#I can just imagine someone teaching a bunch of them the “Mine!” voice from finding nemo.

[lokilysolbitch]

it been a minute but i wanted to add my last bit about teaching poetry

yall know the show, dont tell rule with writing? Don't say he's sad, show his tears, how his voice trembles, etc

w h y are we telling english students and beginner poets how to poetry. why are we going "alliteration is when repeat letter sound. alliteration make reader feel this way" who says? jesus? prove it to me

you wanna know what helped me understand symbolism? witchcraft. and my refusal to use most basic ingredients with associations you can find easily. i constantly have to make up my own symbolism and force myself to find a different way of interpreting things. What purpose could this broken glass serve magically? Well, its clear. maybe it signifies transparency. the jagged edges symbolise pain or danger. contextually, this glass came from broken window. maybe it holds the energy of intrusion. So, now, that piece of glass in someone's poem/my own poem is not just a meaningless piece of glass. it means something. im considering where it came from and its purpose. that's a lot better and a lot more personal than "the green light symbolises,,,,,,,,,,whatever it seems like the teacher is trying to get me to say"

obviously the students do not need to learn witchcraft. but let them stick their hands in poetry before trying to make any genuine sense out it. read bad poetry. read good poetry. read pretentious poetry. read popular lyrics. read infamous lyrics (cough fight song) have them write whatever poetry they want with no restrictions. have them watch (maybe insta-)poetry be critiqued. just look at the poetry and mess around with it. have them talk about it. and then make them look at vocab. "remember how you guys liked how Lin used a bunch of issi sounds in this song from Hamilton? theres a term for that"

and as an additional note, just for enhancing creativity specifically, Put Limits On Yourself. trust, you will get creative. you wont have a choice

theres two methods i like, one from young me and one from my photography teacher from ninth grade.

mine is my default for near every art related choice in my life: whatever the default idea is? dont do that. whatever the second idea is? dont do that either.

say you have two characters. one likes pink and one like blue. everyones first idea is the girl one is pink and the boy one is blue. but everyone did that already. thats why its the go to idea. we're not using that

the next general idea is the boy one is pink and the girl one is blue. okay, less common but now all the people who scrapped the first idea are gonna do that. we're not using that either

the third idea and the others following tend to be more interesting and have more options. what if theyre both girls. what if the pink one is nonbinary and the blue one is boy. or what if the blue one is genderless and the pink is pangender. its such a personal pet peeve when people all sit themselves in the same box when there are so many other options. you need to force yourself out of your box

speaking of boxes, here's my photography teachers method to creativity: force yourself in a box. listen i can explain

for all of our projects in that class, the teacher made us stick to one topic. no you cant just take pictures of whatever? why? because you're all gonna take pictures of sunsets and flowers or a woman crying. and then she made us all take pictures that had to have a rubix cube. imagine all the different pictures everyone came back with when we did our little art gallery session. tbh i dont remember a lot because it was six years ago and i have a dissociative disorder but im assuming there were rarely any doubles with our projects. how can you take a basic sunset picture when you're forced to cram a rubix cube in there. your ideas become some sort of creative by default

i think its important not to censor your ideas so when it comes to brainstorming write everything down, but don't stop at the first two ideas. youve already suggested the poem line "she's beautiful like the night sky". what else is there. redacted because i wrote a line that was too sick and now im keeping it for myself and i have to make a new less cool one "her beauty like the oppressive velvet between the stars". be weird about it. this is poetry you dont need to sound like a normal typical person. where have you seen an artist who was not strange in some way

i think this is finally a solid chunk of what ive been wanting to say. i care so so much about art and artists and letting people know you rarely ever Ever have to do things the normal people way. be stupid. be strange. be crazy. and be at least like %60 safe. and be kind (Not Nice) if you make any type of mark on this earth im proud of you and you get cool guy points by default.

TLDR: let people fuck around before finding out, limit yourself if you want to be creative, artists are cool and don't be an ass without good reason

My new fixation is bad poetry

and its making me think about how to define art and poetry and what makes poetry good etc but I can't go back and find my sophomore english teacher and rant about it so I'm making it yalls problem. but mr c if ur in here pls read also what do you mean thats one way to skin a hamster. thats not how it goes what are you talking abou

first of all, ive finally figured out my current definition of art: records of the human experience or just experience in general. so yes paintings and poetry but ALSO tiktoks or a decorated room. idc if you think its stupid there are remnants and references to human experiences ALL OVER those. so basically if it left a mark at any point, its art. maybe not always "good" or skilled, deep, etc but it is art (to me)

secondly, what is poetry? the same sophomore english teacher asked this at the beginning of a unit and the class was struggling. every time we listed a requirement for poetry he went "is that necessary though?". "it has to rhyme" "does it?" "it has to be deep" "does it" "it needs to have words!" ".....does it?" man idk i was 15 and sleep deprived

but now im less sleep deprived and i have an answer. I would consider poetry a spectrum (but not necessarily flexible. i wouldn't say you have to bend it's meaning to make something fit) but also playing with language, to be playful with it and have fun with it, to use it as a toy in a way. using language in a way different from its intended use. so writing a personal narrative about a deep topic? not poetry. maybe you had fun with it but thats still its main use. to make words rhyme, to alliterate, to use words just plain wrong? probably poetry. its still a spectrum. and im aware this means that saying something like "yew nork/glass fork" would count as a shitpost and poetry while "Ill love you and ill never stop loving you" doesnt and um i dont care i said what i said--

this would also mean most books and speeches would have little bits of poetry in there and i stand by that too. maybe the entire thing isnt poetry but bits of it could count. i came to this conclusion on the meaning of poetry because i saw too many "aesthetic" free verse poems that were just. tweets. you coulda just made it a sentence and posted it for free. there was no attempt to play with language. you just used it the way you were supposed to. its just a quote.

im definitely going to add more onto this about what i think poetry critics miss sometimes and why formal teaching of poetry is flawed but not all in one post bc its a lot. However i have one last concept to attempt to define. this one has always made me the angriest

GOOD VS BAD POETRY/ART

where do i even start. maybe we should just get rid of these terms completely and make people say what they mean. is it good or did he just use literary devices correctly. is it good or is it genuine. is it good or is it deep. is it good or is it entertaining. is it good or do you like it. is it good or is it popular. is it good or is it complex. is it good or is it creative.

ive been saying since i was i was maybe 12-13 that even though good does not have a solid stable meaning, there is still a sense of what good is. We know what its supposed to be. classical music, Edgar Allen Poe, Da Vinci are good. sure most people barely know or understand or care about these things other than one piece of work they can recall because they had to look at it in highschool that time and the teacher seemed to appreciate it. and we know that reality tv, messily hand drawn animals, and half assed near unintelligible tiktok skits are bad.

but....wait we like those though

ive come to the conclusion that while still shifting, "good"'s meaning in scholarly settings tends to come down to whatever those somethingth century european dudes and what the modern smart looking guys deemed intelligent. and in colloquial settings, what everyone likes.

many pretentious types will say rap is bad and the subject matter is crude and the same way im sure some old european guy would have said or has said traditional african music is too weird and primitive to be respectable.

now. i dont really listen to rap intentionally. if its in there its in there. I used to be pretentious and after changing i just never got too deep into it BUT. i listened to a Nicki Minaj song one time just to see and yeah it was not family friendly but dear god was it clever. the way she'd drop the most genius alliteration-personification-allegory-englishvocabword and then just keep it moving like im not gonna have to stop and ponder the seven layer reference to bedtime hanky panky. its smart. its creative. its complex. and so many rappers can write about the same topics over and over and still come back with a new way of phrasing it. its genuinely impressive

but so many still wouldn't consider it good.

the term good when it comes to art, while having somewhat of a meaning is still useless. make your own personal standards for what is important for you to see in art. its kind of silly for us to collectively decide "okay this art? we like it. this is good" and then go to a different community (age group, culture, race) and go "were going to show you the new gold standard for good! its what we liked! you dont do it like this?? then yours is bad!". historically thats never been a good move

what i find important with poetry (and by poetry i mostly mean song writing bc i dont even read poetry like that) tends to be "is it a poem? or a sentence/paragraph". everything other than that just has to do with my taste and what I prefer in the moment. and it goes the same for everyone else. there's no universal good or bad with art. its just what a dominant or culturally respected group of people said was important.

limericks are bad tho jesus told me/j

TL;DR: i think anything that records an experience is art. i think toying with language mostly makes it poetry, and i think its weird people create little boxes for good and bad and make everyone else adhere to it

[sondepoch]

One Night (Marius x Reader)

Teaching a Billionaire to Touch Grass (And a Minimum Wage Worker to Treat Herself)

Marius clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at 2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

MASTERLIST

The car is silent. 

As Marius gets inside, he thinks that this might be the first time he’s not opening the passenger door seat for a lady partner, the first time he’s allowed himself to stalk straight into the driver's seat and angrily wait for his passenger to enter on their own.

Actually, he thinks, this is also the first time in years that he's actually driving. The first time someone managed to call for him so late that even his chauffeur was off-duty.

“I’m really sorry about this, Sir,” you mumble as you climb into the seat next to him, apologies never halting as you ramble on and on and on like an idiot who can't read a room. “I, ah, didn’t think this would happen, I'm so…”

Marius ignores you.

He glances out the passenger window and catches Darius Morgan’s equally-annoyed gaze. Seriously? the man seems to be asking, an unimpressed look crossed over his face as he eyes you through the car window. I don’t fucking know, Marius’s gaze says back, and he shakes his head the slightest as he starts the car.

“What’s your address?” he asks, interrupting your apologies. Propriety should make him feel somewhat embarrassed over the way he's acting,  but he can’t bring himself to be even a little polite right now.

“It’s by the Harbor. Um, if you go straight on Main Street and turn right at the—”

“Forget it,” Marius interrupts you. He taps the small car screen on his right, opening up the GPS interface. “Just type it in. I’ll drop you off.”

Your face falls at his irate voice, but you wisely don't comment on it, instead typing in your address as he asked. He watches you cautiously the whole time, for once not caring about the performance anxiety his gaze naturally brings to everyone he looks at. To your merit, you don't mess up anymore than you already have, deft fingers moving with the preciseness he’s used to seeing from you, but the skill can hardly impress him after you called him to pick you up from here, of all places. As the GPS routing sequence activates, Marius lets out an annoyed huff. This is not where he wanted to be right now.

Then, the car hums to life as he presses down on the accelerator, and he’s speeding in the direction of your home, trying to abandon his anger with the jailhouse the two of you are leaving.

I should be at home right now, he thinks as he moves onto the highway. He thinks about how long it had taken for him to coordinate this night off from Vyn’s tutoring sessions, Pax’s board meetings, his schoolwork, and the NXX’s meetings. I should be sleeping, or painting, or calling Rosa, or—

“Fuck,” he mutters when traffic begins to slow down. 

He’s in a traffic jam.

So much for sleeping. And painting. And calling Rosa. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at—Marius glances at the car’s dashboard—2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

He keeps his glare fixated on the road, knowing that if he shoots you with the same thunderous look he uses to fire people, you’ll probably be too terrified to speak. Still, when you finally start talking, he can sense the fear in your voice.

His grip on the steering wheel softens the slightest.

“I, ah, initially was planning on calling Mr. Vincent. But he—”

“Really?” Marius snaps. “You’re his assistant, right?” Marius thinks back to all the times he stalked into Pax Headquarters only to see Vincent there with his morning coffee in hand and you, always three feet behind, holding Vincent’s work files. The Board of Directors criticized Marius for allowing his assistant to have an assistant, but never did he imagine you to be so…

Incompetent, he wants to say. Foolish might be a better word for it, though.

“Ah, yes. His administrative assistant.”

“And you want me to believe,” Marius huffs, “That the first person you wanted to call to bail you out of jail was the man you’re an administrative assistant to?”

Traffic gets ever slower, and Marius’s car rolls to a complete stop.

“Yes,” you whisper, and you start wringing your fingers in a manner so sheepish that Marius almost wants to believe you. Almost. “I, ah, was going to call him first. But then I remembered that his vacation started last night and that he’s already left Stellis. So I figured that if I called him, he’d just call you, so I…”

He wouldn’t call me, Marius thinks. Vincent is smart enough to find someone else to pick you up from jail. Regular people don’t ask these kinds of favors from their boss. Especially not from their boss's boss.

“Do you know that people usually ask their friends for these things?” Marius asks. Some of his anger seeps away when he realizes how apologetic you actually are, and he moves forward in traffic the slightest. “Or family, perhaps. What you did was…” Marius tries to find a kinder word than completely inappropriate. “Was highly unusual.” He sighs. “Why didn’t you ask someone else?”

He stares at you through the corner of his eye. You’re pursing your lips, holding back tears. Again, his gaze softens.

“I don't have anyone else,” you whisper.

Marius thinks it’s strange for you to imply that you even have him, especially when he’s nothing more to you than a high-level corporate executive, one that you’ve never spoken directly to in your entire life, but he doesn’t press you any further.

Releasing the final remnants of his anger in a soft sigh, he switches lanes and decides to pull into the nearest exit.

“Darius said you were in that cell since yesterday afternoon. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

“No, but…”

“This traffic isn’t going anywhere. We may as well get you something to eat.”

He exits easily, pulling into a district of Stellis that he’s never been in before, and ignores your quiet sniffle. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Earlier, he was ignoring you out of spite. Now, he doesn’t respond because he wants to preserve your dignity.

As he focuses his attention on the district he's pulled to, ignoring the GPS which vehemently opposes everything he's doing, Marius realizes that he's pulled into a rather poor sector of Stellis. It’s filled with unhealthy fast food joints, late-night drunkards, and a bunch of loiterers who are eyeing his high-end car suspiciously.

After driving around and surveying the options, Marius sighs. 

“The only places open are these fast-food restaurants,” he says, cleanly leaving out the option of getting food from a club or anywhere else a tabloid might be able to snap a picture. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, and Marius finds that your smile is oddly sweet. “Ah, would you be okay with that one over there? I go there a lot, and their food is...better than other fast food places.” 

Marius squints at you for a moment. He tries to recall your salary, and when he fails, he thinks of Vincent’s. Surely, you make a similar wage? You shouldn’t need to frequent fast-food restaurants like this, right?

Shaking his head, he decides not to ask about it. Things like where you eat are your business, not his, and it’s not his place to question you on your personal decisions.

He pulls up to the drive-through, somewhat relieved to find that the dine-in option isn’t even available at this hour, and lets you order whatever you want. You end up taking a meager meal, one that Marius doubts will actually fill your stomach when he can hear it growling so loudly, so when you turn to him and ask what he’ll get, he orders some fries in hopes that he can hand them off to you in case you’re still hungry. 

Minutes later, the two of you are parked on the side of the road with your respective meals in your laps. Only once you’ve finished (and after Marius is starting to pawn his fries off to you, finding that they’re rather unappealing to his pallette) does he think it’s appropriate to actually breach the subject of why you were tossed in jail.

“So,” he drawls, listening to the cool hum of the air conditioner. “Drugs, huh?”

He hears you choke on a fry.

“Th-they weren’t mine!” you blurt. “Honest, Sir, they—”

“Relax,” he says, eyes flitting down. “I’m not going to have you fired over this. Vincent wouldn’t want that. If anything, the court will decide.”

You relax a little at that, but Marius can sense that you’re still on edge.

“I...appreciate that a lot, Sir. But, really, the drugs weren’t mine. I—I’m sure there’s video evidence to prove that. I was just coming home from work when a kid told me to hold onto this bag, and—”

Marius lifts an eyebrow. He may be out of touch with the realities of the common class, but even he knows how ridiculous your story is.

“I didn’t take it, though! He handed it to me and I put it on the ground! But...but an officer saw me put it on the ground and assumed it was mine...and then...you know what happened.”

Marius sighs. You've always been a good, low-profile worker. He has no reason to believe that you'd get involved with anything bad: but he can't help but doubt you. When he next speaks, his voice is laced with hesitance. “Is there anything to prove your innocence? Pax can help get you a good lawyer, but without evidence, it’ll—”

“There is!” Your eyes are too determined to be anything other than sincere. “Or, ah, there should be. It happened right outside my apartment. I’m sure someone there has surveillance footage of what happened.”

Marius ignores the quiet “hopefully” you add to the end of that. 

“Alright,” he says, deciding that it’s not his place to decide whether or not he believes your story. “Tell me how you got my private number, then. Pax employees shouldn’t have access to that information.”

“Oh, ah…”

Your gaze turns sheepish. Marius grows even more interested in your response.

“Mr. Vincent had it written down a couple months ago. I accidentally saw it. I tried to forget, but…”

You seem to be kicking yourself over the blunder, but Marius is impressed. A mind that can remember something months after having seen it only once is a valuable thing, he thinks. It’s a waste for someone with your brain to be working as a mere assistant’s assistant.

“I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” Marius says. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m...not mad at you.”

And somehow, he really isn’t angry anymore.

The two of you finish your meal soon enough, Marius having successfully pressed his fries into your hands. It seems that you really are hungry because you down those in a manner of minutes, and the man almost regrets not having ordered more when he hears your stomach still grumbling beneath the hum of the car as he returns to the highway.

As Marius lets the GPS guide him back onto Stellis’s most frequented roads, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that all traffic is gone. He speeds down the road with a renewed vigor, somehow sidestepping the usual sleepiness that overcomes him during these kinds of drives with your idle commentary of the road, little mentions of “I once saw a turtle here” and “there used to be four lanes here, but they changed it to five” and “this mile-post had the wrong number on it for years before I reported it and highway patrol got it changed.”

If anything, there’s a faint smile on his face when he finally pulls off the freeway, almost amused by your quiet chit-chat. 

“Is this the right neighborhood?” Marius asks as he pulls into one of Stellis’s residential districts. 

“Yeah, it’s just a little further down.” You gather your purse in your lap and thank Marius for the umpteenth time.

“It's okay,” he says, slowing down. The apartments are looking poorer, now, dingier, but he tries not to let that show on his face. “Is it here?”

“Right at the end of the street,” you say, and with only a mildly concerned look on his face, Marius drives you further down the road.

His eyebrows furrow as he realizes what kind of neighborhood you live in, and he wonders if your wage truly is so poor that you have to live here, of all places. The apartment complexes here are unrenovated, a disappointing amount of them sporting broken glass or graffiti on them. Litter covers the grounds, and even in the thick, 3-AM darkness, Marius can make out hundreds of beer cans scattered across the lawns. Bushes are either dying or overgrown, and there are cigarette butts everywhere. 

Marius realizes that between his suit, his car, and his three earrings, he might have more money on him than everyone who lives here combined.

“Which...which of these apartments is yours?”

He looks around warily, quietly hoping that you’ll say it’s none of them.

“Ah, it’s the first window on the second floor of that…” you trail off as your pointer finger lands on an apartment where all lights are lit—and three masked figures stand illuminated, clearly ransacking your house.

“Oh my god,” Marius blurts, already getting his phone out. “You’re getting robbed, what the—”

“No, no!” You’re quick to place a hand on Marius’s arm before he can dial Emergency Services. “Those are, ah, just the neighborhood boys. They...they do bad things, but they’re good kids. Don’t worry. I’ll chase them out in no time, you don’t have to—”

“Are you serious?” Marius asks, dumbfounded. “This—how can you go back to a home like that? You could die, or—or—”

“Sir,” you say, looking him in the eyes with more seriousness than he’s seen from you this entire night. “With all due respect, this is the best I can afford.”

Marius falls silent at that.

You open the door silently, casting your eyes down. “Thank you again for everything,” you murmur. “I...I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”

But then, Marius thinks about the weak story you gave to him earlier, where you claimed that someone handed you drugs and then left you with them, and he wonders whether it might have actually been true. Whether this neighborhood, with its burglars and alcoholism and litter, could actually present you with that reality. Whether something like that may happen again to you, or, worse, Marius thinks as he glances back into your apartment at the three masked robbers, if you could actually get hurt.

Against all better judgment, his arm snaps out. He grips your wrist instantly, not thinking about propriety or class divisions or economic status or anything other than you, one of his company’s employees, and your safety.

“Don’t go there,” he blurts. When he realizes that you’re not tearing your arm free of him, he speaks again. “At least, not while they’re there. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to make sure you can return in a safe environment, and—”

“Sir, I can’t just get a hotel or—”

“I have two guest bedrooms. You can take your pick. Just—ah—” Marius glances out the window at the poor neighborhood you live in, and he winces. “I can’t let you go home to this. Not...not while there are robbers in your house. Please understand.”

“This...this kind of problem doesn’t just go away,” you mumble, but Marius relaxes when he sees your grip on the door loosen. “And besides, it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay in your apartment.”

“Most people wouldn’t call it appropriate to call your company’s CEO to bail you out of jail,” Marius jokes, but the humor of it is lost on you.

“I…”

Your face falls.

“A—that was a joke,” Marius stutters. “I was joking.”

“Right.”

The atmosphere of the car goes awkward, made even worse by the GPS’s automated reminder that your destination is on the left, but the more Marius looks out his window, the more he decides that he can’t possibly let you return to this apartment. He’ll give you a raise if he has to, but this is something no one should be subject to.

“Alright,” you finally relent after Marius makes it clear that he won’t speak unless it’s to plead with you more. “Just for one night.”

“Just for one night,” Marius agrees, already planning how he can make sure that you have a better home to return to than this one for all future nights to come.

[herstroywritten]

Their Aching Firsts.

I still have no excuse for my obsession with them. Not sure how I feel about this particular story, but I wanted to post something for the start of Rivusa week for the hell of it. It’s about 7k words (I apparently can’t stop writing them once I start and their works end up being endless). Oops.

Fair warning, there is a umm *spicy* scene near the end there. I don’t usually write those and I tried to keep it as vague as I could, but I thought I’d mention it anyways. Other than that, enjoy and let me know what you think!

The first times they kissed, it was fueled by anger- he grabbed, she pulled, they crashed.

The first time they talked about it, it wasn't so much a conversation of words as it was one of looks. His eyes said "I want you and it terrifies me." Her eyes said "I think I want you, too. And I think I'm finally ready to admit that."

The first time Musa realized her new favorite jacket was once his, she stares at herself in the mirror for over an hour. She misses lunch with the gang and Riven comes knocking at her door and opens it to find her standing in front of that mirror in a state of awe. She's bathed in black leather, sleeves reaching the tips of her fingertips.

"You ok?" Arms wrap around her waist as she toys with the hem of the jacket. She looks at him through the mirror and smiles.

"I just want you to know I'm never giving this back."

He huffs a laugh as he lets his head fall to her hair, breathing her in. Lavender and something sweet that he's never been able to pinpoint. "Not even if this falls apart?"

She whirls around to face him. "I don't intend on letting that happen." Her hands are on the collar of his shirt, eyes blazing with stubbornness. He knows then that her words are a promise, a commitment and not just a comment in passing.

"I don't know, Muse. You still have time to regret all this. Regret the ruin of your reputation. What will people say?" His words are teasing, but she can see right through them. She senses his vulnerability, his apprehension.

"There are a lot of things I regret in life- yelling at my mother when I was fourteen because I didn't want to clean my room, being a bit of a bitch to my suitemates at the start of the year, hiding instead of fighting because I was too scared to see what my powers could really do. The regrets are endless. But, you, Riven, are not one of them."

He frowns, blinks away the swarm of feelings within  him. "Yeah?"

She bunches her hands on his collar and pulls him down to her mouth. "Yeah."

"And what if I'm the one to end this?"

"And do what? Date some other girl for the hell of it?"

"Maybe, " he grins. "I hear I'm hot on the market now that I'm on the good side." She pulls him all the way down then, kisses him hard.

"Give it a try. Whoever she is, she won't last more than a day. And she'll defiantly never have you. Not really. I have you right where I want you, Riven. You're mine and you know it." She blazes a fire in him with her words.

"Oh yeah? And how would you know that?"

"You're here, aren't you?" She's all sass as she cocks an eyebrow at his question. "And, plus, it's kinda hard to lie to an empath."

And then she's kissing him again. This time with so much passion that he can't make sense of the world around him any longer. She pulls away only to tell him, "And I bet she'll never get that reaction out of you."

"No. No, she won't."

________________________________________________________________

The first time he calls her his girlfriend, it's not exactly in the situation she had imagined.

"Girls, I need to tell you something." Musa's voice wavers slightly as it rises above the noise that is their friends' laughs and chatter.

They're on the roof of Alfea, clustered among one another on the edges of old, shabby stones. The sky above them is dark and heavy. Stars wink at students from behind perfect clouds, ones that Musa remembers seeing in old cartoon movies that she used to watch with her parents when she was younger. From up here, the rest of Alfea seems like their whole world, its students miniature figures in a dollhouse. It's a perfect night, just as it should be. Rosalind is gone, out of the school and although that's not good enough, it's something. And Headmistress Dowling is alive and back in charge of the magical boarding school, where she belongs. From her perch up here, she can make out the headmistress' perfectly done hair as she leans back and laughs at something Silva is saying. She sees Professor Harvey heading towards their table, scolding students along the way to back away from the school's boarders. She's surprised that they haven't tried to stop all the drinking that going on. It seems that even the professors have had enough of the fighting, so much so that they're no longer focusing on the minute details of teenage life. Plus, she suspects that when they called for a party to celebrate the revival of Dowling and their taking back the school, they had fully expected the drinking. In fact, Musa had even seen Silva sneaking a few drinks to the teacher's table, but she'd never tell him that.

She can still hear Terra's squeal when Dowling had announced the party. And she can feel the toll of the  heels Stella had insisted she wear on her feet. It has brought everyone so much joy, this little piece of heaven that they're being allowed, and she's been so very glad to just bask in it. After months of walking around with her headphones constantly on, trying desperately and failing to block the thoughts of despair, gloom, and pain, she welcomed the change. It had taken a lot out of her, but she had even worked up the nerve to leave her headphones behind for the party. The girls had been surprised at first, but then Bloom had stepped forward, wound their arms together, and led her outside the suite. She's been getting weird looks from them all night, little side glances with small smiles and questioning eyes, asking her if she was okay or if she needed to head out for a bit, take a breather. She'd returned them all with reassuring smiles of her own, letting them know that she was fine. And she was fine, but probably not for the reason they thought. Yes, the students around her were happy and she didn’t have much negativity to deal with from them right now, and yes her powers were getting better. But the reason she was doing so well had to do nothing with the students around them or her ability to control her magic and everything to do with the specialist across from her.

Riven and her had been a bit of a dichotomy since the start of her second semester at Alfea. They were paired together for combat classes from the very beginning of Rosalind's reign at Alfea. He'd flirted, as he did with everything that had a pulse and walked his way, and she had shut it down. Odd how that had only encouraged his behavior. Odder how she'd eventually come to appreciate it.

It was a slow transition, their thing. She had been resistant to accept she liked someone so very opposite to her last boyfriend, hesitant to give herself to that natural disaster that seemed to be Riven. Honestly, it seemed like a loss for a long time. She'd lay in bed some nights, staring at her ceiling, listening to Terra's slow breaths as she slept, and just think about the fact that just a few months ago (God, it boggled her mind that it was only a few months ago… where did time go? And how did they get here, in a school run by a once presumed dead war leader and a woman that seemed to exude death from her presence alone?) she had been perfectly happy with Sam and the silence that he brought. Sure, they had eventually called it quits once she had realized she couldn't live in silence forever and he realized she needed to learn to shield herself from harm. It had been tough, but they were friends. And she had been okay being single again. Truly, she had. So how she'd come to crave noise- his noise, loud and obnoxious emotions that sent her body tingling and her mind reeling- she doesn't know. But it had happened and once she's finally just accepted it, the ball was in his court. Too bad for her though, because just as hesitant as she was, Riven was ten times more resistant to the pull that existed between the two of them. Musa remembers all the nights they'd sneak out and he'd teach her new moves with a staff and sometimes he'd let her use his swords, teasing her as she struggled under their weight. She'd head back to her suite before the sun came up, always frustrated because couldn't he see?! Couldn't he tell? Why else would she show up every single night without fail? Why else would she stick around when the training turned to teasing and taunting turned to conversations in hushed tones? Long story short, it took him being under mind control and her breaking it for him to just finally, finally kiss her. And from then on, it had been secret meetings in different corners of the school, in their rooms when no one else was around, and anywhere else they could find some privacy.

She's itching to cross the space that separates them currently and slip her arms under his jacket, an action that she'd first done on instinct but which had quickly become a habit once she had realized the effect it had on him. She's been eyeing him the whole night, fully aware of his gaze on her. There's a reason she hadn't argued with Stella when she'd been handed the lavender slip of a dress that she currently wore. She'd even managed to forgive the light fairy for the strappy silver heels she had practically forced into Musa's feet when she caught Riven staring up and down her bare legs. 

"Musa? What is it? Are you ok?" 

Bloom's worried tone pulls her back to reality and she forces herself to face away from Riven and toward the girls. She'd avoided this conversation for so long, but it had to come out at some point tonight and it had to happened before one of the girls found them in some shady corner with their clothes half off. 

"Oh, no I'm fine! It's not that." Now, how to approach what it actually was? 

Aisha's confused tone follows her reply, "Well, then, what is it?"

"Um, it's kind of a little complicated…" Musa's voice trails off and she has to physically stop herself from turning back to Riven to see if he's ok with this, with what she's about to say.

"Musa you're freaking me out a little here," Stella's eyes narrow at Musa's fidgeting her hands. Huh, she hadn't even noticed herself playing with the hem of her dress.

"Oh no! Did you actually kill that poor guy that tried to hit on you?" Terra sounds worried as Musa just groans at her words.

"Ughhh. Terra, we said we wouldn't talk about that."

"What guy?" Riven's question comes at the same moment as her whine, except his is louder and much more aggressive. All heads turn to him, and Musa curses the jealousy that she feels coursing through his veins right now. Damn it, couldn't he just keep it in long enough so she could explain to her suitemates what the hell was going on between them? His eyes are all rage and warning as he stares Terra down. And for some reason, she's all worked up at his gaze and doesn't know what to do with herself. She really shouldn't be so attracted to this side of him.

"What's it matter to you?" Aisha questions, eyebrow raising in his direction.

"It just does."

"Really, Riven? The middle school comeback? Classic."

"Stay out of it, Aisha. I wasn't talking to you."

They're bickering back and forth, and Musa can sense both their patience straining. This is not how she was hoping this would go. Finally, she steps between them, one hand on Aisha's shoulder and the other on Riven's chest. "Ok, that's enough."

Aisha glares his way one more time but steps back, Riven does not.  Instead, he turns to Musa and asks her, "What guy, Musa?"

"It doesn't matter, Riven."

"It does to me."

"Well, it shouldn't. It was just some drunk dude with a bad haircut. That's it." She's trying to reassure him, to let him know that this thing they have going on isn't just something she's going to drop the first chance she gets for any guy that makes eyes her way. She knows that's one of his big insecurities. He has it in his head that he's not good enough to deserve this, something that isn't completely fucked up from the very beginning.

They're trading glances, a secret conversation of their own  happening between them.

"No!"

All heads snap toward Bloom. The second she turns around, Musa knows that her redheaded roommate has figured it out. Bloom is grinning at the two of them, practically bouncing on her heels as she grabs onto Sky's arm and tugs on it. "Did you know about this?! Why didn't you tell me?!" 

Sky (bless his soul) looks at his girlfriend with confusion evident in his face, "Know what?"

Except it's Stella that answers, "They're dating."

And then mayhem ensues and Musa suddenly wishes she had thought this through because she's feeling so much from so many people right now and she's not quite sure how to handle it. She tries to hide the wince that forms on her face as she tries to answer all the questions her friends are practically screaming her way, but Riven must have noticed it because he reaches for her hand and pulls her out of the circle the girls have formed around her and closer to him.

"Alight, that's enough." It's the rasp in his voice that sends her spiraling every time he speaks, and she's putty in his hands. It's pathetic, she should have more self-control than this. "Yes, we're dating. Yes, she's my girlfriend. And, Aisha, no I did not pay her or threaten her into it. Gods above!" He takes a sweep of the room, gesturing to all their friends with a hand as if to say 'you're all very welcome.'

"Any other questions?" No one speaks up. Not that Musa would have heard any of them because good gods, did she hear him right? Did he just say what she thinks he said? Is she his… girlfriend? They'd avoided so many labels for so long that it had completely slipped her mind to actually name this thing between then by the time that they had finally become something substantial. And she's been fine with that deal, with not having to name their relationship, but hearing him call her his girlfriend has send her body trembling, fire coursing through her veins and butterflies bursting in her stomach.

And then he's pulling her away, down the stairs that led them up to the roof and between hallways that blend into one another as her mind focuses on the way his hand grips hers and the lust (his? hers?) that seems to be engulfing her whole being.

She lets him lead her into his room, onto his bed, and just as he leans down to kiss her, she moves down and places a kiss on his neck instead. Looking up at him, she tests out the word that's taken over her brain since it left his lips, "Girlfriend?"

"Fuck. Is that not what this is? I, I don't know- I kind of figured- I don't know. Shit, sorry-" If she wasn't so very in love with the idea of being his girlfriend, his something (just his), she would have let his ramble continue. She didn't get to see this often, a flustered Riven, and it was a sight she found quite adorable. But, alas, she had other plans for tonight.

She bends her neck upward, uses her toes to push herself up the bed, and kisses him ever so lightly on the lips. Just enough so that he stops talking. A feather's whisper of a kiss, against which she purrs "That is exactly what this is if that's what you want it to be." 

His eyes are black with want when he closes them and his hand comes up to trace the edges of her jaw. His breathing speeds up as he leans his forehead against hers, and that's how she knows he's trying to collect his thoughts, watching his words as he often does when he's scared he's about to make the wrong move, say the wrong thing. She swears she's going to get him to stop doing that around her, because she wants his thoughts, every single one of them, as raw as they are. She doesn't want the filtered version. And she can feel them, mingling into the background as his insecurity takes over. Her hands find their way to his jaw and now they're holding each other, "Tell me."

He opens his eyes, opens his mouth to tell her, just as she knew he would. He'd never deny her anything and she's learned that in the short time that they've been together. He'd collect the stars and fashion them into a necklace she could wear around her neck if she asked for the universe. He'd start and end a war if she so much as suggested it. He'd give her his soul, she thinks. All she needs to do is ask, and he breaks for her. Crack by crack. Splinter by splinter. Until he's cleaved wide open and she sees all of him.

"I do, want that. I want you." His voice is gruff, guttural. "What about you? What do you want?"

God, how does he still not get it?!

"You." A whisper, and then a kiss.

_______________________________________________________________

The first time he makes her cry, it's not because of something he said. It's because of something he did.

It had started like any other day- breakfast, classes, social gatherings at the end of the afternoon. Musa and Terra had just left botany lessons and were heading towards the specialists training grounds to meet up with Sky and Riven before they all went to grab dinner together. It had been all fun and games, Terra and her grumbling about how ravished they were and laughing along at each other's comments. But Musa had sensed the uneasiness that radiated from the training grounds the second they had rounded the corner of Alfea's large lawns. Silva was especially on edge, and the fact that he had all the upperclassmen and the best of the specialists lined up as he walked back and forth between them shouting orders could not be a good sign. And with an insane mastermind on the loose, Musa had feared the worst as anyone else would. She'd taken off running, and Terra had followed without any questions, trusting her instincts.

She only caught glimpses of Silva's orders. "… Five burned ones… Two upperclassmen faries out there already… We need to leave now- I'm going to need ten of you out ASAP. Five more will guard the school grounds… Any volunteers?" 

Her heart stopped when in her peripheral vision, she saw Sky and Riven's hands go up. This would be the third one this month that they had volunteered for, and the last time they left the school grounds Riven came back with a broken foot that he's still limping along on. The word left her mouth before she could think about it, "No!"

He turned to her, surprised to find her standing among the specialists. "Musa?"

She can't be bothered to greet him, not right now, not when he's practically signing up for his own death. So, instead, she stares him straight in the eye and says it again. "No." 

But Riven is as stubborn as she is, and she knows he's been itching to prove himself again, to make up for what he did under the control of Rosalind just a short while ago. His words crush her soul, "I volunteer for the outside team." He's talking to Silva, who's eyeing the two of them with an intrigued look on his face. He nods curtly at Riven's words. But Riven is looking at her, his jaw set and tilted upward with determination.

"Alright, Sky and Riven, you'll lead the charge. Get your weapons. We leave in five minute. Go!" And then he and Sky are running toward their weapons bags, Musa and Terra hot on their tracks.

She catches up to him just as he's strapping on his swords. Her hand comes to pull at his wrist, motioning for him to face her.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" He won't look at her, won't meet her eyes. "Riven, I'm talking to you! You can't just volunteer yourself up for everything that could kill you! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Whatever you're trying to prove, stop it!"

He's reaching for his fighting boots, switching into them. Whether he's just not listening or if he just doesn't care, she can't tell. She wants to kill him. She wants to kiss him. 

"Please," she can't believe she's begging. "Please, Riven. Your foot. You can't-"

"I'm doing it, Musa." She sees fury, internalizes it before her insides form it into something tangible and she can see it, feel it. It's red and blinding and raging.

"I'm asking you not to." He won't say no to her, he hasn't done it yet. She asks and he cracks for her right? Right?

Wrong. 

"LET'S GO, SQUADRON 1!" She barely registers what Silva's command means until Riven is standing up.

"I'm sorry, Musa." And she knows he means it, because when his hands fall to her shoulders, quick and rushed, they're firm. He leans down to kiss her goodbye or as a form of apologizing, she's not sure, but she turns her head away from him and he ends up kissing the space between her cheek and jawline. If he won't look at her, then she won't look at him. And if he won't listen to her, then she won't give him the satisfaction of her approval. It's petty, she know that. She senses his emotions deflate at her actions, the feeling of rejection cutting into his heart like a shard of glass ripping through flesh. But she's seen this movie before, she knows how this story ends. Too many specialists have left the school's walls wounded and eager to pick a fight, only to come back on the brink of death or even worse, they haven't come back at all. And the idea of him becoming one of those statistics hurts more for her than her rejection will ever hurt him.

She doesn't turn to watch him leave, but she hears his boots beating against the pavement as he rushes to catch up with Sky… and then silence. 

She's so numb by now. Numb to death, to feeling, to crying. She doesn't cry. Not when Terra comes to hug her from behind. Not when they're back in the suite and Bloom is practically sizzling with anger at the fact that they didn't think to bring her along on the mission and that Sky is being sent on yet another mission. Not when it's midnight and Dowling informs that the specialists made it back safely.

She doesn't go down to greet them when the other girls rush out the door. Terra lingers in the doorway.

"You sure you don’t want to come?"

"I'm good." She's staring outside the huge window of their living room, refusing to look down at the ground and try to make out if someone is missing in the mass of specialists standing in the courtyard.

"Musa-" She feels pity and worry coming from Terra, and she doesn't want to deal with it right now. She just wants to be numb for a little while longer.

"I said, I'm good."

Once Terra is gone, she turns away from the window and goes to sit by one of the couches. She counts the floorboards by the main doorway of the Winx suite. One, two, three, four, five, six…

She counts them three times over before the door finally barges open, it's hinges creaking from the immense force of the push just enacted upon it.

Riven's eyes frantically search the room before they finally fall on her. He walks towards her, limps actually. (She knew his foot wasn't healed, no matter how much he insisted it was.) He has blood splattered on his right side. His or someone else's, who knows? And when he finally reaches her, and falls to his knees in front of her so that they're eye level with one another, she finally cries.

He reaches for her. She pushed him off. "Fuck you, Riven. Really, fuck you."

"I'm sorry. Muse, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I-"

"Why don't you ever listen? You keep walking into wars as if they're welcoming parties. Do you want to die?! Do you have a death wish? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" She's being mean, unfair. She doesn't care. If asking won't work, maybe screaming will. And she's exhausted. Exhausted of worrying about him every time he leaves. Exhausted of wishing he would listen. Exhausted of fearing he's the one that didn't make it back, because it's almost been him so many times by now.

"I had to Musa." His voice is soft, odd in comparison to the loud tone he usually takes when they argue about this topic.

"You always have to! You don't have to prove anything Riven. And you most certainly don’t have to die for no fucking reason!"

"You don't get it-"

"So explain it to me!" He sighs deeply, and closes his eyes. "No, Riven. Explain it. What don't I get?"

He finally opens his eyes, throws a string of colorful swears at the ceiling before moving his gaze back to her. "It's not just proving something. It's that if I go and… if I go, then one less specialist has to go. And that's one less person with people that care about them having to go. And that's one less tragic death, and then a whole lot less people hurt. If I go… who cares, you know? And, honestly, shouldn't it be me? A taste of my own medicine and all that. After all the shit I helped Rosalind do." She senses his bitterness, feels his anger and destitute.

He's an idiot.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"And you're beautiful," he quips back. She watches that smirk that she's come to love make its way onto his face.

"Flattery won't get you very far in life, Riv." Except, maybe it will. Because somehow and for some reason she's here, and she's crying over him.

It's like he can read her mind, not the other way around, "I think it's gotten me pretty far as of right now. I mean, you're here." The look he gives her has her twitching in her seat and she has to remind herself that she still has more to say to him. She can't just let him off the hook that easily. He leans up to kiss her, and she places her hands on his chest, gently pushing him away.

 "I care."

"What?" He's confused by her words.

"I care. If you go, and something happens. I care." She feels the surprise bloom from within him, and then a sense of overwhelming tenderness takes up his mind, and hers along with it. Her hands reach for him, " Come here."

This time, he obeys her. And as she kisses him, he cracks for her. Splinters for her. Lets her see him while he kisses her as if he's kissing her for the first time ever, ravaged and hungry for her. She sees it all- all of him falling into her and consequentially falling into place in her mind, in her heart. His insecurities, his fears, and his wishes. She doesn't shy away from him, but kisses him harder. His thoughts are exactly what she thought they were from the very beginning- a natural disaster. But she doesn't fear falling into them anymore, and in fact she thinks she likes them. She thinks she likes the way his mind works- ten emotions at one time battling to win out over one another. And when he pulls away, she likes the way his green eyes look at her like she's the whole world and the way his hands hold her tight enough for her to know that he doesn't think she's fragile but with enough care that she feels like she is all that he owns.

"Don't you ever," he's panting as he moves to place kisses along her jaw and at her collarbone, above her shoulders, anywhere the collar of her shirt will allow him. "Don't you ever pull away from me again."

She knows he's referring to the other afternoon, when he had left for the mission and she had closed off. "Why? Did I hurt your fragile ego?"

