which brought Jen back to cast from near Emira, she was still bored. She wasn’t interested in eavesdropping on their fortunes, though if one of her siblings had come by that would’ve grabbed her interest. She just had to keep the fog spell up and nothing else.

At one point, about an hour in to the job, another Hexside student came in. It was a potions track student, one of the underclassmen who were too young for the internship. He sat down to get his fortune read, like all the rest, but Emira saw an opportunity.

She could maintain the fog spell and another illusion, she had done harder layered magic before. With a spin of her finger she made a glowing ghost like apparition appear, just over the oracle member’s shoulder. It hovered there, in place for when the Hexside student looked up. His face would be hilarious when he saw it.

Unfortunately, Emira had forgotten about Jen. Jen glanced at her once and then, without a word, Jen drew a reverse magic circle. It glowed with power and made Emira’s illusion image disappear. The pull of magic when it popped almost yanked the fog spell out of Emira’s control, but she was able to hold it.

How in the Boiling Isles did Jen do that? Emira knew about being able to cancel other witches illusions in theory, but had never seen it done in practice.

Emira sighed, perhaps she would have to keep an eye on Jen after all, then went back to focusing on her fog spell and just how bored she was.

Next Chapter

[seoultraveller]

[A/N: I am kind of writing this for myself (ngl) but I thought it would be interesting to see how something like this plays out. A multi-part AU where the characters are attending university in South Korea. The main female character is black/African-American but that will later become more of a factor as the story goes on. Seonghwa and the MC exchange letters through a book in one of the libraries on campus and without know each other, grow a connection through that. Hongjoong is the classmate and group partner of the MC but has no idea that they are exchanging letters to each other until further on in the story. This part is just a quick introduction to the characters and their overall placements in the story.]

Her Secret Scribe, His Winter Dream (1)

Pairing: Seonghwa x Black Female MC & Hongjoong x Black Female MC

Genre: College!AU

Word Count: 2,885

October 29, 2020 ~4:50am

Waking up at around 4:50am, Seonghwa notices that his textbook, notes, highlighters, and pen are all still neatly placed on his desk. He placed it there with the intent to get some early morning studying in before his shower and a little bit after his shower, just before he left for his first class of the day. He wills himself up from his warm, soft, and comfortable bed to walk to the bathroom to freshen up. On his way to the bathroom, he passes by his roommates partially opened door and takes a peek to see if he made it in last night. Or more like, early this morning. Poking the top of his head through the door opening Seonghwa sees his roommate. There lies Hongjoong, fully clothed, face-first, bag still hanging off of his shoulder, lying on top of his bed, and in the starfish position. All Seonghwa can do is shake his head at his friend, knowing how bad his sleeping habits are and how much is is hardly at the apartment nowadays.

After checking on Hongjoong, Seonghwa goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. Then he strips himself of his pajamas and gets into the shower. Showers have always been a bit of a meditative practice to Seonghwa. His average time is forty minutes but there are occasions where he has spent up to 50 minutes or an hour in the shower. He prides himself on his cleanliness, both in how he physically presents himself and the spaces that he exists in (apartment, bed, desk, etc...).

Once his shower is done, he wraps his towel around his hips and then makes his way to the kitchen. There he takes out four eggs, a container of rice, and some steak that he grilled left over from the night before. Next, Seonghwa fills up a pot with water, sets it on one of the eyes of the stove and puts the fire on 8 (one of the highest settings). After dropping the four eggs in the water he rinses his hands off and proceeds to his bedroom to get changed.

Never one to make to much of a fuss of what he wears, Seonghwa puts on an undershirt, then throws on a grey long-sleeved thermal and a pair of black jeans. Long black socks to warm his feet, and he takes out a sweater and a jacket to keep himself warm on his way to class.

It’s around 6:00am by the time he is finished getting dressed and now, he tends to the food that is set out in the kitchen. Reheating the steak and rice, turning off the fire underneath the pot and taking out two of the hard boiled eggs for himself. He puts it all in a bowl that he takes back to his room, and eats at his desk, while going over his notes.

Seonghwa broke up his study time into two 45-minute sessions, which allows him time to prepare a bowl for Hongjoong for breakfast (if he eats it) and make it down to his bus before it pulls up at 8:30am.

Having followed his schedule to a ‘T’ this morning, he was proud of himself for making it to the library before the morning rush and acquiring a desk, with a view, on the third floor before they were all occupied. Instead of pushing himself to study a bit more, since today’s schedule was not Seonghwa’s usual schedule, he decided to write a letter on the off-chance that he can bring comfort to someone during mid-term season. Instead of writing on bathroom doors, or in the dark corner of a desk, Seonghwa decided to write a letter. Writing a letter and stashing it in a random book. It’s getting a bit chillier in South Korea, so although it was a long shot, perhaps he can create a pen-pal through this and maybe even get close and intimate during this period as well. However, that is a very, very, very long shot.

So with romantic thoughts of meeting someone who shares a like mind or sees life from a different perspective, he writes.

“Dear Student that is Enduring Mid-Terms and an Incoming Winter,

We are nearing the beginning of a new month which could mean a fresh new beginning for some. It could also mean nearing the end of something larger, like the semester. I know that it’s mid-term season but I am unsure if it has ended for you. I could only pray that you stay warm as the winter will be harsh as it usually is, but I am sure you knew that.

I honestly thought I would have more to say... but obviously not. I figured a formal letter would be better to connect with someone during this time, then short, informal, and weird messages written aimlessly. Now, I’m getting embarrassed... Sorry.

No one will probably read this so...

With Care,

The Secret Scribe”

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

October 29, 2020 ~10:52am

Waiting in a hallway right outside the classroom, she, scrolls through her student email account on her phone and sees an email from her linguistics class. Linguistic Acquisition through Different Ages - LIA 3006. Although she knew, that to pass this class she must complete a project, she totally forgot that it had to be completed with at least one or two other people. A group project... “how despicable” she thought. The email that the professor sent, laid out the regulations of the project and even placed the class in neat groups of two or three. She was lucky enough to get paired with “Mr. Fashionably-Late because Staying Up to Work on My Art is More Important”. As the time got closer and closer to 11:00am, Hongjoong is still nowhere to be seen. She’s just praying that he comes through at least ten minutes into class and not twenty minutes before it’s over. However, she could only pray for such a thing.

At 11:11am on the dot, Hongjoong comes through the door quietly. Chest heaving up and down because he was sprinting through the campus and hallways to make it to class... not too late. She notices him out of the corner of her eye and does a slow eye roll as he tip-toes his way in her direction.

“Was that a look of displeasure on your face? Or are you just containing your excitement to see me?”, he whispers into her ear while trying to quietly slither down into his seat, quickly, while the professor has her back turned.

“You are one minute late past our deal, Hongjoong.” She scolds.

“So you will not share your notes with me from today?”, he asks while giving her a pout.

“There is nothing to share. She is still reviewing the content we learned two days ago before starting a new lesson.” She retorts.

“Why did you roll your eyes then?” He questions again, as if his academics are the last thing he cares about.

“Hongjoong- “, she starts. “If there is something that you two would like to share with the class, please come up to the front.” The professor cuts in.

The look of two deer in the headlights is what can be seen from the professor’s viewpoint. With mouths agape and eyes wide, the two whispering chatterboxes were rendered speechless.

The professor continues on, “Please stop whispering behind my back. Also, I need to speak with the two of you after class.” The two of them shake their heads rapidly affirming their professor’s request.

Their class is currently on the topic of children acquiring their mother tongue and how the brain develops as the children learn how to speak or bring attention to their wants and needs as they grow. A topic such as this excites her all the more because it ties into her study abroad research topic. Learning how to speak amidst all of the culture that one’s language is tied to really fascinates her. Seeing as how her major of study in her home country is Linguistics and she took Korean because of the small intimate nature of the class, she has wanted to do and learn so much more.

As the lecture winds downs to a close for this session, Hongjoong becomes more and more anxious about what the professor wants to talk about before letting them go. Then, he hears the professor harp on,

“As for the email I sent earlier today-“, Hongjoong’s ears perk up. “You will see that for the group project you will have two different options to choose from. It can be turned in as a 10-page research paper, or completed as a presentation. Your groups have been chosen for you, by me. Please consult me if you have any questions on the project or the partners that you will be working with.” After the professor gives her parting words to the class, her eyes fall onto the two little songbirds that had her interrupt her lecture earlier.

With a knowing look, they make their way to the front of the class with a downcast gaze. As if they were to be physically reprimanded. “You know that you two are partners for this group project.” The professor starts. “Hongjoong you must be a reliable partner. I set you two up together because I’ve noticed a great partnership between you two throughout the semester. Your partner is also fairing better than you are this term. You can learn a great deal from her, in fact, you can learn quite a bit from each other. I want you to succeed Hongjoong, and I know you can.” The professor softens her gaze and turns to his partner. “She’ll do everything she can to help, won’t you?” She shakes her head ‘yes’ then looks down again. Then the professor continues to finish, “well, that was all I needed to say. Any questions?” The two students shake their head ‘no’ and bid their professor farewell before leaving the class.

