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peskellence · 4 months ago

Text

Shot In The Dark

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: M/M, New Years Party, Mutual Pining, Workplace Romance, Humour, Fluff, First Kiss

AO3 Link

Summary: Exhausted from watching her best friend continually torture himself, Tina reminds Gavin that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take—and that three years of hopeless pining is long enough. The question is: will Gavin finally do something about the unspoken tension between himself and his partner? And just what, if anything, could possibly go wrong in the process?

[NYE fic taking place post pacifist ending]

Word Count: 5.6K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

"This is getting sad now."

Gavin shuffled on the balls of his feet, grip tight on the half-drained glass he was absently swilling.

Laughter and chatter swirled around the crowded hall, the buzz of voices merging into a single, deafening drone. Flashing lights from the dance floor caught against streamers above, casting dizzying reflections onto the drink Tina had provided.

It was obnoxious, disorienting—and did absolutely nothing to ease his foul mood.

In addition to the strobes, his own expression was reflected in the liquor—a downtrodden visage defined by a scowling mouth and tired eyes. The warm amber liquid was brought to his lips, and the image drained away.

"It's not sad," he challenged, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

"You've been waiting for the right moment since Hank's retirement." Tina scoffed, taking a more conservative sip from her glass. With lips still poised on the rim, her brows raised before she added in a mumbled, sing-song lilt, "And then there was the Christmas party…"

The mere mention of the function inspired a visceral response. Gavin tensed, stomach flipping like someone was playing jump rope with his intestines.

A flood of unwelcome memories charged him.

The echoes of bad karaoke. Streaks of red spilt across the front of a pristine white button-down.

The long, angry yelp—followed by hellish silence—as he clumsily tried to orient the mistletoe between himself and his partner. Only to discover it was holly and that he had managed to poke Officer Person in the eye with it.

He dismissed the nightmarish blooper reel with a firm shake of his head, choosing happiness over further analysis. "Let's not talk about the Christmas party."

Tina snorted. "Look, all I'm saying is that our ‘Single at 40’ pact is dangerously close to expiring. At least for you, my geriatric friend."

"Respect your elders, wench."

"As enchanting as our lavender marriage might have been," she began in a low, mocking simper, "there's a very good chance that I’m getting hitched for real..."

The woman gestured to the nearby bar, specifically at an ST300 standing by the register. It was impossible to hear her over the persistent noise humming through the room, but she appeared to be engaged in a conversation with the bartender. Judging by his exuberant nods and smarmy grin, he was deeply satisfied with the arrangement.

"My stunning future bride," Tina wistfully announced, her airy voice trailing into a sigh.

"You've been dating for six weeks," Gavin reminded.

"True love doesn’t run on a schedule. Your heart is cold and black; I wouldn’t expect you to understand."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Gavin clutched his stomach in pantomimed nausea, although this didn't dismiss the more tangible unease present. His own attention had wandered, locking squarely onto his partner.

He had his back turned to him, facing Connor. The two androids existed as mirror images, wearing matching versions of the same hand-knit sweater. These items had undoubtedly been produced as part of some misguided Christmas crafts project—with their plus one, who was currently skulking his way around the buffet table, crammed into the same garish red.

The woollen fibres looked itchy and lumpy, mis-stitched in several places. Gavin would have deemed the whole display sickening if Nines hadn't still managed to look mind-bendingly fantastic.

As though feeling the weight of his stare, the android glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly—a fleeting moment charged with something unspoken. His lips twitched upward, almost imperceptibly, before he turned back to his conversation.

"—For God's sake." Gavin's hopeless pining was interrupted by a firm jab to the ribcage. "At this rate, you’ll be spending the rest of your days writing poems about his jawline. Just shoot your shot. Seriously, what have you got to lose?"

"Everything," he hissed sharply, rubbing at the dull ache now pulsing in his sternum. "I have everything to lose. He's my partner—and best friend."

"You wound me, Gav."

"Fine. One of my best friends," he begrudgingly corrected. A lingering droplet still remained at the bottom of his glass, which he dutifully swept onto his tongue.

"I just don't want to make things weird. If he's—you know—not into it."

Tina made a long, heaving noise, pressing a hand to her mouth—an act of vengeance for his mockery of her own display of sentiment.

"You sound like a teenager—

Come on, the guy is disgustingly into you. You can see the longing stares from space. It's like the Great Wall Of China but with gay pining."

"You can't see the Great Wall Of China from space. It's a myth."

"Go. Now." Tina clapped him on the back, firmly pushing forward. "Shoot your shot before Janey the Intern beats you to it. I can smell her loins burning from here."

A rush of panic hit the detective.

He thought of Janey, her dimpled smile and impossibly long, shapely legs. She was a lovely girl. Every time she propped herself against Nines' desk and fluttered her thick, dark eyelashes, Gavin wanted to throw her out of a window.