She's teasing, he's not. His hands are in her shirt and moving up, up, up until the offending piece of clothing is off of her. He's eager to kiss down her body, hands roaming the planes and curves that he must have memorized by now. He's kissing, kissing, kissing. Kissing away her tears, kissing right above her beating heart, kissing along her waistline. Frantic, needy, and- 

Oh.

Oh. She thinks she's in love.

________________________________________________________________

The first time they slow down, she feels as though she has seen heaven.

Riven's lips on her lips, steady and firm yet gentle, as his hands lay splayed over her bare sides and his thumbs dig softly into the dips of her hipbones. One of her legs is tangled in the sheets around them and her other is hiked up above his hips, her heel digging into his spine. He moves inside of her, and when she feels her hips meet his, she slides her hands over his shoulders and lets her nails graze his back. He watches her below him, eyes asking if she's ok, she smiles at him and says, "Just… stay. Don't move for a bit."

And he does, closing the small space between them to catch her bottom lip between his teeth and pull on it before he continues with his love bites down her neck, behind her ears, onto her chest. He's making his way as far down as he can in their current position, and she's melting into him and fuck, she wants him to keep going. But she also wants him to slow down because she's on cloud nine right now and from up here she can see the stars in his eyes, can catch them between the kisses of his lips. Her hands move from his back, leaving behind what she can only assume is a mass of fresh red marks. They move to his chin as she drags him back up to meet her on that very cloud and then they're eye-level with one another once more. She feels the want form within him, she always does, but it’s an odd thing to actually see it emulated in his eyes. And there's something else there too, something she can't quite place and doesn't dare to assume of. When his lips brush hers for the umpteenth time, slowly shaping her name between them, she feels herself sink farther into him, a feat she had previously deemed impossible.

And her lips part in a whimper because oh good god, how had they never done this before? They were always so rushed, pulling at each other's clothes and stumbling into bed,  falling into one another in a tangled mess of limbs and lust. Perhaps it was the fact that they had kept it in for so long, refusing to admit they liked each other and once they were together, not wanting to tell others for fear of shattering whatever fragile state they were in. Their relationship had started with fighting fueled by longing, innuendos charged with so many suggestions, and eventually an aching want that Musa still couldn’t wrap her mind around. Really, she shouldn't be surprised at how touch hungry the two of them had been at the beginning of the relationship. (How touch hungry they still were.) But right here in this moment, as she opens her eyes, she regrets not slowing down and taking him all in sooner.

He is a sight to behold, with tiny and larger scrapes all over his body that somehow added to his physique instead of taking away from it. They are tens of thousands of stars and she traces them over and over, forming constellations with his imperfections. The pads of her fingers run over the features of his face, committing every bit of him to memory, and as they skim the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the question slips from her lips before she can stop herself.

"When did you get this one?" 

He pulls away from her, just slightly so that he can see her face, and his eyes are darker than she's ever seen them as he lazily responds with a "Hmm?"

She's high on want and adrenaline, but she vaguely wonders if this is something he might not want to talk about. Too late to back out now. Plus, she'd like to know. "This scar. Above your eyebrow. How did you get it?"

Riven stiffens at her answer. She can feel his insecurity downing upon him, clouded by the desire and the want that still course through his body but slowly easing its way to the forefront of the battle that is his mind.

"I have them too," Musa whispers as she braces herself against his chest and heaves her body upward, brushing her lips against that very scar in question.

She moves back down again, and pulls her left arm slowly away from under him. She turns her head slightly to her left shoulder, using her index finger to point to a sliver of skin that's more taught and whiter than the rest of her. "I got this one when I was twelve. Tried to climb a tree that was too high off the ground. Had to get six stiches. My mom freaked out."

His eyeline follows her movements, and he stares at her shoulder for a few minutes. His gaze has her squirming a little, suddenly aware that she's naked in front of a boy she's very much into and that she has just pointed out one of the many flaws on her body. But then his eyes flicker upwards and he leans down and kisses her scar, just as she had kissed his.

"You're fucking perfect, you know that right?" She could cry.

"If you're trying to get in my pants, hate to break it to you, but they're already off," she teases, her voice soft and a smile on her lips. How else was she meant to respond?

He chuckles at her words, his laugh causing her to catch her breath as it does each and every time she hears it. It's an occasion that has become more common since they got together but which is still far and few in between. The sound vibrates off his body onto hers and has her writhing under him.

"Love, I would never consider your lack of garments a disappointment." He circles his hips above her, and she groans at the pressure. "And I would most certainly never forget being the one to take them off you, especially when you insist on making those noises."

Her eyes are blown wide as she grabs onto his forearm at the side of her head, where his fingers are buried in her hair. Her chest heaves up and down, up and down, heart beating so fast she's certain its rhythms are all in her mind and that it's no longer there. She's fairly sure she lost it somewhere between meeting him and getting here, to this moment.

He stops his teasing, opting instead to arch down once more and kiss the scar on her shoulder. He kisses it over and over until she feels her heartbeat slow down and her breath return to a somewhat normal pacing.

She tugs on his locks, silently motioning for him to come back up. Up he comes, and she's glad that she's somehow convinced him to continue denying her nothing. 

"Tell me."

He knows she's referring to his scar.

They're nose to nose, foreheads touching, brown eyes boring into green ones.

"About a year and a half ago. Right when things started to get messy in my life. Messier than usual, I mean. Back then I was a bit of a nerd, hung out in the greenhouse all the time-"

"Yeah, I've heard a few stories from Terra," she cuts him off, a smile playing on her lips at the idea of Riven hunched over a lab bench with pretty vines all around him.  It's a sight she hopes to one day see with her own two eyes, a side of him she knows she's so very close to opening up.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you know how much of a dick I was after I started distancing myself from them. Sky, he got real mad one day. We were in Specialism class, learning some new sword tricks. I said some shitty things and then he tried to play the Saint Sky card. I got mad, I fought dirty. Scraped his arm with the sword. He finally snapped at me, landed a good blow right above my eyebrow." He laughed a bitter laugh at the memory. "Nearly missed my eye, the wanker. He apologized for two months straight. Either way, we both ended up in the infirmary and I figured I couldn't get rid of him. He kept me around and I stayed, almost like when we were children and we fought over dumb shit like who was the taller. Only difference now is that his scar healed and mine stayed."

That last sentence was loaded with so much, and Musa wanted to ask more but she didn't want to push her luck. She smiled at him, nudging his nose with hers. "So you used to fight over who was taller? The mental image of a baby Sky and baby Riven getting angry over something like that is almost, dare I say, adorable?"

He scoffs. "We were not adorable! We were two very manly twelve-year-olds with very some very manly, very reasonable arguments."

"Mmm," she hums against his skin. "Is that what you two have to this day? Manly arguments?"

"Are we really bringing Sky into the conversation while we're in bed?" She laughs, a full on laugh that comes from within her because his words were not what she had expected. "If you must know, now we argue over who’s got the hotter girlfriend."

His eyes are all mischief when she shakes her head at him. "Glad to see you two have really grown up."

"And I'm glad that I got the hotter girlfriend, because I'm not sure how else you've managed to keep me completely turned on while bringing up my best friend in the middle of us fucking."

And then it's her turn to tease him, turning her head slightly to the side so that she can catch his earlobe between her teeth and whisper in his ear. "I'll make it up to you."

And then she's flipping them over so that she's on top and she feels his breath catch. She smirks down at him mischievously and then they're off again, finishing what they started. She makes sure to go slow, to feel every bit of him as she moves, catch every angle of him below her and store it in her mind for safekeeping. 

And when it's over and he's lying on his stomach, back facing the ceiling, she moves herself on top of him once more. Only this time, she kisses every scar on his body, sometimes asking where and how he got them until he finally gets the hint and starts sharing their stories before she can even ask. There are so many of them, some tiny and some much more noticeable. All of them have stories. She vows to herself that she will one day know all of them. That she will be there to soothe the next scrape, the next trauma. With each one of her kisses, she can feel the natural disaster within him reach a rhythm, not quite silenced but at peace.

They don't sleep that night. Only once she's sure she's kissed every inch of his body does she finally worm her way back into his arms, but they're both wide awake at that point. His eyes watch her in the dark, hair loose and splayed around them like some sort of blanket. It had been in pigtails at one point in the night.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"I…I just," words knot in his mouth. His eyebrows furrow at her in frustration as he tries to untangle and spell them out for her. "God, I love you."

Just for that, she kisses his body all over again. And again. And again.

________________________________________________________________

Their first times have been nothing short of unexpected. It's never how either of them imagined all these firsts would go. They're not soft and tender, though there are moments like that in-between, but neither had expected that. Their raging passions did not allow for it. But what they had expected was a lot more arguing, a lot more push and pull. Instead, they seemed to somehow fall right into each other- crash and burn style, no holding back.

Their firsts were painful lessons that needed to be learned. They were gnawing pains that needed to be had, throbbing emotions that had to be felt and delt with. They were stinging feelings, these firsts- stinging because they felt too much too soon and too fast and neither knew what to do with all of that expect for let it bubble until it exploded before them in an aching manner.

Their aching firsts.

[kraviolis]

(this is for my rival streamers au)

“OHO! You rascal! You can’t get away that easy!”

Joshua squeals in delight, kicking his feet and waving his arms, as Dr. Coomer holds him high in the air. 

It’s adorable and yet super weird to watch your professor and your son having such a good time together. You find yourself smiling at them, something warm blooming in your chest. Dr. Coomer blows a raspberry into Joshua’s cheek and makes him squeal again.

“Those two seem to be… getting along.” Dr. Bubby says. 

He’s sitting across from you, sipping at a glass of red wine. You almost wish you could ask for a glass, wanting to really soak yourself in the warmth of tonight, but unfortunately you still have to drive home.

“Yep,” You lean forward on the table, crossing your arms to hold you up. “Dr. Coomer’s actually really good with him.”

Dr. Bubby raises an eyebrow. “Of course he is. Harold’s always been good with kids.”

His tone of voice makes you feel like there’s something deeper going on there but you aren’t sure if it’s polite to ask about it. You turn your attention back to Joshua. He’s being chased around the living room now, somehow running with the confidence of someone that’s been able to walk for far longer than just a few months. 

(Jeez, has it already been a few months since he watched him take his first steps? It feels like it was just yesterday.)

(You suppose you understand what your mother meant when she said you weren’t allowed to grow up when you were a kid, now.)

Still, you can’t help but wonder. What was the extra meaning behind what he’d said about Dr. Coomer being good with kids? Did… did they have kids? No, no that doesn’t make sense. Neither of them had known that Joshua couldn’t read yet or chew steak on his own, despite being only a year old.

“If you have something to say it, then just say it.” Dr. Bubby cuts through your thoughts. You look at them, a little embarrassed at being caught. “Seriously. I don’t have all night, you know.”

“Sorry,” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “If— If it’s okay to ask… Do you two have any kids?”

Dr. Bubby chokes on his wine, coughing lightly. “Hell no! I don’t want a bunch of sticky-handed stupid little babies who can’t even read running around! I already have to deal with teaching at work- I’d fucking explode if I had to do it at home, too!”

“Yeah, no, that’s— that’s fair.” You don’t think you appreciate the implication that your son is stupid, but you shrug amicably anyways. He’s got a bit of a point.

“Besides, even if I wanted kids, neither of us can actually have any.” He admits and you frown sympathetically.

“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Eh, it’s whatever. Never bothered me before.” He waves a hand, as if clearing away any attempt at compassion directed towards him. 

Dr. Bubby pauses, though, and sighs. Their eyes become downcast and they stare at their wine as they swirl it gently in the glass. 

“It’s never bothered me, but… Harold, on the other hand...”

You wait patiently, letting Dr. Bubby continue at his own pace. You glance over briefly and see Dr. Coomer investigating the living room bookshelf with Joshua, showing him the various knickknacks adorning the shelves. He tells him to be gentle and holds out a glass figurine, not letting him hold it but just allowing him to run his tiny fingers across it.

“Harold’s always wanted kids,” Dr. Bubby continues, his voice far softer than it has been, drawing your gaze back. “Long before we knew each other. Long before he even knew himself. But life… life is cruel, Gordon. Life doesn’t care about you, it doesn’t care about your dreams. And sometimes, you have to make choices that no one should ever have to make.”

Dr. Bubby’s hand is trembling in… what seems to be anger. He notices, shakes his head, and knocks back the last of his wine before sitting back and scowling at the table. You’re confused, unsure of what exactly he means. You go to say as much but pause when he looks up and meets your eyes. It’s like a shadow is blanketing their face, something from deep inside rising and making itself known in their eyes.

“Back then people like us, like me and Harold— sometimes we had to choose between having a family of our own or a chance to be ourselves. Harold was told he couldn’t be given hormones without also getting a hysterectomy. The risk was too great, they told him.” They growl, baring their teeth. You notice absentmindedly that his canines are sharper than they should be. “What a load of shit. They didn’t even know if there was a risk! You know how many studies have come out since then proving those bastards wrong?”

You open your mouth, trying to make sounds but it just isn’t working.

You… you hadn’t known. Not just about what your professor had gone through at the hands of medical institutions so long ago but also that Dr. Coomer and Dr. Bubby… they’re like you. 

(You feel a completely unexplainable comfort just knowing this, now. And a terrible understanding of what Dr. Bubby means by having to make an impossible choice.)

“I… yeah.” You manage to say, eventually. “I probably read through every study about that stuff when… when I first started transitioning. That’s… God, I— I can’t even imagine being forced to make that choice.”

Bubby narrows his eyes sharply. He circles a finger around the rim of his glass and you have a sudden but distinct feeling of being thoroughly examined, all of you on display and ready to be judged. He squints more intensely, tilts his head, and then relaxes again. 

...Test passed, apparently.

“...Of course you are.” He mutters, crossing his arms. “Right. Should’ve guessed.”

You quirk your lips, half-smiling. “Trans people tend to gravitate towards each other, I’ve found. Even unknowingly.”

Dr. Bubby barks out a laugh, throwing their head back. “Ha! That’s more true than you know, but that’s a story for another time.” He nods towards the living room. “Looks like someone had a little too much fun, over there.”

You blink and then turn. You find Dr. Coomer and Joshua on the couch, your professor snoring away while Joshua is still wide awake, sitting in his lap and tapping randomly on your professor’s phone. You laugh quietly, watching the scene fondly, and see Dr. Bubby looking on with the same dopey expression in the corner of your eye.

“...It’s getting late. I should get going before Joshua starts getting overtired.” You groan as you stand, stretching. Dr. Bubby follows you with a more grumpy groan. “Should— should we leave him asleep?” 

“No, no, he’ll want to say goodnight. Also, he’ll fuck up his back if he stays there.” They say. “You get your shit. I’ll wake him up.”

You gather everything up, grabbing whatever toys you brought and stuff it all back into Josh’s diaper bag. Dr. Coomer wakes back up thanks to his husband poking his face hard enough and quickly saves himself from being locked out of his phone for too long. You pick up Joshua before he can complain about losing his new toy.

Dr. Coomer walks you out, smiling sleepily and waving goodbye to both of you. You thank him for having you over.

“The pleasure is all mine. It was a delight to have you and your boy over for dinner, Gordon.” Dr. Coomer insists.

“No!” Joshua wiggles in your arms, making a sad noise and grabby hands at your professor. He chuckles warmly and lets Joshua grab his fingers, giving him a small handshake. 

“We sure had a blast tonight, eh? But you’re still growing, and you need your rest.” Joshua’s lip wobbles and Dr. Coomers expression falls. “Oh, dear, please don’t cry. Keep your chin up. Goodbyes are tough, I know, but you’re even tougher.”

He punctuates this by pushing Joshua’s chin up gently with his fist. There’s a softness in the gesture that makes your heart melt. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to prevent Josh’s eyes from starting to glisten.

“Hey, it’s okay, Joshie.” You smile at Joshua, getting his attention. “We can come back and visit next week! But you have to ask if it’s okay first.” 

You look at Dr. Coomer in time to see his expression brighten at your words. Joshua turns to look at him too. 

“Pease?” He asks, not quite able to say the word, but it still makes your professor’s eyes mist up anyways.

He kneels down to look up at Joshua, taking his small hand in his much bigger one with a touching amount of gentleness. 

“I would love nothing more, my dear.”

[gukyi]

the courtship chronicles | ksj

summary: dating has never been anywhere near your list of priorities, but kim seokjin is nothing if not determined. and when he comes to the rescue and accompanies you to your friend’s wedding, he decides to request only one thing in return: for you to let him take you out on fake dates and shower you in fake affection, and show you how much fun dating can be. he just needs to remember to keep the part where he’s been in love with you under wraps.

{friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, and emotional hurt/comfort! word count: 20k a/n: big, big, big thanks to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this piece!! i honestly am so happy with this fic and even happier to give my main man kim seokjin the love and attention he deserves!!! this fic is pretty much slow burn from start to finish, so enjoy!

check out the post-script drabble here!

“You’re bringing a plus one, right?” Cynthia demands on the other end of the line, voice frazzled and breaths quick. “You better, because I already factored it into the wedding budget. There will be food meant for a plus one for you which I already paid for so you better bring one. I paid for it already.” She’s running in circles, trying to make her point. It’s clear she’s got an awful lot on her plate as it is. 

“Can’t I just eat their serving myself? You know I’m a growing woman,” you plead. Cynthia and the rest of her bridesmaids have been on your back about bringing a plus one ever since she got engaged. 

“No, you have to bring a plus one. Even if it’s your mom, Y/N, I don’t care,” Cynthia says. She makes to say something else, but then pauses. “Actually, I do care. Can it please be a date? Even like, someone you met off of Hinge. I don’t know. Not your mom. Don’t bring her. That would be only a little weird,” she corrects herself. 

“Weirder than some stranger I met off Hinge?” You ask pointedly. 

“No. At least they’re around your age. I want to see you applying yourself, Y/N!” Cynthia scolds. “Go out there and find a man! Pick him up off of the street if you have to! Anything!” She rallies. “Being single is cool and everything but being in love is just as fulfilling!”

“Of course you would think that, you’re getting married tomorrow,” you tell her, sighing. Can’t she just accept that you aren’t really looking for a relationship right now? And haven’t been looking for one since you graduated college three years ago?

“I love my future husband, thank you very much. We plan on leading a very full and extraordinary life with our fifteen dogs and eighteen geckos.”

“Okay, Miss We Bought A Zoo,” you tease. 

Cynthia laughs. “Pretty soon it’ll be Mrs. We Bought A Zoo, thank you very much!”

You hear a knock on the door, turning to check the kitschy cuckoo clock you had found at a flea market for five dollars for the time. It’s six on the dot.

“I have to go, Cynthia, Seokjin’s here,” you tell her, already making to hang up the phone as you head towards the door, using your shoulder and ear to hold it in place. “We’re making a family dinner for two, tonight.”

“Bring Seokjin! He’ll charm the shit out of my mom, I just know it,” Cynthia tells you. “Bring him! Tell him to clear his fucking calendar for tomorrow.”

“Bye, Cynthia,” you say as you reach out for the doorknob, twisting it to reveal your grinning best friend with a bag full of goodies on the other side. “I have to go.”

“Send Seokjin my love! I don’t even expect a wedding gift from him! His presence is enough!” Cynthia shouts, loud enough for Seokjin to hear everything despite the phone not even being on speaker. You hang up before Cynthia can say anything else to goad Seokjin into accompanying you to her wedding, sending an apologetic smile his way. 

“Sorry, that was—”

“Cynthia?” Seokjin finishes with a grin. You usher him into your apartment, letting him place his bag on your kitchen countertop as he pulls out two wine glasses to get the party started. You sigh, helpless. “Yeah, I figured. She’s getting married tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“She’s uber stressed, if that’s what you mean to say,” you correct, joining him in your kitchen as you start to unpack what he brought, countless tupperware containers filled with vegetables, meats, pastas. There’s even an entire bag of rice. Does Seokjin really think you have no rice in your apartment? Seriously? 

“I can imagine,” Seokjin agrees with a laugh. “Thank god you and I aren’t getting married anytime soon, right?” With a flourish, he produces a bottle of red wine you had been saving in your fridge for this very occasion, filling up half of each wine glass. 

“I’ll toast to that,” you say, smiling as you hold up your glass. Seokjin swirls the wine around in his own before holding it out. 

“Here’s to not being romantically involved whatsoever!” Seokjin hurrahs, and you laugh at his honesty as your glasses clink together, the sound echoing around your kitchen. “Who says you need to be married to prepare a kickass meal together.”

“You’re in charge of the meat,” you immediately tell him. You’ve never been the biggest fan of handling it. Vegetables are much more your speed. They also don’t get angry at you when you make a mistake cooking them. Besides, Seokjin’s always been the better food mediator between the two of you. 

“Like always,” he teases, giving you a nudge as he pulls the pots and pans from the cupboard beneath the counter and hands you one of the seventeen different cutting boards you have in random places in your kitchen. You don’t know what it is about them, but every single month you find yourself buying a brand new cutting board. They may as well be drugs. “You should really branch out and try cooking beef sometimes. I’ll teach you, hey? So you don’t have to be scared of it.”

“I am not scared of cooking beef,” you tell him sternly, flinching when Seokjin places the meat in the oil-slick pan and it begins to sizzle and pop. 

“If you say so, Y/N,” Seokjin singsongs. “You know, I’d make a pretty good teacher. I reckon I could show you a thing or two about cooking.”

“Okay, Mr. Cooking Is My Passion,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Just because I can’t make a damn filet mignon does not make me a bad cook,” you tell him, “whose soup do you ask for when you’re sick and in bed with a cold? That’s right, mine!” You poke his chest for good measure, making him put his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I concede,” he says with a laugh. “Your soup is delicious.”

“Thank you,” you say, proudly. “How about I make a couple of servings while you cook the meat?”

Seokjin blows a kiss your way. “Y/N, You know just the way to my heart.”

An hour later, you and Seokjin have whipped up an impressive set of dishes, from your homemade vegetable soup to his traditional bulgogi bibimbap, a small bowl of kimchi in the middle of the table accompanied by some sauteed vegetables and a serving of glass noodles. There’s enough to feed a family of four (one of whom could be a ravenous high-school football player) on your table, and yet, you and Seokjin never fail to finish it all. 

Seokjin takes one bite out of his bulgogi bibimbap and moans in delight, tossing his head back as he holds out two thumbs up, chopsticks clanging onto the side of the bowl as he drops them. “Wow,” he says loudly, patting himself on the back. “I’m amazing. Gordon Ramsey wants what I have.”

“There’s no way it’s that good,” you tease, even though it most definitely is that good. Seokjin is, without a doubt, the best chef you have ever met, the best chef whose food you have ever had the pleasure of eating. If he weren’t employed by a publicity company he would almost certainly be the owner of the best restaurant in the city. The New York Times would visit his restaurant and write a five-star review to be published in the paper the next morning. You take a bite of it yourself, chewing it slowly and pretending to ponder its flavor. It’s delicious. It’s never not delicious. “Hmm… it’s alright.”

“‘Alright’?” Seokjin shouts, slandered. “Just ‘alright’?” He slams a fist onto the table in anger. “This is blasphemy! It’s amazing!” Grabbing the knife beside his plate, he holds it under your chin dramatically, glaring into your eyes. “You better retract that statement, or else!”

“Or else what, Mr. Kim?” You say, desperately resisting the urge not to burst into laughter. Seokjin’s not doing much better, lips pursed tight in an effort not to cackle aloud. 

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to eat all of your bulgogi bibimbap for you!” He cries, reaching over with grabby hands to take your plate away from you. 

Just as he suspected, you hold on tight to your plate, refusing to let such good food go into the mouth of someone who has his own plate. It’s then, as you’re playing tug-of-war with your food, that Seokjin finally breaks into chuckles, hiccuping out his laugh as he concedes and lets you eat your food in peace. 

“Just as I suspected, peasant!” He says proudly. “It’s delicious!”

You put a heaping chopstick-ful into your mouth. “It really is, Seokjin. You always do such a great job.”

“I’m honored,” he says, bowing slightly. “Food is what brings people together.” He holds out a piece of kimchi in front of your mouth, and you eat it obligingly. “Speaking of bringing people together, what was Cynthia shouting about on the phone?”

“Oh, just her wedding, you know,” you tell him with a shrug. “The usual. She’s desperate for me to bring a plus one,” you say. Marriage is disillusioning her. She thinks everybody around her should have a love like her own. And while it is a wonderful, fairytale-esque thought, you just aren’t really on the same wavelength. You never have been. “She even factored it into the budget to guilt-trip me into doing it.”

“Why don’t you?” Seokjin asks, downing a spoonful of soup. “Going to a wedding alone can’t be too much fun.”

“I won’t be alone,” you protest. “I’m one of her closest friends. I’ll know a bunch of people there.”

“Yeah, but you won’t have brought someone who, by way of how plus-one’s work, will be obligated to be by your side the entire night. Who are you gonna dance with when Crazy in Love comes on, huh?” Seokjin points out. 

You frown. “I can dance by myself.”

“Yeah, but a plus-one would make it more fun! You guys can dougie, or whatever it is the cool kids do these days. Is dabbing still a thing?” He dabs, just to make a point. It’s cringey and awful and hilarious, all at once. 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing yourself and I’m the only other person here,” you plead. “You and Cynthia are so on my ass about bringing a date, God. I just—I’m not really interested in anybody right now. Dating just isn’t my thing.”

“Has dating ever been your thing, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, even though he clearly knows the answer already. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date since sophomore year of college. Do you even know what dating is, anymore? Love?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s one person who’s a bigger hopeless romantic than Cynthia, it’s Seokjin. The man has an entire bookshelf of romance novels in his bedroom. He waxes poetic about falling in love every other day, about coming home to a significant other, a family, to cook for, to spend time with. He’s been on more Bumble dates in the past year than you can count on both hands and feet. 

“I know what it is,” you defend yourself, “I’m just—I don’t really believe in that, for me. I don’t ever see myself having it. I have friends. My family. That’s good enough. I don’t need romantic love.”

Seokjin scoffs. “What? You mean to tell me you don’t ever want to fall in love? Never ever? Come on, Y/N. Love is great! It makes you feel warm and happy, like one of those giant Costco teddy bears. Those are the material equivalent of love. Haven’t you always wanted a giant Costco teddy bear?”

“When I was five, yeah,” you tell him. “Listen, Seokjin, I get it. Love is great and amazing, I’m just not that interested. You and Cynthia have been trying to get me to go on a date for years and it doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever.”

“What about dating is unappealing?” Seokjin inquires. He’s determined. And you, the best friend, are weak. 

“I don’t know, having to meet new people, talk about yourself, try to see a future with them. It seems so tiring,” you say, sighing. Seokjin looks positively bewildered, because of course he enjoys dating—he’s so charismatic, charming, and outgoing. Even if a date goes poorly he still ends up with a new friend. “I’m just not that into doing that stuff.”

“Psh,” Seokjin says casually, skeptical. “I bet that if you just gave the whole dating thing a try, you might actually like it. You haven’t gone out on one in so long—maybe it’s different than what you remember. The last time you did it, we were all just college students.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groan. “How exactly do you expect me to ‘give the whole dating thing a try’, then? Last time I checked, I wasn’t particularly interested in anybody.”

Seokjin pauses, pondering for a moment as he taps his chin with his pointer finger. Then, like a smack to the face, it hits him all at once, and in his excitement, he pounds his fist right onto the prongs of the fork by his plate. “Ow, holy shit!” He shouts, excited nonetheless.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” You ask, a little concerned and a lot amused.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures you, rubbing the side of his palm. “But what I was about to say, is why don’t we go out?”

You sputter, choking on the soup you had just taken a sip of. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t we date? It’ll be fun!” He says happily. 

“Seokjin, we’re friends,” you say. 

He shrugs, carefree. “Yeah, sure we are. But think about it: since we’re already so close, you won’t have to worry about introducing yourself to someone new. You won’t have to go through the whole tell me about yourself thing, we can just jump right into the dating part! It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see what dating is like past the introductions. How about it?” He asks. 

He thinks it’s brilliant. 

You think it’s ludicrous. 

“But, Seokjin, are we actually going to date? Like, be a couple? Because I don’t know if that’s what I was really aiming for with our friendship today,” you say hesitantly. You love Seokjin, sure, but you aren’t in love with Seokjin. You’ve been best friends since college. Won’t it be weird if you suddenly start dating? And doing other couple-y things?

Seokjin waves a hand around like a nonchalant businessman. “No, we won’t actually be boyfriend and girlfriend, or anything,” he promises. “It’ll just be fake. Make believe! Think of it as a dating test-run. What do you say?”

“You sound too enthusiastic for me not to be worried,” you tell him tentatively. He’s like an energetic salesman. It’s a little frightening. There must be some fine print you aren’t looking at. Something that you’re missing. “Are you sure about this? Like, do you want anything in return?”

“Anything in return to help my best friend find love?” He asks, scandalized. “Of course not!”

You frown. 

“Okay,” he gives in, “maybe some more soup. I’m about to visit my mom and she loves it.”

“Why don’t I just come with?” You suggest. Seokjin’s mom is the second-best chef you’ve ever met. Somewhere along the line, Seokjin took what he learned from her and improved it ten-fold. 

“Even better! Mom’s been begging me to bring you around sometime. How about it, do we have a deal?” He asks, holding his hand out. 

You sigh. He’s your best friend, and all he wants in return is for you to visit his mom with him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Sure,” you say, conceding. “Why not?”

Seokjin’s first order of business as your self-appointed brand new not-real boyfriend, is to accompany you to Cynthia’s wedding as your plus-one. He does actually find a wedding gift on such short notice—a fairly new cookbook from which he had memorized the recipes already, so it was no longer of use to him. Because of course, Kim Seokjin is the only person on Earth who memorizes the one hundred recipes in a book just because he wants to. Where does he find the time?

[May 18th, 3:18PM]

Seokjin: Are we wearing matching colors? Seokjin: Or is that too senior prom?

You: As long as you don’t show up wearing white you should be fine

Seokjin: >_> Seokjin: You know that if I wore white the groom would drop everything and marry me instead ;-)

You: Only because of your charm You: I’m wearing pastel pink! I don’t suppose you have anything in your closet to go with that, do you?

[Seokjin is typing…]

[May 18th, 3:20PM]

Seokjin: Oh, Y/N, you don’t even need to ask twice

An hour later, Seokjin pulls up to the curb outside of your apartment complex in his Volkswagen, which is every bit as charismatic as he is, right as you’re scrambling to tug on your most comfortable heels (as if such a thing could exist!), running late, as per usual. The ceremony begins at 5:30 and you and Seokjin were meant to leave for the venue at four. 

It is 4:19. 

Frazzled, you rush around your apartment movie-montage style, tweaking strands of your hair in the mirror in the hallway and nabbing your bottomless bag on the coffee table. It’s not even really summer yet, but your apartment doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s becoming more and more of a curse as the globe slowly warms multiple degrees over the years. The true loser of climate change, rather than the polar bears, the bees, and coastal cities, is you, who thought renting a place with no air conditioning would be just fine. 

Desperate not to open the door to Seokjin with your forehead dripping, you dab off the beads of sweat gathered by your hairline with the skirt of your dress—whatever, you were going to sweat in it at some point—right as you hear the first knock. 

Seokjin’s fashion choices are usually rather conservative. He does work a somewhat menial half-office job, so he can’t roll up to his desk wearing the exceedingly stylish and exceedingly adventurous clothing that Namjoon and Taehyung wear, which, in turn, limits his closet. Lots of plain or argyle sweaters pulled over dress shirts with the collars peeking out, lots of navy jeans, lots of white sneakers and loafers. The only clothing item Seokjin does experiment with is socks, of which he has an impressive collection, ranging anywhere from corgi butts to Santa Claus. 

You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Seokjin said you didn’t need to ask twice after mentioning that you were wearing a pastel pink dress. He does own a couple of pink things, but as far as you’re aware (and you’re pretty aware, considering you’ve been best friends with him since the beginning of college), it amounts mostly to his sock stash and a couple of sweaters, which he most often wears under denim jackets or over dress shirts. 

What you most certainly aren’t expecting when you open the door is to see Seokjin standing on the other side in a full-on suit, a light grey color that complements the peach in his skin tone perfectly. More so, however, you hadn’t at all anticipated for him to be wearing a perfectly-matching pastel pink dress shirt underneath, complemented by a rather obnoxious bow tie with red hairs littered all over it. 

“Wow, okay,” you say, blinking just to make sure that your eyes are working perfectly. “It’s May, why do you look like Valentine’s Day threw up on you?”

Seokjin opens his mouth to send a witty response back to you, but the moment he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all of the words have fallen from his lips. He swallows, hands fumbling with the bouquet in his hand. “Don’t say that to me like you aren’t also wearing the most Valentine’s Day dress I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a pastel pink midi dress,” you tell him, frowning. “At least I’m not wearing something that has cartoon-y red hearts all over it,” you accuse, pointing to his bow tie. 

Seokjin gasps, offended. “Hey! This is my lucky bow tie. It’s never steered me wrong when it comes to love.”

You scoff. “I don’t think Cynthia and her fiancé need your bow tie’s help today. Have you ever seen someone more in love with another person than they are with each other?”

Seokjin pauses. He sighs a little bit, like there’s something weighing on his mind he refuses to divulge. You won’t press. You may be best friends, but you aren’t mind-readers, and sometimes, there are some secrets that have to be kept even from each other. Yours is that when you guys were juniors in college and Seokjin was running late for class because he was desperate to find the last Pop-Tart in his apartment, you had actually eaten it the night before when he was in the bathroom. 

You wonder what his is. 

“You never know,” he finally says, “we could always use the extra luck, don’t you think?”

You nod, “I suppose. What’s with the flowers? You know you aren’t supposed to bring them to a wedding. They probably have enough flowers as it is.”

As if caught off guard by the flowers held in his very own hand, Seokjin turns his gaze down to look at the bouquet, a collection of baby’s breath, tulips, and carnations. “Oh,” he says, speechless. “Well, I was dropping by the flower shop anyway to bother Hoseok, and he said that they had some leftover stock that nobody wanted because they were a little smaller than the other flowers, so he gave them to me at a discount. They’re for you, I guess.” Like a nervous high schooler going on his very first date, he shoves them towards you, making you step back to avoid getting punched in the chest. 

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do that, Seokjin,” you say happily, pleasantly surprised at the bouquet. Sure, some of them are a little wilted, a little dehydrated, but you get flowers so infrequently (in fact, you don’t think you’ve gotten any since Seokjin sent you one of those singular rose grams during your first Valentine’s Day at college), that the gesture is as good as gold. 

“Eh,” he says, shrugging casually. “I don’t really have anybody else I would want to give them to.”

Gleefully, you take them from his outstretched hand and immediately rush to put them in some sort of vase. You, like the piece of millennial trash that you are, end up using a random empty mason jar you find in one of your kitchen cabinets. 

“What time is it?” Seokjin asks, looking around for a clock. 

“Late, we have to go,” you instantly respond, shooing him out of the door and darting down the stairs because the elevator in your apartment building is about four hundred years old and doesn’t even have a light bulb inside of it. You cram into Seokjin’s tiny white Volkswagen, which just screams hipster-mom-in-her-forties, and he speeds off at a velocity that tiny Volkswagen beetles were not meant to go at. 

Surprisingly enough, you make it to the wedding venue with a few minutes to spare, which you largely attribute to the fact that Seokjin was driving faster than some of the SUVs on the highway on the way over. He isn’t a bad or reckless driver. He’s just a driver with certain priorities that rank higher than the act of driving itself. 

“Ah, the smell of nervousness and love,” Seokjin says as you step out of the car, inhaling dramatically. “Smells like a wedding.”

“Smells like the ceremony is about to begin,” you say, and you both rush over the pebbled path to the entrance, giggling like a bunch of high schoolers as you stumble through the front doors very ungracefully. 

“Wow,” Seokjin says, impressed at the extent of decoration. Cynthia had been raving on and on about how she was aiming to have a sort of romantic, Impressionist art painting vibe to the wedding, lots of pastels, flowers, twinkling lights. “This is very impressive. One hundred out of ten.”

“Cynthia’s been planning this for months, so I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it,” you say, ushering yourselves into the main wedding hall as the rest of the guests file in from chatting outside as the clock ticks down. There are two seats close to the front that Cynthia’s saved for you and your plus-one, which she most certainly will be very happy to see you have brought with you, in the form of your best friend, Seokjin, of course. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Seokjin whispers as everyone settles down. “Can’t you feel the love in the air?”

“It’s not in my genetics to feel that sort of thing,” you retort back, earning a pout from your best friend in return. 

“Well, it’s in mine, and let me tell you, Y/N, it feels like love!” He exclaims happily. “You should be basking in it.”

“Are you?” You round on him. No point in not practicing what you preach. 

“Always,” Seokjin says, gazing at you happily. He seems so content, in this very moment, about to watch a ceremony that will bond two people together for the rest of their lives, devote themselves to each other, wholly and completely. “I’m always basking in it.”

Then, the officiant steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Seokjin reaches his hand over to grab yours, letting it rest in his palm on his lap, and the ceremony begins. 

Going to weddings as a child, even as an adult to a fairly distant coworker, they’ve always felt so detached from you as a guest. Sure, the ceremonies are wonderful and you’re happy for the newly-married couple, but it’s almost as if you’re watching a movie and instead of being another character, you’re part of the audience. When you leave the wedding venue, when all of the dancing and eating and celebrating is over, you forget all about it, and you move on with your life. 

But knowing the two people standing up at the altar as more than just coworkers, or a distant relative, knowing them as friends, as near family, tints everything in a rosy pink. It’s the most beautiful wedding ceremony you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. It’s humbling and real and unrehearsed, romantic and funny and meaningful all at once. It makes you feel warm inside, truly, truly happy for your friend and for what is to come in the next chapter of her life. 

Crying was pretty much unavoidable. It was mostly on Seokjin’s end—he’s not as close with either of them as you are, but he certainly loves love much more than you do—but some tears were shed on your end, as well. This is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about for years to come, even after you walk out, in the hopes that a constant reminder will prevent it from ever fading from your memory. 

As weddings go, the next part is the best part: free food. You get to your tables and Cynthia’s fancy (and expensive) caterers come whooshing around with bottles of wine and pitchers of water, filling up the glasses on your tables as the wedding party prepares to enter. You’re seated next to some other old friends from college, ones you recognize and ones you don’t, and ones that Seokjin is very happy to start chatting up the moment you take your seats. 

“Are you here together?” One of the men—you think his name is Nathan(?)—asks, pointing to the two of you. 

“No,” you say. 

“Yes,” Seokjin says. 

You both turn to glare at each other as Nathan—no, maybe Noah—furrows his brows, clearly having not received the response he was aiming for. Seokjin makes a bunch of aggressive and dramatic facial gestures to remind you that you two are fucking dating, remember? Even though it’s not actually real, and that was the part you were focusing on. The not real part. 

“We are,” you correct awkwardly, even though Whatshisface seems to have moved on from the topic. “He’s my plus-one.”

“I’m not as tight with the bride as I am with one of her closest friends,” Seokjin says jokingly, even though you’re the only one who laughs. 

“Yeah,” one of the girls chimes in. “You guys were best friends in college.”

“Still are,” you say, grinning. At least you don’t have to lie about that. 

“So cute,” the same girl says romantically. “I wish I could fall in love with my best friend,” she turns to the man she’s with who clearly doesn’t want to be here whatsoever. “You guys must be so happy.”

“It’s not always a walk in the park,” Seokjin warns, and you don’t have time to smack him in the chest and ask him what the hell he means by that, as the officiant taps onto the microphone to begin to announce the entrance of the wedding party. 

As each couple, each bridesmaid and groomsman, walk through the door, you can’t help but wonder why Seokjin said it wasn’t always a walk in the park to be together. Are you that awful to fake date? 

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Cynthia’s father asks, tapping his teaspoon against the wine glass in his hand. “I’d just like to make a toast.” He turns to where Cynthia and her fiancé are seated, and he looks on the verge of tears. “For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve never seen two people love each other so selflessly. When they’re together, they make grey skies turn blue, turn night into day. All I can wish for you both is that you will forever be each other’s best friend, each other’s rock. There is no greater joy in life than to get to spend the entirety of it with your best friend. Congratulations, Cynthia and James. We are so lucky to know you both.”

Everybody begins to clap. 

Everybody, except Seokjin. 

You notice that his hands are resting in his lap, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyes welling up, his smile soft and wistful. 

“You alright?” You ask quietly, giving him a nudge with your shoulder. 

Seokjin looks back at you like you’ve caught him off guard. “Me? Yeah.”

“You’re crying,” you point out. 

He shrugs, blinking to let the tears roll down his cheeks. “I just love that,” he explains. “Love knowing that some of us can be so lucky to spend the rest of our lives with our best friends by our sides.”

 According to the ancient law of weddings, the reception is where all guests are mandated to get out of their seats and boogie-oogie-oogie. At least, that’s what Seokjin says, when the food gets whisked away and the space morphs into a dance floor, tables in the center cleared as the bride goes to change in her mandated second dress, because one just isn’t expensive enough as it is. Seokjin just seems to know everything about weddings. It’s almost as if he’s planned one himself. 

“Just wait until all of the stuffy, traditional dances are over,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as Cynthia and her father share a dance. Seokjin looks like he’s about to jump out of his seat, desperate to get onto the dance floor. “You’ve never seen me dance at a wedding.”

“I’ve never seen you dance at all,” you correct, excluding all of the dabbing he did in 2016 when it was still a cool thing to dab. 

“Then you’re in for a real treat,” he says smugly. 

Sure enough, the moment the rest of the guests are invited onto the dance floor to drop it low, Seokjin is the first one out of his chair, and you, the second, begrudgingly dragged to the center by your over-enthusiastic best friend. He’s always been absolutely shameless in everything he does, which makes for high confidence and low embarrassment, two things you are certainly not the strongest in. Which is exactly why you end up side-stepping awkwardly like a geek at senior prom, while he uses every single one of his limbs to express his passion for whatever generic pop song is blasting through the speakers. 

Cynthia’s never been one for niche, hipster music.

“Come on, Y/N, have a little fun!” Seokjin encourages, grabbing onto your wrist and rapidly waving it up and down, making you shake. 

“You can have enough fun for the both of us,” you tell him, still just as aware of everybody else’s opinion of you as you were in high school. Some things really never change. 

“Impossible! Come on!” He says, and you have no idea what dance move he’s about to break into from his positioning, and then you suppose you’ll never know, because the song immediately switches to an acoustic one by Ed Sheeran, which is the most generic type of slow song you could possibly think of. 

“Grab your boys and girls, everyone,” the DJ says, a random white guy who definitely would prefer to make mixtapes in his basement than do this shit. “This one’s for love!”