“Buddies until the Christmas break?” Hongjoong says as he winks at her.

“Group partners, more like.” She says back to him.

“Wanna talk about the project over lunch?” He asks.

“Ah- that sounds like a really great idea since we’re both free at this time, but...” she trails off, but then picks up again. “Where are your eating? On campus, or off? Just asking because I figured I should check out a few language and culture books to get some foundation on our project. I’ll meet you wherever you are.

His eyebrows raise at her go-getter attitude. “Sure. Meet me at the small Vietnamese spot two blocks down.”

“Got it.” She winks at him as they break apart.

She has her mind filled with countless ways to approach the project, while his is filled with hunger and images of a big flavorful dish filled with meat and vibrantly colored vegetables.

Before aimlessly searching around the library for what she needed, she looked up the language, literature, and culture and linguistic sections of the library. Literature happens to be in the basement, while language, culture, and linguistics just happen to be on the third floor. So, she sets off for the third floor.

Although quiet, the third floor is warm and the ambiance is calm. Compared to the rest of the library, this is the floor that most people like to be on, and she could tell, because there was not a place to sit. However, her journey to this floor was not for studying but a quick search. So she set off. The part of the library she set off to was a little empty, and not as cramped as the other parts but she liked it that way. The first book she pulled from the shelf had to do with children’s speech patterns and babies recognizing sound. Noticing that there was a folded piece of paper sticking out from the top, she flipped to that spot in the book thinking there might be valuable information on that page right from the start. Nothing out of the ordinary was written on the page. No sticky notes, no annotations or drawings, just words. Next, she took to opening up the folded sheet of paper and to her surprise, it read as a simple greetings letter.

A random letter in a random book. What was the point? Was this fate, or was it meant for someone else? She thought it was cute; with the well wishes to stay warm during harsh Korean winters, and the impending embarrassment of the writer, as well as the writer giving themselves a name. She fell for it. She fell hard. Almost immediately she began having romantic notions of trading love letters to someone in a new environment. However, romantic thoughts quickly left her as she thought it could also be a woman, instead of a man. There is nothing indicating the gender of the writer and she honestly feels a little bad for passing such a judgement so quickly. Her train of thought comes to a halt as she feels the buzzing of her phone indicating a text messsage coming through.

🎧 HJ: should i order ahead for you too?

HER: sure, you’re there already?

🎧 HJ: yeah

what do you want?

HER: something mild. not too spicy.

🎧 HJ: got it

when are you coming down?

HER: actually on my way now. see you in a bit.

🎧 HJ: 😉 😉

She rolls her eyes at his latest text. She puts the letter back in the book, skim a few other book titles, take them off the shelves and makes her way over to the check-out counter.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Now, sitting and eating in the small restaurant they begin talking about why Hongjoong is late all the time, their interests outside of the classroom, and plans for the Christmas break after the project is done.

Hongjoong reaches for one of the books and questions to himself whether she’s started taking notes already because he sees a folded sheet of paper sticking out at the top. While she is busy eating and busying herself with her phone, she doesn’t notice Hongjoong going through the book. Him being as perceptive as he is, notices that it’s a small note signed by a “secret scribe”. Did she know this was here? He asks himself. In fact, taking a closer look at the writing, the tone feels oddly familiar and so does the handwriting. Or maybe he is just thinking too hard about this. Either way, he tucks the note back in its proper place and continues with skimming through the index and other parts of the book.

Hongjoong brings her attention to him by breaking the silence. “Since you have four books, how about I take two to read and you take two?”

“Sounds good.” She responds. After making her choice of books to take, they set up a time to meet, outside of class, to get started on the project.

She makes her way back to the library, while Hongjoong walks through another part of the campus to work on his music. After making it safely to the library, she struggles to find a spot. Settling for the floor in the basement, she sets off to write a letter to the “secret scribe”.

“Dear Secret Scribe (?),

I came upon your letter by chance for a project but for some reason I feel as if I am imposing. As if I was not supposed to read it and respond, but here I am writing to you anyway...

My writing may look odd and the sentence structure may be weird, but it’s because I am a foreign student.

The weather is not too bad so far, however, I am doing my best to stay warm. The change of seasons in South Korea is very beautiful to experience. Not only can you see it and smell it, but you can also sense it. Does that make sense? Anyway, my mid-terms are over, I only had two. Now, I am working towards finals. The final project that I am working on is for my Linguistics class. Actually, I am a Linguistics major. What are you majoring in? Also, are you a man or woman? I am a woman if you were curious.

I truly hope that you are managing to stay warm and stress free as the semester is coming towards an end.

You’ll Be In My Thoughts,

Your... Winter Student... A Winter Dream

P.S. I kind of need to take this book with me for research, but I’ll keep it here for you until we can agree on a place to drop off our letters... Only if you would like to continue this correspondence... Your Choice.”

With that, she leaves her letter in the book and goes up to the third floor and places it back on the shelf that she took it from. Her heart is racing, but she doesn’t know why. He probably will not respond too quickly, she thinks to herself. “You did your part, now let it go”, she tells herself as she makes her way back to her apartment for study and research.

[missmentelle]

Why does the military has such huge incentives to get married early? How did you see those situations affect veteran mental health?

It’s a relic from a bygone era. Way back in the day, when women were still overwhelmingly homemakers and stay-at-home mothers, a family could be left destitute if the breadwinning husband died or became disabled. That made the army kind of a hard sell for married men; if you knew that your death would mean your wife and kids going hungry, you’re not going to sign up for a job that involves getting shot at, especially when you can get a much safer job for similar pay. Moving around constantly is also a greater hardship when you have a spouse and children. A single person can throw their stuff into some boxes and hit the road, but a person with a family has to uproot their spouse, pull the kids out of school, make the kids say goodbye to their friends, etc. Again, that made the army a hard sell for married men. 

Having married men avoid the army was a big problem several decades ago, when people tended to get married very young, in their late teens and early twenties. Without married or engaged men signing up, you’d have a hard time meeting your recruitment goals. So in order to attract married men to the army - and prevent single men from leaving the army once they got married - the army had to pile on additional perks and benefits to make up for the added hardships. If you knew that you were going to be able to provide your family with housing, income and excellent health insurance, even if you died, that makes the army a considerably more attractive option. These benefits were never intended to incentivize early marriages to people you barely know - they were intended to make joining the army an attractive option for men who were already married, and to account for the fact that married men used to have increased costs without a second income to help them get by. The army changes at the speed of continental drift, and so those pro-marriage structures remain, even though it is no longer common to marry at the age most people join the army, and even though two-income households are considerably more common. 

The big mental health impact that I saw from this came from the fact that rushed, young marriages that were hurried along by money tend to be bad marriages, and being in a bad marriage is terrible for your mental health. The whole situation is a melting pot of stress that almost seems designed to ruin someone’s mental health. Although there are obviously exceptions, young marriages have terrible odds of lasting; getting married young is one of the biggest predictors of divorce. Your brain and personality are not even close to set when you are in your late teens and early 20s; most people change dramatically between the age of 18 and when their brain starts to settle down in their late 20s/early 30s. People who marry before that point in their lives have to contend with the fact that they are a rapidly-changing person, married to another rapidly-changing person, and that the two of you might not change in ways that are compatible with each other. 

On top of that, many army recruits truly do not fully understand what they are getting into when they join the military; the underestimate the horrors that they will see, and the impact of being away from friends and family so long. So you end up with young, inexperienced servicepeople trying to cope with trauma that they can’t fully talk about, turning to their equally young and inexperienced spouse for emotional support, while both people are trying to deal with the stresses of a long-distance relationship, being away from friends and family, loneliness, boredom, natural changes in their personalities and priorities, low income, and, possibly, trying to raise children while one parent is overwhelmingly absent. Are there people who successfully manage it? Absolutely. Are there a lot of people who absolutely cannot manage it? You bet. And so you end up with a lot of young, traumatized and possibly disabled people coming out of the army in their mid-20s, with no idea how to navigate the civilian world, few applicable life skills (the army is real big on pushups but not real big on job interview skills, and the real world is kind of the opposite), possible long-term health problems, and to top it all off, a failing marriage or impending divorce. Again, some people absolutely can and do navigate or avoid these stressors, but there are an awful lot of people who don’t. Many people are confused to learn that combat soldiers actually have a lower suicide rate than soldiers who never saw combat, but it makes sense - combat exposure is just one small piece of the veteran suicide crisis puzzle. 