You don’t even have time to take another step before Seokjin is grabbing your hand with his own and pulling you in close to him. He holds your one hand out and places his other on your waist, and instinctively, you rest your hand on his shoulder. 

When you went to senior prom in high school, your date was this terribly nervous friend of a friend, who asked you because you both didn’t have a real date to go with, and you figured it would be better to go with an acquaintance than nobody at all. And it was sort of fun, because you sat at a table with all of your friends and ate decent senior prom food, and it wasn’t in your stinky high school gymnasium but a fairly nice country club. But when the only slow song of the night came on, thus ensued the most awkward three minutes of your entire high school career. 

This is by no means an exact science, but you figure that the people you are closest to are the people you can slow dance with without it being terrible and awkward and awful. You did it with your parents when you were a little girl in the living room of your family home. You did it with Cynthia at two in the morning one night when she had just gotten dumped by this absolutely rotten boy. 

And now, you’re doing it with Seokjin. And it isn’t terrible or awkward or awful at all. You sway to the soft strums of the guitar and it feels just right. The feeling of his hand in yours, on your waist, of yours on his shoulder. There’s less than a six inches of distance and you feel as close as you have always been. Seokjin feels so natural. He always has, and you know that he always will. There’s no doubt when it comes to him, no regret. 

“Isn’t this nice?” Seokjin asks, grinning at you. 

“Only because it’s with you,” you say back with a smile. Seokjin beams. 

Later, when the slow dance is over and you make your way back to your table so you can watch your best friend make a fool of himself from a distance. Cynthia drops by, blissful. 

“I knew you’d bring Seokjin! He’s charming the pants off of my mom as we speak,” Cynthia says happily. You both crane your neck to see him teaching Cynthia’s mom the floss, outdated as per usual. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you say with a shrug, “who else was I going to bring?”

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Cynthia asks. She looks proud. She deserves it. 

You turn back to look at Seokjin, on the verge of tears of laughter as Cynthia’s mom successfully flosses for the first time. He’s so wonderful. The light of your damn life. “Yeah. He does.”

When the fair comes to town, you don’t find out from posters stapled to utility posts and taped to traffic lights. Nor do you find out from word of mouth, from the two strangers in your favorite (slightly overpriced) coffee shop ahead of you in line. It’s not even your coworkers who mention it to you in passing one day because their eight-year-old has been begging them to go but they can’t because they have a dentist appointment.

It is, because who else would it be, of course, Seokjin, who texts you at 4:18PM on that Saturday and says:

[May 27th, 4:18PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment to pick you up Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

And it is, in every possible way, the scariest thing you have ever received on your phone. Seokjin’s always been one for spontaneity, but ever since the two of you graduated and stopped feeling the urge to go out to McDonald’s at three in the morning, random activities have become less of a rule and more of an exception. But it’s a Saturday, which means you don’t have to go to work, and it’s near-evening, which means you’ve been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing all day as it is. And it’s May, which means that the sun only sets at seven at night and there is so much to be done in this wonderful weather. 

So, Seokjin’s on his way. 

You spend the next seven minutes (Seokjin lives approximately eight minutes by car from where you live, not that you’re counting, or anything) changing out of the yoga pants you’ve been wearing since you returned from work Friday evening and trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. You don’t know where he’s taking you. He could be bringing you to an alley to murder you for your inheritance. He’s definitely on your will, that’s for sure. You want to look nice. 

Seven minutes later, you see his tiny white Volkswagen pull up outside your apartment complex as you’re slipping on some sandals. He hops out of the driver’s seat and scurries into the lobby, which signals to you that he is a man on a mission, and you are simply the best friend who gets roped along for the ride. He knocks on your door thirty seconds after that, and you linger for a few moments so as not to seem like you’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival. 

“Let’s go,” Seokjin declares in lieu of a hello. He reaches out to grab onto your wrist, pulling you out of the door as you frantically make sure you have your bag with you, otherwise you’ll be phone-less, key-less, and lip-balm-less. Three equally terrible fates. 

“What? Now? No explanation, nothing?”

“I parked in the no parking fire lane with my blinkers on, which means we have to go right now. We also have to go because I am very excited about where we are going,” Seokjin elaborates, though it does nothing to clarify the situation at hand. Other than the fact that if you don’t get into his car right now, he’s got a ticket to pay. 

“But where are we going?” You ask again, as Seokjin and you scramble down the stairs to make it to his Volkswagen before the security guard in the lobby starts shouting at him for his illegal parking job. 

“The fair!” Seokjin says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Did you see it was in town?”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Oh,” Seokjin says awkwardly. “Well, it is, and I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while—”

“It’s been three days.”

“—and we haven’t gone out on a real date yet, you and me.” Seokjin explains as you get to his car. Luckily, there is no angry security guard nor a ticket underneath his windshield wiper, so you slide into the passenger seat and he drives off. 

“Yes, we have,” you object. “Cynthia’s wedding counts as a real date.” He was literally your plus-one. What more could define the word ‘date’?

Seokjin scrunches his nose up in clear disagreement. “No, it doesn’t,” he argues back. “Cynthia was going to tear your arm off if you didn’t bring me with. That was a date out of obligation.”

“Aren’t all of these dates out of obligation?”

You expect some sort of witty response, but instead, you’re met with silence as Seokjin opens the driver’s side door, the two of you looking over the top of his Volkswagen wordlessly, each waiting for something. 

What? It’s not like you’re wrong. Seokjin is taking you out on dates to get a feel for what a real, blossoming relationship is like. Except this isn’t real, and your relationship is far from blossoming. It’s bloomed, already. Into an irreplaceable friendship. 

“Yeah, well,” Seokjin sputters, for once in his life, speechless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sitting roughly in the driver’s seat as you get into the passenger side, watch as he fumbles to put the keys into the ignition. “Don’t you want to know what a first date is supposed to be like?”

“You don’t have to take me on a fake first date just to spend time with me,” you tell him, the two of you facing forward, staring at the road in front of you as he drives. The radio is playing, some generic alternative rock song that neither of you are familiar enough to warrant turning up the volume for. Seokjin’s always preferred listening to the radio over his own music. Something about ambience while he drives. “We can spend time together wherever. Even if we’re just in my apartment.”

Seokjin’s wonderful and the best and one of the (if not the) greatest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he doesn’t need to do all of this for you. It’s enough for him to text you in the morning to remind you to drink a glass of water before you eat anything to wake your body up. Enough for him to leave leftovers from your dinner nights in your fridge, so you can savor the taste of his food after he’s gone home. Enough for the two of you to be as you used to be, as you always have been and always will be. 

Seokjin scoffs, honking at a driver who sped through a red light. “Those aren’t dates, Y/N,” he explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “They’re just ways that we spend time with each other.”

“So then what makes this a date? What’s the difference?” You demand. Seokjin’s not making any sense. Sure, you aren’t nearly as well-versed in the dating scene as he is, certainly haven’t been on as many as he has, but from your limited knowledge, you’d always thought that what makes a date is not the setting, not the time or location, but the person you spend it with. 

Arguably, that would mean that all of the nights and days you’ve spent with Seokjin could, by that definition, be dates, but that’s obviously not the case. You’ve always just been friends. 

“It’s a date because I say it is,” Seokjin declares. “You wanna know what makes a date? It’s when the two people—or more, depending on how you swing—decide that it is a date. It’s just a label.”

“If it’s just a label, then why are you making such a big deal out of it?” You ask. You know you’re being a bit annoying with all of the questions at this point, but who’s to say you couldn’t have spent the evening curled up in your apartment and called that a date as well? 

“Because,” Seokjin begins, sighing. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. “Because,” he repeats, “if someone really wants to impress you, then they will make a big deal out of it. Because you deserve it.”

Eventually, Seokjin pulls into the giant open field designated for parked cars, and expertly squeezes into this tiny space between two absolutely massive SUVs, likely once filled with five children and two very, very tired parents. Sure, you both only have about six inches of space to shimmy out of his car, but it was a good parking job nonetheless. 

“Get you a boyfriend who can park as well as I can,” Seokjin says, patting himself on the back as you head towards the entrance. 

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have you?” You tease back.

You wait for a cheeky response from Seokjin, turning to look at him when he delivers the blow, but it never arrives. Instead, Seokjin reaches a hand down to grab onto yours, and you walk hand in hand towards the entrance, wordless. He pays, which makes you angry, but he tells you that you can buy a funnel cake for you to share to make up for it, and that’s good enough. 

In movies and books, a fair is a very high-school event for people to attend. Lots of bright flashes of color, loud noises, and junk food, which are three things that society believes deters anyone over the age of nineteen from attending. You can’t name a single piece of pop culture that features two fully-grown adults eating cotton candy and sitting in a ferris wheel carriage. Because the moment you turn twenty, your back starts to permanently ache and noises louder than the sound of your refrigerator making ice give you a headache, of course. 

Seokjin, of course, has never been one to let the media define him. 

He lights up like New Year’s Eve the moment you walk through the gates. Like a child on Christmas day. 

There’s a difference between being immature and being youthful that people often fail to realize, confusing the two, or worse, thinking they’re the same thing. But there are sixteen-year-olds out there who are more mature than middle-aged adults, and there are middle-aged adults who still act like they’re going through puberty. Seokjin was immature when you first met him, the same way all college freshmen are, but over the years lost that mindset while still never parting with the youthful part of himself, the part filled with childlike wonder, with innocence and hopefulness. It has always been part of him. 

When Seokjin looks at the world, he sees it bathed in light, in color. He sees people in their most wonderful form. Sees every day, every moment, as something worth remembering. Sees the future as something worth looking forward to. 

You’ve always envied that about him. Perhaps it’s just in your nature, but you’ve always been jaded, a little cynical. 

A realist and a dreamer. 

And they always say that opposites don’t really attract. 

Here at the fair, Seokjin is more than prepared and willing to have enough fun for the both of you, even as you pull up to one of those impossible-to-win water-squirter games. He’s already pulling out his wallet to hand a couple of bills to the angsty-looking teenager behind the booth. 

“You know that these are totally rigged, right?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Seokjin rubs his hands together with a wide-eyed excitement. 

“Just because they’re rigged doesn’t mean winning is impossible,” Seojin says confidently, taking a seat and gearing up to begin. You stand to the side, arms crossed, waiting to be sufficiently unimpressed. “What are you doing standing there? I paid for both of us.”

Before you know it, Seokjin is pulling you down into the seat next to him as the teen counts down, giving you a very monotonous three seconds before the bell rings and you have to aim weakly-pressurized water into the mouth of a faded plastic clown. 

You’ve never had the best hand-eye coordination. On multiple occasions, Seokjin has tossed you a fruit, a bag of rice, something non-dangerous and relatively large, and on multiple occasions, you fumble to grab it and it eventually ends up on your kitchen floor. It takes you about half of the minute you’re given to blow up the balloon to get your aim straight, and by then, Seokjin’s balloon could eat yours for lunch. 

“Pick up the pace, Y/N!” Seokjin teases, relishing in his lead. This is embarrassing, and you’re better than this. And yet.

“It’s working against me and you know it!” You defend yourself. Because their unfairness is the reason Seokjin’s about to win and you’re about to lose. 

“How can you say that when I’m doing so well?” Seokjin laughs, and his balloon pops the moment that the sixty-second countdown ends, an underwhelming blare of celebratory music playing through the speakers at the corners of the tent. 

A sad little “Better luck next time!” echoes from the clown in front of you, and you slam your water gun on the table as Seokjin gloats in your face, the teenager coming over to hand Seokjin his prize, looking dead on his feet. 

“What should I get, hmm?” Seokjin asks. 

The selection is pretty weak. A lot of Frozen merchandise, two-dollar stuffed Olafs and capes with Anna and Elsa’s faces on the back. A couple of nondescript stuffed animals, from glittery lizards to pastel teddy bears. What looks like a generic-brand Whoopee cushion. 

“You don’t want a stuffed Olaf?” You ask innocently. The design is a little off, so it looks like Olaf is staring into your soul, Mona Lisa-style. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin says, pretending to think about it. The poor kid looks like he’s about to faint from boredom, desperate for two fully-grown adults to stop acting like they don’t know what prize to pick from an amusement park booth. “How about the pink teddy bear?”

Very on-brand for him. The teen hands it to Seokjin and the two of you go on your merry way, Seokjin demanding the two of you go to stuff your faces with funnel cake before rounding out the night on the ferris wheel. 

“For you,” Seokjin says, holding the teddy bear out to you as the two of you stand in the surprisingly-long line for funnel cake. 

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as your fingers curl around the fluffy fabric. It’s softer than you thought it would be. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, certain. “To remind you of me.”

You grin, holding the bear close to you. Sure, it’s a little bit kindergarten, like the cute boy on the playground placing a quick kiss on your lips before the teacher calls everybody in after recess ends, but the gesture is more than enough. To know that Seokjin won something, even something as plain and inexpensive as a prize from a fair, and his first and only thought was to give it to you, well, that makes you happy. “I don’t need a bear to be reminded of you,” you muse. Not when there are pieces of your friendship lingering everywhere you walk, from your apartment to your old university to your mind. 

“Can’t hurt to know you’re always thinking about me,” Seokjin says, and it’s not greasy or smug or weird. It’s honest.

You laugh. “When am I not?”

Funnel cake starts with a black t-shirt and the two of you arguing over who’s going to foot the ten dollar bill, much to your dismay. Even though Seokjin had explicitly said that you could pay, since he covered your entrance ticket, he still makes a big deal about doing it himself in front of the poor funnel cake girl, who definitely doesn’t get paid nearly enough to watch two grown adults fight over a ten dollar funnel cake. Eventually, you get your way and successfully hand the girl a ten dollar bill and she hands you a paper plate piled high with funnel cake as you begin to search for an open place to sit. 

“Just because I said that you could pay for the funnel cake doesn’t mean I actually meant it,” Seokjin says with a frown as you scope out a place to sit. At evening’s peak, it’s nearly impossible, which leads the both of you to a curb next to a recycling bin piled high with plastic cups, stained with Coca Cola and Fanta, knees up to your chin as you crouch over a single plate of funnel cake.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Seokjin says with a grin as a burly middle-aged dad steps on Seokjin’s clean white sneakers to throw something away. 

“We’ve been in more cramped quarters before,” you say. One of the many instances that immediately comes to mind is when the two of you were trapped in a closet in a frat house for nearly two hours because two people on the other side were having sex, the entire time. It was a good bonding experience. The two of you got very acquainted with each other’s scents. 

Seokjin’s hasn’t changed. Still sweet, sugary and vanilla from all of the baking he does, and a little bit like raindrops.

You wonder if Seokjin thinks the same about yours. 

“You know I don’t mind where we are and what we’re doing when I’m with you,” Seokjin says, and it sounds like a line straight out of a Hallmark movie, cheesy and cliche and rehearsed. But it’s none of those things. Seokjin says it and it’s real. And it’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder if you’re ever as true with him as he is with you. 

“Even when we’re sitting on the ground and eating funnel cake next to a recycling bin in a fair filled with messy children and their deadbeat parents?” You ask. 

Seokjin nods, taking an enormous bite of funnel cake. “Yes, even then.”

“True love,” you muse. Very few people would you do this for. Seokjin is one of them. 

Seokjin coughs at the words, his whole body shaking, and the powdered sugar from the piece in his hands goes flying, like a tiny little blizzard, falling onto his skin, his shirt, his lips, and everywhere in between. Snowflakes. 

Funnel cake ends with Seokjin trying to wipe the white dust on the front of his pitch black t-shirt away with a napkin, and only smearing it further into the fabric, cotton turning sticky from the sugar. It looks like a cocaine bust gone wrong. It looks only slightly not-kid-friendly. 

“Am I addicted to cocaine or did I just spill powdered sugar on myself?” Seokjin jokes, much to the horror of a family passing by, the mom giving you and Seokjin an alarmed expression as she picks up the pace. “It was powdered sugar!” Seokjin calls after them, making the two of you laugh. “Or it was cocaine. Whatever you want to believe.”

“You’re too soft to do cocaine,” you tell Seokjin, a very strange sort of compliment. 

“Maybe powdered sugar, though,” Seokjin says with a laugh as you heave yourselves off of the curb, tossing out the paper plate and dusting off your hands, flakes of powdered sugar falling to the ground. “Ferris wheel?”

“Anything you want,” you tell him, letting him lead you towards the ride, lit up like a Christmas tree. 

It’s as if every possible holiday threw up on the damn thing, a jumble of rainbow flights flashing erratically as a generic carnival tune plays in the background, sluggishly moving on its axis. It couldn’t have been built before this century. 

You squeeze into the carriage, clearly built to fit a child and their father at most, let alone two adults who both don’t have a regular exercise schedule. In order to fit, you have to stretch a leg over Seokjin’s lap and lean so that part of your shoulder is against his chest. It’s… cozy. It’s most definitely not the most cramped either of you have ever felt. 

“This is the part where I pretend to yawn and then stretch my arm over you,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if that particular action is a mandatory part of the date.

“Oh, is that proper first-date etiquette?” You tease. 

“Only for me,” Seokjin says, cheeky, and it’s the greasiest thing you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. Even so, you let him fake yawn, melodramatic and totally contrived, feel as his arm comes to rest on your shoulder, hand swinging down over your side. Instinctively, you reach up to grab it with your arm, letting the two of you sit like this as the ferris wheel creaks, slowly moving you upwards. “Aren’t you having the best first date ever?”

“It’s the only one I can remember,” you admit, especially since it’s still in progress. 

“That means it’s the best.” Seokjin grins. 

“And the worst,” you add on, making Seokjin laugh. 

Finally, finally, finally, you reach the top, overlooking the entire fair, lit up in the night in a warm pink and yellow haze. At this hour, only the teenagers are left, families having gone home for the night, and you can hear the cheers even from up here, hear the laughter and jokes and chatter. it’s a sort of ambience you’ve never had the pleasure of listening to before. One of an active night, filled with people, and you, far away enough to be out of the action but close enough to enjoy it nonetheless. 

“Isn’t this nice, Y/N?” Seokjin asks, the two of you looking out into the distance, wishing you could stay like this forever. “When we’re up here, it feels like I can forget about everything and just think about now.” If only you could stay like this forever.

“And what are you thinking about, right now?” You ask, head resting on his shoulders. 

Instinctively, his arm moves from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you into his side, letting you rest your legs on top of his own. Seokjin’s never needed to be more honest than he already is. He says what he means, and he means what he says.

It’s always been so easy when it comes to him. 

He lets out a breath, and you can feel his chest rising beneath your hand on his torso, feel the subtle beat of his heart beneath your fingers. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He rests his head atop yours. “You,” he says.

Seokjin, a man of his word, holds up his end of the deal like he does everything else: honestly and fully. Little has really changed about your relationship dynamic—he still sends you good morning texts and reminds you that you need to drink your eight glasses of water (which you never do, and he consistently does because he’s an organized man with perfect skin). Still randomly comes to your apartment with two brown bags filled with groceries to last you the next two weeks. Still makes time for you.

But now, it’s all being done under the guise of courtship. Of what it’s like to have someone romantically interested in you. 

Of course, Seokjin’s not actually romantically interested in you, but he does a damn good job of pretending to be. For the sake of this whole thing. Seokjin still has one objective in mind: get you to believe in love again, and that all of these things he’s been doing, from taking you to the fair to dancing with you at Cynthia’s wedding, are means to accomplish an end. 

(The stuff in between, the texts, the calls, the visits, those are just part of your routine.)

It feels completely normal and totally unnatural, all at once. Like a new kind of relationship neither of you have really ever delved in before, toeing the line between friendship and this other feeling, one without a name. Seokjin will do something that you and he have always done, long before any of this was in motion, like ordering Indian takeout to your place unprompted, and then he will say that that’s what people are supposed to do when they’re courting someone. As if he is the end-all be-all of chivalry. 

Truth be told, you can’t wait for this to end, for things to go back to the way they were. You never did set an official fake breakup date (if that’s what it’s even called), but you suppose that that means that you can just call it off whenever you’d like. You don’t feel as though anything he’s doing is working. He treats you just the same. What is there to fall in love with, other than familiarity?

But Seokjin’s diligence makes you diligent, too, which is why you’re standing in your kitchen, outnumbered by vegetables (ten to one, which means they could definitely kill you if given the chance—and opposable thumbs), a gigantic pot on your creaky gas stove, boiling soup swirling inside. Even though your kitchen is nowhere near the level of organized and systematic as the Chopped set, it certainly smells like it. Your cooking can hardly compare to Seokjin’s (you roughly chopped vegetables and put them in broth, he makes kimbap for fun), but, like all other aspects of your life, he rubs off on you, one way or another. 

Seokjin seems to think that this transference of his personality will apply to how he feels about love, too. But time can only work so much magic, and ever since freshman year of college, for the seven years you’ve known him, it’s always been like this. 

You let the soup simmer on your stove as you begin to pack up the food scattered on your counter, unsure when next you’re going to use it, especially since your daily meals usually consist of leftovers and, if you’re feeling exotic, stir-fry. It’s then that you hear the knock on your door, and you don’t even need to think before you’re scurrying over to pull it open, revealing Seokjin leaning over to peek happily into your peephole.  

“Look who it is, for a change,” you say sarcastically.

“You mean your favorite human being in the entire world who is about to take you to see his mom and enjoy a nice home-cooked mom meal?” Seokjin corrects obnoxiously, making you laugh as you let him inside. 

“You blackmailed me into this,” you remind him, pointing an accusing metal soup ladle his way. “You convinced me that you’re doing me a favor by treating me like someone you’d want to court, and tricked me into making an enormous pot of soup for your mother!” A lose-lose situation. 

“I am doing you a favor,” Seokjin defends. “Don’t you love having a doting, attractive young professional taking you out to fairs and ordering you take-out? This is what the beginning of a relationship is supposed to look like.” Emphasis on supposed to. “Also, I accompanied you to Cynthia’s wedding after she had been talking your ear off trying to get you to bring a plus-one, so…”

A dirty, dirty play. 

“Fine, you win,” you concede. You did really appreciate him coming, especially so last minute. “I better hear nothing but pure, unadulterated praise coming from your lips when you eat my soup, or else.”

“I would have showered compliments on your soup even if you hadn’t sent me a thinly-veiled threat,” Seokjin says proudly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Perhaps one that confused you a little less. 

You spend the entire car ride to Seokjin’s mom’s house (who lives forty-minutes out of the city) listening to him ramble on about how desperately his mother wants him to get married, settle down and have kids or a dog or two. The two of you still have half of your twenties to go, but the moment he graduated, Seokjin got a steady job and a nice apartment in the city, which immediately equates to marriage material. 

At least, that’s what his mom thinks. 

But those aren’t the sort of things that make Seokjin marriage material. You’ve known him for years. Ever since he first spoke to you, it was immediately obvious he was always the sort of perfect, dreamboat husband material that teenage girls fawn over, that characters in anime fantasize about. 

At the most basic level, Seokjin is goddamn attractive, and even if you’ve seen him in nothing but tighty-whities as a nervous eighteen-year-old, seen him with tomato sauce in his hair, seen him sick with a cold and strep throat, you can’t deny him that. He’d got the sort of looks that make people on the street take photos of him, thinking he’s a celebrity. 

But not only is Seokjin undoubtedly gorgeous, he’s an entire package. He’s an excellent cook, capable of impressing any and all parents, hilarious, charming and charismatic. Professional but never dull. He does his part in group projects, studies for his exams, listens to the music recommendations you give him even if they aren’t his style. The girls he dated in college knew exactly what they were doing when they went out with him. They were attempting to secure their future. It’s a shame none of them stuck, not like you, Elmer’s glue on his skin. 

Seokjin’s mom, the lovely woman she is, is under the impression that Seokjin became husband material when he graduated, got a job and moved to the city. But you know better than anyone—Seokjin’s always been husband material. Now, he’s just old enough that he knows he could be looking for himself. 

When you pull into Seokjin’s mom’s driveway, a little suburban home with a freshly-mowed font lawn and flowers by the mailbox, she’s already opening the front door and scurrying out, still wearing her slippers. 

“Eomma!” Seokjin says happily, getting out of the driver’s seat as she bounds towards him, the two of them wearing the same smiles on their faces. Like mother, like son. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long!” She chides, smacking him slightly. “You have to come and visit me more often. I don’t live that far away from you.”

“I’m busy, Ma,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I have a job.”

“A job and no wife!” She exclaims, though her attitude immediately changes the moment you exit the car, pot of soup still warm in your hands. “Y/N!” 

She rushes over to give you a hug as well, albeit a much more careful one. She looks positively thrilled to see you. Seokjin’s mom has always liked you, even when you were an insufferable eighteen-year-old. They would invite you over for their Chuseok celebrations every year, and sometimes to their New Year’s Eve parties, if you were in the area over winter break. 

“No wife yet, Eomma,” Seokjin says. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” Seokjin’s mother tells you. She takes the pot from your hands wordlessly, refusing to listen to your protests as she shoos you both inside. 

The house smells of a home-cooked meal, savory and salty and sweet all at once, and you can see several dishes already laid out on the table. It’s both a familiar sight and scent, something you all too frequently experience whenever you barge into Seokjin’s apartment around mealtime. Seokjin immediately joins his mother in the kitchen, scrambling around to help her finish cooking, as you wait awkwardly by the table, easily the most inexperienced of the three of you. 

“Is this your soup?” His mother asks. 

“Yes, I thought to make some to bring tonight,” you say with a smile. Seokjin’s mother beams. 

“Delicious! Seokjinie always tells me how much he loves having it when he’s sick. You take care of him very well,” his mother grins. She places it on the stove, turning on the heat to warm it up. 

“Only because he does the same for me,” you say, sending a grin Seokjin’s way, one he returns instantly. 

The rest of the meal preparation (which doesn’t take long, especially with an extra pair of equally-gifted hands) goes by like this, Seokjin’s mother heaping compliments onto you as you stand there, helpless, watching as the two add the final dishes to the dining table. Seokjin dodges every question about his lack of engagement, always deflecting and shifting the topic to something you’ve done. Maybe this is why he wanted you around…

Finally, when dinner is ready, the three of you sit down, eager to pick up your chopsticks and dive in. 

“Seokjin’s father is away on business,” his mother explains after you note the empty place setting. “He sends his love!”

“I knew I was missing the dad jokes,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head. “Luckily, I can make up for them with my own.”

Seokjin’s mother laughs. “You must get a lot of this, don’t you?” She shoves an extra serving of fish onto your plate, letting it plop on top of the kimchi she had previously spooned onto the dish. “Eat, eat. I made it for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say with a smile. You’ll probably walk out of this house with a food baby the size of Jupiter. You always do. “And yes, but it’s nice. I like spending time with him.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seokjin says dramatically, a hand to his chest. “I was worried about that, for a second.”

“You two have always been inseparable,” his mother comments. “Don’t tell me this is why you haven’t married yet, Seokjin-ah.”

“What do you mean, Ma?” He asks over a mouthful of naengmyeon. “You know that I’m waiting to get married.”

Seokjin’s mother scoffs, shocked. “What? But Y/N’s right here! You two make an excellent couple.”

“Eomma!” Seokjin admonishes, even a little taken aback himself. You had no idea this was the secret plan his mother’s been plotting, all this time. It seems both you and him were just operating under the assumption that she was doing what all mothers do when their children are adults—dreaming out loud for grandchildren. 

“I’m sorry, did I misread something? You two are a couple, aren’t you?” His mother asks, positively bewildered. No wonder she’s been grilling Seokjin so hard about getting married. She had thought he was halfway there, already. 

You open your mouth to correct her, but your mind gets the best of you. Isn’t this what Seokjin wants? For people to think you’re a couple? For the true dating experience—are they, aren’t they? 

“No, Eomma,” Seokjin says, interrupting your thoughts. You turn to him, brows furrowed in confusion. “We’re just friends.”

Nobody mentions marriage, dating, or love for the rest of the meal. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom once everyone is finished, Seokjin’s mother shooing you away from the kitchen sink, refusing to let you partake in any sort of clean up as the honorary guest. You’re glad to get away, the tension palpable and thick, looming over your heads, a reminder to all three of you that friends is all you have been, and friends is all you will ever be. Strangely enough, Seokjin had seemed the most disappointed out of all of you, even more so than his mother, whose dreams of grandchildren were crushed before her eyes. 

You wonder why. 

If Seokjin had been so adamant about the two of you calling yourselves a couple at the wedding, then why did he backtrack here? Was it his mother? Was it you? What could have made him change his mind?

As you walk back to the kitchen, you can hear the two of them having a conversation, hushed voices so as not to alert you. You take a step back from the entryway, hiding behind the wall to eavesdrop. 

“You must see the way she looks at you, Seokjin-ah,” his mother says. 

“No, Ma, that doesn’t mean anything,” Seokjin says, voice cold. 

“Yes it does, my boy,” she says. “Can’t you see it? The way she cares for you.”

“That’s just how it’s always been.”

“Seokjin-ah, please. You’re being stubborn.”

“Eomma, believe me, I know better than anyone else that we’re only ever going to be friends.”

“You don’t see it, then?” His mother’s voice is sad, helpless. “The way she loves you.”

You hear Seokjin suck in a breath, a deep, heavy inhale, weighed down by his thoughts. At that moment, you decide to round the corner, pretending like you haven’t hear a thing. 

“Y/N!” Seokjin’s mother exclaims happily. “Your soup was delicious. You’ll have to come over more often so I can keep having it.”

“I’ll have Seokjin send home a thermos with it,” you joke, lightening the tension you can still feel lingering in the air. 

“Ah, you’re too kind!” She says, sending you a warm smile. Seokjin hasn’t turned around from where he’s facing the sink, yellow rubber gloves up to his elbows as he scrubs the dishes clean. “Seokjin-ah, you must remember to bring Y/N more often. I love seeing her.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Seokjin says dutifully. When he finishes, he packs up the leftovers his mother is sending him home with, placing tupperware after tupperware into a plain brown bag. “Y/N, ready to go?”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” you say, the words stiff on your tongue. Seokjin seems closed off, bottled up. There’s something he’s not saying, and you can feel it weighing on his tongue. “it was lovely to see you again.”

“Of course!” Seokjin’s mother grins. “You must visit me again soon. I’ll be waiting!”

“Bye, Eomma,” Seokjin says as you head to the front door, pulling on your shoes as he opens the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Remember what I said, alright, Seokjin-ah?” His mother says, pulling him in for a hug. “You mustn't ignore what’s right in front of you.” You can’t help but wonder if maybe, you had overheard something you weren’t supposed to. 

In the car, you ask, “What was your mom talking about? When we were saying goodbye?”

Seokjin shrugs, nonchalant and calm. It’s so plain that it’s uncharacteristic of him. “Oh, nothing.” You hate not knowing what really lingers in his thoughts, rests deep in the pit of his heart. You want nothing more than to reach over and promise him that, no matter what, you’ll always be by his side. “She just wants me to look out for myself.”

Even on this clear night, the moon and stars visible above your heads, your mind (and heart) couldn’t be foggier. 

In your freshman year of college, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 had just been released on DVD, digital, and Blu-ray. Seokjin, the eighteen-year-old genius he was, had brought a projector to school that year, and so, one chilly November weekend, you and him set up in an empty lounge with a perfectly white wall and watched (spoiler alert) Voldemort get Avada Kedavra-ed at one in the morning. 

Ever since, monthly movie nights have been ingrained into your routine, even when Seokjin was in London for a semester in your junior year and you used a shady website so you could stream Netflix movies together. You think, that semester, you watched every Certified Rotten movie on Netflix possible, relishing in being able to joke about how terrible the films you were watching with your best friend. You almost thought you would break your tradition, just because of how difficult it was to organize. 

But still, you persisted. 

Of course, now, in the age of platform subscriptions and renting on YouTube, it’s a lot easier. Seokjin has a subscription to every movie-streaming platform under the sun, which means that by default, so do you. One of the many perks of having Seokjin as your best friend. 

As two mostly-functioning adults in the real world, this is how your movie nights typically go: you will alternate apartments as the designated living room of the weekend, the host is in charge of arranging a pre-show dinner, and the guest is in charge of bringing a bottle of wine as a gift. You eat dinner, drink wine, and watch a movie together, either on the couch, or, in emergencies, in bed. The host always chooses. Three years out of college and running, neither of you have been able to come up with a system more foolproof than this. 

Tonight, it is Seokjin’s turn to host, which you always prefer because he cooks dinner on his own instead of giving up and ordering takeout like you always do, and because his couch and bed are much more comfortable than your own. Not that you frequent his bed. Because you don’t. You just know that from your limited experience, it’s much more comfortable than your own bed. It’s probably his mattress. 

When you arrive at his apartment, his door is already cracked open, resting on the door frame as you can hear him whistling a tune you don’t recognize. Almost like he’s been expecting you, or something. 

“If you leave your door open like this, you’re gonna get robbed,” you announce, forgoing a hello as you barge inside, the apartment smelling of smokiness. “Whoa, what the hell are you cooking? Lava?”

“I accidentally set off the fire alarm,” Seokjin explains, back turned towards you as he bends down to pull something out of the oven. “That’s why the door’s open.”

“Oh, not because you were expecting a guest?” You tease, placing the bottle of wine on the counter as you join him in the kitchen. 

Seokjin turns around to reveal a baking dish with four chicken legs, drenched in a sauce that smells of spice and flavor, charred on the skin. Gourmet restaurants couldn’t even compare. 

“No,” he jokes. “I was gonna eat all of this food and drink this wine by myself.”

“Hey, that is my wine!” You shout, making grabby hands towards the neck of the bottle. Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed, as he dishes up the food, two chicken legs a piece on some luxurious paper plates. “Fine, I guess we can share.”

“You know you can’t resist me,” Seokjin tells you, and you hate it, because it’s true. 

 As you finish up, washing the pots and pans as Seokjin puts away the various bottles of seasoning on his counter, some of which you can’t even name, he asks, “Couch or bed?”

You turn, scandalized, swatting him with a fork lathered with soap, “So forward!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You know I don’t mind where we watch our movie.”

(So long as he’s with you.)

You give the two options not another second worth of thought. You’re in the mood to lounge around on Seokjin’s terribly comfortable mattress tonight. You’ve had a rough past week at work, and sometimes, if you complain enough, Seokjin will massage your shoulders as you watch the movie. 

“Hmm… bed, please!” You say like a child, wrapping up the dishwashing as Seokjin grabs his laptop from the coffee table by the couch. You skip into his bedroom, giddy and only the tiniest bit wine-drunk, Seokjin following like the heavyweight best friend he is. 

Seokjin’s bedroom space has always felt so familiar to you. Plants along the windowsill, shelves with photos of his family, an enormous full-length mirror for gratuitous outfit-of-the-day pictures. Even in college, it felt this warm, this cozy. When you knocked on the wooden door of his dormitory at midnight to go out and get McDonald’s, coming back and gorging out on your McNuggets, it felt like this. 

People always say that your bedroom should be your little sanctuary, a home within a house. But instead of your own bedroom giving you that comfort, it’s Seokjin’s. Here, more so than anywhere else, you feel safe. Warm. Loved. There’s something magical to it. 

“What are we watching?” You ask happily, jumping onto his bed and grabbing the nearest plushie to hold onto. Seokjin plugs his laptop charger into the nearest outlet and sets it up on a couple of pillows for optimal viewing pleasure, the two of you leaning against a mountain of pillows as he pulls up Netflix. 

“To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, have you heard of it?” Seokjin asks, clicking play on the movie. 

You furrow your brows as you curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Really? I thought you were gonna pick something cool, like Interstellar, or something. Not something my fifteen-year-old cousin loves.”

“First of all, your fifteen-year-old cousin has great taste,” Seokjin tells you, offended. “Secondly, just because this is a teenage romantic comedy doesn’t mean it’s any less cool than Matthew McConaughey in a spacesuit, okay?”

You’re still skeptical. The New York Times gave To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before a pretty decent review, but you have long outgrown your teenage coming-of-age romantic-comedy movie phase, even if you still quote Clueless regularly. As you’ve gotten older, your movie nights have transitioned away from young adult books turned into movies and more towards films that people like Lupita Nyong’o star in, movies with sad endings on purpose. So this is very out of character, especially for a movie junkie like Seokjin, who sends you weekly movie reviews of the latest indie divorce drama.

You snuggle in closer, accepting defeat. It is Seokjin’s turn to choose, after all. And you suppose, that after a long week of unforgiving work, you could use this time to unwind, mindlessly watch a movie geared towards high-schoolers instead of analyzing some unknown French historical drama. “Alright then,” you tell him. “I trust you.”

Famous last words. 

You always have a habit of putting your trust into your best friend at the absolute worst times. Example One: In junior year, when he swore that the new salad place on campus was delicious until you got food poisoning from their chicken. Example Two: The summer after you graduated, when he promised you that roller skating was “easy” and “fun”. Example Three: Two months ago, when he blackmailed you into letting him take you out on dates after promising to go with you to Cynthia’s wedding. 

Example Four: Right now, as you’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather, watching two sixteen-year-olds agree to fake date for personal gain. And even though they’re high schoolers, and even though he’s going through with it to get back at an ex-girlfriend and she’s trying to recover from her disastrously-mailed love letters, it feels too similar to be something that Seokjin just happened to stumble upon. 

You turn to look up at Seokjin, the movie a distant hum in the background, hardly at the forefront of your mind, but he doesn’t spare you a second glance. Instead, he pulls you in closer, wrapping an arm around your torso as his fingers dance across your own, mindless. He doesn’t have a damn thing to say, a rarity in your relationship, letting the movie do the talking. 

I think it’s funny, the boy says as the two main characters sit in this absolutely ancient diner, you say that you’re scared of commitment and relationships, but you don’t seem to be afraid to be with me. 

Well, there’s no reason to be, the girl responds casually. Unbothered. 

Why’s that? He asks. 

She shrugs, nonchalant. Because we’re just pretending. 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tighten, feel his skin pressing against your own, the exposed part of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. It’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you. The mere sensation, one you have felt hundreds, if not thousands of times before, sends shivers down your spine. 

“You cold?” He asks softly, pulling up the blanket that’s crumpled up by your feet, placing it gently over your bodies. 

You couldn’t care less about the movie playing in front of you. Not when Seokjin’s this close, not when he’s got his arms wrapped around you, not as you feel his soft breaths against your forehead, as he tucks you underneath a blanket. You’re frozen still next to him. You think that even your heart has stopped. 

Dozens of movie nights, but never one like this. Dozens of cuddle sessions, dozens of nights in. But this one feels brand new. 

Seokjin adjusts himself, turning in towards you. You can’t even feel yourself breathing. 

When did this start happening? You ask yourself. Why do your palms feel clammy? Why does his touch leave little embers along your skin? 

Traitorously, your mind responds, a question to a question. 

Hasn’t it always been like this?

Tuesdays have always been your least favorite day, because they’re Monday’s shitty cousin. They’re far enough into the week to have you not complain about it being the beginning of the week, but they’re too soon into the week to warrant any excitement about it ending. At least, when you wake up to go to work on a Monday, you know it’s a Monday. When you wake up to go to work on a Tuesday, you think it’s a Wednesday. Tuesday is the day of the week that wears a mask and tries to make you think it’s something else. 

After the printer jamming, salad dressing getting spilled on your pants, and your coworker losing his cool in the break room and breaking a cabinet door off of its hinges, you think that, when you get called into your boss’s office in the middle of the afternoon, there could be nothing worse for him to tell you. 

Instead, you walk out of his office with a brand new job title and a salary increase to match, positively ecstatic as you bounce all the way to your desk, whipping out your phone to text, well, who else?

[June 16, 2:43PM]

You: I GOT IT!!!

Seokjin: OMG SERIOUSLY?? Seokjin: CONGRATS YOU DESERVE IT !!!!

You: thank u jinie 8) now i can buy us more expensive wine for our movie nights

Seokjin: :D Seokjin: I’m so proud of you, you’re amazing!

And it’s the sort of text exchange that makes your heart soar, even more so than the promotion itself, because there is truly nothing more fulfilling than sharing your accomplishments with the people closest to you. 

You pack up later than usual that day, sitting at your desk for a little bit longer as you wrap up some emails and reorganize the space, determined to make it suitable for someone who just got a kick-ass raise. You’re leaning underneath your desk to gather your belongings, plopping your phone charger and a couple of nice blue pens into your bag, when you feel a sudden tap on your shoulder, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of you.

“Ow!” You shout as you bang the back of your head on the underside of your desk. Angry and in pain, you turn to face the asshole that’s just given you a bump on your scalp for the next week, only to find your expression lightening the moment you lay eyes on Seokjin, fresh from work with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Shocked and pleasantly surprised, you say, “Oh.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Seokjin jokes, rolling his eyes as he reaches a hand out to help you up. “You alright? I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Rubbing the nape of your neck, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m alright. You just caught me by surprise. What’s all this?” You ask as Seokjin reaches his hand towards you, the flowery scent permeating the air around you. The bouquet in his hand is a collection of various pastel-colored flowers, baby’s breath and lilies, carnations and hydrangeas. 

“A congratulations,” Seokjin says in lieu of any other sort of explanation. “You deserve it.”

“You make it sound like I’m pregnant,” you tell him, grabbing your bag as you double-check your desk, making sure you haven’t left anything behind. 

“Oh my God, are you?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you accept the flowers graciously, immediately holding them up to your nose. “No, I’m not, Seokjin. You’d be the first to know. But this is so sweet of you, you didn’t have to come to my work like this.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to pick you up for dinner?” 

Stopping in your tracks, you knit your brows together in confusion. “Dinner?”

“The reservation is at 5:45 so we’re already cutting it close,” Seokjin informs you, offering no explanation. “Come on. I had to pull a few strings to get this, so over my dead body will we arrive late.”

Seokjin reaches down to take your hand in his own, giving you no time to ask any more questions as he tugs you out of your office and into his little white Volkswagen, the scent of the flowers filling the air in between the two of you. 

When Seokjin somehow manages to get a parking spot a block away from the restaurant in question, your mouth practically drops open. 

It’s a cozy Lebanese place, complete with more plants you could ever dream of owning, and an outdoor patio decorated with warm fairy lights, lanterns hanging from strings above your head. It’s been ranked one of the best restaurants in the city for years now, and it is practically impossible to get a table (that is, unless you book a year in advance). 

“Seriously?” You ask, in awe, as Seokjin leads you towards the restaurant, the flowers resting safely on the passenger seat. 

“Of course,” Seokjin says like it’s nothing. “You deserve it.”

You aren’t a moment too late, the hostess happily seating the both of you at a corner table on the outside patio, the evening breeze sending flutters through your napkins as she hands you your menus and the wine list. 