[an-unknown-writers-world]

Pretend The Rest Of The World Doesn’t Exist

Day Twenty-Two: Favorite Christmas Song  

Part of @panicfob​ 25 Days of Christmas Challenge

Warnings: Cheese Alert- if you’re lactose sensitive, don’t read it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (First Person, nameless)

Characters: Bucky Barnes,

Word Count: 921

A/N: The end is rapidly approaching, and it feels so bittersweet. Thank you for taking this journey with me. The beginning of this series can be found here – Masterlist.

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

I stood over the kitchen counter with my nose buried in a book while I waited for the oven timer. Feeling better than I had the day before, I decided to make sticky bottoms for the guys to enjoy. Nausea still came and went, but I had at least been able to keep down saltines and yogurt, which was some major progress. Bucky was still worried and insistent on calling Banner if things didn’t change, so I was doing my best to avoid that. I knew it was because he cared, but his hovering was driving me up the wall. I told him I was going to bake, and he wasn’t allowed. He was disgruntled but understood, opting to go to the gym for a while.

The worst part of all this time in the kitchen was the way everything smelled, some of it delicious and others were stomach-turning. I wanted to eat everything in sight, but the thought of eating made me queasy. Peeking at the timer I saw there was still twenty minutes, I contemplated sitting down, but after a day and a half in bed, it felt kind of nice to stand.

Christmas music played in the background and I found myself swaying to the rhythm. It was hard not to reflect on what month it had been. So much had happened in such a short time, but it felt like it had been a lifetime. The song faded and Bing Crosby’s I’ll Be Home For Christmas began to play. I had always loved the song, it hit a special place in my soul. Closing my book, I closed my eyes taking in the words, just absorbing the feelings eluded from the song. A warm hand wound around my waist; I jumped initially before relaxing into his touch.

“You know one of these days you’re going to get hurt from sneaking up on me,” I warned.

“How? You refuse to train with me.” He countered kissing my shoulder.

I groaned, “Not that again.”

He smiled placing a gentle kiss to my neck. “I’m glad to see you up and moving.”

Turning around so I could face him, I smiled up at his disheveled hair. Clearly, he went hard in the gym. “I’ve never said this, and I don’t really mean it, but I hate this kitchen. Everything either makes me want to puke or I wanted to shovel it into my face.”

Bucky laughed, “What a problem to have.”

“It’s not funny, Barnes.” I poked his chest. “This feeling better go away soon. I just wish I knew what was causing it.”

He pulled me into him, and I laid my head on his chest.  “Me too.” He kissed the top of my head.

These peaceful moments, the two of us standing this way, they were what I lived for these days.

“Dance with me,” Bucky said pulling back to look at me as the next song started. “Dance with me and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.” He smiled.

“Buck, I cannot dance. And I’m not just saying that to be modest. I have the rhythm of a sack of flour.”

He laughed, “Than let me lead.”

I groaned. “It’s not my fault if I step on your foot.”

Bucky smiled and took hold of my hand in his right one, his left hand coming to rest on my lower back. I don’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was, didn’t happen. It was a simple sway, slow and matching the melody that played. I smiled up at him, thankful for the simple dance, making a mental note to ask him about dancing later.

Frank Sinatra’s Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas started as the other song faded away; it had been my favorite Christmas song for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t refrain from humming along with the words. Bucky pulled our clasped hands in between our chests, holding me just a little closer, enough that I could rest my head comfortably against his chest.

“Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore,” Bucky sang softly into my hair. “Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more.”

I smiled into his chest; Frank Sinatra’s version had always been my favorite. But I think I’d be okay with Bucky's.

He continued, his voice echoing through his chest into my ear. “Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow, hang a shining star upon the highest bow. Oh and have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

Bucky finished out the whole song, it was quite the performance. When he said pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist, I don’t think he realized I wouldn't need to pretend with him doing that. I pulled my head back to look at him. The pure happiness that was spread across his face was a sight I didn’t think I could ever get used to seeing. He closed the distance and kissed me softly. This is definitely my new favorite version of the song.

“Do you think this is what normal eighty-year-old couples do?” I asked semi-joking.

Bucky laughed, “That’s terrible math, I’m a hundred and thirteen, thank you.”

“Your age minus my age is mid-eighties,” I replied with a smirk.

“You’re a jerk.” Bucky leaned down to kiss me again.

“Ah, yes I am. But that’s one of the many reasons you love me.”

He nodded, “Amongst a million others.”

[jancmalandra]

On being fashionable

Snufkin and Moomintroll arrived in Calais in late December. The famous beaches were almost entirely deserted. Finding a place to make camp where they wouldn't draw attention to themselves was still a challenge. After all, they were freeloading in one of the most expensive tourist traps in the world. Snufkin knew the terrain surprisingly well for someone who avoided cities like the plague. He led Moomintroll to a small patch of beach that was surrounded by a very steep cliff, and they both pitched their tents. Moomintroll couldn't have helped noticing that Snufkin had been pitching his tent just a little bit closer to his every day, and this brought Moomintroll a great deal of secret joy.

"Do you come here every year?", asked Moomintroll as the pair of them walked down the beach, looking for a good spot to do some surf fishing.

"Not always.", said Snufkin. "Sometimes I wander through wine country aimlessly until February, when it's time for me to head back North to Moominvalley. Sometimes I follow the Mediterranean coast until then. One time, I decided to see how deeply inside Russia I could get before I had to turn around. Now that was a real adventure! But, despite the city behind it, this beach is amazingly beautiful without all the people crowding out nature, so I find myself drawn to it every other year or so."

It really hit home to Moomintroll that the entire world had always been open to Snufkin. Snufkin could have gone anywhere on the planet anytime he chose every year, and yet he had always returned to Moominvalley for every Spring and Summer, returned to see him again. Moomintroll realized in an instant of enlightenment that all of his uncertainty about how Snufkin felt about him over the years had been entirely wrong. Snufkin had always loved him; he had just kept his love hidden from himself somewhere deep inside. Moomintroll felt hot tears of grateful love streaming down his face that he couldn't stop. He looked out at the surf crashing on the beach and dropped his fishing rod and ran towards the breakers and dove straight in to clear his head. Moomins are born swimmers: their thick fur and natural layer of fat make them very close to marine mammals. The frigid water, which would have deterred any other swimmer, felt pleasantly cool to Moomintroll.

Snufkin watched his beloved leap from the surf like a dolphin with joyous awe at first. Then suddenly, his face contorted with panicked realization. He immediately sped up the beach towards the deserted shopping area just beyond the last set of dunes. Twenty minutes later, Moomintroll emerged from the surf and shook the water off himself, feeling thoroughly refreshed. He opened his eyes to see Snufkin standing before him, blushing nearly purple, sweating bullets, and holding out a mysterious folded piece of cloth for Moomintroll to take.

"H-here, Moomintroll," said Snufkin, suddenly putting the ill-fitting dark green poncho over his head, "This should keep you from getting sunburned." His voice was weak and completely unconvincing.

"Whatever are you talking about, Snufkin?", said Moomintroll, bewildered by the gift. "I've never gotten a sunburn in my life! Come to think of it, I'm not sure it's possible for Moomins to get sunburned! This might come in handy in case of rain, but until then...." He took off the poncho and folded it under his arm.

"Terribly sorry about this, Moomintroll, but I really must be going now!", said Snufkin all at once and as fast as he could. He immediately took off running down the beach even faster, in a blind panic.

"Well.", said Moomintroll, "I have absolutely no idea what that was all about, but the chase is most definitely on!" He began to gleefully follow Snufkin's footprints in the sand while keeping an eye on his rapidly retreating form running down the wide open beach.

Snufkin really wasn't watching where he was going, so naturally he ran headlong into the only other people on the beach, falling flat on his back when a very large paw stopped him in mid-flight. These people were a garishly dressed Fillyjonk wearing a hideous floor-length fur coat over his blindingly colorful clothing and two enormous Hemulens wearing black suits. The Fillyjonk looked at Snufkin first with utter disdain and disgust, then disturbingly acute, clinical interest.

"Rudolpho requires this....individual and his peculiar clothing!", said the Fillyjonk in a very pretentious tone, "Yes! Yes! Rudolpho has been inspired! He shall become the model for Rudolpho's new Winter fashion line! Max! Benny! Collect this person and bring him to the mansion!" He snapped his fingers at the Hemulens, who immediately picked up Snufkin by his armpits and began dragging him away, closely following Rudolpho!

Moomintroll watched this scene in utter horror from a safe distance, forcing himself not to move. He was keenly aware that he stood absolutely no chance at all against the Hemulens! He cautiously followed the four of them at this distance until they came to an huge three-story mansion with a sprawling pool area that stood just beyond the dunes. The pool area was filled with dozens of fashionable Fillyjonks lounging about in elaborate fur coats in carefully posed laziness. The pool was flanked on either side by two more intimidatingly huge Hemulen bodyguards. The Olympic-length pool split the area in two, and was topped by an impressive stage that had a runway that ran down the middle of the pool.