“How did you swing this?” You ask, blown away as Seokjin grins. 

“Well, you know my friend, Yoongi?” He asks. You remember him, having met him a couple of times at Seokjin’s few-and-far-between house gatherings. He’s a dainty man with colorful hair who’s got the biggest alcohol tolerance you’ve ever seen. “He’s a food critic, so I had him do me a favor…”

“You didn’t have to do all of that for me,” you say. Seokjin probably owes Yoongi his first-born child, now. 

“But I wanted to,” Seokjin says firmly. “What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t celebrate something like this with you?”

Seokjin must know, after all of these years, that you aren’t one to make a big deal out of things. That you vastly prefer staying inside, curled up with a good book or an even better best friend, over going out and getting wasted, over eating at a too-expensive restaurant with portions the size of your fingernail, because that’s who you are. And still, he insists, because that’s who he is. Someone who thinks that everybody deserves a little celebration in their lives, a little love from the people closest to them. 

“You’d be my best friend no matter what,” you tell him, because it’s true. Because Seokjin has always been and will always be that person: the one you’ll never second-guess. “Even if you had gone home after work and passed out on your couch, you’d still be my most favorite person.”

Seokjin grins. “I’m your favorite person?”

“Well, other than Yoongi,” you tease. “After all, he did get us this reservation.”

“Can’t believe that I’m second best to a friend you’ve met like, twice,” Seokjin says, mock-offended. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You’ll find a way,” you muse. He always does. It’s incredible—ever since you met Seokjin, you don’t think anyone’s ever quite stacked up to him. Nobody has ever compared. 

“I’m really proud of you, Y/N,” Seokjin says, the two of you clinking your wine glasses together to celebrate your promotion, celebrate the night, celebrate being together. “You deserved that position more than anybody else.”

“You don’t even know half of my coworkers,” you joke. 

“But I know you,” Seokjin reminds you. “And I know that you’re the most hardworking, determined, focused person I’ve ever met. When you want something, you get it.”

“What?” You ask, a hand reaching out over the table to caress his own, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand. “You’re like that, too. You’re honest and real and certain.” They’re traits you’ve always admired about him, things that you wish you could be but know that you’ll never compare to him. 

“No,” Seokjin says, with a shake of his head. “I’m really not. I wish, though.”

Seokjin’s the truest person you know. What secret could he be keeping? Why hasn’t he told you? Doesn’t he know that you’d care for him, stay by his side no matter what? Not a damn thing in the world could ever make you leave him. 

Your waiter comes around to take your order, and you and Seokjin order a variety of appetizers that you fully intend on sharing with each other. You’ve never really been able to keep to your own plates. There is something so genuinely wonderful about sharing. Afterwards, Seokjin launches into this hilarious story about some old college friends that he had recently heard back from, ones that you’d met once or twice during university but never cemented a real friendship with, unlike Seokjin. 

Quite honestly, you couldn’t care less for them or what they’re doing, but Seokjin is so animated, so vivacious and excited to be telling you about them, that his words are music to your ears. Nothing makes you quite as happy as Seokjin when he smiles, when he laughs, when he’s fucking effervescent. His joy brings you joy, and you suppose that that’s really what it means to care for someone. To love them. When even something as simple as being in their presence makes your heart feel lighter. 

In the evening light, illuminated by the warm flame of the lanterns littering the sky above you, the fairy lights along the fence that encloses the patio, the house lights from the building next door, Seokjin glows. The way his body bounces as he speaks makes it look like a yellow halo surrounds him, his gold jewelry glinting when it catches the light, shimmering. He looks straight out of a movie, straight off of a red carpet, warm brown eyes and an honest smile to match, charismatic and golden and real. 

The craziest part is that he’s always looked like this. Always outshined everybody, no matter his surroundings. Every day, you wonder how on Earth you could have gotten so lucky to have been able to meet him. How blessed you are to be his best friend. How fortunate you are to love him. 

When your meal arrives, the two of you take a break from laughing aloud in this ambient, cozy restaurant, likely bothering all of the people within a twenty-feet radius of your table, and dig in, only emitting the occasional groan of pleasure. It’s no wonder this restaurant has been ranked the best in the city for years on end. Every bite explodes on your tongue, decorates your taste buds. You won’t be surprised if, next time you go over, Seokjin’s recreating every dish you have tonight. He’s always had a knack for it, anyway. 

“You know,” he says over a mouthful of zucchini, “you’re my favorite person, too.”

Normally you’d say something cheesy and dramatic, something along the lines of a sarcastic I’m touched or even a self-deprecating At least I’m number one at something, but instead, you smile softly to yourself. You always knew you and Seokjin were entwined with each other, but it makes your heart flutter to hear him say it for himself. 

“I know,” you murmur. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t know, I just—” Seokjin begins, pausing. It’s not the sort of stop where he’s trying to figure out what words to say. He already knows. He’s just waiting to see if they’re the right ones. “You know, it’s always been you, Y/N. A lot of my life has always been uncertain, but you—you’re the only thing I’m always sure of.”

Afterwards, Seokjin walks you to the door of your apartment, the two of you lingering in the doorway, him refusing to leave and you refusing to say goodbye. 

“Don’t forget these,” Seokjin says, handing you the brown paper bag filled with your leftovers, various to-go boxes filled with treats. 

“What? I thought you wanted them,” you say, eyes wide. “Don’t you want them as reference for a recipe?”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin tells you with a shake of his head. “I’ll remember.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask. Seokjin nods, certain. He’s got a steely expression to him, one filled with determination. There’s something he’s not saying, and you’re almost positive it’ll come out tonight. Maybe he knows that you ate that Pop-Tart in junior year. Maybe he’s about to get his revenge. To protect yourself, you smile, telling him, “I had a really nice time tonight, Seokjin. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Seokjin repeats. He need offer no other explanation. “Any excuse to spend time with you, I’ll take.”

You laugh. “I suppose that that’s what this whole pretend-dating thing is about, right?” 

Seokjin’s face goes blank.

“What?”

“Well,” you say, shrugging as you reach out to grab his hand. “Dinner tonight, isn’t that the sort of thing you’d do on a date? That’s why you took me out to celebrate instead of just bringing over some wine and takeout. I have to admit, you’re pretty good at this whole dating thing. Must be why you offered, right?”

“Y/N, I—”

“All of those romantic things you said, us playing footsie underneath the table, getting the reservation from Yoongi, I mean. You’ve always loved pulling out all of the stops. You’re giving me such unrealistic expectations for dating, you know?” You chide, grinning as you toy with Seokjin’s fingers amongst your own. Looking up at him, he looks frozen solid, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. “Hey, is everything alright?” Your hand trails up to his shoulder, forcing him to meet your eyes with his own. 

They’re swirling in ink. 

And then, he leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in, and presses his lips against your own. Shocked, you gasp into his mouth, feel the heat of his lips on yours as he kisses you, fervent and desperate, like he’s got something to prove. You feel your heart race, dropping the brown paper bag by your side on your hardwood floor as he presses in closer, insistent. It’s as if your entire body shuts down at his touch, at the feeling of him against you, on you, surrounding you. 

Eventually, your mind comes to, flickering back to life after being entirely short-circuited, and you pull out of his grasp, pushing him away with your palms against his chest, gasping for air. 

“Seokjin, what the—”

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you,” Seokjin tells you, and no longer does what he say sound like a line straight out of the Dating 101 Handbook. It sounds honest, and what once was something you treasured about him has morphed into fear, into words you dread coming from in between his lips. 

“No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean?” He asks, insistent. He takes a step towards you, and it makes you take a bigger step back. Being far away from him makes you ache, but being close to him is absolutely unbearable. It’s impossible to know which one your heart would prefer. “That’s how I feel. That’s how I’ve always felt.”

“I can’t—I need—” You stumble over your words, backing up into your living room, hand reaching out to the doorknob. You don’t know what you can’t do. You don’t know what you need. All you know is that your heart hasn’t stopped racing the moment his lips met yours, and that you aren’t sure what will happen if Seokjin stands outside your apartment any longer. “I just—”

“I know,” Seokjin says with a nod. His face is beet red and he looks just as breathless, sending your way a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know that you don’t feel the same. But I just—I wanted you to know.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” you whisper to yourself, eyes boring holes into your shoes. “How could I?”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching a hand out. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” you interrupt. “Don’t apologize. Just—please, just go. Please.”

Seokjin doesn’t protest. Not as you shoo him away, not as you begin to close the door in front of him. 

The door is nearly shut, barely inches away from the door frame, when you hear him call your name. “Y/N,” he says. If you were any more heartless, you’d shut the door, let the last thing you hear from him be your own name. But you aren’t, and not once have you ever closed the door on Seokjin. Not now. Not ever. 

“Yes?” You whisper, terrified of what he might say but too desperate to avoid it altogether. 

You hear him hiccup. You don’t want to see him cry. 

“You’re my best friend.”

(Kim Seokjin prides himself for being a man of few mistakes. He has good time-management skills, triple checks his entire apartment every time he leaves, and only illegally parks in the fire lane when he knows he won’t get a ticket. He’s got great foresight, makes educated decisions, and generally feels as though everything he does will benefit somebody, in the long run. 

You always tell him that you envy how put-together his life is, how picture perfect it seems—stable job, nice apartment, meals prepped and ready to go in his fridge. And even if you aren’t nearly as obsessed with falling in love as he is (and he’s willing to admit that, at least), you tell him that it’s admirable that he has all of this time to go on dates with women he’s met off of Bumble or through a friend of a friend, making an effort to go out into the world and do something with his love life. 

The truth is, Seokjin has been on more dates in the past year than to work events in the evenings and on weekends, but he’s never seen the same person twice. Sometimes, he ends up with a phone number punched into his contacts and a promise to meet again as friends, but most of the time they pat him on the back after it’s over and tell him that they hope he’ll get over his ex soon. 

Seokjin hasn’t had a real ex, a real breakup, since sophomore year of college, when his long-distance girlfriend from high school told him she couldn’t bear to listen to him how much he loves his new best friend any longer. 

It doesn’t take a genius to guess who that best friend is. 

Seokjin’s always been sort of foolish, a little too forward at the best of times and terribly obvious at the worst of times. Always holding out hope that maybe one day you’ll pick up on all of his slip-ups, and he’ll stop acting like a bumbling idiot around you. 

Admittedly, he had gotten pretty fed-up by the time he invited you to dinner to celebrate your promotion. He rolled up to your office in a silk button down and a bouquet of the nicest flowers Hoseok could find, brought you to a restaurant you had been dying to go to ever since you moved to the city, and told you that you were the one constant in his life. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, you would realize. And he wouldn’t have to do everything by himself. 

It’s a wonder that you hadn’t figured it out. 

At least, not until you said goodbye to him, standing underneath the wooden door frame to your apartment, and he leaned down and kissed you. 

Seokjin is a man of few mistakes, but he’s almost positive that that one was the most costly. He had been psyching himself up in his head the entire ride home, telling himself I can do it, I’m gonna tell her, what’s the worst you could do? 

As it turns out, the worst you could do is reject him. 

Seokjin knows you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to go on any dates, doesn’t need to read any more novels or watch any more movies to know that. Maybe you had known all along, you just never knew how to let him down easy. Maybe you were just hoping that if you never acknowledged it, it would go away, age like fine wine, bottled up for an eternity. 

But when he was standing in the flower shop, lingering behind the counter as Hoseok insisted he knew the perfect bouquet to make, there was a little spark in his heart that thought, maybe. Just maybe. 

“Think she’ll like it?” Seokjin had asked hesitantly, fingers curling around one of the petals of the lilies in the bouquet as Hoseok rang him up. 

“What do mean, of course she will!” Hoseok says. He has long been witness to Seokjin’s fruitless efforts to get you to see how he feels. “She’d be a fool not to realize.”

Seokjin’s never been sure if you were the fool, or if he has been, all along. 

“I don’t know, Hoseok,” he had said with a sigh, handing over his credit card. “I feel like telling her might be the wrong move.”

“Why? From what it sounds like, you two are really close,” Hoseok had asked innocently. He even shimmied in a tulip, squeezing it into the middle of the bouquet with nimble fingers. “Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything,” Seokjin had told him. He’d rather keep you close as a best friend than lose you entirely in the hopes of confessing. That has always been his priority. It always will be. 

Hoseok had laughed, disbelieving. Seokjin had bitterly assumed that he’s never been in love with a best friend. It sucks hard, but Seokjin was in no position to ruin Hoseok’s day by telling him that. “You won’t ruin everything, Jin. You’re a wonderful guy with a great personality. I think it’s worth telling her, you know?” Seokjin did not know. “Like, if you don’t, you’ll never know what could have been.”

And perhaps that was the reason that he leaned down to press his lips against yours. On the off chance, the miniscule possibility that you might feel the same way. His mother had been absolutely insistent that you were in love with him, and while he trusts his mother’s instincts, Seokjin’s known you much longer and much closer than she ever will. And you were never in love with him. Friends is all you have ever known with him. It’s all that the two of you will ever be. 

You’re lucky, Seokjin thinks as he sulks around in his apartment, having decided to give your relationship some space after he completely annihilated it the Tuesday prior. Unrequited love isn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. It’s a ray of sunshine surrounded by clouds. It’s the constant reminder that even though what you already have will never be enough, losing it entirely is a fate much worse. 

On the bright side, at least you still tag him in Facebook memes.

Seokjin gets a phone call from an unknown number that Saturday evening, as he cooks a meal for one and pretends that his apartment doesn’t feel bone-crushingly empty without you to fill up the space. He lets the phone ring all the way through the first time—he’s not in the mood to bait those scammy telemarketers tonight, and gets back to cooking. And then his phone rings a second time, same number, and suddenly Seokjin feels as though it might be something urgent. What if it’s a coworker whose number he doesn’t have? Oh God, what if it’s his boss?

“Hello?” Seokjin asks, picking up the call and holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. 

“Seokjin?”

It’s Cynthia.

“Cynthia?” Seokjin asks, just to make sure he’s not wrong. “How did you get my number?”

“I looked you up on the White Pages,” Cynthia tells him. Oh, yes. He forgot that that existed. “I would have asked Y/N, but she would have gotten suspicious.”

“Oh, uh…” Seokjin hesitates, chuckling nervously. “Y/N? Have you, uh, spoken to her recently?”

Cynthia lets out a deep sigh on the other end, what sounds like a billion thoughts weighing her down. “Yeah, she and I had a girls’ night last night. My husband’s away on business.”

“Oh, how are you both doing?” Seokjin asks. He has the decency to pretend that he hasn’t been positively miserable the past few days.

“Wonderful, thanks,” Cynthia said. “Seokjin, did you kiss Y/N?”

“It was a mistake,” Seokjin immediately says. He shouldn’t have done it and now he’s paying the price. He has no idea how long it will take to repair your relationship, or, even worse, if you’ll just go back to the way it was before and pretend it never happened in the first place. “I wanted to tell her that, but I haven’t seen her recently.”

“Don’t,” Cynthia says harshly, making Seokjin jump a bit, wincing as some hot steam hits his bare skin. “Don’t tell her it was a mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin frowns. Isn’t that what you want? It’s blatantly obvious that you don’t really want a relationship at all, let alone with him. Seokjin doesn’t know what he was thinking when he thought he could change your mind. He was just being selfish. The chance to get to date you under the guise of guidance, and he snatched it up at the first opportunity. 

Well, look at him now. 

“She’ll be heartbroken if you tell her that,” Cynthia tells him, and Seokjin nearly pours boiling hot water all over his arm at the words. “You can’t.”

“What do you mean, heartbroken? She doesn’t want to date me. I’m the one in love with her. I’m the one who should be suffering,” Seokjin says into the phone, his heart starting to race. He wills himself to calm down, to act like everything is normal, but he can’t stop thinking about you. About what Cynthia had said. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says. “You couldn’t be more wrong even if you tried. You might be in love with her but she loves you back. She does, I swear.”

Seokjin’s brain nearly short-circuits, the power sparking. “What?” He asks, too hopeful for his own good. “She can’t. I’ve loved her for so long, but we’ve always just been friends. That’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you, Seokjin,” Cynthia says firmly, almost as if she’s reaching through the phone to knock some sense into him. “She didn’t realize that she loved you until you kissed her. And then everything fell into place.”

“You’re lying,” Seokjin says, even though he knows that Cynthia isn’t. 

“Want to know why she hasn’t really dated anyone since midway through college?”

Is it the same reason Seokjin hasn’t, either?

“She was waiting for you,” Cynthia tells you. “She just didn’t know it.”

Seokjin’s about to faint. 

He can hear Cynthia smiling through the phone. “She’s always been waiting for you.”)

[June 21st, 1:22PM]

Seokjin: I’m on my way over to your apartment Seokjin: Don’t ask questions

You’ve long learned by now to listen to Seokjin, to never question his methods. And for once, when you receive a suspicious text out of the blue that says Don’t ask questions, you aren’t scared. You’re thrilled. 

The last time you went this long without contacting each other was when you were just starting to become friends in college, during orientation week where you met five hundred people a day and forgot all of them by the next morning. You and Seokjin eventually caught up with each other when you started seeing each other in the halls of your dorm, living onto a few doors down from each other. 

You didn’t want to be the one to initiate contact. Seokjin had kissed you and then instantly looked like he regretted the entire thing. He had been sitting on his feelings long before you knew that yours even existed. He deserved the space. 

You, well. Cynthia, the wise, wedded woman she is, seems to think that communication is key. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so successful in her love life. 

There’s a knock on your door six minutes after you received the text, the fastest he’s ever gotten to your apartment. 

When you open it, you find a familiar sight: Seokjin, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and a nervous grin on his face, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like a teenager about to ask his crush to the school dance. 

“Long time no see,” you tell him. 

“I missed you,” Seokjin says honestly. “I really, really did.”

“I did, too,” you tell him. It’s impossible to be away from him. You figured that out briefly when he went abroad in junior year, but were brutally reminded this past week what life is like without him to light it up. And it’s dull. Empty. Missing something. 

“These are for you,” Seokjin says. It’s an entire bouquet of tulips, red and yellow and orange and pink. The scent immediately wafts through the air, brightening up your sullen apartment. 

“They’re beautiful, Seokjin,” you tell him, pressing your nose against the petals as you take in the aroma. The flowers are gorgeous, but Seokjin, as always, steals the show. 

“I was going to bring takeout, but then I thought that you might have already eaten lunch,” Seokjin tells you. 

“Then we can do takeout for dinner,” you suggest as an alternative, fishing through your kitchen cabinets for a vase to put out on your countertop, filled with the tulips and carnations and lilies and hydrangeas. The bouquet he had given you on Tuesday is sitting in your bedroom, and you’re giving it all the plant food you can get your hands on, determined to make them last. 

“You want me to stay for dinner?” Seokjin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

It’s high time you were honest, too. 

“I want you to stay forever,” you admit, and it feels as though the dam has broken, like the first droplet has been spilled and the rest is soon to follow. “I can’t tell you how much I hated being away from you like this. Everything in my life revolves around you.”

“I think about you, every day,” Seokjin says as he comes up to you, joining you in the kitchen as you fill an oversized mason jar with water. “Scratch that. Every hour. Every minute, every second. You’re always on my mind.”

“I thought that was just how you were best friends with someone,” you tell him, feeling the warmth of his body as he stands next to you. “I thought that all of the kind gestures, the traditions, the words, that was what being best friends was. And it is. But I never realized that that was what being in love was like, as well.”

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” Seokjin muses, and it sounds so sad but he looks so happy. “I was ready to never tell you. I was too nervous, every time I’m near you I get all sweaty.”

“You were just going to be in love with me forever?” You ask, turning to him. The thought devastates you, the idea that he was willing to never tell you, to love you silently, for the rest of time. He would have never known what could have been, would have never allowed himself that luxury. And he was okay with it.

“I would rather love you on my own than lose you,” Seokjin tells you firmly. “You’re my best friend. That will never change.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” Seokjin interrupts. “I had made that decision. I was willing to live with it.”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” You ask, reaching out to hold his hand in your own, as you have done so many times before, and will do so many times more. The feeling never gets old. The spark never fades. “When they’re in love.”

“I don’t know how you never noticed,” Seokjin jokes, laughing more at himself than you. “I thought I was being so goddamn obvious. Any time I said or did anything that even slightly alluded to the fact that I was in love with you, I started panicking because I thought you’d figure me out. And you never did.”

“I think I just needed a bit of coaxing,” you tell him, hand reaching up to turn his face towards you, palms resting on your cheek. “I would have loved you, forever. I just needed you to tell me that you’d love me, forever, too.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Seokjin promises with a grin. “I’ll love you forever and a day.”

Seokjin leans down, big palms resting on your waist as he finally, fucking finally, presses his lips against yours. It’s soft and warm and cozy, the heat enveloping you as you hold his cheeks in your hands, let him push closer and closer, refusing to let you go. The feeling sends warmth through your veins, sparks a fire in your body that you wouldn’t will away even if you wanted to. Seokjin kisses you, and you kiss back, and it feels like a promise. With your lips against his, and his against yours, you tell each other, that you were meant to be together, and that you always will be. 

You had always wondered why you were never really interested in dating anyone. Never wanted to find someone new, a relationship filled with love and laughter and joy, never wanted to go out on fancy dates and tiptoe around each other, a nervous confession on the tips of your tongues. But now, as Seokjin giggles into another kiss he presses against your lips, you know: you already had exactly what you were looking for. 

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[simonsrosebud]

Dalton + the foxes spring break trip

this was one of the first prompts sent for kalton and i’m SO SORRY that it took me this long, anon!! almost a month, now!!  okay that’s not really that long but still, i kept saying i’d have it and NOW I FINALLY DO!!!  (and she long too)

dalton’s sitting in the lounge while kevin gets his spring physical when allison comes through the room.  she backtracks when she sees him, and sits on the arm of his chair.

“getting excited for spring break?”  she shrugs her one shoulder at him.

dalton shrugs.  it might be nice seeing the girls.  “sure, might go home for the week.”

allison frowns.  she leans away from him and grabs his shoulder.  “you’re not coming to florida with us?”  and looks the other way when kevin comes out of abby’s room.  “did you not invite dalton to florida?”

kevin stops.  fuck.  “i was going to.”

dalton starts to smile.  “he definitely wasn’t.”

allison looks between the two of them and stands.  “okay, well, if this causes drama please call me over?  i’d hate to miss it.”  she sends a wink dalton’s way and heads into abby’s room for her spring physical.

dalton stands and grabs kevin’s hand to lead him back out to the car.  “i don’t care that if you don’t invite me, kev.  me hanging with your friends makes you nervous, but keep in mind that andrew approves of me?  remember the date to the zoo?  i know he’s who you’re actually worried about.”

kevin knows this.  god, he knows.  he remembers their double date to the zoo with andrew and neil- as awful as it was because animals make him nervous.  but it was obvious that andrew approved after he talked to dalton after the winter banquet, and neither were harmed or fazed.

kevin’s still trying to get the scoop on  that.

but he still can’t promise the foxes will behave, and a week with them without a way to get out?  scary.  it’s not like they’d be able to just go to dalton’s.

plus, the night they got him wasted and spilled some of kevin’s secrets still haunts him.

“i’ll think about it.”

two days later, kevin stops by dalton’s classroom before they start.  “you can come, but i’m not letting you do shit just to please my friends.  they’re assholes and we both know it.”  that’s fair.  kevin lowers his voice.  ”if they cross a line and you don’t call them out on it then they’ll keep going, and you won’t be having sex for the rest of the month, and i find you won’t like it.  got it?”

dalton’s smiling.  kevin’s 100% serious, and dalton knows he won’t hesitate to hold up his bargain, but he doesn’t care.  it’s wickedly entertaining regardless.  “yes sir.”

kevin nods, and goes to leave.  halfway out of the room he turns.  dalton’s students always watch him like hawks, but he’s used to it by now.  “i’m serious, miller.”

the house is bigger than their first spring break house.  it’s beach front, and if they have neighbors within a mile then kevin surely can’t see them.

he and dalton get one of the two bedrooms on the top floor.  it’s them, and allison in the room beside them.

the first day they’re there, after everyone’s settled, the drinks immediately start flowing.  dalton starts to get more clingy, and at one point they disappear for two hours.

when they come back, changed and showered, dalton sits on the sofa tucked into kevin’s side.  allison points a drunken finger at dalton.  “i’d ask you why you left, but i could practically hear you guys fucking just going up the stairs!”  she sticks a finger to her mouth to fake gag.

kevin’s not one to talk about his sex life with this crew.  and dalton knows this, but kevin can see a snarky remark brewing in his head anyway, so kevin decides he can indulge his boyfriend this once.  “just because you’re not getting dick doesn’t mean i can’t.”

nicky chokes on his drink.  “no way is kevin a bottom!”

a few wads of cash silently get handed to neil while the group reacts to his comment.

matt turns to look at them.  “eh, i guess i can see it.”

“me too,” dalton says.

aaron gags.  “i’d rather die than continue this conversation.”

the next day is going well until lunchtime when kevin, nicky, andrew, aaron, and himself are in the kitchen.  dalton has offered to make the sandwiches for the beach so long as in exchange for not having to drag one of the coolers down onto the sand.

“okay but for real, how do you put up with kevin?  we lived with him, but i can’t imagine dating him.”

“the same way i couldn’t imagine dating you, but erik can.”

aaron steals a piece of cheese from the pack.  “i’d pay someone to kill me.”

“you guys realize he’s sitting right here?”  dalton glances to kevin sitting at a stool to the island.  he looks unbothered.

nicky shrugs.  “yeah, but he’s used to us teasing him.”

“cause he knows he’s an asshole.”

“does he get pissy when you try to talk about anything other than exy?”

“he was an uptight dick when he first stopped drinking.  how does it feel to date an alcoholic?  kevin, how does a vodka sound?”  andrew raises a brow.  dalton notices kevin stiffen just a bit.  that one stung a little.

dalton clenches his hand on the knife and stops what he’s doing to look at andrew.  “you remember our talk, andrew.”  andrew stops.  “don’t talk to him or me like that ever again.  i don’t cross your lines, don’t cross mine,” he says.  “yes or no?”

andrew is still for a solid minute.  dalton knows he respects him just enough to stop when he says no.  dalton has proved himself, and andrew knows he isn’t intimidated by him.  kevin doesn’t even have that from andrew yet.

plus, dalton learned pretty quick how to speak his language.

which is why dalton waits for the nod he knows will come.  “i’ll indulge.”  and leaves the kitchen.

when he does he looks to the other two.  “tease me all you want, i’ve got tough skin, but insult my boyfriend or my relationship to my face again and we’re going to have real problems.”  he continues making the last sandwich of the bunch, his own.  “after all, aaron, i’m sure you don’t like it when the foxes all question why on earth katelyn would a simple minded seemingly homophobic dick when there are plenty guys on the football team that would kill for a chance with a cheerleader.”  he shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich.

nicky looked guilty before, but after that he tries holding in a shit eating grin as aaron storms away.  when neil comes in a moment later confused, he asks, “why’s he pissed?”

“dalton came at his neck.”

neil, a little alarmed, takes a step away from dalton.

“that means he called him the fuck out on his bs, neil.”

oh.

“for what?”

dalton doesn’t care to stay for the rest of it.  he’s finished making sandwiches, and kevin looks smug where he’s sat.

“do good enough to keep sex for the month?”  dalton whispers and kevin tries not to laugh.  instead he takes dalton’s hand and leads him to their bedroom.

the next incident comes from the water balloons that dalton had brought.  no one notices they’ve disappeared until andrew comes through the house with a straight face and a bucket full of them.

he stands on the balcony that afternoon, pelting whoever went out on the deck with balloons.  and when dalton comes out with a few of his own he throws them right back.

but then neil comes out with more of his own, and matt joins neil’s side with a water gun.

dalton’s face falls.  “oh- oh this was not supposed to happen.”

as the attack starts, he tries to get back inside, but kevin is standing on the other side of the sliding door with a cocky grin, waving at him.

and the door’s locked.

“kevin!”

kevin cocks his head.  “i can’t hear you, d!”

dalton gawks, but then gasps when a bucket of ice water is dropped over him.  he looks up at neil leaning over the deck railing and laughing his ass off.  it’s a good thing he considers neil a friend.

kevin opens the door.  “sorry, i think the door must have been locked.”

dalton glares, and chases kevin soaking wet through the house.  when he grabs him by the thighs he lifts and throws him over his shoulder. 

“put me down or i- dalton don’t you dare throw me in the pool!”  he shouts when dalton runs out the door again.  and kevin shouts and grips onto dalton’s shirt as he jumps into the pool with kevin over his shoulder.

when they come back up kevin gasps and latches onto dalton.

“kev, i can’t carry us both!”  dalton jokes, kicking his legs to stay afloat.

kevin tries not to show his panic for a second.  he can’t touch the bottom.  “oh my god.”  his arms tighten around dalton’s neck, “i never learned how to swim,” he whispers.

dalton swims to where kevin can hold on to the ledge.  they’re both in their clothes, kevin even has socks on.

“you can’t swim?”

kevin shrugs and pulls himself out to sit on the concrete.  he peels his socks off, then his shirt.  dalton takes his shirt off, but he’s wearing swim trunks so he stays in.

“we never had the luxury of going to a pool or beach, i’ve only been to the beach a few times since i’ve come to south carolina.  i never go deep enough that i can’t touch.”

dalton holds a hand over his forehead to block the sun from his view.  kevin kind of looks like a god, backlit like this.

or an angel.

anyway…

“do you want me to teach you?”

kevin scowls a little bit, more to himself.  “don’t need to give them another reason to come at me.”

dalton nods.  he gets it, the foxes are a tough crew and kevin doesn’t always tell them when they’ve hit a nerve.  he just gives a “fuck you” and insults them back instead of telling them that he doesn’t like when they do ______.

to each their own.

but that night, dalton tells kevin to put his swim trunks on and meet him outside.  he’s in the pool when kevin opens the door.  “you know it’s like three in the morning, right?”

“you were up anyway.”

“sure, but not to go swimming.”  kevin sits on the edge of the pool.

dalton swims to him.  “what will it take for you to let me teach you to swim?”

kevin rolls his eyes.  he’s not doing this right now.  “d, i don’t go swimming.  there’s no point, really.”

“what if you’re on a boat and it sinks?”

“life jacket.”

“and if there’s not enough?  remember what happened in titanic?”

kevin glares.  they sit in silence for a minute, and eventually kevin looks his way again.  “what do you want me to do?”  he mumbles.

dalton pushes away from the wall.  “just swim to me.”

kevin stands.  “that’s not really teaching- oh!”  andrew rams into kevin to shove him into the pool, and dalton can’t really say he expected that, but it doesn’t surprise him once he registers it.  he knew andrew was awake when he passed him earlier.

andrew walked into the living room with a book in his hands, and stopped when he’d seen dalton.  “go to bed.”

“i’m waiting for kevin.”

“no fucking on the sofa, i’m not leaving.”  he said, and plopped down on the loveseat.

dalton kind of stammered for a second, and stood when kevin texted him back omw.

“i’m, no, we’re just going in the pool.”

andrew already had his book propped open.  “he can’t swim.”

“i’m gonna try to teach him.”  he’d said, and that was the end of it.

kevin gasps when he comes up from underwater, and on instinct swims to the edge of the pool and pulls himself out.  he goes to yell at andrew, but he beats him to it.  standing there, dry, andrew wipes a single splash droplet from his bicep.  “you can swim.”  and leaves.

dalton is grinning when kevin turns back around.

“i-i didn’t, i was already at the edge.”

“you swam like five feet, kev.  i think you’re capable of swimming, you’re just scared.”

he is not scared.  of water, for christ sake.

when dalton convinces him to get in the pool again, it’s just shallow enough that kevin can stand on his tip toes if he needs.  dalton is waiting on the other end.  kevin feels like a child.  “this is stupid.”

“just do it, and we can go have sex.”  and kevin isn’t even in the mood, because he’s still annoyed at andrew, but he’s not a coward anymore, so he ducks underwater and swims to his boyfriend.  when he gets close enough, dalton grabs his hands and pulls him the rest of the way.

kevin is smiling, a little.

he feels accomplished.  dalton isn’t stupid.

“okay, i didn’t include andrew in that, i promise, but at least we know you do know how to swim.”

and kevin literally has his lips on dalton’s.  he doesn’t want to think about andrew.  “shut up, please.”  and kisses him.

the only people who really get more color from the beach kevin, nicky, dalton, matt, dan, and allison.

neil’s is a special case, because while he gets tan, it’s only his legs, face, and arms to which he gains a wicked farmers tan that everyone teases him about.  he doesn’t really care.  you can only tell if he lifts his short sleeves, and since he never goes shirtless or wears tank tops, he can hide it.

aaron gets sunburnt, but that doesn’t count.

nicky claims that aaron always gets burnt, and that he’s never seen so much as a single patch of red skin on andrew.  only that he gets a little tan, sometimes, in the summer.

andrew decides not to let him be proven right (even though he is) and conceals himself under an umbrella, so no one knows for sure.  his armbands stay on, of course, and no one else is allowed to use his shade but neil and renee.

dalton plays football on the beach with matt and goes boogie boarding with neil and dan at one point.  and one day he surprises the group by saying that they should go surfing.

“you know how to surf?”  kevin flips his sunglasses up to look at his boyfriend clearly.  “since when?”

“we used to go on vacation to florida a lot, my grandparents used to have a condo.”

“and you surfed?”

“i mean, i’m no expert.”

kevin doesn’t care.  he’s seen surfers in motion.  it’s hot.  he wants to see dalton out there straddling a surf board.

but no one else knows how to surf, and they don’t feel like learning.  “we could go horseback riding like last year?”  dan offers.

dalton notices neil grimace.  kevin groans into his arm.  “what?”  he mumbles.

“i don’t trust large animals.”  he lifts his head up and points a finger at him.  “don’t make a comment.  that’s a perfectly valid argument.  they’re not to be trusted.  imagine if that thing kicked you in the face with a metal hoof?”

“aw, alright, it’s okay baby kevin,”  he pets kevin’s head, and jumps up and squeals when kevin lunges.  he tries to run, but falls behind tripping in the sand.  kevin grabs him from behind and jumps onto his back. 

dan turns to the group really quick.  “we all like dalton, yes or no, show of hands?”  everyone but aaron and andrew raise their hands.

neil looks back at him.  “andrew likes him.”

“aaron’s just still pissy that dalton told him to knock off the bs a few days ago.  he’s a yes.”

dan nods.  matt wraps an arm around her shoulders.  “man, i know kevin’s a pain in the ass, but it’s always just been his paranoia and anxiety.  the dude’s a little more fucked up than some of us.”

“that’s not necessarily relevant,” aaron says.

“no, i mean.”  matt shrugs.  “dalton’s good for him.  i think he’s helped a lot with that stuff.  he’s a good support system for kevin.  and a happy kevin is like the happy wife happy life thing, no?”

“you got that right.  plus, dalton’s not bad to look at.”  aaron kicks nicky’s foot.  “i’m allowed to acknowledge when someone’s attractive.  don’t tell me you don’t look at megan fox and go hm, she’s not bad to look at.”  aaron rolls his eyes.

allison looks out to kevin and dalton in the ocean.  they’re standing at almost chest deep, and dalton has one arm draped over kevin’s shoulder, keeping him steady, and the other pushing kevin’s hair from his forehead.

“this week was really fun.”

“i probably would’ve been annoyed at them all week without you here.”  dalton raises his eyebrows.  “you ground me.”

that makes him smile.  “i’m glad.”

kevin kisses him, and he means for it to just be chaste, but he goes in again because he can’t help himself.  and because he can.

dalton starts to smile against his lips, and slides a hand to the back of his head, through his wet hair.  “love you.”

kevin hums.  “i love you,” he mumbles, and when he pulls away he wraps himself around dalton in the water and drops his head on his shoulder.  thank god he invited him.

[shintorikhazumi]

“Dance For Me.”

A/N: Here’s your pole-dancing AU you bunch of thirsty… people on discord. Idk, I’m bad at… trashtalk if it’s not for self-defense. I also don’t cuss unless it’s in fics. Because I’m technically not cussing, the characters are *wink wink*.

Batting second after Lary! Khazumi~ Coming in! Unless someone already finished before I did and I didn’t notice, haha.

I’m not one to write NSFW. At least not for public… consumption. Borderline, yes. But like… I suck at NSFW, not gonna lie. I’ll try my very best?

I'm also sorry that I can't write pole dancing very well. Hope you can... picture out what's going on. haha.

Weirdest thing I searched for confirmation while writing this was ‘during intercourse are your pupils constricted or dilated’ Because my mind is so lost rn hahha.

My timeline here is before Christmas. I’m sorry. I need it.

Basically, I'm sorry for this trashy fic.

ayt.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi 

This… is not quite what Diana expected when she left Akko this morning for work at the estate.

The past few months, Akko had been busy with teaching her classes at Luna Nova, on top of performing her scheduled weekend shows in town that the woman just wouldn’t give up the chance to do. Always for the smiles, always for the people’s happiness.

And Diana loves her for that, she really does. Dear Beatrix, she loves her wife- of three years now- to death.

But while she had been excitedly looking forward to the holidays, winter rolling around, expecting that she’d finally have her wife-mind you- all to herself, said wife had other plans, it seems.

Akko had agreed to be booked almost daily this season, and despite being home in Diana’s arms each night, she had absolutely zero energy to do anything but snuggle up to the former heiress and fall asleep in the blink of an eye.

Diana had pouted for days on end, telling Akko to give her one day, to spend just one day with her.

Akko, despite all her regrets of leaving her wife like this, couldn’t just cancel. But she had promised to dedicate the two days before the twenty-fifth, right up ‘til the end of vacation to her lovely spouse.

And Diana has to reluctantly agree. She knows in her heart that this is Akko’s passion, it’s what makes her the amazing woman known for her beautiful believing heart.

Diana just needs patience. So much patience.

But then, on the day of Christmas Eve, she gets a call from the manor. It’s related to the estate. About a sudden accident with one of her people. She couldn’t not go. At least she’d try to finish up early so she could offer her remaining time to-

Akko’s phone rings.

It’s a special request. A little girl’s birthday. And she just had to see the amazing Kagari (-Cavendish) Atsuko perform her special magic. Now this wouldn’t have been that much of a problem had the party been in the morning or early afternoon, however it appeared as though it would take place around five pm. Diana knows it will run overtime. It always does. Everyone loves to bask in the presence and utter warmth of ‘Atsuko’ after all.

So, Begrudgingly, they both prepare for their respective agendas, Diana feeling absolutely depressed over the fact that she would be coming home for Christmas eve to an empty house, cold halls, devoid of the calming scent and lovely voice of her wife singing her favorite Shiny Chariot showtune from the kitchen as she cooked all of Diana’s favorites.

Akko notices. She always does.

She walks up to the sulking blonde, cupping her face in her hands, chuckling at those pouty lips, those teary eyes. “I’m really sorry, my Diana.” She whispers. “Really, I am.”

Diana sighs in defeat, pulling her wife into one last bearhug before work.

“Can I at least have my own Magical Atsuko show?” She uncharacteristically turns her puppy eyes to her wife, only ever showing Akko this spoiled child within.

“I’ll only give you the very best.”

“With a little song?”

“Whatever you’d like

“Mm…” Diana nodded, looking down at her feet before raising her head, one last question on her mind. “Dance for me?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Akko laughed, nuzzling her nose on Diana’s. “But for now,” She pinches the taller witch’s nose playfully before planting a kiss. “This is for the kids.”

…

This is DEFINITELY NOT “for the kids”. For any kids. For anyone for that matter. Diana would never show this to anyone. Over her dead. Lifeless. Fucking. Body.

Nonononono. Diana shakes her head a thousand times internally.

No.

Just no.

Diana gasps as she drops her suitcase on the floor, the contents spilling out at the impact. She had not expected this of all things. She imagined coming home to an empty house, no Akko, and miserable reheated food.

She hadn’t expected unlocking her door to the smells of a rotisserie chicken, some wine, and Akko’s homely scent.

She wasn’t expecting the low thrum of music in the background. She didn’t think that her wife would stand in front of her, in her usual show outfit- no. Wait. This isn’t her show outfit.

Like hell she’d wear that to a children’s party!!

No, this. THIS… This is a knock-off Shiny Chariot costume that is far too skimpy to be sold to the young and pure fans of Chariot. This is one of those costumes you’d see them sell adults for dumb pranks on Halloween, or see it at those kinds of shops.

How did Akko even get that?

Online?

The internet is truly fearsome. Shameless. So Shameless.

And so is Diana as she gawks at her pretty wife, donning a very short white skirt, a top that very much exposes her midriff- technically, only holding together those perky mounds-, a cape that is probably the only thing covering her wife that can be counted as decent, thigh-high- gosh- those thigh-high boots, hair free of that small side pony-tail; and that signature white witch hat tops off the ensemble.

“Welcome home~” Akko greets with her usual cheer, expression innocent and beaming, before it shifts a sultry color, tone dropping into a hushed invitation. “Diana.”

Said woman is quiet, she struggles to form a response.

Akko.

‘Let’s try saying your wife’s name now, Diana Cavendish.’

“A-A-A-A… aaahhhh…”

Oh, Great Beatrix, give me strength.

A lot of it. A trolley’s worth, if you must.

…-and stamina. Please. Strength and stamina to endure.

And Clearly Diana isn’t wishing to hold her ground against temptation.

She might just have a long night ahead.

“Diana.”

“Y-yes! I’m l-listening. Very clearly… most…. Definitely…” She says whilst staring at the gracious amounts of cleavage-

“Of course you are, babe.” Akko chuckles in that sickeningly sweet tone, taking a step forward as Diana takes one back. “Where are you going?” She takes another, as does Diana in the opposite direction, her back meeting the hard wood of their front door.

“N-nowhere, I’m… I’m Home.” Diana feels her hands become clammy, shaking, as she wonders where to put them.

“Heh~… I thought you were running away or something.” Akko smiles kindly, actions not as kind. She traps Diana with her body, arms on either side of her head. “And I wouldn’t like that. Would you?” Her eyes flutter innocently, lashes long, eyes wide.

There was clearly only one correct answer.

“N-no.”

“Good.” Akko laughs like gentle chimes, pleasant to the ear.

Diana smiles, feeling a little more relaxed.

-Before one hand comes off the wall and now climbs up her torso, Akko’s index and middle fingers walking up to Diana’s tie before her hand takes it, pulling it out of the vest.