Moomintroll watched Snufkin being dragged through this scene and into the mansion and out of his sight with mounting panic! He couldn't begin to think how he was going to get in the pool area, much less the mansion, without getting caught, until he noticed something that no one else was paying any attention to: a small army of Moomins serving drinks and cucumber sandwiches, passing out heated towels, etc., and walking in and out of the mansion without being stopped or even checked! It was like finding out that he had at least twenty brothers that Moominmama and Moominpapa had never told him anything about! They were all about Moomintroll's age, size, and color!

Moomintroll gathered his courage, threw aside the poncho, and walked into the pool area and straight into the mansion as if he did this every day of his life! Once inside, he moved carefully, listening and looking for any sign of the Fillyjonk who had kidnapped Snufkin. It didn't take very long before he heard Rudolpho bellowing orders at his underlings down one of the hallways, constantly referring to himself in the third person. Moomintroll turned into that hallway and stood to one side, awaiting his best chance to follow Rudolpho to Snufkin!

Rudolpho came charging down the hallway followed by a gaunt, weary Hemulen carrying a notepad and pen. The Hemulen clearly didn't have the strength to keep up, which inspired Moomintroll to an act of supreme daring: he simply took the notepad and pen and gently patted the Hemulen on the shoulder. The Hemulen simply collapsed where he had been walking and looked up at Moomintroll with extreme gratitude. Moomintroll ran to catch up with Rudolpho, who had completely failed to notice the switch that had just taken place right under his nose.

Rudolpho continued to barrel his way to the other side of the first floor of the mansion, where the dressing rooms for his models lined the main hallway.

"The tailors had better be finished taking the measurements of his clothing by now!", said Rudolpho to himself as he entered the third dressing room down the hallway. Snufkin stood at the center of all the activity in the room, a blank, dazed look on his face! Moomintroll controlled himself with a heroic effort and continued to pretend to take notes while inching away from Rudolpho and into a corner of the room, to reduce his presence as much as possible. Snufkin was surrounded by three Moomin tailors armed with measuring tape, sewing needles and pins and other sewing paraphernalia.

"Well, are we ready to begin mass producing that outfit tomorrow?!", asked Rudolpho testily. The three Moomins nodded yes fearfully and silently. "Good! Make sure that he's ready to go onstage in two hours! Those idiots out there will pay me a fortune to look ridiculous, as usual. My pitches always rope them in." Rudolpho turned and left very suddenly. Once again, he had completely failed to notice Moomintroll's existence, because he didn't return to look for him.

Moomintroll rushed to Snufkin's side and tried to shake him back to his senses, but it was no good! Snufkin looked right through him with the same dazed, unaware expression on his face. Moomintroll could think of only one thing to do. It was also the thing he wanted most to do in the world: he wrapped Snufkin in a powerful embrace and kissed him more passionately than even he had thought possible, bending him over nearly double!

"Moomintroll?!", exclaimed Snufkin, standing them both upright again in surprise, completely snapped out of his stupor, "Is it really you?! I feel like I've been going mad! There's dozens of you everywhere! And then there's that insane Fillyjonk! How on Earth do we get out of here?!"

"You HAVE to trust me, my darling!", said Moomintroll. "I'm making this all up as I go, but things keep falling into place, so we have to keep rolling with it! I think I can create enough chaos for us to escape unnoticed, but we have to get to the stage first!" He turned to the three tailors, who had been deliberately ignoring everything Moomintroll and Snufkin had just said and did. They just stood there as if awaiting further orders. Moomintroll decided to take a really big chance. He swallowed hard and said, in the most imperious tone he could manage, "Rudolpho has changed the entire fashion line! You need to get ALL of the Moomin servants ready to walk the runway in a single line in two hours! They don't need any clothing, they just need to be ready backstage before Rudolpho calls for them! Move it! Move it!"

The tailors scrambled out of the room as quickly as they could, and Moomintroll followed quickly behind, leading Snufkin by his paw. The pair made it to the backstage area without even a glance from the bodyguards. They waited by the rope that controlled the main curtain and one hour and forty-five minutes later every Moomin in the mansion had assembled backstage with them just like clockwork. Rudolpho appeared at the top of the stage on the other side of the curtain, and all of the gathered Fillyjonks fell silent in anticipation.

"My fellow distinguished Fillyjonks!", Rudolpho announced pompously, "I present to you Rudolpho's Winter fashion line, Vagabond Chic, soon to be available at only the finest boutiques for fifty thousand gold pieces an outfit. Only you, Rudolpho's best and most discriminating customers, deserve this product of Rudolpho's unparalleled genius! And now, the first outfit in the line!"

Moomintroll was only too happy to oblige him, and he pulled the rope in his eager paws as hard as he could. The curtain parted, and the Moomins dutifully strutted out on the runway in a long single file line, sashaying and posing in synch with each other as they went. All the Fillyjonks in the pool area immediately erupted in enraged protest, screaming about how Rudolpho was trying to rip them off by making them pay such an outrageous price for clothing that didn't exist! They quickly began gathering their things and they all tried to leave at once, creating a scene of total chaos! Rudolpho was in the middle of the crowd, trying desperately to placate them, all to no avail!

Moomintroll turned to Snufkin and said, "We have to leave right now!" The two struggled through the crowd of enraged Fillyjonks without anyone trying to stop them, eventually making their way out of the pool area and onto the dunes. They immediately ran away from the area of the mansion as fast as their legs could carry them! They finally collapsed next to each other on the beach a full mile away, completely exhausted. When they finally caught their breath, they began laughing hysterically at everything that they had just been through!

"Moomintroll, my dearest," said Snufkin, "You're getting frighteningly good at this sort of thing! I can't thank you enough for saving me!" Snufkin wrapped Moomintroll in his arms and began kneading the muscles of Moomintroll's back like bread dough with his paws! Snufkin kissed him every bit as passionately as he had the very first time under the light of the supermoon, only this time he held the kiss for a solid five minutes! When Snufkin finally came up for air, both their faces were alight with indescribable joy and love!

"That is a REALLY good way to start! Please feel completely free to do that anytime we're cuddling in my tent!", said Moomintroll dizzily. "I think that I finally understand what frightened you in the first place. I want you to know that you never have to push yourself to do anything you're not ready for just to please me. Also, I'm not going to change my personal style any more than I want you to change yours! Neither of us needs fixing, we only need each other. That being said, now that I know that you've started enjoying the view you're getting, I don't ever want you to feel the slightest bit ashamed, or stop staring to your heart's content: it makes me SO very happy!"

"OK.", said Snufkin, his fears once more overcome by Moomintroll's love for him.

The End

[johnnq]

Study Hour: Johnny x Reader (Chapter 1 of ??)

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: none (for now, I have no idea if this’ll take an angsty or smutty turn, so you’re all safe for now ;) haha)

Summary: Johnny is a badboy, and more importantly; probably far too adventurous to be even slightly interested in you, the girl that everyone wants as a friend but never anything more unless it’s strictly ‘no strings attached’ because you’re far too overbearing for your own good, and everyone else’s. After a chance encounter in a library of all places, the race against time before he changes his mind about you is on, but the question is, when’s the deadline?

It all started on a Wednesday afternoon during a day that had surely exhausted you; the foundations of the thing that would forever plague you, keep you pleading for more and have you second guessing yourself enough to last a lifetime.

One thing you knew for certain about anything that day while looking at your blank computer screen with only the title to your overdue literature essay, was that you sure as hell wished you hadn't waited this long to finish the work you needed to do.

To you, studying wasn't top priority - at least as of lately. You'd been too heavily weighed down by family problems and external stresses that plagued you to focus on your dream of becoming a writer, abandoning the hobby and future career you so desperately craved and worked for from around as long as you'd been able to walk, and instead replaced it with days on end of balancing adult life far before you were ready or willing to start doing it.

Your mother was an alcoholic to put it bluntly, and caused you endless strife throughout the years. Since the age of fifteen when your father passed away from a rapid and agonising battle with cancer, she'd gone from being his carer, wife and a mother with the father of her child to help her raise her teenage daughter, to a widower, a single mother and a woman of many financial worries. When the bills started piling up and she had no way to keep them all paid, she went to any length to find the money.

That's when she started with drinking the occasional martini during the day, and eventually escalating to the point of being completely intoxicated by the mid afternoon. Truthfully, she'd never been the same, not even since the first day after you were told he had passed. Turning to a bottle and a terrible night of sleep on the couch instead of talking about it became the norm, and the more you both stopped talking about it, the more she decided to drink to numb the feeling. She often prioritised alcohol or anything like that over you, and would let you down more often than she would fulfill her promises. But nonetheless you were always there to pick up the pieces when she made a mess of things.

Over the last few weeks she'd been particularly careless, going missing for days on end after drunken nights out, leaving you to run a house on your own at the age of nineteen. Nothing unusual for you, having to hold the fort for a day or two, but after four days you really started to wonder if you should of been more worried. Bills, cleaning, taking care of the dogs you owned, going food shopping, and keeping things afloat were all you could care about for nearly a month all at once with your mother occasionally showing up and leaving to go on another bender.

You made up some phony excuse to college about there being a death in the family and you needing to go abroad to attend the funeral and help keep things going, and your professor - being the gentle and empathetic soul he was, insisted you take as much time as you needed, but urged you to try and keep at least a little up-to-date on essays, lecture notes and study. Instead, you spent those weeks simply trying to keep your head above water while with each day that your mother didn't come home, you got more and more rapidly concerned of her wellbeing.

That's how you got there: studying in the library at your college. The day previous your mother had finally come home, professing to you vehemently that she wanted to 'change for the better'. She put on her best apologetic face and swore up and down that she'd do better from now on, even offering to do the dishes that night after cooking a less than satisfactory meal for you both, but you didn't believe it before, and you didn't believe it then. Your mother wasn't the woman she was four years ago and you both knew it. She lied, she cheated, she went to any length if it was of any gain for herself. Still, you gave her the benefit of the doubt and feigned belief in her.

Your first morning back after nearly a month started in the only way someone with your lack of luck would; you missed the bus to your college campus after spending just a little to long on your hair, and ended up frantically running after it flailing your arms ridiculously as you missed it by mere seconds. Knowing the bus journey was shorter than the walk, and realising that another bus would take at least another twenty minutes to turn up, you decided to walk, adjusting your usual pace to a slightly more rapid one in order to try and minimise the length of time you'd be late by.

In true fashion - that didn't go as planned either. Walking is easy, right? Nothing can go wrong with that, surely? But no, unlucky you managed to fall and hurt yourself while running across the crossing just a meter or so from the entrance to the campus, nearly getting yourself run over in the process.

Apologising profusely at the driver in the car that nearly just flattened you and going as red as a beetroot, you limped to your lecture, only to find that you were late and the lecture had already started, awkwardly inserting yourself into the room, sitting uncomfortably on a small patch that could barely be considered a seat right at the front, next to someone you'd never spoken to.

After the lecture was over, your professor called you over and addressed the issue of your falling grades, telling you that you risked not making it through your first year, and that you passing the unit you were working on would require a lot of hard work and 'going the extra mile once in a while'. Upon hearing this, you agreed that you had indeed been slacking in your studies and promised to work harder and catch up what you missed, taking your professors suggestion of studying in the library for more peace and quiet and setting yourself up at a computer in the quiet study zone tucked up in the corner.

"..so, I'm sitting there and she's just finished shouting at me in front of the entire class right? I go to speak up and actually answer her and she just points at the door. At this point I'm just so fucking fed up I get up with my all my stuff and leave the room.. She has the nerve to ask me what I'm doing!" you hear someone say from somewhere in the room, followed by laughter at what you deciphered from the little of dialogue you heard, that it must of been a story you would of liked to of heard in full.

It takes all that you have in you to not let out a giggle at the way they said it. For a moment you almost don't realise who it is until you see his trademark swoopy reddish-brown hair through the tiny gap in between the other side of the desk and you, also spotting the leather jacket he so insisted on wearing everywhere, realising it's him.

Don't look over there, he'll see you! your subconscious internally screeches at you as you try to type up your literature essay and consistently lose focus because of the boy sitting directly opposite you, Johnny Seo; one of the most popular, sauve boys in your college, and the boy you happened to absolutely despair about seeing.

It wasn't because you didn't like him (even if he could be one of the most annoying human beings on earth at times) but because you thought he was attractive, very attractive. Every single time you saw him in the hallway to the lecture halls, or you saw him in the canteen eating with his friends you usually just tried to blend in as much as possible to avoid him making any unnecessary observations about you.

But today was different. Today, you couldn't blend in, and today you couldn't ignore him. He was right there in front of you and he wasn't going away anytime soon knowing your luck.

Johnny and you weren't madly in love with each other, or so you thought - and your textbook college crush on him was a slow burner, although one-sided as far as you could tell.

You didn't like him at first, not one bit. No, you really disliked him at first actually. He was the type to be the loudest in the room because of his need to always be the life and soul of the party, and the shining light that everyone marvelled at. Your first encounter was a mix of you remarking on how idiotic you thought he was acting and sounding like, and you trying to figure out what his real motive was.

It was easy to tell that Johnny craved attention, right down to the clothes he wore. Studs, chains, leather, ripped jeans and t-shirts you'd never imagine yourself buying, never mind wearing. He was the bad boy cliché to a tee, and strangely enough, you grew to love it. You would often try and take a peek at the day's outfit just to try and judge how good he was when it came to fashion; turns out, he was surprisingly good at it, and had a talent for knowing what colours really went together, and used that to get the attention he desired.

"Fuck." you absentmindedly slip out upon coming to that realisation. Quickly, you scramble to put your hand to use, covering your own mouth once you register what you just said, and laugh nervously hoping nobody heard you or even worse, saw you.

In that same moment, Johnny peaks his head up at you and lifts his head slightly above the computer screen in front of you to see you properly. He takes a moment to say anything.

"Thinking out loud, hmm?" he confidently observes, eyeing you and shooting you a twinkly grin.

You take a moment to think about how you're going to play this, pondering on if you would you reply genuinely, or opt for the cocky and sarcastic approach you so desperately wanted to try out on him.

There'll be time for sarcasm later on, just say something nice and move on, it's not worth the distraction it'll cause.

Cheerfully grinning back at him, you giggle and nod.

"A bad habit of mine I guess, gets me in all sorts of trouble if I'm not careful." you absently blurt out after not even a moment of reflection, and cock your brow suggestively, laughing at your own words.

Hearing the words that escaped you, Johnny thinks for a second, eyes scanning the desk below him as if somehow it'll help him figure out how to reply appropriately to your statement. You can just see the mental cogs turning in his head as he scrambles in his own mind to come up with a coherent sentence in response. The friend sitting next to him, Mark Lee, makes absolutely no attempt to help him out either which is quite amusing to watch, and if anything he enjoys staring at him the same as you are a little too much by the way he's on verge of absolutely losing his mind in fits of laughter, waiting to see what he'll say next.

"Habits can be grown out of though, right? Thinking less might help, perhaps. You do enough of it in between classes and outside of college." he specifies, seeing him realise what he actually came up with and wishing the words could go straight back into his mouth as soon as they left it.

This intrigues you. Johnny never seemed to notice you before, and you didn't have any classes with him, so how in the name of God did he know any of this? It was true, you were always a very thoughtful person, and spent a lot of time in your own head when you didn't need to be paying attention to much else. It was a trait and a very annoying habit that you'd developed through the years you spent helping your father write his latest article or laying the finishing touches to the latest project that he insisted only you could introduce, and it had stuck with you to this day.

"And how would you know that, Johnny? Come to think of it, I HAVE been seeing a really strange guy following me around campus and down my street, wouldn't happen to be you would it?" you playfully wonder, giggling and waiting to see whether you could make him sweat just a little bit.

Once he hears the whole of your statement, he looks around for any escape from the conversation, immediately realising that once again, his impulsive and cocky nature had gotten the better of him again. He also quickly realises that you're definitely not as unknown to him as he originally theorised, on account for the fact that you knew his name quite clearly.

For you, it brings you to finally realise that you two aren't so different after all, and seeing him murmur to himself and second guess himself gives you the impression he's faking all that confidence that he carries around with him just as much as you are in that situation.

"N-no, of course not! I just really know how to read people, and whenever I see you, you're always deep in thought, you know? I think it's probably quite a virtue to be able to get into that mindset so easily. I really struggle with it as you can see, my mouth runs away with itself. You must have so many thoughts you can just have all to yourself and not ever share." he rambles on, nervously itching at a small cut on his hand and picking at the scab.

Mark looks over at him as he says this, and watches Johnny squirm uncomfortably, laughing a little more outwardly by now, knowing that his best friend is struggling and that he's loving watching it unfold.

"Wish I'd keep some of mine to myself once in a while though." he continues, trailing off into nervous chatter about how he appreciates your ability to be so collected.

At this you can only let out giggles and laughs as he continues to ramble. The realisation springs upon you quite suddenly in the heat of that moment that you're quite interested by him, and that you'd like to get to know him more if he'd let you.

"I get it Johnny, it's nice that you actually notice me to be honest. Many don't." His head immediately tilts to the side and his eyes narrow sharply.

"Many don't? Wow. Well I must be the first one to truly see you for how intriguing you really are y/n. All the other people in this campus must be blind." he pushes out, effortlessly and so charismatically you felt like your cheeks were the colour of roses by now.

Suddenly, a hand slams on the desk and both your focuses turn to Mark, now sitting there with a stern but joking expression on his soft and supple looking exterior.

"I think that's enough flirting for today, hmm Johnny? We have to get back to class anyway, you're in enough trouble as it is." Mark interjects, having Johnny in agreement that they do indeed, need to go back to class now.