“I always liked it when you wore ties.” She murmured, eyes blank and scrutinizing the tie. Before Diana could respond, Akko was already resting her head on Diana’s chest, hand absent-mindedly twirling the thin red tie. “I also like that you wear my colors on you.” Akko raised her head, pulling on Diana’s tie so that their faces came so incredibly close to one another, lips a hair’s breadth apart. “Tells people that you're mine.”

That effectively steals the air out of Diana’s lungs as Akko steps back, still holding fast to the tie, pulling Diana along, as if on a leash. Her Japanese wife leads her to the living room and sits her down on their amazingly comfortable couch.

But not even that could ease Diana’s tense nerves.

“H-Hi.”

“Hi, Diana.” Akko greets back, leaning over her wife, a finger gliding from the base of Diana’s throat to her jaw, tipping it up to guide blue eyes up to meet the most intoxicating wine. “What was your last little request for me this morning, again?”

“I- I… uh… um…”

“Yes?” The brunette lowers her body onto Diana’s head tucked between the poor heiress’ shoulder and neck, peppering kisses along her jaw. “Please remember, darling. I really want to do it for you, you know?” She chuckles, biting on a certain spot near Diana’s throat making her yelp, then licking the area to ease the pain. “I prepared really well for it. I tried so hard for you.”

Definitely not the only thing that was hard, Diana thinks.

An uncontrolled whine tears its way out of the blonde’s mouth, mind desperately trying to remember what the hell she last asked.

Then it clicks.

“D-dance…”

“Hmm?”

“Dance for me…?”

Akko seems elated with her answer, nuzzling her neck once before pulling away, Diana missing her warmth… or heat. Or both.

“With pleasure.”

Diana is sure there will be a lot of pleasure involved.

With a flick of her wand (where had Akko hidden that?), a pole rises from the floor in the open space of the room. Akko stalks hypnotizingly towards it, grasping the hard metal with one hand before smoothly pulling herself into her first twirl.

‘Oh Great Nine. This is one of those dances, isn’t it?’

Diana swallows so painfully, finding her throat constricted, the opposite to her dilating pupils as she watches her wife with the focus of a predator waiting on its prey.

Off goes the cape, and Diana only now realizes just how little of her wife’s ass is actually covered by that skirt.

She loves Akko’s ass- She loves Akko. Period.

-along with her thighs and bottom.

She admires her better half’s toned body, muscles flexing and simply wonderful as Akko spins herself around the pole gracefully, hanging onto it with only one hand. The elegance of the movements allows Diana to forget her barely restrained arousal, leaving her in awe for a few moments.

Then a toned leg wraps itself around the pole, Akko rolling her body up against it, turning her gaze to Diana, eyes half-lidded and so sinful. All that talk about grace- screw it, right now.

Another twirl, and another, and another.

Akko climbs her way up the pole so sensually, Diana wishes she were the one being climbed like that. Then Akko stops near the top, almost as though she was frozen. Diana waits with bated breath, before Akko’s hands suddenly release the pole, falling backwards; and Diana panics, thinking something happened and her wife was about to hit the ground hard- but only the hat does so. Akko’s body hangs smoothly in the air, legs squeezing tight, flexing those amazing thighs.

Oh, to be between them instead.

The spinning restarts. Repeats over and over, legs stretching out, then pulling in. At times, an arm would reach out, almost as if it were inviting the audience in, to come closer; to come touch this performer. Then Akko lowers herself to the ground, movements sophisticated, nimble, body poised, and oh so sensual. It’s an interpretative dance, and there must be story behind it.

Diana just doesn’t have enough brain power to process it.

She gasps as her wife stands up; the skirt is forgone, leaving Akko in racy black panties that matches her top that might as well not exist. And again, she’s on that pole, embracing it, caressing it with one hand, down to her body, allowing her palm to slide down her chest to a taut stomach, abs glistening in sweat, before reaching down her legs, and between her thighs, then out, back to latching onto the pole.

The loss of garment shouldn’t distract her. She’s sure this action was to give her wife better grip on the pole. Definitely the reason. Yes. Not because this was… was a… that.

Of course.

Breaking the unspoken rule of silence, a voice suddenly begs for her attention.

“Diana…”

…

Fuck.

“Nnmm!”

Diana throws her head back for a second, needing to relieve her burdened senses at the sight that had just greeted her mere moments ago.

Akko had basically rubbed herself against the pole, her most intimate place surely touching it as she slid up then down, dropping into an air-split, barely hovering over the ground, still twirling, yet painfully slow this time, basically presenting herself to the very red mess breathing heavily on the couch.

Diana’s not sure she can stay seated anymore. She’s been holding back. She’s certain she can’t keep holding back.

“But why are you holding back?”

The question throws her for a loop, eyes so wide, as she stares at Akko’s tantalizing figure, draped over her pole, breathing as difficultly as Diana is.

She releases her show equipment, leaving the pole to disappear as she strides forward provocatively, halting in front of Diana, placing her hands down on the blonde’s open lap, freeing them from their squeezed-together position just moments ago. They massage at Diana’s thighs, and the heiress moans, unsuppressed.

Her dancer takes a seat on her lap, hands busying themselves with loosening Diana’s tie a bit more, removing it from her before Akko slings it around her own neck.

“You are so mean, Diana… even after I called for you so many times…” Akko whispers against her lips, eyes fiery and slightly angered. Diana’s hands are guided to rest on Akko’s hips as she grinds against her wife needily. “Utterly horrible.”

It should be the winter season as it was Christmas. Diana knows that the outside world was harshly cold and chilly, but that temperature did not seem to apply to her. Most definitely not within Diana, and most definitely not between her leee-heeeeg- ‘damn you, Akko’.

“Why would you not come for me?”

‘Which ‘come’ might we be discussing here’, Diana wonders.

“I… I didn’t know… my apologies.” Diana stutters out, distracted by the hand touching the inside of her thigh.

“Even when I made it so obvious?” Akko pouts, biting Diana’s shoulder angrily as her hands make quick work of the taller witch’s buttoned shirt. Those same hands splay against her collarbone and shoulders, caressing and teasing, moving to the back of her head to massage her scalp. The Head of Cavendish gets pulled into a long kiss, her significant other’s tongue pleading entrance as it licks along Diana’s full lips, thighs squeezing Diana’s legs.

Diana permits, giving the appendage access to explore her mouth completely, sometimes brushing against her gums, and gliding along her teeth, entangling with her own tongue. Akko pulls away with a rough nip on Diana’s lower lip.

The latter’s hand is held captive, guided somewhere along her lover’s body.

The heiress fails at hindering any sounds from escaping her as she feels hot liquid drip onto her fingers, before pooling into her open palm. So that’s where Akko had brought it.

“Diana.”

Her eyes are bewitching. Fitting of her occupation. They hold Diana’s gaze a prisoner, not against her will. They compel her to do something. Akko rubs against her once more, and Diana whimpers aloud.

“Diana.”

Arms tighten their loop against Diana’s neck. Akko’s voice still sounds calm and controlled, but her actions tell Diana that she is anything but. She’s basically riding her at this point.

“Diana.”

“Y-yesh?!” Hooded, dark, tempting. Akko’s eyes were all those things. And maybe Diana’s were too.

“Diana.”

“Yes…?” Diana feels a switch flip as her finger slips into that wet, heated space and makes Akko cry a lovely tone. She goes deaf to the world, all her focus on the woman shivering delightfully in her arms.

  “Diana…”

  “Yes…”

  “Dance with me.”

A/N: So… sequel?

~Shintori Khazumi

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Play it loud, Daechwita

The loud sounds of the market were buzzing through your head. Countless people talking all at once, some screaming, others bargaining, and some you swear were talking loudly just because they liked the sound of their own voice. Every time you came here you left with a migraine, and you knew this time would be no different. Unfortunately, you are only human and you have to eat.

You come to the butcher’s stand and notice an odd exchange happen. The man wearing a straw hat doesn’t buy anything, just simply mouths a few words, they both nod, and he turns around to walk off. His gaze is cast down, clearly trying not to be noticed. He begins walking towards you and as he does, one gentleman runs into him, causing the man to smack right into you. You fall to the ground and a cloud of dirt is kicked up. You try to expel the dirt from your lungs and clear the dust away from your vision with a wave of your hand.

“Yah! Jin watch where you are going! You just ran right into that guy!”

“Excuse me? Show some respect that is hyung to you!”  

You watch the two fighting with each other and notice the man is still walking off away from you. He didn’t even offer to help you up, which honestly made your blood boil just enough to the point where you went running after him demanding an apology.

“Hey! You! Don’t you just walk away from me! You knocked me flat on my ass the least you can do is apologize!” He continues to ignore you and keeps walking. “Hey! Straw hat guy!” His shoulders tense. “Ah so you can hear me. Listen up you can’t just run into people like that and not stay you’re sorry didn’t your mom teach you any-“ Suddenly he turns around, grabs your wrist and yanks you into an ally and your nerve are immediately on edge. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed the issue so much. “Um, listen I am sorry I didn’t mean it please don’t murder me.” You hide your face and hear the guy let out a deep breathy chuckle. It sounds familiar. So familiar it sends a shiver up your spine.

“You can’t be.. Y--.. Yoon-“ A hand is slapped over your mouth and your back is suddenly pressed flat against the building. He slowly lifts his head up and your gaze finally meets. You’d remember those eyes anywhere. Your own widen to the size of saucers as you start incoherently shouting behind his hand muffling your voice. He holds a finger up to his lips.

“Shh! For fuck sake y/n keep your voice down.”

“Mmm-ph!”

“Are you going to be quiet?” You nod your head. He removes his hand from your mouth.

“What the fuck Yoo-“ His hand is immediately back.

“Listen, I need you to not blow my cover so please y/n I am begging you, don’t cause a scene.” You seem to relax at that, so he slowly lowers his hand until he is sure you won’t start shouting at him again. He sees your expression crumple and knows what’s going to happen. You are immediately pulled into a hug with your face buried in his chest. A hand is placed on the back of your head as he runs his fingers through your hair. A hand snakes down to your waist and pulls you even tighter against him. You sob into his chest, the sound muffled as he’s holding you so closely to him. You have a death grip on his shirt, terrified that if you let go for even a second that he is going to disappear again.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. I promise you, I’m not leaving again.”

“I- I thought you were dead. You’ve been missing for years, Yoongi. What the hell happened? Where did you go? What were you doing that you couldn’t even see me for two seconds to let me know you were alive?  You could have sent me a letter. A smoke signal. Or anything for that matter. You have no idea how heartbroken I was when I saw your brother cut you with the sword. There was so much blood..” You shudder at the memory which you thought you had repressed by now. Apparently your brain had other plans.  “How are you even alive right now? I thought I was never going to see you again and I’ve lived the past 5 years with this emptiness and hole in my chest that was left by you.” You pull away from him and his heart shatters at the broken expression on your face. He lifts his hands up to cup your face and kisses both of your cheeks until you stop crying.

“Y/n you know I couldn’t. He was after me. You all were in danger. I had to make everyone believe that I was gone otherwise my plan never would have worked. And to be honest I honestly thought that was the end for me. But the executioner.. He snuck out after my brother tried to kill me. He found me and took me to a doctor he trusted that healed me. My brother… he’s gone absolutely mad y/n I am sure you know that. He gave himself a scar to match mine just so he could pretend to be me so no one would question it. He can’t be allowed to rule any longer. That’s why I left for so long. I was building connections, ensuring that I would have enough support and people willing to follow me after I overthrow my brother. I had to let people know that there was still hope, that that imposter on the throne wasn’t me.”

“So you decided to let a bunch of strangers know you were alive but not me? Someone who has been by your side since we were kids?” You narrow your eyes, feeling more hurt now than ever. “You trusted people you didn’t even know over me?”

��Y/n that’s not-“

“Please, just don’t. I don’t want to hear anymore excuses.”

“They aren’t excuses it’s the truth. I couldn’t’ come back here. I didn’t dare set foot inside the city walls and I especially couldn’t see you. My brother knew how much I loved you. If I would have even tried to send a message to you, it would have been intercepted. People have been following you and keeping tabs on you ever since my brother became suspicious of the rumors that I was still alive. Otherwise I would have let you know I was fine. You weren’t the only one hurting, you know? But if I upset you that badly and you want nothing to do with me.. I understand.” He finally drops his hands away from your face and takes a step back. You immediately miss his touch and reach out to grab his hand and lace your fingers together, something he often did to assure you that he would always be there for you, and wasn’t going anywhere. Now you needed to do the same for him.

“You’re right. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past few years. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He gives you a small smile, but it’s enough to send a frenzy of butterflies into your stomach. Some things never change.  You stand there for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looks tired, so so tired. The dark circles under his eyes have worsened, the usual light that shown in his eyes was gone. Although you could see a little bit being rekindled when you smile up at him. He’s more pale than you remember. And thinner. You make a mental note to cook him a hearty meal once all of this is done. Maybe make him a cake or two. You were planning to spoil him rotten as a welcome back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Hmm, no reason. Just trying to commit this moment to memory in case I wake up and realize this really all was just a dream.”

“It’s not. I promise I’m here.” He moves closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Did you feel that?”

“Y-yes.”

“And how about this?” his lips lightly brush over your eyelids and you flutter them closed.

“Yes.”

“And how about this?” Ever so gentle, his lips finally are connected with yours. They barely brush against one another but it is enough to send your heart thudding loudly in your chest.

“I feel all of that.” When you open your eyes he’s smiling his signature gummy smile that you adore and missed more than anything.

“I guess you’re not dreaming then, huh?”

“I guess not. So where do we go from here?” His expression falls slightly.

“I… I don’t know. I can’t be here with you until I figure everything out with my brother. I can’t put you in danger like that please understand.” You nod your head, although you pout slightly. Yoongi pokes your bottom lip causing you to giggle.

“I understand. Just, can you at least tell me what you’re planning?”

“… I’m sorry no. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want you to know anything for your own safety.”

“Alright. I trust you.” His eyes widen at that in surprise.

“R-really?”

“Of course.”

“Just that easy? No arguing? Back talk? Are you my brother in disguise?” He pulls on your cheeks and you immediately burst out laughing and swat his hand away.

“Yoongi I will never stop believing in you or supporting you. You can always count on me.” You reach down and give his hand a comforting squeeze, and he does the same back.

“That really means a lot to me y/n. Seriously. Thank you.”

“No need to. You should probably get back to whatever it is you were doing though. The more time we spend back here the more suspicious it is going to look if someone really is watching me.” Yoongi’s grip tightens harshly.

“You’re right.” He brings your hand up to his lips and places a kiss there.

“I promise I will come find you once this is all over.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

So things weren’t going exactly to his plan. No, they absolutely really were not. Him getting captured of course was. The executioner was on his side, and he knew that his life was not in danger at his hands. What he wasn’t planning on, was you getting captured as well. His heart immediately falls into his stomach when he hears your whimpers from beside him.  

“Let y/n go you asshole. Your problem is with me.” You hear his brother scoff loudly.

“Hmm yes. But see y/n here cares for you deeply, and I know you care just as much if not more. So I figured why not have a little party here? I’m sure my dear brother, that you love to spend your last moments with them, correct?”

“What are you talking about? Yoongi? What’s going on, I can’t see anything because of the blindfold.” You hear him click his tongue against his teeth.

“Well that’s a problem. See I want you to witness everything, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that you freaking crazy ass-“

“Yah! Y/n don’t say that. Don’t make things worse than they already are, please.”

“You should listen to him you know? He’s right. I don’t take kindly to people insulting me. You’re lucky I am even considering letting you go after I kill him. By the way how did you even survive the first time? I cut with you with my sword and made sure it was deep enough that you wouldn’t survive. Someone must have saved you. Who was it hmm? Who do I have to behead for betraying me all those years ago? Maybe if you tell me I will consider letting you live out the rest of your days in the dungeon.” Even though your eyes are covered you know Yoongi would have rolled his eyes at that.

“Guess I just got lucky. You did get me deep enough, I have the scars to prove it. Some other worldly force in the universe must be looking out for me and knows who’s really meant to be on the throne.” You are about to speak when the blindfold is suddenly ripped off and you are staring up at the very man you despise with everything in you. Any trace of light or kindness is completely gone from his eyes. His blonde hair is tied back and you take in the sharpness of his features. Even though they are brothers, there is nothing similar about them. Agust’s eyes are sharp, and cruel. Whereas Yoongi’s are soft and hold so much kindness. There is a reason people around town call Agust the Mad King. He smirks at you and you wish your hands weren’t bound so you can quite literally wipe that grin off his face. He turns towards the executioner and nods his head, giving him the signal. He starts heading towards Yoongi and your heart is racing in your chest. It feels like it’s going to absolutely burst and you can’t help the tears that are escaping from your eyes.

“Y-Yoongi, no. You can’t.. This isn’t happening.” The executioner forces him to stand and move where he is kneeling with his back to you.

“Y/n everything is going to be okay. Trust me.”

“Even when you are about to die you are still so confident and cocky. You disgust me, you know?”

“Yeah? Well the feeling is mutual, sir.” He spits on the ground in front of his brother and he almost breaks his composure for a moment, but scoffs instead, turning on his heel and walking back up to the top of the steps to his throne room to watch everything unfold.

“Well? Get on with it.” The executioner raises the sword high above Yoongi’s head and you let out a cry. Yoongi told you to trust him, that everything will be fine. But when you see the sword come down and see him crumple onto the ground everything he says goes out the window. Your body just shuts down. You collapse onto the ground and cry silently, having had every ounce of energy completely leave your body. But then you see something through the blurriness of your tears. It looks like movement? You squint your eyes and try to wipe them as best as you can on your shoulder. Yoongi is moving. Your eyes widen in shock as you watch him take the blind fold off and shrug the ropes off his body. The executioner is bowing to him, head held low and handing him something. It’s a glint of metal and you immediately know what it is. The king says nothing, clearly having realized he has been betrayed. His arrogance having got the better of him, he had none of his court officials or soldiers with him because he thought there was no way he would get away this time, that he wouldn’t be so lucky. Yoongi takes the gun and turns around to face you.

“I’m sorry angel but I’ll untie you in a minute. Close your eyes, I don’t want you to see this.” Before he even finishes his sentence you feel your vision going black, the onslaught of different emotions you’ve felt all at once washing over you and overwhelming your sense all at once. Your head falls back onto the ground and you’re out. The last thing you hear before you drift into unconsciousness is the sound of a gunshot, and footsteps running over to you.

“Y/n? Come on sweetheart, you need to wake up.” He places his palm on your cheek and runs his thumb over it gently. “I know that was a lot to deal with, but I need you to wake up now, come on angel stay with me.” Your eyes start to flutter open when you feel his lips pressing kisses all over your face. When your eyes do finally stay open and you meet his, he’s smiling at you. It’s a small one, but you see the intent behind it with the way his eyes are shining at you. “There you are. You passed out for a little bit there. Are you okay?”

You stare at him, just blinking and not saying anything and he begins to worry that maybe you hit your head a little too hard. Until his thoughts are abruptly cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck and tugging him into a suffocating hug. He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, holding you just as tightly.

“Is it done now?”

“Yeah. I mean, no I have a feeling this mess is just beginning but he’s gone. My brother’s rule is over. I can finally take my rightful place on the throne and lead this country to the greatness it was once meant to be. And I can do it with you by my side.” You pull away and smile at him, and lean in to peck a kiss on his nose. His own grin widens and you see that gummy smile you adore so much.

“Um, your highness. The gunshot caused quite a commotion I think all of the soldiers are running over here now.” Yoongi tries to move away from you but you refuse to let go. He places his hands on your own and tries to gently pry the death grip you have on his shirt away.

“Angel, you gotta let go of me. This whole place is going to be in chaos in a moment and I need to be able to explain myself so they don’t try to behead me the moment they see me.”

“But I just got you back. I thought for a second I lost you again, I can’t let go of you Yoongi, not yet.” He sighs but regardless, can’t help the fondness he has for you.

“What do I always tell you, y/n?”  

“… To trust you.”

“So believe me when I say I am not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you again. I promise. Once everything gets sorted, you’ll have forever to spend with me.” You slowly let go of his shirt, but he doesn’t let go of you just get. He laces his fingers with your own and holds your hand tightly.

“We’ll face whatever comes our way together?” He nods his head and kisses your cheek.

“Together. Always”

[softboyscully]

Public School Stuff I Wanted to Share

public school is both beautiful and horrifying am i right

so ill just go by the grades i guess

Kindergarten, first year

i did kindergartden at a catholic school in a relativly big city so this one’s got some shit

we went to church every wednesday, me and best friend (lost track of her when we moved, wish we’d stayed in touch, she was awesome) would giggle the whole time, pretty sure we made fun of jesus once, can’t remember why, possibly the hair

i had the nicest teacher, she was (as i remember her) young, blonde, and super sweet, that was the first and last year i ever had naptime

SPEAKING of naptime

i never slept during it

once i found what i remember being a nut of some sort on the ground, probably came off someone’s shoe

i grab it, turn to sarah (my best friend), say something about putting it up my nose

sarah, apparently having common sense, says, “no dont do it!! we’re supposed to be sleeping!!”

i put it up my fucking nose

try to get it out, just push it farther in

im crying a little bit now, that shit hurts

go up to my teacher

“you’re supposed to be asleep!”

“i have a nut up my nose and it wont come out”

teacher tries to get it out, but it wont budge

just. sends me back to my mat

that was it

the art room was tiny

like re-purposed broom closet tiny

there was a copy of the mona lisa in the hallway, someone had drawn ray bans on it with a pencil, never got replaced

there was a creepy-ass basement i went down to after school, we ate cheeseballs and sandwiches with some kind of meat, mayo, and that kinda yellow bread

someone broke his leg down there once, think an older kid threw him at the ceiling or something

we learned how to play Silver Bells with actual bells in music class

Kindergarten, second year

i remember these two teachers as the evil step sister-type look, but it might be my little kid imagination

but seriously they were horrible

we learned stuff in a room that was more middle-school styled, except everything was green or black and it was v dark

me and sarah attained a new friend, john

honestly i think we would’ve stayed friends for a while if i didnt move away

i have two vivid memories

one is of me really wanting to go home, so i walked by the teacher’s desk and did a fake sneeze

they laughed at me and told me to go sit back down

the other is  john leaning his chair back and then falling, so me and sarah went to help him back up

it was funny, so he did it again

and again

me and sarah were laughing, had the time of our lives

after the maybe fifth time the teachers said “john can get back up by himself. sit down and stay there.”

one of the reasons we moved was bc i got sent a letter from my fourth grade buddie

most of the words weren’t spelled correctly, many letters were backwards

my mother was horrified

ofc now we know it was probably a learning disability 

1st grade

this is when i moved

beginning of school i was ASTOUNDED we didnt have uniforms, one of the best things ever to happen to me

nothing wrong with this teacher, she was cool

thing is i was a little shit

told everyone my dogs died (they did but i was maybe three when it happened, i remember it not)

all my personal narratives were bullshit (only one sticks in my memory, wrote it about celebrating christmas AND hanukkah with my dad’s friends who were jewish, i have never even met those friends)

had a crush on this kid, best friend (she was terrible and helped wreck me emotionally) told me to kiss him in music class. me being a stupid ass bitch, i did it, aND HE GOES TO THE TEACHER AND CALLS ME OUT. at the end of class she gets both of us to stay for a bit, AND I DENYIED EVERYTHING. i walked across the fucking classroom, kissed him on the cheek, ran away giggling, told my teacher i didn’t do anything, AND GOT AWAY WITH IT. i’ve embarrassed myself further with this child but thats another story

2nd grade

i loved this teacher but honestly he was absolute shit

like. all he did was play the guitar and sing with us

never actually taught us stuff???

middle of the year, my mom goes in for a parent-teacher conference, he tells her i dont pay attention is math.

“what do you mean?”

“she doesn’t listen, she just takes out a book and starts reading.”

“........have you.... tried taking the book away?”

“sure, i could try that.”

“o....kay”

he also told her i’d be a girl who’d grow up to love spellcheck (which i do lmao)

like ???? why not just??? teach me to spell????

there was this one dude who one day showed up, gave me a pink stuffed cat, and then asked me where i lived

funniest thing was he lived on the same street as me

something that is vivid in my memory is showing up to class one day and realizing that i was wearing my regular clothes over my pajamas

also we had fish

every day someone else was in charge of feeding them

one of the times it was my job, i grab the fish food and walk over to the tank only to find all of the fish floating on the top

i screamed “THE FISH CAN FLY?!?!?!?!?!”

everyone ran over, all of us scarred for life when Mr. G walks over and goes in the most normal voice ever “no theyre dead”

we held a funeral

the cause of death is still undetermined

3rd grade

this year just draws a blank for me

all i know is that whoever the teacher was, they neglected to teach me how to tell time from a clock

also we learned the Cotten Eyed Joe dance in gym around here

4th grade

i had two teachers this year

one was the same one from 1st grade, the other one was a total bitch

made a girl named hannah ball her eyes out once, never apologized

i was (and am) and avid reader, so my reading skills were high above average

instead of being proud of me she told me i was weird, not normal, and too smart for a 4th grader, so i MUST be cheating. 

she was the start of a lot of self confidence issues for me ngl

this was around the time i went and got tested for ADHD (me and my grandmother almost broke down on the highway but thats another story), Mrs. M (the nice one) was super supportive when i told her why i was leaving early but Ms. S (bitch) told me ADHD wasn’t real and i just wanted to be special for once

she sucked, Ms. S

5th grade

this is getting super long so this’ll be the last one i do

but my teacher..... Mr. F was A+++++

he legitimately taught me math

we had i guess like,,, a buddie class we switched with sometimes

the teacher of that class was Mrs. R, who had crazy red hair and many freckles

at one point she referenced a meme and my entire class started screaming

also there was another Mrs. S (to differentiate this one will be called Mrs. Su)

she was kind of crazy

she was the astronomy teacher and she told us many times that the moon landing was faked

once she handed out sunscreen and had everyone put it on their whole body (this was in december, fyi)

Mr. F also hosted an ‘archeological dig’ which sounds cool but in reality he had a bunch of arcade prizes from his childhood buried in little flower pots we dug into with plastic spoons

also heres some stuff i cants pinpoint the time of/happened in multiple grades:

someone held a who-can-scream-the-most-like-a-goat contest

a guy named Makenzie won

remember we planned it while the teacher left the classroom so the teacher walks back in and one by one everyone in the room starts screaming, there was some applause, a few kids got a standing ovation

we cleaned out our desks in the middle of the year, i found 3 socks and a dog treat in mine

like how the fuck did any of those things get there

and where’s the fourth sock

b o t t l e f l i p p i n g

but no seriously there were at least five water bottles stuck in the ceiling in the cafeteria

my sorta friend charlie was obsessed with paper airplanes

one time he might’ve broken the world record for longest time in the air but he was counting in his head and it was at recess so there was no video

four square and gaga ball would be played no matter the setting, time, or conditions and it was super competitive

like if you could get to king in four square you got the everlasting respect of everyone

and everyone was super educated on four square special rules, special plays, that kinda shit

no but guys i grew up with bus stop, candy store, haunted house on mondays, haunted mansion on fridays, zombies was fair game unless it was Zach, Ryan, Chrissy or Vee

me and one other guy named andrew were the only known pjo fans, had the time of our LIVES making refrences

“HEY ANDREW IM NOBODY”

“I HAVE WAITED YEARS FOR YOU, NOBODY, COME HERE AND FACE YOUR DEATH”

“hey annabeth, i thought you looked like a princess when i first saw you. i printed out a picture you sent me casually and kept it with me. i snuck along on a quest so i could save you, endangering myself immensely. i held the sky for you. when you talk about your crush on luke, i get jealous. beckendorf understood, but hes dead.”

“ikr we’re literally the best of friends”

“RIGHT”  

also the first time we finished mark of athena we were in the same classroom and we individually dropped the book, stood up, looked at each other, and screamed “WELL FUCK YOU TOO RICK RIORDAN”

[merci-bitch]

Obsession

Miss G x Fem!Reader 

Request: Hi, sun! Any chance you could write something about Miss G falling for another teacher (let the poor students alone) and being kind of obsessed with her? - @ghostsunderstoodmysoul​

Genre: angst

Words: 1,5k

Warning (s): angst

A/N: I’ve never been more angry in my life. As I posted it, tumblr deleted the whole fucking thing. As if that wasn’t enough, some of you out there. You ungrateful bastards with your dirty little mouths. I am a human being, not some plastic toy that you can speak to however you want. I have feelings to you know? Sorry it took so long. I’m willing to do a part 2.

You could call me new here. I arrived here at  St Mathilda's, The British boarding school for girls a few weeks ago but today was my first day of teaching. I was the new French teacher. The old, lovely woman who was the teacher before me had decided to retire. She was a lovely lady. So I applied for the job and got it.

I spent the few weeks I had before teaching to get to know the school. The hallways, the woods and everywhere else. It was a lovely place to be honest. I spent most of my time in the woods, spending time by the lake that was a few minutes from the school. I had always been an early bird, it means that I would get up early. Pretty much every morning. I was used to wake up early ever since my childhood. My dear father was always up before sunrise. My father used to wake me up and we would watch the sun rise to its highest together. Those were good memories, but you know what they say. Good memories are just memories. And they are. My father was pulled to war and didn't make it home. I was much closer to my father then my mother. I always spent time with him. He would teach me so many different things. Teach me about the stars we see on the night sky. He was the one who I talked to. My father went to war when I was eight. Then, I never saw him again. When he didn't come home, we moved from Paris to London. Me, my mother and my big brother. To start a new life. To make new happy memories.

My father taught me many things. He taught me how to write proper poems. Like this one,

'It was the end of the week, in the middle of the spring and the night, was about to begin. I stepped outside and the door clipped itself closed. A gentle breeze met my face, like a friend who had been waiting for me to come outside. The air was cool and crisp, soft and still. I paused on the steps and breathed, delighting in the first hint of that movement, when day becomes night. I could feel it all around me, a growing stirring movement. Like the soft rumble in a theater, before the curtain rises and the show begins. The stars and the moon were soon to come, and the night, was about to fall.'

I had been quite proud of that one. My father would always say that I had a bright future ahead of me. That I would become a bright and intelligent woman. A brilliant writer. Before my decision to become a French teacher, I wrote a poem book. Or what do you call it? It was a book full of poems. It got published and I guess you can say it went viral. I don't know really, I didn't really bother to take a bunch of matter to it. I just followed my fathers advice. But now I'm here. And I'm excited to teach.

***

It was after my first few classes. It had gone quite well. The students were nice and complemented me, helped me when I didn't know what to do. Despite that being my work, helping them when they didn't know what to do. They were such sweethearts. I was packing up my stuff from the last lesson I had when I heard a knock on the door, making me jump lightly. I heard a voice speak up. Thinking it was one the students, thinking they had forgotten something but when I turned around I saw a woman. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders and her crystal blue eyes shined their way throughout the room. She was quite beautiful. Her facial reconstructions were beautiful and her body was as if it was sculptures by the gods themselves.

"So, you must be the new French teacher. I'm Miss G, the swimming teacher" She held out her hand. From her posture, I could see how much of a confidant woman she was. How proud and selfish she was. Not that was a bad thing to be. I took her hand in mine, the warmth her hand gave sent shivers down my spine. "I am Miss. I'm Y/N" I gave her a smile and withdrew my hand. Feeling her crystal blue eyes run over my body, as if they were analyzing me. In a way I felt uncomfortable under her eyes. I don't know why, I couldn't put my tongue on it.

"Want me to show you around?" She spoke up after a while. I was hesitant, I had already seen the school but I didn't want to let her down. "Oh, of course" Her lips formed a grin as she lead me out the door. Placing her hand on my lower back, just above my arse. As we were walking past some students, even other teachers I felt her pull me closer to her. Until her arm was fully wrapped around my waist. I couldn't say anything. I guess this was just how she was. I had learned some stuff about her. Her name was Virginia. She was in her early thirties. She had been a teacher her for some time. She told me about her adventures. It impressed me, and I started to get more comfortable around her. Thinking it was just who she was.

"I have to say Virginia, you impress me. With all those adventures and the passion you share?" I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Virginia let out a laugh herself. "Well, you flatter me Y/N. You're quite impressive yourself my dear" I felt my cheeks grow hot. And I felt her eyes on me. I had always been sensitive to pet names, I know. Very childish almost. I was a shy person. "Thank you Miss. I've been taught well by my father" I smiled at the memory at him. Seeing his smiling face in my head. "You speak highly of your father. You must love him dearly" I nodded my head. "I did, well. I still do" Virginia titled her head to the side. "What ever is the matter darling?" I felt my smile drop and how my hand was Inlaced with hers. Her touch was warm and some what caring. "My father went to war when I was eight and he never came home" Tears stinging behind my eyes, begging to come lose.

Virginia sat closer to me and pulled me to her, petting my hair and she tried to calm me down. "It's alright my sweet. He will always be with you. I tell you that" I couldn't say anything. I just nodded my head slowly. It felt weird, being in her arms. How her arms were wrapped around me. Almost as if they were holding me still, forcing me down. "Miss G, you can let go now" I could feel her hesitate, but she let go. I gave her a small smile and stood up. I looked at my clock that I had on my wrist. "Oh, look at the time! I have a class in fifteen minutes! I have to go, good to meet you!" I said as I started running towards the school again. I didn't have a class and I was sure she already knew that. I felt as if she already knew everything about me, maybe a bit too much.

As I got to the school I went towards my room. Closing the door behind me and leaning against it and letting out a sigh of relief. Feeling this terror towards Virginia. She scared me. I know that it was probably just my imagination but still. The look in her eyes? It made my whole body shook with disgust.

***

It's a few weeks later and I had started to realize that this wasn't just my imagination. Miss G was always looking my way, waiting for me. As if she was watching me at all costs. Why was she doing this? She would always find an excuse to be near me. It scared me. I know it sounds 'childish' to say that it scared me, that she scared me but I couldn't help it.

It was late at night, raining and thunder and how the sky was lightning up was shown. It was peace for me and made it easy for me to fall asleep. But something felt odd. It felt as if someone was watching me. I shrugged it off, but it still felt uncomfortable. I turned to my side again and opened my eyes. Seeing nothing for a second but then I saw it. I was right. I was being watched. And I was being watched by Miss G.

"Good evening, darling"

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (4/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome to all our new AWAE buddies! It’s my pleasure to see a bunch of new faces (and accompanying thoughts) in the fandom. (As always, tag buddies are at the bottom!)

*

Even in late October, a line of warblers and chickadees sat at the top of the boarding house’s ridgepole and turned the wind to a haven of effervescent song. It gated the garden in, blocking it from the rest of the bustling city. Anne took a deep breath of the fresh air, relishing the way it felt crisp in her chest.  The journal on her lap was seemingly forgotten, the last sentence yet unfinished - “With one look at George, Averil realized...” Though the perfect way to complete the sentence evaded her, Anne didn’t fret. In these moments of near silence and endless inspiration, she felt helpless to do anything but reach into the essence of nature and let it tell her what to say. 

Then, as if she had turned an open palm to the sky and the phrase flitted down into it, she murmured, “Got it!” Her beloved fountain pen scratched across the page as she wrote. “With one look at George, Averil decided ideals weren’t terribly silly notions, after all. The trick, she realized, was knowing your one’s own ideals as well as one knows themself. George may not have been the melancholy Apollo of her girlhood dreams, but he was steadfast and compassionate. Only in George’s embrace would she feel truly as if she was right where she belonged. 

With a sigh, Anne closed the journal. What a wonderful feeling it was to finally complete a story! To give a break to endless essays and readings and merely be with the words of her soul. Averil was a heroine truly deserving of her steadfast and compassionate suitor, even if writing about him did make Anne miss her own. 

Before her thoughts could drift too far away to her hazel-eyed love, she heard the back porch door open. There was Lily, wearing her usual kind smile and a perfectly white apron. 

“You blend in with the trees!” Lily signed from the porch. Anne spared a glance around at the sunset colored leaves drenched in the afternoon’s golden light. 

“One always blends well among friends,” Anne replied, hands forming what she was nearly certain were the correct signs. 

Anne had discovered, much to her surprise, that she was the first person to ever really ask Lily to teach them sign language. Past boarders had picked some up over the duration of their stay, but never tried their hands at it - as it were. But Anne wondered what a life must be like spent mostly watching and not expressing. If Lily had truths and passions of her heart that she wanted to share, it wasn’t fair that a barrier should come between them. Thus, every night, Lily sat Anne down at the dining table and taught Anne her language. Anne thought it was beautiful and challenging the way the language focused on meaning rather than the way a thing was said. Nearly three months later, Anne was more proficient than she dreamed she could be, though there was still so much to learn. 

“You should come inside,” Lily said, her face suddenly taking an apprehensive expression. “ I think you have a visitor, but Mrs. Blackmore won’t receive him.”

Snatching up her journal, Anne quickly thanked Lily and followed her inside. It wasn’t long before she heard Mrs. Blackmore’s exasperated voice echoing on the thin walls of the home. 

“This is entirely uncalled for! In all my years of keeping this house I’ve never -” 

“I promise ma’am, I don’t mean to intrude. I was just in town and thought-” 

“I don’t want to imagine what you thought!” 

Anne gasped. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Bursting into the entryway, she met eyes with an equal parts frustrated and awkward Bash. He clutched Mary’s old carpet bag in his hand, the fabric crumpling under the strain. As soon as he saw Anne, relief flooded his eyes before elation took its place. 

“Bash! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed with a joyful laugh, throwing her arms around his neck. Anne wasn’t sure what shocked Mrs. Blackmore more, Anne hugging Bash, or him lifting her off the ground to shake her.  

“I was in town and thought I’d visit! I didn’t get a chance to see you before you left Avonlea,” he replied. “I don’t mind sayin’ that I’ve missed you terrible.” 

“Believe me, I’ve missed you all so much.” 

“Some more than others,” he said, cocking a brow. Anne nudged him and stepped back to Mrs. Blackmore. 

“Mrs. Blackmore, this is Sebastian Lacroix, a very close family friend of mine and my suitor’s brother.” 

“Suitor , eh?” Bash murmured. Anne gave him another light whack on the arm. 

“Bash, this Mrs. Blackmore. She so graciously allows me a roof over my head and a meal on the table.” 

By the look on her face, Mrs. Blackmore wasn’t feeling so very gracious to provide any of those things to anyone. Still, Bash managed a friendly smile and offered his hand. “It’s a fine pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Sorry about the scare.” Mrs. Blackmore peered down at his hand, weathered from years of labor, her lip curling in disgust. 

“I’m sorry, Anne, but your guest cannot stay,” she stated with finality. 

“What ?!” 

“I don’t say a thing twice.” 

A blush rose up Anne’s neck, whether from rage or embarrassment she could not say. She grabbed the woman’s wrist, dragging her away from Bash’s hearing distance. 

“Pardon me if I’m having trouble understanding why my guest is not allowed to stay. He’s not my suitor, and therefore he isn’t confined to Saturday afternoons. He came in respectable clothes at a respectable hour, which is more than we can say of some guests we’ve received-”

“Anne.” 

“Why, just three days ago, Tillie had several rowdy guests in the parlor and I heard not a complaint from you. In fact, I commend you on your cordiality. So please, Mrs. Blackmore, I’d like to know why my guest can’t be treated with the same courtesy. It goes against our Presbyterian duty to hospitality and-”

“Alright!” Mrs. Blackmore interjected. It was enough that Bash’s wandering gaze snapped over to them, before darting away. “He can stay until dinner.” 

Anne frowned. Dinner was only thirty minutes away. “He should stay for dinner.” 

“What will the other girls think?” 

“The other girls know him! They all love him. Mrs. Blackmore, please!” 

There was no stronger persuading force than reminding a good Christian woman of her Presbyterian duty, even in the face of unrelenting prejudice. Not to mention, Mrs. Blackmore was quickly running out of excuses. With an exhausted sigh, the older woman threw up her hands in defeat.

“Lily, add another place setting to the table. We’re having a guest for dinner,” said Mrs. Blackmore’s lips and hands. Lily tossed Anne a victorious smile, curtising first to their guest, then to the other ladies, before flitting off to the dining room. Anne turned to thank Mrs. Blackmore for her understanding, but found the tired woman halfway up the stairs. With a sheepish smile, she looked to Bash. 

“I’m so sorry about that. She’s usually one of the kindest people I know,” she explained. “Please, come in!” 

“I’m just glad to see you. Avonlea is so much quieter without you and Gilbert around. Every day I wait for you to show up at our door with a bouquet of flowers or a basket of Marilla’s plum puffs.” 

At the mention of Gilbert, Anne perked her ears, but folded her hands in her lap to keep her fingers from tapping. 

“I hope that my absence hasn’t meant Marilla stops baking for you.” 

“Of course not, she just delivers them herself. I think she does it as an excuse to come and visit Delphine. Not that she needs one. Probably misses having a child around.” 

A tender smile lifted Anne’s lips. 

“Everything is well back home then?” she asked hopefully. As close as Avonlea was - 45 minutes was admittedly not a long train ride - sometimes she couldn’t help but feel like she was on the other side of the planet from home. And Gilbert even farther. 

“The harvest is going well. For me, it’s strange not having the extra pair of hands, but we’re managing.” Bash paused, opening his mouth before closing it again. 

“Go ahead, Bash, whatever it is,” Anne prodded, already having a sneaking suspicion what he was about to say. Like a carbonated bottle shaken up, Bash threw up his hands and slammed them on his knees.

“I’m dying to know how it happened! One minute he’s moping around the kitchen tellin’ me his feelings for you are unrequited, and the next he’s breaking off his engagement and moving to Toronto.” 

A burst of laughter burst out of Anne. 

“He never told you? He tells you everything!” 

A joking shadow of regret came over Bash and he shrugged, “I think I teased him too much in the years leading up to it that the poor boy couldn’t take anymore. Besides, I think he’d rather spend his letter-writing time writing to someone else.” 

“My goodness, how long have you been teasing him?” 

“About you? Almost since the day I met him.” Anne’s cheeks turned rose kissed and she bit her lip against a satisfied smile. “You gonna tell me or no, Queen Anne?” 

“It’s strange, there’s so much to tell and yet it’s all such a simple story,” she began. “My best friend, Diana, was riding the same train out of Carmody that Gilbert was. She heard him say that he wasn’t engaged, nor was he going to Paris. He almost got away, too. But Diana moved to his seat and demanded to know why he’d been behaving toward me the way he was, why he’d ignored the letter I wrote to him.” 

“Well, why did he?” 

“He never received it. I left it on your table, so I can’t fathom what could have possibly happened to it. When Diana told him what my letter said, he all but jumped out of the train window to find me. He showed up here, cleared up the biggest misunderstanding between us, then rushed off to Toronto. As for me, I ran into Winifred in town. She informed me, as you said, that Gilbert believed his feelings were unrequited. I did my best to ensure him otherwise.”