Before they leave however, you feel a hand cover your shoulder and caress it in a calming and reassuring fashion.

"Next time, I promise I'll try and make it just the two of us - no Mark to interrupt us. You're far interesting y/n for me to just leave it at that. Plus, I'll probably have more overdue work to finish knowing me, no escape from me then since it looks like you're in the same boat." he chuckles, running his free hand through his crimson locks, knowing he's really testing his luck here.

"Ah, Johnny Seo hinting at a second meeting? That really is an event for the history books. Well maybe, I'll get it all done today just so you have to come looking for me first." you expressed jokingly.

Playfully hitting your arm, Johnny lets out a laugh that you've never heard from him, a laugh that sounds so bouncy and lighthearted you could almost die from how ridiculously adorable it was to you.

"Then it's a date!" he echoes as he walks away, leaving you in a state of shock.

A date?!

[rogerina-yee-haw]

okay based on the new video of joe and ben no one has recovered from, please write a blurb about Ben knowing the reader because she works on set and they end up sharing a hotel room because they’re changing location for filming but there’s only one bed (aka my fave trope ever) so they end up sharing and flirting and ben gives her those eyes which can only lead to one thing ;)

I changed the request a little, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it 🖤 

“and there was one bed!”

“oh my god, there was one bed!?” y’all know what vine I’m talking about

this is very cliché but i love such shit so much, none of you can stop me. thank u for the request, love ! it’s not really steamy I’m sorry

Playing Dominique in “Bohemian Rhapsody” was all good and fun until you fell in love with the guy who was playing Roger Taylor. It was impossible not to love him - Ben was smart, funny, witty, cute and understanding. You were in your mid-twenties, as well as he was - just two years older than you - and you never expected to get on well so much with someone your age.

The thing is, all three best friends you had were younger than you - 21, 23 and 20.  You all met in high school, as you didn’t really have a lot of friends among people in your class. You love life was on the other side of it - you had four boyfriends and all of them were much older than you. Your first was twenty-two; you lost your virginity to him just a couple of weeks after you turned eighteen. The oldest guy was thirty-three and things with him ended in a kind of fucked way - he told you he had fallen out of love with you on your birthday and left you all alone so that you could drown yourself in your sorrows and wine. It happened right before you started filming in BoRhap; so this job really helped you to recover from it. New friends did too. Ben especially.

You two spent too much time together; and as you had no actual lines in the movie, you compensated it with non-stop talking off-set. Ben liked listening to you; he liked your voice, the way you gesticulated whenever you were too involved in the topic of the conversation, and how you were constantly putting your hair behind your ears if you were nervous. You never noticed the way Ben looked at you, and he never noticed how you were practically drooling over him. “Oblivious idiots”, Lucy told Joe the other day. She wasn’t wrong.

Changing the location wasn’t a surprise, but it certainly was uncomfortable; the real problem came to the light when you were set to live in the hotel where the majority of rooms were taken. So you had to share. And as the shooting was almost nearing its end, you had developed a really close relationship with everyone. So you didn’t mind sharing the room with any of the boys - only if there were two beds, of course.

Rami always used to say that fortune is a bitch sometimes, and this was certainly the situation you were in. The last room with separate beds was snatched right from your hands by Gwil and Joe, and there was only one room left. With one bed. For you and Ben.

“Have fun”, Lucy winked at you, and you rolled your eyes. What fun you could possibly have? You and Ben shared the bed once before this, and nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. You vividly remembered falling asleep under the blanket and with you face turned to the wall - but you woke up with your head on Ben’s chest, your legs entangled together and his hand around you and blanket long forgotten. You had never ever spoken about it. But you wished to.

“Wouldn’t you like sharing the bed with Joe for the next two weeks?” you joked, as you sat down on the mattress on your side of the bed.

Ben smiled. “He’s always twisting and turning in bed, y'know”, you laid down next to Ben, your forearms touching. The sensation of it made him shiver; you were so close to him but yet so far. He wanted to be with you in every way possible but was too scared to tell you. Besides, he knew you were recovering from the terrible heartbreak and didn’t’ want to impose his feelings on you. He desperately wanted you to feel the same way, but he could never make you. So Ben just hoped. And you were in the same position.

“Last time we had to share a bed he pushed me from it and said I was invading his personal space”, you chuckled. “So, at any chance given, you’re the best one to share the bed with”. You felt yourself becoming extremely flustered at his words, and Ben didn’t fail to notice the way your eyes lit up. This tiny hope inside his heart suddenly started growing, and he actually considered you sharing his feelings. That made his cheeks pink and he coughed, trying to hide it - only his attempt at it failed.

“Goodnight, Ben”, you said softly, turning to the other side, your back facing him.

“Goodnight, Y/N”, he whispered, looking at you. He wanted to touch you so badly. You smelled so good - the mix of shampoo and shower gel you were constantly using was doing inexplicable things to him. So Ben fell asleep, thinking about you - as he did for the past several months.

You woke up in the middle of the nights, feeling the tight grip on your waist. You frowned, still half-asleep; you couldn’t understand what was going on. Suddenly, you felt a hot breath on your neck, which sent goosebumps all over your body. “Fuck, Y/N”.

You woke up immediately. What was Ben doing there?

You turned your head slightly, only to see him still asleep. His lips were parted, he was breathing heavily - and only this made you wet. Was he having a wet dream about you? God, how you wished he wasn’t asleep. But you couldn’t let him do that in his sleep. You had to wake him up just to make this consensual and real.

Just when you touched his cheek and was about to open your mouth, he started grinding on your ass. You let out a whimper - you could feel his hardness through the fabric. “Fuck, you feel so good”, he mumbled; you had to close your eyes and bite your lip just to prevent yourself from moaning. This felt good indeed, but he had to be actually awake to make love to you.

“Ben”, you said, touching his face. He stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes; his eyes were half-opened as he looked at you with a soft smile on his lips. But, as soon as Ben realized in what position he was, his eyes widened and he felt his face burning.

“Shit”, he muttered. “Y/N, ’m so sorry, I promise, I’m-” he looked at you with fear in his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything - like - I’m not trying to - um - I’m not-”

“Ben”, you turned so that you were lying chest to chest now; you cupped his cheeks in your hands, and he started blinking rapidly as he felt your touch. “T’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry, there’s nothing to apologize for”.

“Really?” he breathed out.

“Yeah”, you nodded. “I’m actually really flattered you were having a wet dream about me”.

Ben blushed and sighed deeply.

“I was thinking…” you gulped. “If we could - only if you want to - make it more than just a dream”.

Ben’s eyes sparkled. “You mean…you want this too?”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “More than anything”.

Ben let out a harsh breath and his eyes were now looking at your lips. “You have no idea how crazy you drive me. No idea”, he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to him; and now you both were actually breathing together. “I like you so much, Y/N”, he stared deeply into your eyes.

“I like you too, Ben”.

That was enough for both of you. His lips were on yours immediately, kissing you hungrily; and you didn’t let each other breathe, as you couldn’t pull away from one another. At one point Ben rolled you over so that he was on top - and he did all of it without breaking the kiss. Your fingers were tugging at his hair, and his hands were wandering all over your body.

“’ve been dreaming about you every day”, he whispered against your neck, “dreaming about kissing you like this, hugging you”, he looked into your eyes and then kissed you sensually. “Touching you like this”, his hand squeezed your boob under your tee-shirt, making you arch your back. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening. You’re so perfect”.

You just smiled into the kiss. You hadn’t felt this good forever. And you knew that you were safe in Ben’s arms.

[rougepetale]

Eisuke never let me go (SFW)

Fandom: Kissed by the baddest bidder (Love 365)

Pairing: Eisuke  Ichinomiya x Reader

Warning: Temporary character death (Would this also be a trigger warning ?)

Note: Thank you Anon for requesting this! I hope I gave it enough fluff at the end! 

It was a beautiful day, Eisuke was having a good day, a rare day of no stress. He wanted to go out, enjoy life for a while.

Who would have known that today would have changed both of your lives forever.

 “FREEZE!”

You and Eisuke were walking in a parking garage towards his car when you both were approached by a lone masked gunman.

Eisuke slowly raised his hands up and taking a step to shield you with his body. “We’re unarmed.” He called out.

“GET ON YOUR KNEES!!” the masked man screamed.

Eisuke frowned, “I’d rather not, this is a very expensive suit” he replied, if he could keep the focus on him you’d stay safe. Eisuke studied this man’s body, he was a mid-twenties Japanese man, he wore all black except for his ugly running shoes.

“I SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES!” the man screamed again, advancing towards you two. You gripped his suit, you had never had a gun pointed at you. You could feel your heart beating loudly, almost drowning out what the man was saying.

“Eisuke” you whispered, he ignored you, “Eisuke… maybe we should listen” you begged.

He reached back and gave your hand a squeeze, he was angry that he didn’t have Soryu around him, he had a job to do in China and wouldn’t be back for a week. “Now, my good sir, what can I help you with?” he asked.

“You! You ruined my life!” the man screamed, “Y-you sold my wife to some man!” he growled, removing his mask. You remembered that Eisuke had helped a girl escape her abusive husband, back when you still believed that Eisuke was a bad man. Back when you didn’t know he was trying to find his sister from his black market.  

“She put herself up for auction.” Eisuke defended his actions, “She delivered the divorce papers the night before, if I’m not mistaken.”

He released the safety. Eisuke tensed, this was getting ugly and fast.

*Click*

You could feel a spike in your heart rate, you could tell that there was no coming down from this. You struggled against Eisuke’s iron grip keeping you behind him.

“You stole everything from me!” the man growled, he was inches away, Eisuke stared the man down, he wasn’t going to bend to this man. He knew he did the right thing, one of the few right things in life that he had ever done. She had escaped the brute of a man and was bought by the man of her dreams, somebody who would love and care for her like she deserved.

Before either one of you could react the man pistol whipped Eisuke, sending both of you to the ground. You groaned as Eisuke fell on the floor beside you. He wiped his chin of blood that was pouring from the gash that was inflicted upon his person.

“Is that really the best you can do?” he asked, attempting to stand the man kicked Eisuke. Eisuke curled around you, not caring if he broke every bone in his body. His entire priority was to keep you safe.

“You damn filthy bastard!” the man screamed, kicking Eisuke again and again.

Eisuke nearly passed out from the pain. It was a wonderful respite when he stopped. “I would rather torture you even more.” He cocked the gun, “But, I have somewhere I have to be.”

You watched as if everything was in slow motion, the man pulled the trigger. Your body reacted before you had any conscious idea what happened.

*Bam*

“NOOOO!” you screamed out, a shrill ear piercing scream. You had covered Eisuke’s body with yours.

The sound of a gun going off had security running down towards the sound.

The man was glued to his spot for a second, he wasn’t going to shoot the girl, but now he didn’t have a chance to change things. Dropping the gun, he ran.

Eisuke had braced for the impact of the gun, so long as you were safe. When the bullet didn’t pierce his skin he opened his eyes. A strangled gasp was ripped from his throat when he saw your unresponsive body on top of his, bleeding… dying…. “Security!” he wheezed out. He gripped your body tight to his. He searched your face.

Gasping for breath you struggled to stay awake. The bullet pierced your lung and you were struggling to take in a breath. You saw Eisuke’s worried face, good… he wasn’t shot. He was fine.

Eisuke.

You smiled at him, everything would be fine if he was alive. “E…. Eisuke… I love you” you were able to get those words out, you two didn’t nearly say them enough to each other.

“______!” he cried out, he saw the light leaving your eyes. No. no. no. no!

“Please… please don’t leave me!” he cried, cradling your body to his, he couldn’t lose you now.

 You opened your eyes to a beautiful sunset on the beach. Huh? Weren’t you in a parking garage with Eisuke? EISUKE?! You scrambled from your lounging to look around. He was lying not but a few feet away, soaking up the sun.

“Eisuke!” you squeaked out, going to him you noticed that he was sleeping peacefully. “Oh… I shouldn’t wake him.” You whispered. You could vaguely remember something about a high stress and your chest vaguely hurt for some reason.

Shrugging you decided to go into the ocean, it was cool and inviting. A perfect way to end the day. But before you entered the ocean you checked your phone, it was making a rhythmic beeping sound.

*beep*   *beep*  *beep* *beep*

Yet you didn’t have any messages, you were surprised that none of the guys were around.  Shrugging you threw the phone on top of your beach bag and entered the ocean. Its gentle waves seemed to be pulling you in.

The waves were mesmerizing, so cool, so rhythmic, so clean and clear. Looking back you saw Eisuke still asleep on the beach, poor guy he must be exhausted.

You were now waist deep in the ocean. For some reason you could still hear your phone. You must have had the speaker on.

Diving below you felt like you were slowly floating down.

Huh, there was something shiny down there, was it… gold?

*Beep*………….*Beep*…………………..*Beep*

Deeper and deeper you swam, yet going nowhere. Your muscles were feeling tired now, your lungs burning for air. Still, you persisted.

 *Beep*…………………………….*Beep*………………….

 Doctor, we’re losing her…..

 ………………………………………………………

Code Blue! I repeat Code Blue!

  You were rapidly sinking now, faster and faster. The water was getting warm and your body began to relax, the bright light was inviting.

“______!”

You looked up to see Eisuke swimming frantically towards you, his eyes wide in panic. What? What was wrong? He was trying to swim towards you, his hands stretched out as he desperately tried to grab you.

Everything was fine though, the ocean was pulling you away from him, doing all the hard work.

You didn’t want to swim any more, your legs and especially your chest was aching. Eisuke looked scared, you saw blood leaking from his cheek… when… when did he get hurt? It all felt vaguely familiar.

“_______!” he called again, which should be impossible in the ocean but somehow he was able to call out to you.  

 CLEAR!

………………………….  

You felt a pain in your chest. You cried out in agony, curling into a ball in the ocean. Eisuke was no more closer to you than a second ago.

……………………………………….. CLEAR!

Another excruciating pain ripped through your body.

Soon you felt arms wrapped around your body

 ………….*Beep*……………….*Beep*……………..*Beep*

 Opening your eyes you looked at Eisuke, he had the most serene look on his face. “______” he cooed, “C’mon…. lets go home” he said.

You looked back and forth between him and the shiny floor, the floor looked so inviting, you didn’t want to swim, you wanted to sleep.

“Why, Eisuke… why don’t we rest?” you asked.

“Because sweetheart, we won’t be able to return.” He replied, tugging on your hand, “You can’t give up now.”

“Eisuke… I don’t think I can swim anymore.”

“C’mon babe… you can do it” he encouraged, his smile encouraged you to swim with him, “That’s my girl, c’mon, we can sleep when we’re on the beach.”

 It seemed like forever for your head to breach the surface of the ocean. By now your body was completely exhausted, Eisuke dragged you to the beach, “C’mon you can nap once you’re on the beach.”

You crawled upon the beach, breathe heavily. Collapsing you rolled over the face Eisuke.

“You did good sweetheart” he praised, “Okay, rest now,” he brushed some of your wet hair from your face to behind your ear, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 “____?” a voice asked, you knew this voice. You attempted to open your eyes but they felt so heavy, you felt your hand being picked up and being squeezed. “Sweetheart?”

You knew that voice, trying to find your voice you attempted to mumble but it came out as a gurgle of sounds.

“SHE’S AWAKE!” you could feel people crowd around you, “Don’t crowd, give her some air.”

With much effort you opened your eyes, Eisuke’s face was the first one you saw, he looked tired, with the bags under his eyes he looked to have aged.

Beside Eisuke was Soryu and Baba. Your eyes drifted to the side and you saw Mamo and Ota. You looked back to Eisuke and reached up to cup his cheek. Tears brimmed at both of your eyes. Eisuke pressed his cheek into your hand.

“C’mon guys, lets give them some room.” Baba said, helping usher everybody out. Ota didn’t want to leave but Baba was able to usher them out.

Eisuke sat on your bed, kissing your wrist. “_____” he whisper your name, “I was so worried.” He admitted.

You struggled to talk, he brought a glass of water to your lips and you greedily took in the nourishing liquid, finally feeling like you could talk.

“Eisuke, what….what happened?” you asked, your voice didn’t sound like yours at all.

“Oh sweetheart, you were shot.” He rubbed your knuckles watching you with sorrowful eyes. “You died _____” he admitted.

You gasped, remembering that you were swimming towards something shiny…. Was that the afterlife that you were swimming to? Eisuke sighed, “I wasn’t sure that’d you pull through.” He got into your bed and laid beside you, his hand on your stomach, “I am so glad you did…. I wouldn’t know if I could live without you.” He kissed you gently.

“Eisuke….” You whispered, your arms still felt like led but you managed to rub his face, “you saved me… you pulled me back.” Of course Eisuke didn’t know what you were talking about, and that was fine. You closed your eyes and sighed, you didn’t catch the look of pure panic cross his features.

“____” he implored, “Open your eyes sweetheart, I haven’t seen your eyes in a week” he said. You opened your eyes and looked at him, all you wanted to do was sleep, and you felt so exhausted. He was afraid you would slip from his fingers if you closed your eyes again.

“Eisuke, I’m not going anywhere, but I’m tired” you said, “I promise I’ll wake up, I have you waiting for me.”

  It was two weeks before you were checked out, within those weeks you learned that Eisuke was suffering from two fractured ribs from the masked gunman, you also learned that Soryu and his men had taken care of this man and his family.

You were sitting next to Baba taking a sip of wine when he started talking, “You know he insisted that he sleep next to you every day. He didn’t leave your side.”