Bash whistled. “The Almighty really been trying his hardest to match you two up and you’ve given him the hardest time. I’m very glad it worked for you.” His gaze turned down the carpet bag beside him. Anne had forgotten about it in the midst of her storytelling, but she watched with interest as he pulled it into his lap. “There’s actually a reason I came today.” 

Anne lifted a brow with a curious smile. 

“Gilbert left for Toronto in such a hurry that he left behind some of the things I think he’d like to have with him. I was wondering if you’d take them to him for me.” 

“Me?” 

“I can’t leave Delphine for too long. Or the harvest for that matter.” He handed her the bag’s worn handles, but Anne handed them right back. 

“I’d love to, truly, but I don’t have enough money for the train or a hotel.” 

Bash scoffed. “Already taken care of. There’s an envelope with train fare in the bag, enough to get you there and back. Gilbert has a guest room you can stay in, so a hotel won’t be necessary.”

Anne could feel herself being won over, but she was still hesitant. “What about Marilla?” 

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes that Anne looked strikingly familiar to one she’d seen right before a boy tugged her braid. “We don’t have to tell Marilla.” Anne could feel her resolve draining away, but what settled her mind was, “He’d be real happy to see you, Anne. I think he’s been homesick.” 

With an excited smile, Anne yanked back the carpet bag and gave a beaming grin. 

“Okay, I’ll go this weekend,” she stated, elation bubbling over. 

“Good. I’m thankful to you.” 

After dinner when Bash had departed, Anne went through the things Bash had packed away for Gilbert - a few medical books, extra socks, a velvet bag she wouldn’t open - and realized that she wasn’t doing Bash a favor at all. He was doing her the favor - it would’ve been less expensive for him to just ship the things. Still, Anne added a few things of her own to the bag of things to give Gilbert, and shoved it underneath her bed. 

Plopping back on her bed, Anne grinned at the ceiling. At this time in three days, she’d be with Gilbert. Would she survive until then? 

*

Anne stepped off the train and onto the platform with stiff legs, but the relief in her muscles went almost entirely unnoticed when the sight of beautiful Toronto came into view. The mainland felt so different beneath her feet, as if she were a sailor taking her first steps onto solid land. Around her, travellers rustled and bounded by, talking of business, of family, of pleasure. With a surprised gasp, Anne noticed that beyond the train station, there were no rolling fields or orange-topped trees. In their place were tall buildings, one after another, after another, after another. 

“First time in Toronto, eh?” a stranger said, noticing Anne stock still in place. She nodded in response, meeting the kind gaze of an elderly woman. The woman reminded her of Aunt Jo in that her spirit felt trustworthy and she was wearing one of the loveliest hats Anne had ever seen. 

“Yes, by chance, could you point me in the direction of…” she snuck a glance at one of Gilbert’s old letters. “...North Sunset Street?” 

“Certainly! Why, I grew up on that street. Just follow this main road for about a mile or so, and you’ll find Sunset on the right. A lovely row of brick houses. My mother used to put flowers in the window because the sunlight was always so bright.” 

Anne smiled. A kindred spirit, after all. 

“I think flowers are nature’s sweetest gift to us. I’ll put some in the window to honor her,��� Anne promised. “Thank you so kindly for your help!” 

As she traveled up the streets, Anne found her pace matched that of the city-goers  around her, fast-paced and eager. How could she help it? There was only a mile distance between her and Gilbert, and the sooner she closed it, the sooner she’d pull him close to her and…and...do something terribly romantic. She’d figure it out when the time came. Tightening her grasp on her cases, she all but jogged through the winding crowds. Then, a street sign came into view with a familiar name and Anne’s heart jolted. 

The woman had been right - North Sunset Street had some of the most lovely houses Anne had ever seen. The road was lined with old trees and was full of more greenery than she’d seen in the entire city. How Gilbert’s roommate had come to secure one, she couldn’t fathom, but she was glad Gilbert would spend his time somewhere that had hints of PEI’s loveliness. As she counted the house numbers - 290, 291, 292… - her stomach filled with an entire forest worth of butterflies. 

293. There it was. Ivy rimmed and gold in the late afternoon light, Gilbert’s Toronto residence waited for her to burst in. Yet, instead of allowing herself in using the key she knew was under a ceramic dog on the windowsill, she knocked like the perfectly respectable lady she strove to be. Almost instantaneously, an unfamiliar voice boomed through the inside of the house.

“Did you lock yourself out again ? I keep telling you that I put a key underneath-” The door swung open. “Oh. You’re not Gilbert.” 

Anne, stunned to be peering up at a man who was nearly an entire foot taller than her, merely offered a shy smile and shook her head. 

“I take it you’re Ron?” she said cordially. 

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert in the flesh,” he realized right back, eyeing her with an analytical gaze. “You’re... younger than I expected you to be.” 

The grin on Anne’s face twitched and she held back the urge to shift awkwardly on her feet. How old did he expect her to be? After all, she was only about a year-and-a-half younger than Gilbert, old enough to be in college! 

Ignoring the comment, Anne snuck a glance behind Ron’s shoulder.

“Is Gilbert in, by chance?” 

Much to her disappointment, the man shook his head. 

“He’s got a friday class that finishes at four o’clock. It’s probably just ended.” His eyes fell to the bags in her hand. “Are you staying?” 

“Ah, well, I hoped to. Gilbert’s brother mentioned you both had a spare room that I could probably stay in to avoid the expense of a hotel. Only for the weekend. That is, if it isn’t too much trouble.” 

Ron shrugged. “I don’t mind. Gil will probably insist on it with the way he moons over you. School is only a few blocks from here. Why don’t you leave your things here and I’ll show you where his usual haunt is?” 

All at once, Anne’s butterflies were back with a passionate fury. 

“I’d be ever so grateful!” she nearly exclaimed, her eagerness knocking Ron a few paces backwards. He grabbed his hat from the hook, plopped it on his head, and slid past her. As tenderly as if she were walking on glass, Anne followed behind, trying desperately not to make an utter fool of herself. 

“Gilbert said you’re a college girl yourself?” Ron chatted amiably. A gust of wind brought a whiff of his expensive cologne to her nose. 

“Yes, English and Teaching.” 

“Ah, a reader then.” 

“An avid one,” Anne confirmed. “But mostly I want to inspire students to believe in their own talents and grow to love learning just as much as I came to. A good education can  help a person through anything. There is nothing so thrilling as watching those you care about succeed at the things they’re passionate about. Don’t you agree?”

Ron cocked a head in interest. If she had been attempting to put up a facade of decorum, that last statement had been the first hint of the free-spirited Anne he had heard so much about. 

“You know, Anne, I believe you’re onto something,” he said. “At any rate, it matters little what I think. Your students will crave your approval, and I daresay they’ll have it.” 

Anne beamed. Perhaps this Ron could be a kindred spirit, after all. She seemed to be finding them everywhere these days. Around them, the scenery grew taller and denser as they journeyed into the heart of the city. Ron rambled beside her about some strange fellow in one of his classes, but Anne could only half listen. Then, all of her senses turned to electricity when the sight of an imposing, majestic castle came into view. 

“Welcome to the University of Toronto,” Ron interjected when he saw her eyes sparkling with amazement. “Gil should be around here somewhere.”  

Yet, as Ron was leading her closer to the main hall’s regal entrance, Anne’s heart tugged her to glance behind her. She squinted to make out a few people sitting on and around a staircase near the west section of the building. Her feet moved on their own volition with slow uncertainty, but her heart had already confirmed what she desperately hoped was true. The closer she got, the more she recognized the outline of his features. His soft hair, his strong shoulders, his chin. 

“Who’s that?” Anne heard from the group. 

Suddenly, she stumbled to a halt, her breath stuck in her throat. She watched as his head turned toward her, and wondered if he could hear her heart beating from across the garden landscape. He leaned forward, as if not believing his eyes, straining to get a closer look. 

Then, all at once, he jumped to his feet, stumbling forward a few steps in shock. A cry of elation tumbled from his lips, a matching one breaking Anne’s silence. His friends cried after him, but he was already bounding away. She didn’t make him run far, hoisting up her skirts to meet him halfway. 

On the train ride here, Anne had imagined what she believed to be every possible reunion that could possibly happen when she finally saw Gilbert again. She imagined him opening up his arms and her leaping into them. She imagined him crushing his lips onto hers for a kiss that would heat her to her toes. What she didn’t imagine was running full speed to him, then stopping a mere breath away. Gilbert’s hands were frustratingly at his sides balled into fists. But his eyes...Anne beamed up into them. They were very bit as warm and earthy as she remembered them being, beautiful enough in their affection that she felt a shiver go down her back.

“You’re here!?” he said in disbelief. Much against her own will, Anne felt her eyes mist over just enough that she blinked into sunlight. 

“Surprise!” 

Gilbert let out a joyful laugh so loud that students on their way to class turned their heads to him. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when Anne was before him, even more breathtaking than he remembered her being - which admittedly, was an impossible amount - smiling up at him with dimpled cheeks. If he didn’t do something soon, he was certain he’d combust on the spot. 

Anne seemed to read his mind, and suddenly they were pulling each other in for a kiss. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pushed up onto her toes, sending Gilbert arching back against her fervor. Taking his cue, he lifted her up off the ground, and spun her around, laughing against her lips. The months of separation were suddenly forgotten, and Anne was content to do nothing except bury her face into his neck and breath in his familiar scent. 

“But- but how?” he stammered, chuckling through Anne’s onslaught of cheek kisses. Her fingers were still locked behind his neck when she pulled back. 

“I took the midnight train and slept most of the way. Ron brought me here.” 

Gilbert sighed in relief, finally conceding to the blissful fact that this was not a dream. He dropped his forehead onto hers, and she nuzzled into his touch. 

“I really missed you,” he murmured, grasp tightening at her waist. “We barely got any time together before I left.” 

“I missed you just as much, but I’ll be here all weekend. That’s enough time for you to make good on all of the promises from your letters.” She blushed remembering some of the things he’d sworn he’d do when they reunited. They ranged from proper teas and dinners to embraces and experimental kisses where he’d learn the face was extra sensitive. 

“I hope you’ll make good on yours too,” he replied with a raised brow.   

“Count on it,” she assured. Her own promises entailed a detailed report of her romantic daydreams and ponderings from the months before they started their courtship. I know how my own pining went. I’m aching to know every bit of what you were thinking, he’d written once in a letter a few weeks back. The preview she’d granted in her response had been promising. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight. There’s so much I want to tell you.” 

Anne nodded happily, not caring a might that they’d been giving each other comprehensive written reports of their daily life. She wanted to hear it all from him, watch the stories unfold on his face as he told them. 

“But first,” he continued. “There are some people I want you to meet.”

-----

I hope you enjoyed! Here are all the people who requested to be tagged. If you’d like to add your name to the list or remove it, please let me know! 

@pterparkcr @be-feminine-be-unique @firehaireddeamer @annabel-lee23 @beinmyheart @forcordelia @ladyofhousewaters @brookie-cookie3 @peculiarly-deactivated @mrs-shirley-cuthbert-blythe @lexfangirls @amoraeternusforyou @pastaismysignificantother @spellsandbells @instantknightartisanwagon @noctislightning @lonelyscreaming @lbhmoon @findurhappy @mynameisbluenotjane @sarahisatotalgeek @takemetoavonlea @shrillrule @doodlesfan @noctislightning @awaeforlife @neomikaha 

[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 56 - Secrets, mix tapes and jealousy

In the previous chapter: the special date set up by Angie turned out to be a disaster for her and it's coming to a even worse end, since Eddie doesn't seem interested into having sex with her. In the end though, they both manage to open up and talk about their feelings and insecurities and they make love for the first time. Despite all that, Angie's still firm on her decision not to tell anything to their friends. We find it out when the couple joins Jeff, Stone, Grace, McCready and Cornell at their usual go-to pub. Jeff sees them getting there together by car but entering the place in different moments to avoid suspects. From his thoughts about the matter, we find out that Jeff actually caught the two exchanging affectionate effusions a few days earlier, when Angie had brought a cake for him and Eddie before a show. At that time, Jeff preferred to silently and secretely leave before they could see him, so that they wouldn't be embarrassed. Thanks to his friends's advice, Jeff can finally put together a bunch of titles for the fake demo tape by Cliff Poncier, the main character of Cameron Crowe's movie, and then challenges Chris to actually write those songs.

**

“Did she knock him out?”

“Yeah, he went down like a sack of potatoes. And it was a pretty big sack” Angie lets go of my hand for a moment, just the time to mimic the body size of the guy, then takes it again, as we walk to her car.

“With a punch?”

“Actually, two”

“Given what he said to you, I'd have given him more” drunk or not, if you touch a woman you're crap, and if I run into you you're dead.

“You'd have beaten a dead horse, well, a dead sack of potatoes”

“Nuh, you're right: too little satisfaction. Anyway, hats off to Meg, cool girl”

“Yep... and to think that at the beginning I thought she was a vapid Barbie”

“What? You? Having prejudices about someone? It can't be!” I have fun picking on her. When I expressed very similar opinions about Violet she made me feel like shit.

“Hehe yeah, I confess, I made a mistake too, I'm human after all. Anyway, that's how we became friends and everything started”

“That's the perfect example of how something good can come out of a bad story too”

“See, so that guy deserves some credit too after all” as soon as we get to her Mini, Angie takes my other hand too and leans back against the back of the car, pulling me closer.

“Fucking credit. It happend ages ago and I wasn't even there and my hands are hitching to hit him good” it looks like taking me out to dinner to a Thai restaurant in the university district makes her feel safe enough from being possibly seen by our friends.

“Don't be upset” she tries and calm me with a kiss and I'd say it works great. But she doesn't need to know.

“Uhm... I'm still a little upset” I tell her after making a stupid scene, licking my lips and clicking my tongue as if I was trying to taste the kiss, just like a weird sommelier does after a sip of wine.

“Hahaha come on, let's go” she gives me another peck and opens the door, as I walk around the car to get to the passenger seat.

“Angie, I'm the last person who can give lectures about Seattle's street map, but weren't we supposed to turn left?” I ask her after our turn at the second crossroad.

“Oh... 'cause... you wanna go back home, right?” she's reaching for something in the glove box with her hand but freezes, as if I had caught her doing something wrong and I can notice her suddenly saddened eyesin the dark too.

“No, I mean, not necessarily”

“'Cause I thought it's still early and...” she puts both her hands back on the wheel and shrugs her shoulders at the same time.

“It's early indeed” it's always too early for me when it's time to say good night.

“I thought... well... we could hang out a little, go for a drive”

“Ok”

“But I can take you home if you want”

“No, I don't wanna go home”

“I didn't even ask you if you're busy tomorrow morning”

“I don't have shit to do tomorrow morning, Angie”

“Maybe you're tired”

“I'm not tired”

“I'll take a U turn as soon as I can”

“Angie?” I take her right hand from the wheel and kiss it.

“Yeah?”

“Take me for a ride”

“Ok”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask her as I let go of her hand and this time she opens the glove compartment and takes out a caseless cassette, putting it into the car player right away.

“To some place... you'll see” she smiles as Jim Morrison starts to sing.

Yeah, I'm a back door man

I'm a back door man

The men don't know

But the little girls understand

“Do we have a long way to go?” I ask a while later, as Brian Ferry's just admitted Love is the drug he prefers and we take Greenwood Avenue.

“No, we're almost there”

“Almost... can you be more specific?” I like to tease her and see her faces.

“Less than ten minutes and we're there. Are you getting bored?”

“Never, with you”

“So why are you so impatient?”

“I'm not impatient, I only wanna know if this place you want to take me to is within the borders of the United States or not. 'Cause if you, by any chance, are taking me to Canada, so our friends don't catch us, I warn you I didn't bring my passport”

“Ha ha” Angie gives me a nasty look, then her hand happens to land on my knee, which she gently squeeze.

“We're not crossing boundaries then”

“No, we're not”

“Where are we going then?”

“You'll see, soon”

She turns left at the next crossroad, then left again and the trees become thicker.

“I already know anyway: you're taking me to a park”

“Maybe” she lets go of the wheel and put her hands up wide open as to say who knows.

“No! You're taking me to the beach” I correct myself when, after a short while, the road goes downhill, plants thin out and I can see the horizon better.

“One thing does not exclude the other”

“I love watching you drive manual, you know?” I tell her, completely dropping the subject, lost in her driving movements.

“Haha my father taught me when I was twelve. And you?”

“Actually, I can't drive manual”

“No?? Really? You can't drive with a clutch?” she lookes at me shocked for a moment as she drives gently through the curves of the basically desert road.

“Hehe for real, I swear, I never tried”

“I'll teach you!”

“Thank you. I bet you're a good teacher”

“Good but strict”

“That's just perfect”

A yellow sign indicates a dead end street and that's when I figure out we've got to our destination. Angie turns into a rather narrow road on the left, then stops at some kind of natural open space, a clearing among the trees, with the front end of the car facing the wide free view of the ocean.

“Wow”

“From the upper parking lot the view is better but here it's quieter” she remarks as she turns off the car.

“I see” I look around and we're actually well hidden from the houses along the coastline.

“Do you like it?” she questions as she unwraps her scarf and throws it on the back seat. And from the speakers the Stones fade out and Nico's both smooth and scratchy voice comes in.

Here she comes, you better watch your step

She's going to break your heart in two

I have very little to watch out for by now. I'm in too deep and my heart is hers. It's not broken but she can do whatever she wants with it, even though she doesn't have false colored eyes and she's not an evil femme fatale like the one in the song.

“Yes, I like it here...” she can be a little tease though, with that smile of hers that... wait a minute “Angie?”

“Yes” she replies as she unbuttons her coat.

“I have this small sudden nagging question”

“Hehe that is?”

“Did you take me here to fuck?”

“EDDIE!”

“Fuck in a Mini Cooper?”

“HAHAHA”

“Why are you laughing? I only asked a question” actually I'm having such fun too but in subtler way.

“You just really don't know how to beat around the bush, right?”

“No, you should know by now... so?”

“So, I took you here so we could stay here, together, alone, and chill”

“That is, fucking”

“Not just that!”

“But also that”

“Well... if you want to, yes” she admits and I can see her blushing in the dark. This thing about initiatives is getting out of our hands. I'm not complaining though.

“I want to. But to do that, we could have gone to my apartment. I mean, it'd have been even better”

“Uhm not sure about that” she shakes her head not convinced.

“Both for the temperature and for the comfort”

“You're forgetting a small detail”

“What?”

“A not so small detail, who lives with you and his name is Jeff”

“Jeff knows when it's time to mind his own business, he's a smart guy”

“Too smart, that's the problem”

“Umph...”

“And you don't have such a view at your place” she retorts pointing through the windscreen.

“Whatever the place, the view is always spectacular when you're there”

“So basically you're telling me you wanna go back home” she looks down and plays dumb because she'd rather die than take a compliment.

“No, I wanna stay here and enjoy the view from up close” I hug her and my hands slip under her coat, pulling her closer for a kiss. The first one of a long series.

“So, did you like this... initiative?” she asks pulling back from my lips and still playing with my hair.

“Hehe yes, I liked it a lot. I'd just like to know how everything's gonna happen... from a, you know... technically”

“Just use some imagination”

“Next time you wanna have car sex, tell me first and I'll take my truck”

“Hahaha it's not that larger than this inside, you know?”

“But it has a bed, you know, in the back”

“Hahaha very comfortable and most of all very private”

“It depends on where you go...”

“Oh my god, you had sex in the truck bed??” Angie pulls away from me and looks at me as if she saw a ghost.

“A couple of times, yes”

“Fo the pleasure of the pervs and the voyeurs”

“I first made sure nobody was around”

“You're such a showoff!”

“There was nobody around, you asshole”

“Hehe there's nobody around here either”

“Right”

We looked at each other for a second, stop laughing and basically throw at each other at the same time. Angie shrugs off her coat and somehow flings it to the back, then climbs over me and straddles my legs. All this keeping her lips stuck to mine.

“Recline the back rest a little” she whispers into my ear.

“Like this?” I barely touch a side lever and find myself in a completely lying position in a second.

“Haha a little less than that, here, like this. Maybe try and go back a little too” Angie helps pulling me up a bit, then reaches for another toggle, under my seat I guess, and pushes it back, so that she wins some more vital space.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, don't worry”

“Are you sure? You've got one knee against the door and another on the seatbelt attachment”

“I've never been more comfortable” if I don't like beating around the bush when I speak, Angie is the one who doesn't waste any time with actions., 'cause she's already trying to unzip my pants. She makes it and it only takes her a few seconds to make me go completely nuts. Then she pulls away all of a sudden and sits back on the driver seat.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Wait, I just have to remove... some obstacles” I see her unlacing her shoes, fidgeting with her jeans , and I guess with her panties too, before straddling me again. I pull everything down too in the meantime to make the whole dynamic easier. I don't pay attention to the fact I haven't seen her launch anything else towards the back seat and only when I touch her I realize she's still wearing one leg of her pants.

“You do things halfway” I smile against her lips.

“What if we have to get dressed quickly?”

“You thought about everything, didn't you?”

“You know I'm a neat person”

“Uhm I can see that. The tape too...”

“Which tape?”

“The sex mix tape we've been listening to since we left the restaurant”

“What?!” Angie springs up, I don't know if it's for my remark or for the way I'm touching her.

“Don't even try to pretend it's not a car sex compilation”

“It's not!”

“Tim Buckley has just said he wants to be your victim of love” and I relate to him a lot.

“It's a mix... kind of romantic maybe... that's just how it turned out”

“It's such a romantic mix that he asked you to whip him and spank him straight away”

“Have you ever heard about metaphors? And you even write songs”

“Metaphors. Sure. So when Eric Clapton talks about making love against the wall, is it some metaphor too? And I won't say what comes later in the song, that's even worse, 'cause I'm sure you already know” I unbutton her sweater and her shirt together, while she shrugs and tries to play dumb.

“It's just a great song”

“They're all great” I hold her and manage to pull her back over me.

“I don't wanna listen to shitty music when I drive” she states before taking my breath away with a kiss.

“Or whenever you sneak off with your boyfriend” I immediately give her a taste of the same medicine

“I'm neat” she stares at me before her witty reply. By the way... this tape... did she do it for the occasion? I mean, especially for tonight or for me anyway? Or is it a ready to use mix tape she keeps in her car in case she needs it? And if that's the case, who did she use it with? Did she make that tape with someone else in her mind? But most of all, why do I have to think about this bullshit right now?

“You forgot one thing though...” I'd better focus.

“What?”

“I'm not ready to be a dad”

“Uh! No... I got them, don't worry” all her confidence disappears in one second, Angie sits up and turns around, not only to try and open the glovebox but also to hide a little hint of embarrassment.

“You're my favorite neat freak”

“Actually... ehm... you wouldn't run that risk anyway... since... you know, I'm on the pill but, I mean...” she starts stuttering and opens the box without looking at me.

“Ok”

“I'd rather keep it that way, for now, I mean, I think it's better if we use them all the same... if it's not a problem for you...”

“Angie”

“At least for now, since... well... we just... and considering what happened before...”

“ANGIE?”

“Yes?”

“I sad it's alright, stop being paranoid, ok?”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, we'll think about it later, right now it's great this way”

“Ok”

“Now come here”

“Here where? I'm already here”

“I mean, closer”

“We're in a Mini, I can't go that far”

“I'm cold and lonely down here on the passenger seat. And I want you. So come back here” I pull her close, tugging at the hems of her shirt and she gives in, either 'cause she's afraid I'll tear it up or because I convinced her with my words.

“The needy puppy look is almost more powerful than dimples” she rolls her eyes and smiles as she comes back to me.

“Really?”

“I said almost”

**

I still don't understand how can Angie have all this power over me, how can she disarm me and surprise me every time. Even a crazy stupid thing, like driving up to an unknown hidden place for some night acrobatic contortion in a small car, something I haven't done for almost ten years, becomes special with her, and not just for the act itself. Right now I'm totally enraptured by the girl whose body is over mine but not just because she's literally over me. The truth is she's over, under, inside, outside, on my shoulders, between my legs, in my head, in my blood, on my skin and all around. I make love to her in the most uncomfortable way and place but my only thought is that I want her closer, and closer, as if it was even possible. My only thought is not a thought because I can't think now, it's only an instinct, a sensation, a need, like hunger and thirst. I kiss her and through my closed eyelids I can see colors and bright dots, waves of light like electric shocks given from sudden lighting bolts. And the jolts of electricity become closer and closer together and more intense and I think I'm going crazy, 'cause I've never felt something like this. Until Angie disengages her mouth and uses it to speak.

“What the- OH FUCK”

So, I don't know if it's because of Angie, but we got each other so twisted up that we didn't notice the police car appeared who knows how long ago, from out of nowhere and parked a few yards from here with the lights on.

“Oh oh”

“OH OH? The fucking police is here and all you can say is Oh oh?” Angie comes back to reality much more quickly than me. I'm still kind of dizzy.

“What should I say? Would shit be more appropriate?”

“Yes, definitely”

“Are you getting dressed?”

“Oh of course not! I'll just stay here, waiting for the cops butt naked” Angie frantically gets dressed, whereas I do everything at a slower pace. I can say it's also easier for me.

“Don't panic too much, they may think you wanna hide something”

“Hiding something is exactly what I'm trying to do” she hurriedly pulls up her pants and starts buttoning down her sweater, ignoring the shirt underneath, and that might be on purpose or not.

The moment we hear someone knocking on the window we're both startled. Angie looks at her left, then right in front of her, then towards me and shakes her head with an imperceptible movement before wearing the most innocent expression I've ever seen on her face since I first met her.

“Good evening, officer” she addresses one of the guys who killed our fun tonight after rolling down the window on her side. From the shadow I see through my window, I can say his colleague is on my side.

“Good evening... although good night would be more appropriate, what do you think?” we got the cop who tries to be funny. Fuck.

“Well, yeah, hehe!” Angie decides to go along and I agree with her plan “How... ehm... how can I help you?”

“Uhm let me think, why don't you start by turning on the light and give me your document, miss?”

“Sure!” Angie stretches out towards the back seat and the policeman knocks lightly on the windscreen of the car with his billy club pointing at the space where the rearview mirror is, to catch her attention and let her understand she has to switch on the interior lights first. She gasps then obliges, before starting to look for her papers again.

“Keep calm” I whisper as she takes her beg and gives everything to the officer. I'd rather be the driver, I'm afraid Angie will get nervous and do something wrong. I think it's the first time the police stops her.

“Thank you, I'd like to see the ones of your... friend too... please” the guy gives me an extremely bad look and at the same time someone knocks at my window. As I turn around I see a female silhouette gesturing for me to wind it down.

“Good evening, here it is” I take out my wallet very slowly, find my driving licence and give it to the policewoman.

“Angelina W. Pacifico... Idaho, huh?”

“Yeah, I moved here a few months ago” Angie deliberately adds something as an answer to a question no one asked, trying to look willing to cooperate.

“1972. Wow, it almost seems true hahaha!” the officer waves the document in the air and laughs through gritted teeth looking at his partner.

“It seems? Of course it's true!” Angie gets upset and I go pale in a second because if she starts responding to his provocations, we'll be dead.

“If you say so... I'll check it out”

“Feel free to check, so you can see for yourself!” fucking dead.

“Why don't you also give me your registration doc, so I can check that too, miss”

“Alright! I'll give it to you immediately, then you can also frisk me, him and search my whole car, my conscience is clear!”

“Do you know you've just given me a great idea, Miss Pacifico?” the jerk laughs again and I hope Angie will soon take that angry look off her face as I see her getting out the car documents.

“26 years old. Aren't you a little too old for that girl?” the police woman asks me after she's checked my licence and I decide to keep my mouth shut. Unfortunately someone else has a different opinion.

“I AM OF AGE! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Shut up!” the officer's yell catches me off guard since it comes from my side. Apparently he has come to get my document from his colleague. After that he goes back to their car for the checking.

“Angie, don't talk, please” I hiss and hope she'll follow my advice.

“Wether you're of age or not, he's still a little older than you” the woman leans down on the car door and talks gently to Angie through the window.

“That's not a crime” she says in a lower voice and I don't even know if the officer heard her. Maybe she finally understood what the correct behaviour is.

“You're going to the University of Washington, right?” the policewoman asks. She clearly wants to chit chat to kill time and ease the tension.

“Yes, how do you know?”

“The bump sticker”

“Oh right! Yeah, I moved here for that, to go to college”

“With your family?” ok, the Good cop/Bad cop operation has officially started.

“No, by myself”

“So, you're living on your own, you've got an apartment...”

“Well, yeah”

“And you?” this time she talks to me and to do that she points her flashlight right at my face.

“I don't go to college”

“I mean, don't you have a place?”

“Sure”

“So what the hell are you doing here? In a car? Well, something that looks like a car” she goes on switching off the flashlight and using it to vaguely point at Angie's car and I abruptly turn towards her, 'cause I know this could be enough to get her mad and we'd be fucked. But she keeps on with her quiet act.

“We were going for a ride”

“A ride?”

“Yeah” I repeat.

“But you were parked”

“We stopped for a minute” my girlfriend promptly replies.

“Stopped to do what?”

“Chat” a mechanism has tacitly established by which we take turns giving answers, so this time it's me speaking.

“Talk” Angie adds.

“Listen to music” the answer was suggested by the tape, which goes on and now it's time for... The rain song?? Holy fuck, Angie, couldn't you be more obvious? And she got the nerve to say it's not a car fuck mix tape. The cassette alone would be an evidence of public indecency in court.

“Enjoy the view”

“Yeah, actually as soon as we got here we noticed how focused you were on the view” the woman rolls her eyes and barely holds a laugh. We'd laugh too if we weren't under interrogation.

“She didn't make it clear what kind of view she was talking about... you, you gotta try and be more open minded, please!” the comedian colleague is back and gives Angie her documents back through the open window.

“Right!” the woman exchanges an amused look with her partner, who's back with the questions.

“Right, so, if I search this bumper car, will I find drugs or not?”

“Of course not, officer” she replies with no hesitation and I hope it's true 'cause if he actually finds something, we'll be in double deep shit.

“Guns?”

“What? Please, I hate them”

“And what if I give you a breathalyzer? What will I find?”

“Nothing, 'cause I didn't drink. He did, he had something to drink, but he's not driving, I'm driving, so...”

“Yeah, I see, I got it from the start that you're the one who leads, that was quite obvious hahaha” the cop can't hold himself and bursts out laughing in the end, followed suit by his partner, who scolds him though, also revealing his name to us.

“Barlow!”

“Ok ok, do you know why we stopped you?”

“You didn't, we weren't moving” Angie whispers in a very low voice as she gives me the car registration to put away into the glove box. But it's not low enough.

“Don't try to be funny, Miss! Do you know it or not?” don't tell him that if he does, then you can do it too. I know you're dying to tell him but don't do it, please!

“No” we both reply at the same time. Thank god. At least she knew about this: with the police, always say you don't know.

“'Cause you think that fucking in a car in a public place is a normal thing, right?”

“It's not public if nobody's there, is it?” my girlfriend tries but she'll be very disappointed.

“On what rulebook did you read this?” he answers sarcastically.

“I hope you're not studying law, darling”

“No. I study cinema”

“Uh! So you were rehearsing a scene! That's what it was!” these two are having the time of their life with us.

“Barlow, shut up! Ehm ehm we're patrolling the area because there have been some robberies lately. There's a gang who targets couples who come here at night to park, like you guys”

“So if I were you, I'd change my habits a little” the guy adds as he starts breathing again after his fucking laughter fits.

“You have an apartment each, just go there”

“O'Hara, can't you understand? There must be some cheating going on here! He leaves his girlfriend at home with an excuse and meets his younger mistress, am I right or am I wrong?”

“NO!” Angie reacts outraged and I feel this night will last much much longer.

“You can tell us, I mean, this surely is not a crime” Barlow leans down and folds his arms against the window opening in the car door, almost diving inside.

“There's no girlfriend at home”

“So she's the cheater”

“No one's cheating on anyone, I'm her boyfriend, we're together”

“Ok so, help me understand: you're together, I mean, in a regular relationship, she's legal, you both have a place... annoying roommates?” agent O'Hara counts the elements that don't add up to her on her fingertips.

“No, I mean, not too much” Angie looks at me as she replies, as if she was looking for a suggestion or, most likely, 'cause she finds it all unreal, just like me.

“So why arent' you at home?”

“You gotta ask her” I don't know why I answer like that, I can't even say if I did it for real, I don't even notice. It just comes out like that, spontaneously.

“Eddie?!”

“Tell us, Angie, why aren't you at home?” the comedian gets curious and calls her by her first name.

“Because... because it's a new thing”

“And we got that, also considering the... the enthusiasm” he goes on, earning the umpteenth fake nasty look from his partner.

“She doesn't want to tell our friends” and I guess this is me again, freewheeling talking.

“Why? Is there some ex?” O'Hara questions and now we went from interrogation to gossiping.

“No. I mean, yes,” Angie corrects herself when she sees me making a face “but that's not the reason”

“What is it then? Don't tell me you're ashamed of him? I'm not particularly attracted to long-haired men but he seems a good looking guy to me, after all”

“I'm not ashamed at all, he's... he's very good looking, he's perfect, in everything” are we going from gossip to confessions? Wait a minute, what did she just say?

“It's just... well, we know the same people, it's a whole group of friends. And some of them play in a band, with him”

“Musicians, huh? We'd better do a search after all” Barlow tells another shitty joke but his colleague ignores him and focuses on the current topic.

“And are they closer to you or him? Are they more your friends or his?”

“Well, I got to know them a few months before but... I'd say they're friends of both of us in the same way”

“Ok, so you're both afraid to lose them and to make him lose them, if things went wrong, right?”

Angie nods in silence to O'Hara's words and I'm completely stunned. Lose them? Suddenly a new light is shed on the situation, a new point of view I hadn't considered before. Angie told me she doesn't trust herself but she trusts me and I didn't fully believe this version. She's always been worried about our friends, 'cause they're kind of nosy and always intruding in other people's private life, but I never figured out they were the actual object of her insecurities. The guys.

“I'm afraid they'll judge me or him. I'm afraid I can create problems in the group and that we'll end up parting ways” Angie's still confessing and I wonder if she needed to be pressured by the police to finally tell the truth. But is it Angie, who never talked, or is it me, who never understood?

“But it's just a normal thing, dear! Take each other, leave each other, take each other again, break up again, get together with another guy of the gang. It happens all the time among groups of friends but that doesn't necessarily ruin the friendship” O'Hara lights up a cigarette and from good cop she officially turned into big sister or aunt, the one you can tell everything to.

“Well, I don't know, I've never had a group of friends, I mean, not so big. I've never had so many friends” now everything's clear, shit. She's never had them and she doesn't want to lose them.

“Angie, even if something went wrong between us, don't worry, our friends would kick my ass, not yours. And if one of us has got to take the brush off, well, it's gonna be me” I try and reassure her but looking at her face I guess I'm failing.

“And do you think that would hurt me less?”

“It's like watching Oprah live” Barlow says, totally hooked on our show.

“Angie, friends will be friends. The truth is friends do care, yeah, but not that much. Don't get me wrong, friends love you, give you advice wether you asked for it or not, they can get in the way and root for you or him, but in the end they just want you both to be ok, together or not. At some point they stop and say it's up to you, guys, in the best sense possible. And if they disappear in the end, well, it means they weren't true friends”

“Maybe, maybe you're right”

“Sure I'm right!”

“Right or not, you can't come here and have sex anymore, do you understand?” the cop, who was basically collapsing on the car door, stands up straight and gives a couple of punches against the roof of the car, maybe to wake himself up.

“Sure”

“It won't happen again”

“Fine. It's getting late, let's go O'Hara”

“Go home, guys. And drive safe, Angie, ok?”

“Ok, thanks officer”

“Good night”

“Good night”

We roll up the windows at the same time, Angie starts the car and waits.

“Why aren't they moving?”

“They're waiting for us to go first, to make sure we are actually leaving” I explain and smile for the fact that she didn't understand that. And this quick scene is like a little representation of her innocence. Sometimes I forget that she's so young and has little experience of everything, and no, I'm not only talking about how to handle the police when they pull you over.

“Oh right, I didn't think about that” Angie snorts and we leave.

“That was so weird” we're back in town when Angie finally breaks the silence.

“Yeah”

“Such an embarrassing moment”

“Very embarrassing” it opened my eyes a little though, so it actually turned out to be useful. Since we left we haven't mentioned what had happened, we haven't mentioned anything because we just kept our mouth shut and only exchanged quick looks and smiles and sang a few songs. Now that everything's started sinking in, it's time to return to the core of the matter and do the talk, this time only between us.

“It never happened to me”

“To me neither” I had dealt with the police before but not for this kind of infringment.

“I've been there many times and I never saw the cops there, these robberies must be something recent”

It takes me a while to register what she said, maybe 'cause I'm still thinking about the infraction we were committing on these front seats like an hour ago. But when I figure it out it's like I've been awaken with someone throwing a bucket full of ice at my face.

“Never? Do you mean... you'd been there already?”

“Sure. If not, how could I know the place?” she calmly answers, so either she's crazy or she doesn't know where I'm getting at or she doesn't care.

“With who?” Angie's mouth opens up forming a small O and so I guess now she does know where I'm getting at.

“What do you mean, with who? With... with Meg”

“With Meg”

“Yeah, she's been living here for so long, she knows the area. She took me there”

“She took you to the beach at night to do what?”

“To go for a ride! To just stay there, drinking, smoking, gossiping, normal stuff”

“And that's it?”

“Hahaha why? What else do you think we were doing there?”

“I mean, you went there with Meg and that's it? But you said you've been there many times”

“And with you?”

“Ok, so, with Meg and I... and no one else?”

“Well...”

“Angie?”

“Not just you two...”

“Have you been there with Jerry?”

“...”

“Angie, I'm talking to you”

“I know, it's only me here” we're at the traffic lights and Angie looks around inside the car, even giving a glance at the back seat, before turning back to look at me.

“So?”

“I didn't go there with Jerry”

“So would you swear to me that you didn't take me to the same place where you used to park with your ex boyfriend?

“No, I didn't!”

“Ok”

“With Jerry.. ehm... we used to go to the upper parking place on the hill”

“WHAT?!”

“What? Why are you mad?”

“Why? What do you mean why? You took me to the same place where you fucked your ex and I'm not supposed to get mad?!”

“I never fucked Jerry there”

“The fact it was a different paking lot 50 yards away doesn't change anything, Angie”

“I mean I never did it with Jerry in the car!” she exclaims as she gestures an apology to the guy in the car behind us, who's just honked at us because we didn't go immediately when the lights turned green. What the hell does this fucker want? Is he in a fuckin' hurry or something? Fuck you man.

“Didn't you?”

“No, I never... I never had full sexual intercourse with Jerry in a car”

“This use of very, very specific and technical terminology looks kind of suspicious to me”

“We kissed and stuff”

“I don't wanna know” she says it and I'm already imagining it, I mean, I can imagine even if she doesn't say anything. My imagination doesn't need further help.

“But you practically asked me”

“I'm not stupid, I get that you didn't fuck him there, but still you did something. That's the same to me”

“Who cares who I took there first, now I got you, I'm with you”

“I care because... because it's weird, it gives me a... bad feeling... I don't like it”

“I told you as soon as we got there that I had already been there, but you didn't say anything then. Why are you suddenly upset now?”

She's right actually, she told me, I don't remember the exact words, but she let me know. The truth is I was so enraptured by the situation, by her, her scent, her gestures as she was taking off her coat, her big eyes, her naughty heart-shaped smile... I was like drunk and didn't understand shit.

“Maybe I hadn't noticed then, and now I did”

“I come from another state, I don't know many places. If I want to go to some quiet place with you, of course I have to follow... ehm... the beaten road”

“Well let's just stay home then and avoid going anywere else, problem solved”

“If you say so... Jerry's been in my bed too, shall we stop going there too?” Angie gives me a perplexed look and I know, I know I'm crazy, that I'm the sick one, that retroactive jealousy makes no sense. But I'm so fucking mad right now!

“Could you... could you just not remind me, please?”

“But... are you jealous of Jerry?”

“No” nooooo, I'm not! Why do you think that?

“Ok. Also because it'd be really stupid if you were” there you go.

“Exactly”

“Because I'm not interested in him, there's no chance at all I could be into him ever again and go back to him anytime soon” are you sure about that? I mean, on your part I know there's no chance. But Jerry, he still has hope. He told me! And this is a piece of information I'm gonna keep to myself.

“I know”

“Fine”

“Did you use the tape with him too or is it exclusively for me?”

“I did the mix tape yesterday, for you, for the occasion” she retorts tiredly as she rolls her eyes.

“Ok”

“Are you happy about that?”

“Very happy. I like it”

“Thank god”

“And how was Jerry's tape?”

“Jesus... Jerry never had a tape”

“I don't believe you”

“Believe what you want, I could as well not answer, because in the end that's none of your business. Yet I answered and told you the truth” she's right, what she had with Jerry is none of my business. And I'm acting like a jerk.

“Sorry”

“It's ok”

“I'm stupid sometimes”

“I noticed that”

“Then it goes away and I'm back to normal”

“I hope so”

“Can I borrow the tape? I wanna make a copy”

“I hope it goes away soon, very soon”

**

“Here we are” Angie stops one block away from my condo, as she's been doing lately every time she takes me home.

“Look, Jeff's not the bored meddler housewife who waits at the window to check who I'm going out with. He doesn't give a fuck, I'm not Stone” I joke to ease the tension, which is still on despite my apologies and the shit I say.

“Friday”

“Friday what? What happens?”

“You're playing at the Ok Hotel on Friday”

“Yes”

“And we're also celebrating Jeff's birthday, that's gonna be two days later”

“Right”

“And on Monday you'll start recording Eleven”

“Hahaha the name's Ten”

“But it's eleven songs! It doesn' t make sense, I told you!” she finally turns around to face me and her hands move to the lower part of the wheel.

“What's the point? It's also our first record, should we call it One? Or First? Hehehe”

“You can laugh as much as you want, when you won't know how to call your tenth album, then we'll see who'll have the last laugh”

“The tenth? Do you believe we'll last that long?”

“Sure! But you'll split up right because of that record, 'cause you won't agree on how to call it, and you'll be torn between... I don't know... a surfing brand and a Seattle Supersonics bench player”

“Hahaha that's if the Seattle Supersonics will still exist by then”

“Why wouldn't they?” she asks suddenly serious, in her typical adorable way of focusing on totally secondary aspects.