You looked dubiously at Baba, “Really?” you asked, looking over to Eisuke who was talking with Soryu. “I didn’t know, all I know is that I have an escort whenever you left the hotel, Eisuke wasn’t going to let something happen to you again.

Eisuke could feel eyes on him, turning he saw your shocked face, he smirked and walked towards you kissing you on your lips, “What is wrong my love?” he asked.

“Baba here was telling me that you didn’t leave my side when I was in that coma.” You said, patting Baba’s leg.

A dust of pink graced Eisuke’s face, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, “Baba should have kept his nose out of our business.” He pulled you to your room, during your recovery Eisuke never once tried to have any sexual relationship with you, treating you like glass.

He guided you to the bed, he peppered your face with kisses, making you giggle. “Eisuke! What are you doing?” you asked.

“Kissing you, what does it look like?” he asked, he pulled the cover up close and snuggled into your body heat.

“Eisuke, I have a request of you.” You asked, between kisses and snuggling.

“Say it, and it is yours” he promised.

“Kiss me and never, never, never, let me go.”

[221bdisneystreet]

klancemonth film week prompt #3: eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au

here’s my third prompt for @klancemonth2018: an eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au! for prior context: after a severe falling out in their relationship, keith decides to have his memories of lance erased via a special medical procedure. he quickly regrets his decision, however, and does everything he can to stop the process within his mind. he soon stumbles into his last existing memory of lance: at the beach house where they first met

(warning for minor alcohol mentions in the beginning; sidenote also that lance and keith are much older in this au, around their early/mid-20s)

Even in the crevices of his dissolving memories, that old beach house was exactly as Keith remembered it. Its strawberry-red exterior and white frames stood in stark contrast to the moonlit darkness, and despite the thrash and howl of the winds that made even the palm trees bend like reeds, the house still remained in its full two-story glory.

Keith knew that it wouldn’t last.

He raced down the bridge leading to the porch and opened the front door. Even the inside was the same as it was two years ago, with its simple floral wallpaper and old-fashioned oak paneling and creaking floorboards. The scents of aging wood and dust, with hints of saltwater, lingered like a passing phantom and crept into Keith’s lungs. He nearly coughed from inhaling such strong yet old smells, yet it still felt...oddly welcoming to him.

After Keith shut the door, the faint noises of shuffling and scraping wood emerged from a nearby room. Just then, a familiar and triumphant  “Ah-ha!” silenced that brief symphony of sounds. Keith walked over and peeked into the room, which appeared to be a small but cozy storage room.

“Keith, my man! We’ve hit the jackpot!” Lance grinned, shining his flashlight into a large, open cabinet. Inside was an assorted number of liquor bottles in all sizes, from colorfully-labeled bottles of beer to taller and more plain-looking bottles of wine. Keith couldn’t help but smile a bit fondly at seeing the delight on Lance’s face. He always knew how to find the thrill in anything, even in something as simple as sniffing out a hidden liquor closet.

Lance clapped his gloved hands. “Well, pick your poison. I’m personally feeling for something a bit elegant tonight, so a swig of champagne sounds good in my book.” He peered into the cabinet and rummaged through the trove of bottles, the glass clinking together softly. “You down for that? Or do you want something else? I’m flexible with my alcohol.”

“Nah, I...think I’ll pass for tonight. You choose what you want,” Keith said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his wool coat. Shivering slightly, he buried his chin a little deeper into his scarf.

“Alright, whatever you say.” Lance came out with a champagne bottle in hand and approached Keith. With a wink and a sly grin, he asked playfully, “Meet ya upstairs, samurai?”

Suddenly, the house began to shudder violently. The cracking of wood exploded in Keith’s ears as the walls started to splinter.

This was it.

It was already happening.

“I have this pretty sick mixtape that we can listen to together! Come on!” Lance shouted from above as he rushed upstairs.

“I don’t know if I can now,” Keith shouted back. He ambled back into the storage room and peered down, gently kicking at the warm beach sand that had suddenly covered the entire floor. “I have to leave…”

No sound came from upstairs. Nothing but the crackling of oak and peeling of wallpaper and paint made their voices known.

“...so go.” Lance’s voice, distant but still distinct, echoed from above.

“I did.” Keith whispered, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I thought you were crazy or something.” His mind spinning wildly, he wandered towards the living room, observing the walls that trembled around him. Webbed cracks began forming on the windows, the glass beginning its descent into a shattered void. Keith gave a short, quiet laugh and shook his head. “But really, I thought you were exciting.”

Fine specks of powder streamed and showered from above as the ceiling slowly crumbled. Old picture frames fell off the disintegrating walls, and vases and lamps toppled over.

“I wish you stayed that night,” Lance called out.

“I wish I stayed, too. Well...now I wish I stayed. I...” Now suddenly ankle-deep in a cold and shallow flood of seawater that leaked into the house, Keith waded towards the couch, his footsteps splashing loudly and the soaked cuffs of his jeans clinging to his skin. A regretful smile curled up in his lips. “I really wish I stayed. I really do.”

As Keith stared at the rippling seafoam beneath him, Lance said, “I came downstairs and noticed you left.”

After a hesitant pause, Keith said, “I walked out the door.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Well...maybe I do know,” Keith sighed and sat down on the couch. “I was scared. Even though I was well into my twenties, I still felt like such a scared kid that night. I mean, I’ve always been that way every day of my life. Scared of being alone, of being abandoned. Rejected. I dunno…” He bent forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “I just wasn’t really thinking again, I guess.”

“Wait, you were scared?”

“Yeah. I thought you already knew that.” Keith let out a tiny and hollow laugh. “I just ran outside, trying so hard to outrun my humiliation. Trying to hide myself away again.” He stood up again, walking towards the fracturing windows. As he gazed outside, the ocean began to surge rapidly, the waves rolling past the shoreline and towards the porch.   

“Was it something that I said?” Lance asked, his tone laced with confusion and concern.

“Yeah…” Keith hesitated, his fingers picking at a loose stitch in his coat pocket. “...you told me, ‘so go’ with such disdain.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” Lance’s voice was apologetic, full of sympathy. Keith just shrugged, “Ehh, it’s okay.”

So go.

Those two words, far away in the stretches of nothingness, still pounded in his head.

The next thing he knew, Keith ran to the front door, threw it open, and began jogging away from the porch, away from the house, away from––

“Keith?”

That voice, calling for him like a child beckoning for their mother, made Keith stop in his tracks and turn around. Lance finally came into view from upstairs, poking his head out from behind the railing. With a solemn expression, one that appeared pleading and desperate, he asked, “What if you stayed this time?”

Keith smiled with soft remorse. He really wanted to stay. He tried so hard to stay, to cling tightly onto every happy memory of them, to desperately rescue every single piece of joy that Lance had brought into his life, to carve those little moments of their love permanently into his brain so that they could never be erased.

But he failed.

Every memory was always within his grasp until it had been forcefully yanked away from him and lost to the gaping jaws of oblivion.

He should have known his efforts were useless. The procedure was supposed to be completely foolproof. Success rates always at 100%, customer satisfaction guaranteed. That is, if you even remembered what the satisfaction was rooted in.

And yet, Keith still tried to defy science, to defy nature, to defy logic.

All so he could keep Lance close to his heart, even if it was for a fleeting second.

“I can’t, Lance,” Keith answered, shaking his head. “The memory’s gone. It’s just become nothing.” He let out a defeated laugh, even though now he started to feel tears pricking out of the corners of his eyes. “And you can’t rebuild something out of nothing in your memories.”

The house had now been stripped to almost nothing, with only the staircase and the porch still mostly intact. Lance frowned at Keith’s words.

“Well, at least come back and make up a goodbye?” Lance asked, his tone gentle and soothing. “Let’s pretend we had one?”

Goodbye.

Keith wished it didn’t have to come to this. It was a cruel and impending truth that he had to accept, the grand and bittersweet finale of this whole charade.

But if he could be able to share one last cheerful moment, no matter how small…

With a soft smile, Keith made his way back to the porch and stood at the foot of the staircase. Lance started walking down the stairs. Keith used every ounce of his determination and strength to savor every little bit of Lance. His teal sweatshirt, his denim jeans, his ruffled hair, his smooth skin, his dark blue eyes that still twinkled in the luminous glow of the moon, the tender smile that curved up in his lips…

When he was near the bottom, Lance knelt down so he was at eye-level with Keith.

“Goodbye, Keith.”

Around them, the landscape roared as everything around them shook and collapsed in an earthquake into oblivion.

“I love you, Lance,” Keith murmured, still smiling through teary eyes.

As everything started to fade away into a haze, Lance leaned towards Keith. Even though the sounds and sights and smells were growing muddled and sinking into an abyss of nothing, even though a blinding light from beyond Keith’s evaporating memories shrouded his vision and slowly pulled him out of his mind, Keith somehow could distinguish the last words that Lance whispered into his ear before they dissipated like smoke.

“Meet me...in Montauk…”