“Do you ever think about the future? I mean, future future, like in twenty or thirty years” I do. Now, for example, I'm picturing myself twenty years from now, taking to you in a car, maybe as we get back home from a Sonics' game.

“Uhmmm no, I mean, not in detail. But I'm eager to know if Kubrik was right about 2001 or if in 2019 we'll have android replicants slaves like in Blade Runner. Yeah, that's something I often think about”

“Hehe I mean your future, what's gonna happen to you personally, where you'll be at. I mean, where you picture yourself and what do you see yourself like... stuff like that” I ask her again and I'd want to confess that sometimes I do think about my future. And she would make fun of me, 'cause someone used at living the moment who thinks about the future doesn't make sense. But I'd pretend I didn't hear her and I'd say that I don't know if I'll get there but sometimes I like to think of myself in twenty or thirty years, maybe with shorter grey hair or no hair at all, living off my music, married, with two or three kids. And that's how I'd scare her to death and she'd definitely run away from me.

“Well, no, honestly I don't. I only hope I'll get my degree before then”

“What? A control freak like you doesn't plan her future? You surprise me”

“You can't controll the distant future, like the past. The only thing you can have control on is the present. Or the near future” she shrugs as her eyes wander through the windshield.

“You're living the moment too, then? Should I expect you to climb some building in your free time?”

“Hehe no but my planning time is short term. For example, this time I planned until Friday, as I was telling you, before we got lost in one of our typical nonsense conversations” I love our typical nonsense conversations.

“What happens on Friday?”

“I though we could do it on Friday”

“Do what? Climb some building? I'd start with something iconic, like that Hat'n'Boots shit at the gas stations, what's its name...”

“I thought we could say it on Friday”

“Say what?”

“About us... to our friends”

“Uh” I can't believe that. Am I dreaming? Yes, come on, the cops story was too weird, of course it's all a dream, I should have known.

“Since everybody's gonna be there for different reasons, I think that could be the right time. So, you know, we'll say it just once” she keeps talking and strangely I didn't wake up yet.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”

“You don't have to do it just because two fucking cops told you to”

“It's not for that”

“Neither because I got mad for no reason a minute ago”

“Not even for that”

“Why then?”

“Hahah you've been pestering me to tell everybody from the start and now you're making a fuss?” Angie lets go of the wheel and turns around towards me completely.

“I'm not making a fuss, I just want you to be sure and it seems strange to me that you got convinced in a couple of hours”

“I didn't get conviced now, I've always thought we'd say it sooner or later obviously. Now I realized the moment has come”

“Has it?

“Yes”

“Ok”

“Great”

“We're doing it on Friday”

“Alright”

“And how do we do it? I mean, practically, how will we do? Should I get on stage, point at you and say into the mic Just so you know, that girl down there is my girfriend?”

“If you dare doing something like that, you won't even be alive for Pearl Jam's first album, much less for the tenth” she threatens me so good that I'm scared for real.

“Should I get some posters printed?”

“We won't have to do anything special, we'll just act normal”

“And how will we communicate with our friends? Telepathically?”

“We'll act normal, do as we always do when we're alone and they're not around”

“Do you mean tear our pants off and jump on each other?” I know, I know I'm ajerk. She's finally opening up and I just talk bullhsit. But I can't help it, that's how I am, especially when I'm happy.

“Eddie!”

“You're fixating on public places, huh? I didn't know this... exhibitionist side of you, ouch!” I insist as I try and dodge her slaps.

“You're such an ass!”

“Hehe come on, I was kidding”

“I'm talking serious stuff and you make fun of me”

“I joke because I'm happy for your decision”

“Anyway... I meant normal stuff, walking hand in hand, hugging, kissing, but without showing off too much, discreetly but so that everyone understands. And they'll come to ask us Do you have to tell us something? or  Are you a couple? and at that point we'll only have to say yes, short answer, no further explanation needed”

“You're a genius”

“Do you think it'll do?”

“Sure it will do, I think it's a very good idea”

“Ok, it's a deal then”

“And since we're telling everybody next Friday, could you please drive me home?”

“Hahaha no”

“And maybe come in with me”

“Is it Friday already?”

“Uhm no”

“Forget it then”

“How long is it until Friday?”

“Not that long. Good night” Angie gets close to give me what in her intentions was supposed to be a quick kiss but I can't resist and hold her for much longer.

“You're freezing, put your coat back on” I tell her as I unwillingly pull away from that cold hug. Cold in terms of temperature only.

“You're right, I left so fast that I forgot to put it on” she follows my advice and grabs it from the back seat.

“So... good night” I kiss her once again, open the door and get out of her car.

“Good night, I'll call you tomorrow, ok?” I nod at her and smile internally. I love when she calls. Then suddenly, right when she's about to start the car again, I remember a not so small detail.

“Angie, wait!” I knock against the car door on her side a couple of times, she brakes and rolls the window down.

“What's wrong? Did you forget anything?” she asks as she looks around inside the car.

“What does W stand for?”

“What?”

“The cop, when he was reading through your driving licence, he said Angelina W. Pacifico. What does W stand for?

”Oh. That W” she stiffens and the engine goes off, I don't think she turned it off on purpose.

“Yep, that one” I lean down and look at her through the open window, waiting for an answer.

“It's a first letter”

“I got that. The first letter of...”

“Of a name”

“Ok, and what's this name?”

“My second name”

“That is...?”

“That is... a name starting with W” she gives me a pained look and I feel she's not done with her blabbering.

“Hahaha what's that, another of your secrets?”

“Exactly! Good night, Eddie” she's about to wind up the window but I put my hand in the way and stop her.

“Hahaha good night my ass, tell me your name!”

“Do I have to?”

“You're my girlfriend, I gotta know your full name!”

“I don't know your full name”

“I was born Edward Louis Severson III, I was Edward Jerome Mueller for a while and now I'm Edward Jerome Vedder, 'cause I took my mother's last name”

“Jerome and Louis are lovely names” she remarks, focusing on the names and completely ignoring the anagraphic mess that is my identity.

“I bet your second name's lovely too”

“No, it's not”

“W as in... Wendy?”

“Nope”

“Wanda?”

“No”

“Wilhelmina? Winifred?”

“No and no”

“Winona”

“I wish. It's not even a name”

“It's not a name, what does it mean?”

“It's a name that is not a name, it's... it's a thing”

“A thing? Wait... hippie parents, right?”

“Ehm... yeah, something like that”

“Willow!”

“No”

“Water”

“No, good night Eddie” she restarts the car and at least my desperate expression has the power to bring back a smile on her face.

“Shit, you can't leave me like this!”

“Yet I'm doing it, nighty night!” Angie goes away just like that and leaves me here, alone, to rack my brain on the umpteenth mystery, a new thing I don't know about her and I'm looking forward to know.

“No no no, Grace, I'm sorry but I have to tell you: you got it all wrong. What about this guy here? Where did he come from? Do you wanna go? Just go! How much space do you need to pass a Granada diesel?” without taking anything away from my dear father's car, it's not exactly the fastest model produced by Ford.

“Why?”

“Do you want me to pull over? Is it enough or do I have to get out and help you push your car? Oh there you go! Good boy! What do you mean, why? Do you see any logic in it?” the asshole passes me and I can go back to torture Grace.

“Well, apart from the night guard who was about to catch us, it was nice and it seemed like you were having fun”

“I was! The night pic nic at the abandoned factory was cool. And also running from the guard. Well, if you can call it running. You were as slow as a snail. If the guy was at least a little in shape, he'd have got us”

“He'd have got me, since you fled without even waiting for me” she sulks.

“I was waiting for you in the car”

“Sure”

“With the engine on, I had a detailed plan in my head”

“I can imagine”

“Anyway, the date was an 8, I didn't mean that”

“What else then?”

“The cassette. It's all wrong” I'm not saying she has to be on Angie's level, she's sort of a black belt in the art of making mix tapes. But this is a complete mistake. If I had known, I'd not have asked her to bring something to listen to in the car.

“Hahaha they're songs I like, how can they be wrong?”

“It's not the songs, it's how you put them together. You broke every rule for the creation of a mix tape” the songs, taken individually, go from ok to amazing. Some even surprised me. I had no idea Grace knew bands like Cock Sparrer or Japan, which have got nothing to do with each other. And of course one comes after the other in Grace's mix.

“Do rules exist for that?”

“Sure they do!”

“Tell me one of those so-called rules”

“Well, first of all, you've got no theme”

“A theme?”

“Yeah, a theme, a common thread, something they have in common”

“The theme is: Songs I like”

“Nuh-uh that's not how it works. You gotta tell a story and not just throw in random tracks. You mixed songs of different genres, decades, mood, even different languages!”

“I love that song by Ofra Haza!”

“Slow ones, then fast ones, then all the slow ones. No! And you can't just pick a lo-fi tune and then follow with a super produced song”

“I'm not a musician, I don't care about technicalities, I just go with my feelings”

“What kind of insane feelings bring you to the point of putting Bootsy Collins right after Bauhaus?”

“They both set... an atmosphere” Gracie shrugs but I go on with my rant.

“And you selected live tracks too... live tracks... in a compilation... uhm... that's a no-no”

“Ok, so how do you grade the cassette?”

“Unclassifiable. Try again”

“And how do you grade these instead?” she crosses her legs to show me her new pair of boots. As if I hadn't noticed them already.

“A 10, of course. Pete, your ex, advised you good” they're brown, with thin tight laces and some sort of side floral embroidery.

“Pete is not my ex and you know it. And don't pretend to be jealous, nobody falls for that”

“I'm not jealous, I was simply acknowledging his refined taste” and they look great with those corduroy shorts.

“And by the way, I didn't buy them there, I found them in a thrift shop downtown” I bask in the belief she bought them especially for me, because she knows the effect they have on me.

“They're not bad. Although you didn't buy them from Pete” on the other hand though I don't want her to think I'm some kind of perv who can't get an erection without seeing a nice pair of boots. And generally I don't want her to believe I'm that kind of person you have to necessarily surprise every fucking time with something weird and over the top. That's the impression I got but maybe it's just me. I mean, the date thing is funny but mostly because it's our thing and not because of the peculiarity of the date choices.

“You're an asshole, Stone. Did somebody ever tell you?”

“Yeah. But it sounds better when you say it” I reply, quickly taking her hand and kissing it and I really wanna see her comeback to my masterstroke.

“Sounds better than my mix tape too?” she's good too, I have to admit it.

“Definitely. Also because it doesn't take that much...” but she doesn't know yet how much I like having the last word.

“Right. As much as it took me to realize you're an asshole” she retorts with a wink. The last word, she loves stealing it from me so much.

**

“Are you sure you don't want anything?” Grace asks me from the bathroom, while I focus on one of the fishtanks.

“Sure, I'm full” she must have prepared like twenty sandwiches for the pic nic, plus the wine. Yeah, I'm full.

“Can't you make a tiny little room in your stomach for dessert?”

“I think I don't have any room left in any internal organs, even if I wanted to. Maybe into my ears, I could try but...”

“Not even for this dessert?” Grace comes out and the way she shows up is not new to me but not less extraordinary.

“Well... maybe... just a little bite...” I think my internal organs are exploding the moment Grace walks up to me, wearing nothing but her boots.

I instinctively back up but I don't know why, this fucking instinct must be broken because I have no intention to escape her attentions. Maybe I'm just overwhelmed by her beauty. Maybe I'm still a little tipsy.

“Perfect.” Grace walks my way but instead of hugging me, she passes me by and walks up to the kitchen. I see her move away one of the chairs, maybe the new one, then place her hands on the table to jump on it “So, what are you waiting for? The meal is ready”

“From which porn b-movie did you get this quote?”

“Hurry up or I'll put my clothes back on”

“Ok”

**

“What are you doing tonight? Are you sleeping here?” I'm still trying to remember who I am and where I am and what kind of truck has just hit me, when Grace shows up again in the kitchen wearing pyjamas, brushing her teeth.

“It depends”

“On what?”

“If I can sleep in your bed I'll stay, otherwise I'll go back home” I don't know what gave me the strength to come up with the topic that could bring to a big heavy discussion. Maybe I reached such a balance in our relationship that I can openly talk about everything. Or maybe it's just that my lower back hurts, my leg hurt, all my bones hurt and I'm sleepy, so I'd rather sleep on the closest most comfortable surface.

“Ok, see you tomorrow then” Grace points at me with the toothbrush, then sticks it back into her mouth and goes back into the bathroom.  

“Come on, Pebbles, why do you always act like that?” I get up from the couch, pulling up my boxers and pants, trying not to lose balance, then set up to go to the bathroom to speak face to face like normal people do. But the face to face thing becomes literal when she rushes out of the door like a fury and we almost crack heads.

“What the hell did you just call me?” she asks barely holding a laugh.

“You said your last name means stone, right? I can't call you... She-Stone, that would be weird”

“Stonia?”

“No”

“Stonette?”

“Why can't we sleep together?” I drag her back on the crux of the matter because knowin her, and me, we could go on like this for hours.

“I told you why, it's complicated” Grace walks away from me and stops in front of the couch, as if she wanted to sit there, but then changes her mind and goes on to take a sit at the kitchen table, on the chair right beside the entrance.

“I know but time has passed. And you gotta start somewhere to... get used to another person's presence, right? Let's go step by step, together” I take back the chair Grace had thrown on the side half an hour ago and I sit down, right in front of her.

“I'm not the only one who has to get used to something new, Stone” her words tell me there's clearly something else and I'm not stupid, I've known for a while that it's not just a matter of being used at being single. There's something that's making her insecure. At first I thought it was something in her room, like the tons of stuffed animals or some real animal, some weird pet she didn't want to tell me about. Then I figured out it's more than that. I thought he could have OCD or something like that, something that makes here panic as soon as someone enters in the picture and threatens her balance. I mean, just think about what happened with the chair thing. Maybe she arranges her things on her nighstand following a determined use order or she makes her bed using set squares and a ruler and the thought that someone could mess it up makes her go nuts. I guess she only manages to sleep in her empty bed. Then I thought it could've got something to do with her past, maybe with the long illness she never wants to talk about. Maybe she's taking meds that fuck her up a little or that she simply doesn't want me to see. I even went as far as to thinking she could take some drugs. But no, not Gracie. And what would be the connection with her bedroom?

“Ok, if you tell me what I have to get used to, maybe I can start right now and you can follow suit, what do you think?”

“I wish it was that easy”

“I know it's not easy or I wouldn't have waited so long before putting the squeeze on you”

“Are you putting the squeeze on me?”

“Yes, just talk”

“Do I have to?”

“I won't leave until you tell me what's wrong. For real”

“Oh.” maybe Grace has just realized that I'm being serious and that I won't put up with her elusive explanations anymore “Ok”

“Don't be scared, it's... it's just me.” I stretch my arms out on the table to take both her hands in mine and finally she looks up to me “And you know how smart I am, I can comprehend anything, don't worry”

“Hehehe I know, I can trust you”

“That's it”

“I gotta trust you, I mean, I knew this moment would have come, I have to tell you sooner or later. I can't hide it from you forever. Despite your particular preferences.

“What do you mean?”

“Ugh I can't believe I'm about to have the talk, again” she covers her face with her hands and then runs them through her hair.

“Again?”

“That must be why I became allergic to steady relationships: just to avoid having the same talk each time. But then you came and blew up my plans” Grace takes my hands once again, squeezes them gently and smiles, before letting them go and focusing back on the table cloth's print.

“Which talk?”

“It's not easy for me to feel comfortable with a man... in intimacy”

“Really? 'Cause my joints and I didn't notice” I try and joke to ease the tension but I'm not sure I should. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and let her speak.

“I'm not only talking about that intimacy but rather in general”

“'Cause you need your space and-”

“No, it's not about that. It's... it's a physical thing, Stone”

“Physical?”

“I know, knowing me, one would thing the problem is in my head. And won't deny that, it's a fact that I'm not completely in my right mind”

“Well... you said that, huh?” I shrug and reply to her half smile with a full one.

“But the main problem, well, it's about my body”

“Your body can't possibly have any problem, Pebbles”

“Because you haven't seen all of it, Bam Bam” considering the gravity of the moment, I decide to ignore the nickname. Also because I called for it.

“I haven't, really? What else is there to see, more than I already saw?”

“I'd say that your strange fixation gave me a sort of advantage this time. Or disadvantage. Because thanks to that, I could postpone the talk forever pretending the problem doesn't exist, so it really depends on how you look at it”

“My strange... Gracie, I'm not getting what you're trying to say, could you be clearer?”

“There's something odd in my body, something you haven't seen yet”

“Has it got something to do with your past health problems?”

“Yes”

“Oh Grace, a couple of scars won't make me uncomfortable!” I stand up, ready to take her in my arms and squeeze her to death as a punishment but she keeps sitting, glued to her chair.

“Hehehe scars... I wish it was that!”

“Is it worse?”

“The problem is not something I have but rather something... I don't have”

“I must be dumb, I didn't notice anything”

“Do you know what an osteosarcoma is?”

“Given the name, I'd say a bone disease” the technical medical term breaks into a so far lighthearted conversation and hijacks it towards a darker destination.

“A tumor, for the record”

“Is that what happened to you, years ago?”

“Yes”

“But you won against that fucking tumor, I mean, you're alright now”

“But that fucking tumor left its mark anyway, Stone”

“Grace, seriously, there's nothing that could push me away from you. I know I may look like an uptight fucker but I'm not easily impressed” I'd better avoid telling her that I don't really like needles though.

“Do you know how they cure osteosarcoma?”

“Chemotherapy?”

“Chemotherapy and surgery”

“Ok”

“It started from the big toe, an extremely rare circumstance the doctors said”

“You always have to stand out, right?” I try and keep things light and Grace smiles keeps going along with me but I'm not sure this is the best attitude although I'm not showing it.

“Then it spread to all the toes, then the rest. It was all so fast, one week before I felt good, I lived my life as usual, then my foot hurt while I was jogging and one week later I was risking to lose my leg or worse, to die if it reached vital organs”

“But the super docs did their magic thing and cured you and got you back in shape” I sound like the annoying child who doesn't wanna hear the drama parts of the good night story and wants to get straight to the happy ending so he can fall asleep in peace.

“Yeah, they saved me. At a small cost”

“Grace, I don't give a fuck if your foot is not nice to see, the important thing is that you're here, now, with me, and you can tell this story”

“It's not nice to see because you can't see it, Stone. Didn't you understand? It's not there anymore, I don't have it, I had to have it amputated” I can hear words coming out of Grace's lips but they sound emptied of every trace of sense and meaning. I feel the need to sit down and say something, anything, but whereas I manage to do the first thing, my second goal seems strangely impossible. Maybe for the first time in my life I don't know what to say.  I mean, there are so many things I'd want to say that roll in my head and they all seem stupid, shallow, flat and completely useless.

“Stone?”

And I don't even know how to move now. What do I do? If I back up, I'd look detached. If I get closer, she'll think I'm flaunting a quietness I realistically can't have right now. Same thing if I look at her feet. But if I purposedly avoid looking at them, she'll convince herself she scared me.

“Say something, Stone. Or if you don't wanna say anything, at least close your mouth, you've got it wide open for fifteen minutes” Graces reaches for me over the table and closes my jaw with a light pressure of her hand. Her hand so delicate, sweet, gentle, like her. I can't believe something so terrible could happen right to Grace. Ok, nobody deserves such pain and the world is full of horrors. But I wanna be free to get mad at such an injustice.

“Is it the left one or right one?” I finally speak. And I say something stupid, of course.

“What difference does it make?” Grace looks at me as if I was dumb.

“I just asked”

“The right one”

“And do you have a prosthesis?”

“How would I stand up and walk otherwise?”

“But you wouldn't say it, I mean, when you walk, you walk normally. You're just-”

“As slow as a snail” she finishes my sentence and it's like when in crime movies they give you the ultimate hint and it lights a spark for the detective, who starts going backwards through all the key points of the investigation. In my specific case, all the times I made fun of Grace for being slow.

“God, I'm a jerk” and here's the sudden realization.

“Jerk or not, you couldn't have known this”

“Yes but I feel like shit all the same”

“Stop thinking about it and you'll be better. So, what do you wanna do now?”

“What do I wanna do?”

“From my personal experience, I can say men fall into two categories at this point. I wanna know which one you belong to”

“It depends on the categories” I answer, more and more uncomfortable on this chair. Maybe it's because it's the new one. Yeah, that's it. Grace is right, she's always been right, not all chairs are the same.

“Those who don't wanna see and those who want to look”

“Oh”

“And inside the before mentioned categories, we can find two subgroups: those who don't wanna see that but ask me to show them, because they want to pretend they don't care, and those who are actually curious and would like to watch, but they say no because they don't want me to think they're gross”

“I, well, I guess I belong to a brand new category”

“That is?”

“The ones who don't know what to do”

“Hehe well, that's surely a more honest category” Grace stands up and I immediately do the same.

“Did you tell somebody else? I mean, to our friends?”

“No”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“That's not exactly something you say during small talk, what do you think? Hi, I'm Grace, I'm an aquarious and my favorite color is red. Oh and by the way, I only got one foot”

“I... I need... yeah, I mean, I gotta get out” how can I tell her I need to leave without looking like a jerk? I have no idea, and that's why it comes out like shit.

“Are you leaving?” she asks as I take my jacket and start putting it on.

“I need some fresh air”

“Oh, ok”

“And I have to clear my mind.” as I try to put my arm into the second sleeve for the third time unsuccessfully, Grace has pity and helps me “Thank you”

“Are you ok, Stone?” I honestly don't know the answer to this question and I don't even know why.

“Sure, everything's alright.” I take her face into my hands and kiss her “It's just... I didn't see that coming, I have to... process it, figure all this out, that's it” I tell her and myself.

“After all these years, I still haven't found a better way to say it”

“Well, you won't need to find another way now anyway”

“No?”

“No, 'cause you're with me now, you won't have to say it to any other guy” I offer a more sincere smile to Grace, also because she deserve nothing less, and kiss her again.

“Thank god. See, you're not totally useless then”

“Good night, Pebbles”

“Night, Stone” I get out of Grace's apartment, then leave the building, then get into my car and that's when I realize I have been holding my breath the whole fucking time.

[big-bad-ulf]

The Prodigal Wolf Returns || Ulfric & Winn

Timing: Midday, Thursday 4th of June  Parties: @packsbeforesnacks, @big-bad-ulf Summary: Ulfric meets with Winn to discuss what drove him out of town, and consider their next moves.  Warnings: Mentions of assisted suicide, depression, and grief.

The clearing in the woods was quiet, remote, and neutral. Somewhere they could both feel at home, but that neither could claim ownership of. Hearing footsteps approaching, Ulfric dropped the cigarette stub between his fingers, stamping it out into the leaf litter below to conceal most of the evidence of the bad habit he’d picked up again after Celeste’s passing, though the smoke still lingered accusingly. “I suppose thanks are in order, for coming all the way out here,” he greeted Winn stoically, before finally turning to face the returned wolf. “As you’re aware, I’m not the one who you need to explain your actions to.” He hoped it was apparent he meant Layla and Ariana, but the young man didn’t have the best track record thinking things through to their logical conclusion. “But I’d like one, because as it stands I can’t imagine a scenario in which ‘sparring’ with a tiny human girl while in wolf form was necessary? Nor was fleeing town when you knew others of your kind were in danger.” The older werewolf’s tone was tired, weighed down by the collective suffering of White Crest’s pack over the last few weeks, but an anger borne of disappointment simmered beneath the weariness. 

Winn had been dreadin’ this conversation since he’d figured out everyone thought he’d skipped town. Ulfric was… intimidating, to say the absolute least. Winn could handle teenagers. He could handle folks in his own (relative) age group. And Simon was, well, kind, in a way that he wasn’t sure Ulfric was. But part of the problem was that he didn’t know Ulfric. Didn’t know most of the wolves, really, all friendliness aside. So, worst-case scenario, Ulfirc hated him. Best case scenario, Ulfric thought he was an idiot. As he entered the clearing, smoke tickled his nose. The Full Moon was on them and Winn was pretty sure he’d have smelled it even if Ulfric hadn’t just been smoking, but he stowed the frown. It wasn’t his place to judge someone’s habits; he’d had bad habits of his own. Still had some. “I appreciate it,” Winn said, “but it’s unnecessary. I should thank you, for bein’ willing to hear me out.” He leaned against a tree, scrubbing at his eyes. Reconciling with his father and (part of) his former pack hadn’t helped his sleep, much as he wanted it to and, with Natalia out of town, he was running low on aram. “Talked to both of them. Only one left that knew, I think, is you.”

He weighed what he knew about Blanche in his mind, what he knew about Ulfric, and his newfound fondness for the truth. “Blanche is… like a sister, to me. She’s a trouble magnet. If there’s supernatural nonsense goin’ on in White Crest, I head her way. ‘Cause chances are, if she isn’t already involved, she will be in, like, an hour. I know it was stupid, thought I had better control than I did. After I got a hold of myself, I dipped, for just a few minutes. Came back, told Blanche that I was leavin’ to take care of some things, left a note somewhere I thought she’d find it. Phone had been dead before that, and I figured if she told folks I was gone, they’d know that I’d be back soon and couldn’t really make a twelve-hour drive shorter.” Winn sighed. “That’s usually the part of the story where folks have questions, so hit me. Oh, right. Social media. A shirtless photo of mine got flagged and, since I didn’t have my phone, I couldn’t contest the deactivation. That one was just coincidence. Lady Luck wasn’t in my favor.”

“It was stupid,” Ulfric confirmed when Winn was through with his explanation. He crossed his arms and paced in a tight, restless pattern as he weighed the other wolf’s actions, to decide what needed asking. It wasn’t like he could pass any judgment in an official sense, it would be up to Layla and Ariana and any of the other wolves who felt slighted to decide for themselves how they felt and how they wanted to interact with him on a personal level. But as a more experienced wolf, he felt obligated to address the aspects of Winn’s behavior that had the potential to harm the entire pack, or even their entire species. “I understand this girl means something to you, but we don’t need to be teaching more humans how to fight us.” Not that it was likely a human of average strength would stand much of a chance, even with whatever ‘mind powers’ Blanche supposedly possessed, but that was beside the point, their weaknesses were meant to stay between them. “Learning that would only help her against our kind, and if you’re worried any one of us is a threat to her that’s something that can be dealt with internally… It’s the fact you don’t seem to know your limits that troubles me most, though.”

Ulfric stopped and stood his ground as he came to that conclusion, looking over Winn appraisingly as he remembered the young wolf bragging about having killed a hunter. He’d chalked it up to mostly harmless arrogance at the time, but when he later explained he hadn’t done it on purpose that should’ve raised more red flags than it had. “You don’t seem like you’re that new to this. You should have a better grasp of how much control you do or don’t have. So, I suppose my questions are, do you know what pushed you over the edge? What do you plan to do to ensure this doesn’t happen again?”

Winn tried not to bristle at the half-accusation, pushing himself off the tree and walking towards Ulfric as, hopefully, non-threateningly as possible. “With all due respect, I never said that I was trainin’ her to take out wolves,” he said. And he hadn’t been! Werewolves were just big and so were, what, half of the things B would run into? “She only knows the bare minimum, assumin’ she hasn’t talked to Kaden ‘bout his other job. Ain’t hard for a human to try silver, given only every story about us tends to revolve ‘round that fact.” He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. “But we can argue ‘bout Blanche later, it’s not like I’ll be sparrin’ with her in wolf form again.”

“It worries me, too. ‘Cause I’ve…” he paused, looking up into the canopy to choose his words carefully. “Let me backtrack. You don’t know much about me, and it might be… helpful. Since you’re the wolf ‘round here with the most experience…” Now, Winn was pacing. “I was turned almost eight years ago. The only turned wolf in a pack of, uh, werewolf fraternity brothers, down south. They guided me through my first dozen shifts, taught me how to be calm. So, believe me when I say: I have plenty of control, ‘specially for not havin’ been a wolf all my life. And don’t get your britches in a bunch, I know that sounds like bullshit, right now.” Winn ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with the conclusions he was beginning to draw about his time ‘changed.’ “I said I accidentally killed a Hunter… well, that was half-true. The accident was my own — I was sleepin’ with a Hunter, didn’t know he was a Hunter. The killing was on purpose. Self-defense, when he abused my trust, tried to go after my pack.

“After that, I was in… a dark place. That would’a been late 2015. Next thing I remember, I was in Europe, staggering in my human form out of the woods in early 2018. Thought, until recently, I’d spent a year or two in and out of my wolf form… but, I’m startin’ to question that. Couple theories’ve been tossed around, maybe it isn’t true. But when I… attacked B, it felt different. On a Moon, when I let the wolf come to the forefront… even when I was tryin’ to keep us separate, I still knew what was goin’ on. But with B, I don’t remember anything between getting thrown into a tree and pullin’ myself back from the brink. It was, well, dissociative is maybe the closest way to say it. I was there, and then I wasn’t. I’ve never lost control like that. Not even, y’know, when I was still new at this. It’s… it’s like hittin’ that tree pulled something out of me, something from under my conscious. I— Have you ever heard of anything like that? Where a wolf just… wasn’t himself, or even his wolf self? Even if it had been, say, Ariana, I don’t think it would’ve changed it. I still think that… part of me would want to attack everything.”

“There’s no need for that if you’re not going to do it again.” Ulfric agreed with Winn’s statement about Blanche. Truthfully, he did not want to be having this argument in the first place. A good old-fashioned brawl could be cathartic but having to play the role of stern lecturer just made feel weary, worn-out, and old. Running wild together, celebrating a successful hunt, sharing tales of old legends and recent exploits, those were the things he’d looked forward to about being a part of a pack again. Having to step up and confront things that put them in jeopardy was a responsibility that came with that privilege, but not one he enjoyed or hoped to have to take up often.

The older werewolf couldn’t contain a small grimace of disgust upon hearing Winn’s story. The chance that they might be a hunter was one of the many reasons it was a bad idea to get involved that way with humans, but he didn’t bother to voice his opinion on that. The man was an adult capable of making his own choices and he’d also spent a lot of his life as a human, so it was easy to see where that mistake had come from. Besides, it seemed he’d more than learned his lesson on that front.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to come back from a betrayal like that.” Ulfric replied at last, because the tale was tragic, if difficult for him to relate to on a personal level. “I haven’t heard of wolves entering an abnormal state like that,” Of course, his own ‘wolf self’ was similar in some ways to what Winn had described, an entirely animalistic being, but even then it retained the animal instinct not to attack its own kind without severe provocation and the risk of that side of himself emerging outside of a full moon was very low. “It seems the answers may lie in what happened in those lost years. What are the theories?” Staying transformed for the better part of years… Was such a thing truly possible? Ulfric could’ve almost been jealous of Winn for having that freedom from morals and responsibilities of the human world for so long, if the suffering it was causing him now wasn’t so apparent.

“Have you tried… it could be possible, or so I’ve heard, to bring some memories back through mystical means.” He suggested hesitantly. “I don’t like getting involved with such things, but you can’t just… go on the way you are, not without having to isolate yourself.” And that was the last thing he wanted for any of his kind, regardless of whether he held them in high regard or not. “If something were to bring on this feral state in front of a crowd that would mean disaster for all of us. And I’m sure you know that,” He leveled the younger wolf with a hard-nosed look. “Even if some of your actions suggest a distinct lack of judgment of the more mundane variety.”   

“I— Thanks.” Winn frowned, stopping his pacing as Ulfric spoke. “I have a… friend, who looked into some, uh, wolf causes. Didn’t find much, some reports of wolves stayin’ transformed who went… feral, who couldn’t change back into their human form.” What Rio had told him had scared him, but it hadn’t felt, well… correct. It seemed like even those wolves had the sense to not attack other wolves, that they retained some of their humanity, even if they became more animal than human. ‘Course, many of them didn’t live to tell their tale, and the records that Rio had found could only tell them so much. Some had been written by Hunters, others written by a wolf who had to put one of his own down. But Winn had come back, which seemed to be the wrinkle. No Hunter had ever tried to bring a wolf back to themselves, but not even a packmate could. So, if Winn had been transformed, how could he have come back?

“Given I’m back, though, my friend and I ruled that out. ‘Specially for a bitten wolf to come back from bein’ feral? Seemed unlikely. Not when there was another explanation. Which is, um…” Alright, okay. He could admit this aloud. “My dad is a huxian. He thinks it might be mystical, yeah. Somethin’ taken from me, or somethin’ I gave up.”

He swallowed, mouth dry. “I’m still tryin’ other avenues. R— My friend is lookin’ into… side-effects of wolfsbane. What shit street wolfsbane might get spiked with. I—” Winn scratched at his arms, almost wishin’ that he was wearin’ a shirt. “I took wolfsbane for months, after I killed that Hunter. Blamed myself for what happened to the pack. And I guess I… stopped.” He looked up into the canopy. “But you’re right. I need to figure out my shit, so I don’t put us all at risk. And, short of goin’ back on the wolfsbane — which I’m not gonna do — we really don’t have any leads. If there’s… a part of me, that’s missin’, then I don’t want to go on like this. I can’t. Even if…” Well, there was always this part. Winn looked back down at Ulfric, mouth set in a hard line. “Don’t… I don’t want your pity. This isn’t y’all’s problem, but there’s… well, if I’m missin’ two years, there’s a chance that…” He coughed. 

“There’s this Hunter I know. Luke mentioned him at the meeting. He… If I did somethin’ bad, hurt an innocent life, he’s the one I trust to… put an end to me. But I don’t want him knowin’ about what happened with B, and— I don’t know what could happen, if I get those memories back. No one I’ve talked to so far does. But if he’s… if I’m different, if I try to hurt someone, I need y’all to be willin’ to stop me. If that happens… As the person I am now, I want you… to take me down. If you can’t kill me, let me rot. If I can’t control myself, I am… I am not more important than all of you.” His voice was hoarse, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t remember crying this much in a very long time, but he needed to be firm. “Promise me. Please. I’m sorry, so sorry, to put that burden on you.” He held out his hand, for the other wolf to take, to seal the pact. “But it has to be done.”

As Winn’s explanation continued, it became more and more clear to Ulfric that his actions couldn’t be explained away by stupidity or cowardice. That was a shame really, both of those causes would’ve been much easier to deal with than this mystery of missing memory. Everything Winn said seemed to introduce a new piece to the puzzle (Huxians, wolfsbane, and of course, the seemingly inescapable interference of hunters), but it was unclear how they whole fit together or how much of a threat would be revealed when the big picture came together. When the young wolf came to the end of his speech and what he was asking him to do sunk in, Ulfric’s blood ran cold. Protecting the pack was paramount, but the thought of killing another wolf was profane, it would be the ultimate sacrilege towards the gift his ancestors had bestowed upon him. 

“I’m not going to sit idly by and let you harm other members of the pack, of that you can be certain,” he answered carefully, considering his options. If Winn were to slip into a permanent state of mindless, unbridled aggression, the usual ‘last resort’ of exile would do little to keep him from returning and causing havoc in their territory. Caging was another possibility, but he knew if their circumstances were reversed, he’d prefer a quick death over a life spent in chains, and it seemed the young man would as well. And finally, allowing hunters to deal with him in that state would only further inflame their hatred towards his kind, along with being plain undignified. “If your continued existence poses a threat to their survival, I promise you, I’ll do what needs to be done.” Ulfric accepted after a long moment’s deliberation, giving Winn’s hand a firm, resolute shake, though the clamminess of his palm betrayed his instinctual, visceral reaction against the plan. “Let’s not let it come to that though,” He added, more of an instruction than a hope. “I’ve had my fill of death for the time being.” 

““Thank you,” Winn said, quietly. “But… Agreed. Don’t want it to come to that.” It wasn’t that Winn hadn’t considered his death before. Hell, after what had happened with his old pack, there had been times where he’d… well, where he’d really considered dying. Winn liked to think he was better, now. If not totally well-adjusted, at least pretty solid on the ‘me dying wouldn’t fix the issue’ mantra. Counseling helped that, and learning about counseling only reinforced it. Which is part of why he knew: “I need those memories back, though. Even if it hurts, or if there’s… a reason I buried them. Now that I know they might not be there, it’s like… it’s like I can feel the space where they used to be. They’re a blindspot, sure, but more than that they’re… part of me. I can’t…” He sighed, sitting down on the forest floor and breathing in the woods for a moment before continuing. “As I am now, I can’t imagine what reason I could have had to bury them or… take them? I don’t know anybody who’d have the answers. Plus, there’s all the shit with Luke, and what happened with Ari, and… Fuck, man, I haven’t even asked you how you’re doing. I… I mean, I didn’t know Celeste, but I talked to Ari some, and… I know it’s a cheap question, but are you okay, Ulfric?”

“I think I can understand that. Why you’d want them back.” Ulfric assured him. He was familiar with having gaps in his memory, though he’d never had much choice in the matter. Berserkers had lost the ability to remember most of their actions while transformed centuries ago, and their intentions behind that, if there were any, were shrouded in mystery and myth. He did have a choice, though, between taking the easy way out and walking away from the carnage he’d caused while in wolf form and reconstructing what happened during that time as best he could. Ever since his ill-thought-out vengeance against the hunters who took his younger siblings, he’d chosen to do the latter. Chosen to look at the carnage and accept why it had happened, and that it was a part of him.

 “What we do is what we are,” he pondered aloud, before directing his attention back on Winn more fully. “I respect your choice and wish you luck. You can count on me for… whatever it is you think I can provide.” Which wasn’t much, given his lack of expertise in the realm of the magical. He couldn’t even truthfully say he’d provide friendly support, because he was still too wary of the young wolf and the potential danger he posed to the pack as a whole to consider him a friend. An alliance was clearly in both their best interests though, so Ulfric refrained from repeating his earlier comments about not wanting any help from him when he asked how he was. “I’ll survive, so will you,” he stated simply and firmly instead, almost ordering the fates to make it so. “Any other option doesn’t bear thinking about.” The older wolf turned briskly and took off into the trees. Action was required of both of them, if the White Crest pack was ever going to be able to consider itself safe. They could spare no more time for conjecture and contemplation.

[paullahotes]

Incalescent- Chapter Two

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fem!OC

Summary: Em just wants to be loved and have a family for once in her life. But nothing has ever gone right in her life before so why should it now?

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: semi-abuse from father figure, gross feelings

A/N: Listen, I don’t think I’m a good writer so this could be terrible! Let me know what you guys think of it!

Three periods had crawled by, each one continuously going slower than the last. I was now sitting in my algebra class, watching the clock tick by slowly. This school was shaping up to be different than the others I had been to, everyone wanted to know me here. A couple different boys, whose names I didn’t remember, had all introduced themselves to me. They were all eager to meet the new girl, they rarely got new people in this town and I was ‘front page baby’. Of course I was not too eager to meet any of them and vehemently denied an interview for the front page of the school newspaper.

When I had gotten home this morning before school, my dad wasn’t there but the house was a mess. Our couch was shredded, pieces of wood and clumps of foam covered the living room. The pan he was cooking dinner in was burnt to a crisp, too far gone to be saved. When I threw it out I made sure to double bag it and bring it right to the can to make sure the smell didn’t linger in the house. The only thing I could do for the rest of the smell in the house was open a few windows and leave them for the day to air everything out. 

Thankfully Emily had given me a new outfit and food for school because I had no time for either when I looked around at the mess before me. Though, currently the wolves were the last things on my mind. The one thing at the forefront was that I had killed my mother and my father hated me for it. There would be no getting out of talking about this with him, maybe he would want to work things out. I knew though that that was far fetched, in his mind, I had killed the woman he loved. I had sucked the life out of her, leaving her dead and me a burden on him. My face practically mirroring hers a constant reminder of the tragic events.

“Miss Abbott?” The teacher called from the front of the class, his hoarse voice pulling me from the self hating thoughts. He was staring me down, waiting for a reply so I shrugged at him. The class was turned looking at me now, every pair of eyes trained on my face. “Miss Abbott, you’re new here, so I’ll give you some leeway this time but from now on you have better be paying attention.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered back copying down the notes from the board that I had been neglecting. I had already taken this math class three times, I could probably teach it by now. Taking the notes however proved to be a good distraction from my thoughts and before I knew it, the bell was ringing for lunch time.

Paper bag in hand I made my way to the cafeteria and found a table in the corner that no one was sitting at. I sat in a seat so I wouldn’t be facing everyone but so I could still see if I was going to be ambushed by anyone. The few boys who introduced themselves to me this morning all stared me down as they say at a different table. I could hear them muttering about how anti social I was and how even Bella, who had ditched everyone for Edward, was still better than I was coming off. 

I didn’t think much of it as I propped my right leg up on a chair, to help with the swelling from the bite from Paul and scrolled through the apps on my phone. The lunch Emily packed me was delicious, with a good mix of veggies and fruit. I usually bought school lunch and picked at it because it was gross so this was a good change. There was nothing interesting on my phone except for a few texts from my dad begging me to come home and apologizing but I wasn’t ready to open up that can of worms over text with him.

“You’re back!” someone said, sarcasm was practically dripping from their mouth. When I looked up one of the girls sitting at the tables with the boys from earlier was looking at some newcomers. If looks could kill the three new people who were standing waiting for seats would be dead. 

Two of them were clearly vampires, the small girl with black spiky hair had the palest skin I had ever seen, even for a vampire. She had a sincere smile on her beautiful face, looking as upbeat as ever even with a whole table of people glaring at her The other vampire was a guy, he was standing behind the vampire girl and the other human girl. He was wearing a beige sweater and khakis, his hair disheveled but there was evidence of gel suggesting he wanted to look disheveled on purpose. 

The third one of them was a human, if she didn’t have deep brown eyes instead of golden like her two companions I might mistake her for a vampire too. Her skin was so pale it was almost grey. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, held back by a plain brown headband. She kept looking up at the male vampire like he was a Greek god with the sun shining out of his butt. He seemed very plain to me, with his beige outfit and brooding look on his face. He looked like he was ready to cry and recite poetry about something sad.

“Our family just loves Forks so much, we couldn’t stay away!” the small girl said excitedly, taking a seat at the table. Her two friends following suit while everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The rest of the group fell back into their conversations, the girl who was fake excited turned away from the newcomers to talk with everyone.

The table next to me began talking about the three people who showed up at the other table across the cafeteria. One of the people whispered something about doctor Cullen’s wife not liking the big city so they all came back here. The word ‘cult’ was thrown in as a reference to their family because none of them ate or really tried interacting with anyone at this school. I found out from eavesdropping that there were three other siblings that came here last year but graduated. I wondered to myself if Sam and Paul knew that the Cullens were back since just this morning, they told me that they had left.

I studied the two vampires as they pretended to eat their lunch. The girl picked her food apart trying to make it seem like she was taking bites but the guy was actually taking bites. I’d seen my dad eat food to pretend to be human over the years but he said it tasted like ashes. He told me that he assumed the venom in his system just burned it up so why not just take a few bites to blend in with the humans. 

The human girl with them also picked at her food not eating it. Maybe she was trying to make the vampires look more normal or maybe she wanted to be one so bad she picked up their habits evan as a human. One of the boys called her ‘Bella’ as she was picking apart the bread on her tray. This was the girl they were talking about earlier, comparing me to her. Which would probably make the guy vampire Edward. 

My first thought when finding out that this was the girl everyone thought was better than me was petty. She was plain and from what I could tell didn’t give a damn about anyone else besides the vampires she was with. She was listening and contributing to the conversation with everyone at the table but her eyes barely left the guy. The whole thing gave me secondhand embarrassment.

It wasn’t too long until the bell rang and I was heading to my next class. I pulled my hood over my head to keep my hair from getting wet as I crossed the courtyard to get to the little buildings scattered along a paved sidewalk. This was the first school I had been to where it wasn’t one whole building but a bunch of little ones placed around a campus. Everyone rushed alongside me, most had umbrellas and the ones that didn’t, ran full speed through the crowd to get to their class faster. 

I left my jacket on the coat hook by the door when I got to class and found a seat toward the back so that I could be left alone. The assignment for the beginning of class was written on the board, the rest of the class had started writing about it in their journals so I pulled out my notebook. Writing isn't my strong suit but the prompt on the board read ‘write a narrative about something upsetting’ and I knew exactly what to write about.

While I was writing my narrative I glanced up as two people sat at the desks in front of me. Bella and Edward were sitting there, both turned facing each other with their notebooks out. She was glancing over at him every few seconds and I could hear her breathing hitch every time. I had to suppress an eye roll at the sight of it. Sure I had been lonely my whole life but I couldn’t imagine being that into someone. Though how would I even know since I’d never been in that situation. 

The class got started and a couple people shared what they had written. I didn’t volunteer to read mine because of how emotional it sounded. Bella and Edward didn’t volunteer either and every once in a while I thought I could see Edward turn and glance my way. After the first couple times Bella noticed and turned back to me and gave me a questioning look. I made sure I looked like I didn’t know what was going on and just sat there doodling in my notebook.

“Are you new?” she asked me when the bell rang, signalling us to leave and head to our last class. This school and everyone in it was going wildly out of their way to talk to me and I wasn’t having it.

“Yeah,” I told her bluntly and quickly walked away. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shrugged it on going to my last class. I got there before everyone else, having sped off as fast as I could. I could feel my calf throbbing as I sat down. The bite mark wasn’t an open wound anymore but the teeth outline was still there surrounded by bruises. If I didn’t think about it the pain would go away but since I was reminded of it I had to limp to my seat.

I found a seat in the back of this class as well, internally thanking the universe for giving me the best seats as this school. As I sat at my desk waiting for the other students to arrive I stared out the window.  The rain had subsided for the time being, the sky still covered in dark clouds. The day had gone much different weather wise than what it had been this morning when Paul was walking me home.

The early morning sun was peeking through the trees as Paul and I walked side by side to my house. His hand kept bumping into my arm as we went. I had seen a couple cheesy movies where the boy and girl would be walking and the boy would bump his hand into hers on purpose because he wanted to hold it. But Paul and I had just met. He was probably so close because my leg was threatening to give out at any second. Emily had thankfully cleaned and bandaged it well so I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a couple hours. 

The walk back through the forest was different than last nights run through it. It had been dark and stormy, a combo that hadn’t let me really appreciate how beautiful it was. Though my mental state probably wouldn’t have let me appreciate it either even if it hadn’t been dark and stormy. 

The scenery was gorgeous. The entire forest floor was covered in old fallen tree trunks and moss. The green had overwhelmed me on the drive in but being here with the sunlight peeking through the tops of the trees was amazing. You could hear birds chirping and if you listened close enough you could hear the river rushing over rocks a little ways ahead.

Paul nudged me and smirked as we approached the river. My mouth set into a tight line as I thought of having to jump over it with how badly my leg hurt. I frowned up at him and he still had a smirk on his face. 

“Do you think I’d make you jump this after trying to take a chunk out of your leg?” He asked me, his eyes twinkling with delight. 

“Yeah, actually,” I mumbled back to him. His smile was so bright as he looked down at me. He shook his head and stepped back a bit before putting his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pulling them down. I looked away quickly as blush spread over my cheeks.

“You should watch this, I think you’ll think it’s cool,” I peeked back over at him making sure not to look down but directly at his face. His smile grew wider as he spoke again. “You’re cute when you blush.”

My face got even redder than before, I could feel the heat spreading across my face rapidly. Before I could even think of anything to say and let alone say it, Paul was visibly shaking. Then suddenly he exploded into a grey wolf five times his size. I stood there with my jaw practically on the ground. He grabbed his shorts in his teeth and walked them over to me.

“You were right, this is pretty cool,” I told him patting his head like I would a regular dog. He didn’t seem to like it so he nudged my hand out of the way and flung his shorts at my face. “Alright, alright I’ll carry these but I don’t know how you being a wolf is going to get me across the river.”

Paul laid down on the ground and gestured with his head for me to get on his back. My eyes widened and I took a step back and muttered ‘no way’ quietly. Then before I could do anything else Paul jumped up and ran at me full speed. I let out a shriek as he charged at me and jumped, my leg kept me from going to high and I was suddenly on his back. A low rumble from his chest alerted me to him laughing. 

“I’ll remember this,” I growled at him, gripping onto his fur. The wind whipped passed up as he ran forward, faster than I could run even when my leg was healed. I made a mental note to work on my speed so he wouldn’t have an edge on me. We got to the edge of the river quickly and he leaped across it like it was nothing, landing gracefully on the other side. 

“So how’d you like it?” Paul asked smugly a few moments later as he was pulling on his pants. It had been such a rush not being the one who was jumping. I was able to just sit back and let the wind whip through my hair and relax. Him turning into a wolf was pretty cool too, way better than being half vampire.

“It was alright, I’m glad I’m half vampire and can’t turn into some dog,” I tried ending my sentence sounding like I was teasing him. I wasn’t used to feeling anything but empty. I had never come close to even a sliver of happiness. The feelings I felt being around Paul and the feelings I felt back when we were at Sam and Emily’s house were foreign. My life had never known anything like this and as my stomach turned itself into knots I knew it couldn’t last forever.

“I know that you secretly wish you were as cool as me,” He taunted me, the bright smile back on his face. I tried not to look directly at him now that I knew I would blush at everything he did if he had that smile. 

“Please, I could find someone cooler than you without even trying,” I shot back, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. This was the longest interaction I had ever had with anyone in my whole life. Even longer than anything with my father. I didn’t even know that I knew how to interact with anyone like this.

“Hey now, you gotta be nice to me or we can’t be friends,” Paul joked back, bumping into me. I looked up at him, my mouth opening then closing because I didn’t know how to respond. The look on my face must have worried him because he grabbed my hand and said, “I was just joking, we just met but I think we’ll be the greatest friends.”

“I’ve never had one…” I mumbled looking up at him. My forehead was furrowed as I looked up at him. It was pretty pathetic that I hadn’t had a friend but it was all part of keeping the family secret.

“You’ve never had a friend?” He asked sounding like he didn’t believe me. I shrugged as we kept walking and didn’t look up at him. 

“My dad never let me have one, he wanted to keep our existence a secret and thought that if I ever had any friends that they would somehow find out about us,” I explained, the more I thought about it the more dumb it sounded. 

“Your father sounds like a dick,” Paul muttered. He was right, that is how my dad sounded. Why else would he keep me from having friends? Why else would he keep me from being happy? Maybe it all went back to him blaming me for my mother dying, though if I could go back in time I would change things. I would never kill anyone consciously, that wasn’t me.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, we’re your friends now!” Paul said trying to pull me out of my thoughts. We were coming to a clearing and Paul slowed down his walk. “The whole pack is like one big family, we fight like real siblings and we have bonfires together. I really think you’ll get along with everyone once they see past you being a vampire.”

“Everyone?” I asked sounding a little uneasy. “There’s more than you and Sam?”

“Yeah! There’s actually ten of us that are wolves, two more phased for the first time the other day which indicates that more vampires are in our area.” He explained to me as I wrung my hands together. There were ten wolves in the ‘pack’ he was telling me about. Less than twelve hours ago I didn’t even know wolves existed and now I knew about ten.

“There’s a lot of you…” I quietly exclaimed. “How do you know when to phase? How can you tell that vampires are near?”

“You’ll have to come out to a bonfire sometime and hear our tribes stories. They explain it all but in short and to quote the stories ‘we have always had magic in our blood’,” Paul explained to me as we walked along somehow even slower than before. Meeting him had been a good distraction from my feelings and the pain in my stomach told me that as soon as I was alone I would spiral.

“That sounds fancy, I don’t think there are stories of how vampires came to be,” I muttered to him. “Though if there were they would probably be dark and contain no magic.”

“Don’t sound so negative about vampires, you aren’t so bad,” he emphasized ‘so’ and wagged his eyebrows at me jokingly. I let out a small chuckle, rolling my eyes at him. 

We made our way out of the thick trees and into my backyard greeted by the sun being out fully. There were no clouds in sight. The warmth spread over my skin and I let myself smile widely. The weather had been disastrous since our arrival yesterday and the sun was a welcome change. 

“You don’t sparkle,” Paul commented from behind me. When I turned to look at him he sounded surprised, the look on his face was priceless.

“I am half human, silly,” I told him. He cocked his head to the side watching me. “Maybe that makes me deadlier than a regular vampire. I look completely innocent.”

“It sure does,” He muttered before shaking his head and giving me a small smile. “I’ll see you later right?”

“Of course, what else do I have to do? Stay home and hang out with my dick of a father?” I asked him referencing what he said earlier. He was beaming now and waved me off. As I turned to walk to my house he was pulling off his shorts again and phasing into a wolf. I heard a loud howl in the distance as I was opening my front door, bringing a smile to my face.

“Miss Abbott,” someone said pulling me out of my daydream. I snapped back into reality and saw that this teacher was catching me for not paying attention too. I stared at him until he spoke some more. “Miss Abbott, I was wondering if you would like to introduce yourself to the class but if you’re too preoccupied don’t let me bother you.”

“My name is Em and I’m new. That’s all you really need to know,” I replied, sounding sarcastic. I didn’t mean for it to come off bad but I was irritated. More so with myself than the teacher who interrupted.

“Great,” He muttered back, the edge in his voice sounding like he was ready to retire any second. None of the students were staring at me this time except for the two who were sitting directly in front of me, again. Bella and Edward stared back at me, both looking different levels of shocked. Edward looked like he was shocked and frustrated. Who knew a vampire could be so uptight about a new student with an attitude problem? 

“Mr. Cullen, one student not paying attention is enough for me for one day,” our teacher called from right beside our desks. I gave the teacher a quick glance and then looked forward to the front of the room where he had our lesson up on the board. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward stiffen and turn around, clearly upset as he clenched his fists.

Besides a few snide whispers among the other students of ‘the new girl must already love Edward’ and ‘god she’s JUST like Bella, amazed by Edward already’, the class went by quickly and I was out the door while the bell was still ringing. The walk home was brutally cold with the wind whipping at my face, numbing it. With the way Edward already seemed interested in me I didn’t want to risk running home and being found out that I was some type of vampire. 

Each step I took brought me new anxiety, that tightened my chest with every breath. There was no doubt that my dad would be home now, waiting for me. I had no idea what to expect from him since everything was on the table now. His mood had changed rapidly during our confrontation that I didn’t even know what to expect from him in that sense when I walked through the door. 

When I turned down the street I lived on I could see the car out front of our house but I couldn’t remember if it had been there this morning or not. If he was home he would know that I was close by now, he could probably hear my footsteps and he could definitely hear me breathing hard. The door to the house swung open as I started up our front steps, he wasn’t there but I could hear him walking in the kitchen. My ears picked up on the soft sound of clothing moving against wood, telling me he had taken a seat at the kitchen table.

Once I was down the hallway and into the kitchen I could see him. He was sitting with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of his face. He didn’t look up when I came into the kitchen or as I took my time placing my backpack on the island and taking my jacket off. I took a seat at the table across from him and sat silently, waiting for him to talk.

“I didn’t mean for you to ever find out about your mother,” he stated after a while of silence. His face was unreadable, blank. This terrified more than if he was showing any emotion at all. 

“Don’t you think it’s unfair of you to have kept that a secret from me? Don’t you think it’s unfair to treat me the way you do? Don’t you think it’s unfair keeping so much from me?” I asked him those questions with a shaky voice. My body felt like it was vibrating, heat spread from my stomach throughout my whole body. I kept myself from crying but the rest of my body was reacting. A slight sweat was building up on the back of my neck and scalp.

“Everything I have ever done was to protect you,” he said a little bit of emotion breaking through. The way he said it made me want to believe him but he had kept me not only from knowing the truth about my mother but also from knowing anything outside of our little bubble. I didn’t want this to keep happening. As much as I hated myself for now knowing what I did to my mother I wasn’t ever going to die so I had an eternity to go out into the world and explore and I wanted to start doing that soon. 

“I can understand that to a point but you’ve never talked about my mother, not once. I didn’t even know what a mother was until you put me in school and I saw that almost everyone else had one. I grew up thinking it was only something in movies, I thought mothers were fictional!” My voice wavered in the end, a few tears spilling out and rolling hotly down my cheek. He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest and looked like he was thinking for a minute.

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought, I guess your little run gave you a lot of time to think,” he was calm now, back to showing no emotion. Though there was a slight edge to his voice. I took in a shaky breath, an indication of how worked up I was about this. 

“I’ve been thinking about having this conversation with you my whole life. Do you know how hard it is to not have friends? How hard it is to have the only real interaction you have be with your father and even those interactions are few and far between?” My voice was beginning to crack with every emotion I had felt over the last twenty-three years coming to the surface. 

 “Em,” he let out a long breath, his eyes almost rolling. “You know how important it is to keep our secret! If anyone found out that we were vampires there would be terrible consequences.”

“How would they find out? What harm would it be for me to have a few friends? Do you think I would go to a sleepover and just tell them I was a vampire? Do you think I introduce myself as ‘Em, the vampire’?” This was when I began to raise my voice. The tears were flowing freely down my face as my father was glaring daggers at me. 

“Do you know how hard it is to have the love of your life taken away by a child that you never even wanted?” He shouted at me, standing up so quickly the table lurched forward and shoved me back. The chair tipped back from the force and I hit the floor, not bothering to use any of my enhanced abilities to stop myself. I was lying on the floor when he continued. “You have no clue what I’ve been going through every single day since you were born. I can barely look at you, your face is just like hers, you remind me of her so much. It’s unfair that you get to live when she’s dead!”

“Why didn’t you kill me then? Why did you let her have me?” I sobbed out, tears blurring my vision so that I couldn’t see anymore. The only thing that could be heard for a while the crying, each hiccup-like intake of breath echoing off the walls. 

“She wouldn’t let me, she wanted you so bad. She wanted to start a family with me. She was so optimistic, she thought she would live and I could turn her into a vampire and we could raise you. The perfect little family that she always wanted and I was willing to give her anything,” his tone was different now, almost like he was crying too but I still couldn’t see him. My tears wouldn’t stop. “I’m going to leave for a while, to give you some time to breathe. You have my cell phone number so if anyone needs you to confirm you have a dad or anything, just call. Follow the rules while I’m gone, I’ll know if you don’t.”

With the last threat he left, the door slamming so hard behind him that the whole house shook. It felt like years before I could calm down and pick myself up off the floor. My body was stiff as I stood up and put the table and chair back where they belonged. That was when my brain decided to rearrange things and not think about or process anything that had just happened. With the couch from the living room destroyed I decided to move some chairs around to make up for it. 

Once the house was completely rearranged and the sun had set, I began to cook my myself some dinner. Though my stomach currently felt like lead I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep at any point tonight if I didn’t eat. When the house began to smell like the food I was cooking, I started to feel better. I let myself breathe the delicious scents in as I stirred my food around the pan.

All the movies and tv shows I had seen over the years told me that this is what your home should always smell like. Your parents should be cooking in the kitchen while the kids are scattered around the house doing homework or other activities. Though I was fully grown now, I had been since I was around 7 years old, but now I was considered a real adult and most people at this age don’t live with their parents anymore. I had never had that and I felt like no matter how many years passed I would still crave a family. 

The loneliness crept back in as I stared down at the suddenly inedible food in the pan. The once delicious smells were making my stomach churn, my nose crinkling in disgust. Before I could even register it I was dumping my food out in the trash and scrubbing the pan violently in the sink. I hadn’t even finished my second day here in Forks and I was crying again, the tears running down my face as I splashed the sink water everyone in anger. 

How could my father do this to me? Why would he spend over two decades with me, raising me, if he hated and resented me so much? He didn’t seem to give a shit about what my mom had wanted since he barely even acknowledged that I was around so he wasn’t doing it for her in any way. 

A sudden knock on the back door pulled me out of my angry thoughts. I jumped at the sound making the soapy water in the sink spill over the edge and on the floor, soaking the bottom of my pants and shoes. The sun had set by now so I couldn’t see out onto my porch but my ears picked up on a rapid heartbeat and a familiar scent was beginning to seep in through the crack in the door. When I flicked on the porch light I was proven right, Paul was standing there soaked from the rain I hadn’t even noticed. I slid the door open silently, letting him in.

“What’s wrong?” His hands came to my face as he asked, palms cupping my cheeks and thumbs wiping my tears away. Part of me knew this behavior was odd from someone I had just met-been attacked by, yesterday. But another part of me wanted to be cared for like this, craved the soft, caring touches. 

“My dad left to give me some space to breathe for a while,” I choked out trying to calm down. Paul pulled me into a hug and I didn’t protest, pressing my cheek to his bare chest. The heat was coming off of him in waves, practically burning my cheek. 

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Paul tried to assure me, rubbing a hand up and down my back while his other was placed on the back of my head. “He is a dick after all.”

We stayed like that for a while, until reality kicked in a told me I shouldn’t be hugging a complete stranger. I couldn’t tell why but I felt a strong pull to Paul. If I had been in my right mind at all yesterday when he was carrying me through the woods or this morning when he walked me home I would’ve realized it earlier. The second he wasn’t touching me a part of me felt empty, having not realized I felt anywhere near whole when we embraced. I hadn’t even know him for a full twenty-four hours yet so I would be keeping these feelings to myself. 

“Are you hungry?” I found myself asking him, gesturing awkwardly to my kitchen. 

“Actually I came to see if you wanted to have dinner at Emily’s,” he told me looking around my kitchen. “You said you were going to come over after you got off of school but you never did. I didn’t have a real reason to come and check on you since we just met yesterday and I shouldn’t be worried so Emily suggested that I come and invite you to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, I totally forgot about it with everything that happened when I got home,” my cheeks flushed, the heat pooling in them immediately.  Maybe my dad kept me from having friends because he knew I’d be a terrible one. 

“Don’t even worry about it, I just really wanted to see you again,” he said the last part unsurely, like he didn’t know that he should actually confess that. His cheeks turned a little red after he spoke and he rubbed a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I would!” My feet squeaked as I walked forward to go with him. I had forgotten about my soaked pants and shoes. “Let me just change real quick.”

I flew up the stairs as fast as I could, throwing open my bedroom door and searching through my boxes of clothes for new pants and shoes. It felt like I had been up there forever once I came downstairs in my new clothes. Paul was waiting for me outback already in wolf form, his shorts in his mouth.

“I can hold those for you,” reaching out I took the shorts from him and climbed on his back, gripping his fur tightly. He took off as fast as he could through the woods, it was so dark out tonight that even I could barely see. The way he ran showed me how sure of himself he was, whipping between trees and over fallen ones without hesitation. 

The sound of rushing water filled my ears as we neared the river. Paul never thought twice as he picked up speed and suddenly we were soaring over the it. The water was rushing violently from the heavy amount of rain we had gotten, mist spraying up at us as we went. We hit the other side of the river with a thud, without missing a beat Paul continued forward until we were outside Emily and Sam’s house. Their small cottage lit up the small clearing it was in. I could hear several people laughing inside as I waited for Paul to turn back and put his clothes back on. 

“Come on,” Paul said from beside me. He was now dressed and holding out his hand for me to take. My face flushed as I took his hand, feeling more comfortable than I ever had as we walked into the house with our hands intertwined by our sides. 

“Welcome back!” Emily called out to me when we walked in. She crossed from room quickly and was pulling me into a hug away from Paul within seconds. When she pulled back she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked me over. “Is everything all healed?”

“For the most part! My leg is still bothering me a bit,” I told her. She looked passed me over to Paul and gave him a sympathetic look. When I glanced back at him he looked like he was on the verge of tears. So I quickly said, “At least you guys know now that I’m not a dangerous vampire, I’d want to keep my people safe too if I were you guys.”

“What kind of bloodsucker are you then?” A boy asked from the kitchen. He was sitting next to Sam and another girl I had never seen. His face was round and youthful but his eyes were hardened like he’d been through a lot. Even though he was sitting I could tell he was a few inches taller than Paul but not as tall as Sam, the three of them the tallest people I have ever been around. The girl next to him that I had never seen was beautiful, her long black hair was pulled into a braid that she had over her shoulder, a scowl on her face as she looked at me. I wondered if they were two of the other wolves Paul had been telling me about earlier.

“I don’t really know,” I replied honestly, shrugging at all of them. “All I can say is I may be half a vampire but I’ve never killed anyone for their blood.”

“Never?” The girl asked me sounding skeptical. No one except for my mom but this wasn’t the time for that. I shook my head at her, everyone in the room looked a little shocked. 

“I do steal things though, like blood bags from hospitals so I don’t have to feed directly off of a human. Sometimes I hunt animals…” I trailed off, looking between everyone’s faces. Beside me Emily grabbed my hand and led me to the table and pulled a chair out for me. I was sitting beside the boy I had never seen with Paul on my other side. I could tell that he didn’t like me already from the way he stiffened when I sat down next to him. 

“Enough about this! Em is welcome here anytime and she is to be left alone unless she decides she wants to be interrogated.” Emily informed everyone, her eyes landing on the boy next to me. He huffed and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms,

“Don’t mind, Jacob,” Paul leaned in to whisper in my ear. “He’s still in highschool and in love with a girl who doesn’t love him back.”

“Shut up, Paul!” Jacob barked from beside me, getting up so quickly his chair flew back and slammed into a wall. The girl I didn’t know looked like she had gone through this before, Emily wasn’t paying attention as stirred some food and Paul was laughing next to me so hard the table in front of me was shaking. 

“Just sit down, Jacob,” The girl said before Sam could say anything, though he was poised and ready, his fists pressed to the table. He took a few deep breaths and picked the pictures off the floor that he knocked down with his chair and came to sit back down. This time he made sure his chair was further away from me and closer to the girl.

“Thanks, Leah,” Sam told the girl, giving her a nod. She nodded back and then went to get some food like nothing happened. Paul started to put food on my plate without saying anything, then began to hesitate when I looked over at him to ask him why.

“I didn’t know if you felt like you should help yourself or not,” Paul explained, continuing to put more food on my plate for me.

“Thank you, I’ve just never…” I trailed off not knowing how to explain this to him and the rest of the people who were now staring at me.

“You’ve never had dinner before?” Jacob asked snidely beside me, a laugh coming out of him. 

“I’ve always eaten dinner alone, my father doesn’t eat and he’s my only family,” I began to explain. What I said made the expression on Jacobs face falter, some food threatening to fall out of his mouth as it hung open.

“Haven’t you ever been invited to a friend’s house?” Leah questioned, stopping to ask before she took the forkful of food she had. 

“I’ve never had a friend,” I told her quietly. My life was starting to sound pathetic to them and I could tell. I felt Paul’s hand press against my back and rub gently. Everyone was silent for a couple minutes, quietly taking bites of their food. I pushed mine around my plate, taking small bites here and there. Even Jacob was quiet next to me, his face no longer pinched in disgust at my presence. 

“Hell yeah another blood sucker free day in the books!” A voice giddily announced walking through the door. I stiffened waiting for them to notice me. The person who announced it stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on me, the three boys following in behind him stopped too and followed his gaze to me. The youngest boy who followed in the first boy looked between Paul and I and gave me a small smile and a wave. 

“Sorry to ruin that for you,” I dead panned, our eyes never breaking contact. The young boy who smiled at me laughed quietly to himself, the two others cracking a smile. 

“Yeah, you should be,” He said walking over to the table and grabbing a seat directly across from me. As he filled his plate he began to talk to me, “I’m Jared, by the way. You must be Em, the girl Paul im-” Paul growled and kicked him under the table. Jared and Paul stared each other down for a minute before Jared finished filling his plate and began eating. I took a bite of my food as Paul calmed himself down, he didn’t seem angry but worried about whatever Jared was going to say. Though all he could’ve been saying was that Paul attacked me but he did seem to get upset when that was brought up.

“I’m Seth and these two are Quil and Embry,” the youngest boy said with a mouthful of food. He smiled at me and some food fell from his mouth and down his shirt. He began to laugh, causing more food to spill out of his mouth. I slapped a hand over my mouth as I tried to stifle my giggles. That’s how the rest of the dinner went, filled with laughter and happiness. They showed me how a real family was supposed to be and surprisingly I wasn’t sad, I was the happiest I have ever been. 

After everyone was done eating we sat around Emily and Sam's small living room talking and laughing more. Everyone except for Jacob, who was sitting outside on the porch in the dark, were sharing stories. Even Leah, who had been scowling lame when I arrived, seemed to be warming to me as I sat quietly next to Paul on a couch. The heat was radiating off of Paul in waves, warming up my body as I sat snugly against him. I felt happy here, at peace. A bunch of people I had just me were accepting me into their home, into their family. Between the heat and the melodic laughter my eyes began to get heavy and before I could even register it, I was asleep.

Tagged: @angelenemies @twilightxcx

[what-the--curtains]

Braving the Elements

Chapter 8: Tonys Party

Tw: Alcohol consumption, swearing , bad writing???

Authors note: we about to get a lil soft and a lil angsty babyyyy

(The balcony)

(The next morning in the kitchen)

Honestly both songs r like how I envision they’re relationship ANYWAYS HERE WE GOOO

“So, just how fancy are these parties?” you ask Nat and Wanda who are currently lying on your bed.

“Think Jay Gatsby meets James Bond.” Nat responds

“Shit, don’t think I have anything that nice.” you say skimming through your clothes which had finally found their way onto hangers. You had a lot of nice pieces, but nothing suitable enough for a black tie event. You had left most of your more exquisite garments back at your old apartment.

“No worries we have plenty, you can borrow something from us.” Wanda says closing her phone, before declaring that you should all get ready so you won’t be late. Nat and Wanda leave, then re-enter, your room carrying various dresses.

The dress you end up choosing is a midnight blue satin number. The top has a deep v on either side, exposing your back and a good portion of your cleavage. The top is tight to your body and gathers at your natural waistline before flaring out into a structured A-line skirt. You twist your hair up and pin it, pulling a few curls down to frame your face. Nat’s settled on an off the shoulder black, skin tight dress with a slit going all the way up her thigh. Her red hair clipped to one side giving it a wind-swept look. Wanda emerges in a long sleeve, scoop necked, mermaid style, maroon dress, opting to keep her hair loose for the evening. Pulling on your heels, Wanda shuffles you both out the door in the name of getting to the venue on time.

You wind up talking to Clint for a while and after ensuring he knows that you were not joking when you had asked him to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow, you decide to go talk to Nat who's just been left by Wanda whose now at the bar talking to Vision and the rest of the boys.

“Well they all clean up nice” you say to Nat and she turns her head to face you.

“You know,” Nat says “ I think Wanda may like Vision.”

“Right!” you exclaim a touch too loud, realizing that you were slightly tipsy already. “We should set that up.” You stress to Nat who whole heartedly agrees. As the two of you make your way to the bar you can’t help but notice the small group of beautiful women who had gathered around Bucky. You couldn’t blame them, he’d slicked his hair back exposing his perfect jawline and the navy blue suit he was wearing brought out those eyes you liked so much.

You reach the bar and say “Someone’s popular tonight” nodding your head in Bucky’s direction

“Oh he always is, it’s the eyes,” says Steve

“and the hair” Sam chimes in

“20$ says it’s the arm, I know a few girls with a metal kink” you joke, causing Sam and Nat to burst out laughing and Steve to turn a lovely shade of red. The four of you talk for a while politely making conversation with anyone who came up for a chat.

“Jesus how stuffy can this party get.” you say while fanning yourself. Half falling off your chair you slur out an “ I gotta pee.” to the rest of the group before heading off to the bathroom. Exiting the restroom you manage to catch the tail end of a conversation between two smug, older, looking business men.

“I can’t believe Tony Stark is slumming it with mutants nowadays, what would his father think? I thought the commie soldier was bad, but this? Bringing in freaks of nature it’s too much who knows what they're capable of.” one of them says “Very well put, wouldn’t mind fucking her though she’s got a great ass.” the other one says looking right at you, almost as if he wanted to make sure you had heard him.

You bunch up the skirt of your dress in your hands and swiftly make a beeline to the nearest balcony. You can feel your chest tighten and your eyes start to well up. Stop it, you will yourself. Stop it right now. Don’t let them see you cry. You swing open the balcony's doors and finding no one there you exhale, resting your elbows down onto the banister, and dabbing away the few tears that had gathered in your eyes. Staring out into the lights of the city you focus on your breathing tuning out to the clatter of the party behind you.

You weren’t the only one to hear the man’s cruel words. Bucky had been standing nearby and overheard it as well. After seeing you practically run outside, he pulls himself away from the girl he’s been with all night promising to be right back, suddenly finding that the only thing he could think about was you.

A familiar voice breaks your silence and the noise from the party seeps back into your auditory field. “Hey, I said are you okay” the voice asks again.

Wiping away a tear and composing yourself before turning to face Bucky you smile brightly

“Never better, besides I’ve heard worse. I mean they said they’d fuck me, god what a compliment!” you scoff leaning back onto the railing. He rests his forearms on the banister and looks at you. “Well they did get one thing right”

“Ya, you're right, my ass is pretty great.” you say absentmindedly, causing him to laugh.

“No well , I mean yes, but bringing me in was definitely a bad move.”

“Oh, well that was a given” you quip back pushing yourself off the banister and straightening your dress.

Between the dress you had on and the way the loose strands of your hair were blowing gently in the fall breeze Bucky couldn’t help himself. Moving off of the banister he places his non-metal thumb under your chin drawing your gaze to him. He wants to kiss you right there, but not wanting to look like a fool, he waits for you to make the next move.

You meet his gaze and for a second you think you can see his eyes dart down to your lips. Figuring that the multiple glasses of champagne had got you imagining things, you turn your head away.

“You should get back in there I bet the girls are missing you.” you say, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze before walking back into the party. God if there was ever gonna be a moment it was then and you just blew it. You compartmentalize your mistake by ensuring yourself that your mind was simply playing tricks on you. He had tons of lovely women wanting to leave with him, why would he want to waste his time with you.

“Stupid” Bucky mutters to himself watching you leave. He was stupid to think you’d want to be with him. He just thought after that night in the kitchen that you felt something for him. He knew he felt something for you. Feeling upset by the rejection he decides to keep his promise and return to the girl from the party.

You walk back to Nat and Wanda making up some kind of excuse for taking so long.

After a while It was just the three of you. Sam and Bucky had left earlier with a couple of the girls and Steve and Vision had offered to help Tony clean up a bit. You convince Wanda and Nat to stay a bit longer, not wanting to run into, or hear, Bucky and his date in the room next door.

“God we have to have an actual night out” says Nat “not enough booze here and not enough dancing!”

“You know I think I know the perfect place,” you slur , “next time we go out your gonna see the underground of New York”

“Alright drunky,” Wanda says” let’s get you home.”

10 A.M., the next morning

You wake up with a dry mouth, feeling like shit, and regretting drinking so much last night. You cover your face with your hands and drag them down realizing that you had passed up on an opportunity to have a night of fun with Bucky. Before you can get too caught up in your thoughts you feel spit gathering in your mouth and you know you have to get to the toilet ASAP rocky. You make it to the toilet just in time before spilling your guts into the porcelain toilet. You have just enough time to fashion the belt of your dressing gown into a makeshift hair tie before vomiting again.

“Death!” you shout dramatically causing a distraught Sam to run into your room

“Whose death? Where?” he shouts jumping from side to side

“MINE!” you yell “I think I just threw up the equivalent of a human being.” You groan while crawling out of the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt, open nightgown and recently repurposed belt wrapped in your hair. The ridiculousness of your outfit causes Sam to erupt in laughter.

“Don’t move! I GOTTA get a picture of this” he exclaims with glee before running out of your room

“Samuel, don’t you dare!” You shriek chasing out after him passing by Bucky and the gorgeous brunette from the night before, and running into the kitchen.

“ Oh my god.” says Wanda stifling a laugh.

“Hey I think I look pretty good for a dead bitch!” you exclaim before striking a pose causing them both to laugh as Sam snaps a pic

After politely escorting the woman to the door, Bucky turns around just in time to see you running after Sam.

Following you into the kitchen he laughs at the line. He was amazed how different you were from the girl who had jumped through a moving cars window a few days earlier. You seemed lighter, happier. He knew he wanted to spend more time with you but didn’t want to ask you outright, especially after you had rejected him last night.

“Send me a copy of that will ya bird boy?” he says pouring out a cup of coffee

“So lover boy how was she?” Sam asks

“I don’t kiss and tell” he responds

“So that what the kids are calling sex nowadays” Wanda says with a smirk “huh who knew!”

You laugh along with the others, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling upset at the thought of him with someone else, still not fully understanding why

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

A lesson in knowing your limits

Gyroid hunting, magic spells, mountain climbing, hanging with friends - all the makings of a fun campsite event! But as with all events, there's also the stress of getting things done in time.

Let's say that what happened earlier today served as a reminder to us that sometimes life gets too stressful and that there will be times where we don't have everything under control. That's not to say that this gyroid adventure hasn't been fun, but on top of all the other stuff that's been going on, it's hard to enjoy yourself when your mind is elsewhere.

Since opening the camp, I have developed a love/hate relationship with the holidays. And with this being a holiday event, we're in a bigger time crunch if we want to get everything set for Toy Day. There's also the fact that Daisy Jane and I are going back home to Rosevine for Emmaline and Minnie's wedding right after the festivities so that puts even more pressure on ourselves to finish things fast.

Joining us for our toy gyroid escapades are Almie, Pippa, and a new friend - Mariposa Silva! Her name means butterfly - isn't that pretty! Almie and Pippa talked about her a lot last time and I'm glad to finally meet her! The three are staying with us until Toy Day, which is in a couple days, so Daisy Jane and I will be leaving with them for home.

I can see why Pippa's all starry eyed over Mariposa and after what happened today, I think the two of them being friends is the best thing to ever happen to her in light of everything she's been through this year. Almie's been a good big brother to her but Pippa really needs someone who can understand her and Mariposa's the kind of friend who fits right in.

So Mariposa is a newcomer who's been living with Rosevine's notorious troublemaker witch Luna as her apprentice. Luna may act all tough but we all know she has a soft spot for us kids like Almie and Emmaline. Pippa's been training with Luna too as witchcraft and wizardry kinda overlap in some areas. I don't know what surprises me more - Luna taking in a teenage girl she randomly bumped into (literally) with no questions and teaching her magic or Luna agreeing to help Pippa (a wizard of all beings - in short, bad association with wizards) with her magic as well as teaching some witchcraft as well. Then again, for the latter, Luna and Almie are partners in crime so it makes sense that she has a soft spot for Pippa as well.

What makes Mariposa unique is that she's able to conjure magic despite not being magical herself, which takes a lot of work. It's not an easy feat for us ordinary people - believe me, I've tried (and tried)! Maybe there's hope for me but at this point I shouldn't get my hopes up too high. Because of life circumstances she has to bear since birth (she really has a way with words), Mariposa has mastered the art of improvisation.

Since she can't summon magic naturally like Luna and Pippa, Mariposa developed her own way of conjuring glyphs and such. So she has to do a little bit of extra work to cast a spell, which can complicate things a bit. There's a lot of things that can slow Mariposa down, however there's two that can't. First is the conjuring of spells - she's resourceful, creative, and super imaginative - when you can't make magic the traditional way, you gotta get crafty. Second is her right arm - or lack of.

In short, Mariposa was born with a bunch of health problems, a nonexistent right arm is one of them. At this point it's all just "blah, blah, blah" to her. She's spent sixteen years with one arm - her entire life - so whatever pitying thing someone wants to say to her, she's heard it all. Sure it might complicate conjuring magic in some situations but she just rolls with it. That's why she's so good at improvising, problem solving, and thinking way outside the box - something she believes is the universe's way of compensating for what she's been given.

For the past few days we've been hiking around the camp looking for gyroids. Mariposa and Pippa showed off some cool spells they learned from Luna while Almie told us about their latest shenanigans. Highlights include Pippa one-upping a frenemy of Luna's with a scalding hot burn, Almie offering to fix up Luna's car with some "embellishments" which may or may not have caused a wingbat uprising, and Mariposa accidentally awakening an ancient spirit while trying to impress Willow and Angie. And of course, we've been talking about the upcoming wedding.

Since I last saw Pippa, she's been getting her strength back. From being diagnosed with leukemia to suffering from complications as well as a near relapse, the past several months have been hard on her. Almie said that outside of family, Mariposa and Angie, and later Willow, were a great deal of help - especially Mariposa. It's so good to see Pippa out and about, almost like how she was before she got sick.

I guess sometimes we're so focused on trying to get things back to normal after getting thrown off that we don't always realize that in many cases, there's no going back. With Pippa keeping up with her studies, practicing her magic, and helping out with the wedding, it seems like everything's back to normal. Aside from having to keep up with meds and appointments and such, Pippa's well on her way to recovery.

Of course, looks can be deceiving. While Pippa is doing well, she still has to be careful not to wear herself out too much. The wedding's been a bit of an incentive for her to stay healthy, especially since she's a bridesmaid - so she's been keeping busy helping Soph with planning the reception and everything. Pippa's a hard worker but she has a bad habit of putting herself last.

The main reason why Almie wanted to come back to the camp was to give Pippa a chance to relax. He's been protective of Pippa since her hospitalization due to other people's carelessness regarding her health. So he wasn't too happy when Pippa admitted to him a couple days ago that she slipped up by missing her meds a couple times over the past few weeks. He said she'd tell him if something was wrong but seeing that she's been trying to keep on schedule for the most part, she should be okay.

While the past couple days were fun, it was clear that the cracks were starting to show. A combined mess of stress from personal life stuff, holidays, the gyroid event, and the upcoming wedding hit us all at once. My mind was elsewhere, worrying about getting stuff done - it can be draining.

Mariposa was the one who helped us refocus by sitting Pippa down and setting some hard truths for her. Almie was right to be concerned about Pippa overworking herself. I get that she's been feeling stuck in a rut so anything to break her out of that monotony is a welcome change. It's good to try to get back on track but you can't force it. From the way she was jumping up and down and climbing all over the place, you'd think we were being timed on finding gyroids.

Exhaustion has a way of wearing you down, physical and mental. If we had health bars hanging over our heads, Pippa's would be almost depleted. And if I'm being honest, mine's probably in the red zone too. Almie and Daisy Jane are likely in red too while Mariposa's probably in yellow. To be honest, I think everyone in the camp's either a red or yellow - it's just one of these days.

So Pippa overestimated herself and eventually reached a point where she couldn't just get back up and act like everything's fine. As in, she fell off a tree, landing hard on her back and was unable to move for a few seconds, scaring the hell out of everyone. Thankfully she doesn't have a concussion or broken bones but she'll be really sore and bruised tomorrow. By then I figured that we collected enough gyroids for the day so we headed back to the camp despite Pippa's protests.

Almie's usually a pretty chill guy so seeing him go off on Pippa was... let's just say I'm glad we all cleared out when they both started raising their voices. When things started getting out of hand, Mariposa decided to step in for a bit. What she said to Pippa had me thinking about accepting your limits.

Basically what Mariposa's saying is that we can't measure our worth by our productivity. If anyone knows how Pippa feels about stagnating due to circumstances out of control, it's Mariposa.

She got it through to Pippa that it's okay to fall short of expectations. I get that it's frustrating when you try to set goals for yourself, only to fail - but you just gotta accept that sometimes things don't work out and it's not your fault. I know that Pippa can be hard on herself, especially since this year has been turned upside down for her.

Mariposa also brought up a good point about the whole don't let your disabilities and illnesses stop you from being accomplished. It's one of those things that's supposed to be encouraging but does more harm than good. Because there will be days when your disabilities will stop you from achieving what you want. There will be times when you're forced to put your life on hold while the world is unsympathetic to your battles. You have to learn how to accept that it's okay to step back and accept that there are things beyond your capability - and that you shouldn't be shamed for that.

In other words, it's important to know your limits. Wise words from the witch in training, something we all need to be reminded of.

Once it seemed like Mariposa's words got through to Pippa, we stepped aside so the siblings can have a moment alone. To keep ourselves busy, I took Mariposa to the Marketplace to craft Toy Day stuff with Reese, Cyrus, and Jingle, which she had a blast doing. After making a bunch of toys we headed to the cabin and put together gift boxes.

It was nice getting to know Mariposa on a one on one basis during that time. Almie and Pippa weren't exaggerating with her wild, creative, and daring imagination. Who knew that there could be so many ways to wrap gift boxes? We got to talking about a lot of stuff, like how she's enjoying staying with Luna, Skully, and Owly, her magic training, Willow and Angie - she's only been in town for a short time and it feels like she's been part of the Rosevine gang since forever!

Also, she has met Emmaline and Minnie so she's definitely on the guest list. Actually she's coming as Luna's plus one since she met the couple after the list was finalized. Though knowing how Emmaline makes friends like bees to honey, Soph made extra sure to accommodate for a growing guest list - which I'm pretty sure has doubled since the invitations went out!

Once we finished with the gift boxes, we headed back to the campsite. Pippa and Almie finally worked things out and were back to their old, playful, bickering ways. They surprised us with desserts - Toy Day themed cookies and mochi! After having a busy couple days hunting gyroids, we decided to take it easy with a cozy bonfire dinner.

Nothing like freshly baked cookies and mulled cider to unwind after a stressful week!