"Okay, okay, fine, I will, just—" His gaze dropped back to his thoroughly drained glass, a flimsy excuse beginning to form. "Need a refill."

He scurried his way through the jabbering masses, pressed between swaying bodies as he narrowly avoided spilt drinks. Half-hearted apologies were muttered, completely inaudible over the harsh din of laughter.

If he was going to consider fronting the plastic underwear model he called his partner, he needed another drink. Badly. A whiskey to steel his gut, settle frayed nerves, and preemptively dull the sting of rejection—should it come to that.

When he approached the bar, he was met with a much frostier reception than the previous customer. The bartender was a short, bulky man with sagging jowls and a prominent gut scarcely concealed beneath a stained apron. His beady eyes narrowed, looking the younger man up and down before he spoke in a sharp, gravelly tone that reeked of impatience:

"Yeah? What can I getcha?"

As the question was asked, Gavin was struck with two simultaneous revelations. The first was that a single whiskey wasn't going to cut it. At all. The second was that he’d left his wallet at home—meaning he had 25¢ and a breath mint to his name.

This limited his drink options.

His mind attempted to churn out a solution to the current dilemma. Gaze flitting across the bar, he scanned for anything useful before settling on a lipstick-stained tumbler.

He recalled a trick his dad favoured, passed down as a sagely nugget of wisdom: Chris Reed's foolproof strategy for securing a drink after draining your bank account.

"Hey, buddy. Rough night?" The process began as he propped an elbow on the bar, tutting in feigned sympathy. "You sound pretty beat."

The bartender ignored him, grabbing a beer stein from the counter in order to wipe it ‘clean.’ It broke its tacky seal on the wood with an unpleasant squelch.

Gavin swiped the tumbler before it could also be removed. He then reached into his pocket, palming the coin briefly before slipping it under the dimpled base.

"I have an idea to spice things up." He spoke with a grin, exuding as much charm as was feasibly possible. "If I can get this coin out from under this glass without touching either, the next drink is on the house."

The barman arched an eyebrow. There was a flash of something indecipherable behind his contemptuous gaze, like a faint glimmer of amusement, before it was promptly snubbed.

"Oh yeah? What's in it for me?"

"The phone number of the girl you were just talking to."

Gavin paused for a beat, choosing his next words carefully. Of course, he had no intention of giving away anyone’s phone number—especially not to a man who looked like his big toe—but that was on a need-to-know basis.

"I have a connection," he concluded, shrewdly omitting the detail that the ‘connection’ was her lesbian lover.

The older man let his attention wander to the ST300, who was now talking with Tina at the edge of the dancefloor. Gavin grew worried that an overt display of PDA might jeopardise his plan. Fortunately, the ladies succeeded in the unlikely feat of keeping their hands to themselves.

Suspicions remained low and the bartender crossed his arms, accepting the terms of Gavin's wager with a curt shrug. "Sure thing, Houdini. Show me what ya got."

Gavin licked his lips, rolled his shoulders and prepared his opening move. He hovered a hand over the glass, fingers sprawled, ready to wow his cantankerous audience.

This did not happen, as the motion stalled, and he realised he had zero recollection of what he was supposed to do.

Something about a napkin? No, that was later. Was I supposed to blow on the glass? That didn’t feel right, either...

His younger self had never bothered to pay much attention to the intricacies, too busy savouring the taste explosion of salted peanuts and warm Capri Sun.

Panic settled, all the more pronounced as the ‘crowd’ grew agitated. Fingers drummed on his meaty forearm, a phlegm-filled snort informing that his sparse engagement was slipping fast.

Gavin decided to improvise. Grabbing a cocktail stick, he slid it into the gap between the glass and the counter, attempting to flick the quarter. It clung stubbornly to the wood, held by sticky residue that had formed a makeshift cement.

After loudly declaring the conditions unfair, he requested the surface be wiped, to which the barman begrudgingly complied. He placed the glass into position a second time before crouching down to inspect it, as though observing it from a different angle might trigger some grand epiphany.

He concluded the issue was that the glass was empty.

After a small deposit of whiskey was added, he once again failed to shift the coin—and a line was beginning to form behind him. He could feel his face burn in exasperation as he frantically combed his memories for something other than the flavour of tropical fruits and artificial sweetener.

His trick was attempted several times, each ending in miserable failure. A verdict was made that the glass itself was the issue, to which he was offered a champagne flute.

The coin still didn’t budge, so he blamed the carbonation for uneven weight distribution. Still, wine fared no better. Neither did cider.

By the time Gavin announced that the camber of the bar was skewed—and had snatched a serving tray from over the counter to create a flat surface—his reluctant spectator had completely lost interest.

"I got other people to serve, buddy."

The younger man was too stubborn to admit defeat. He rearranged his hodgepodge selection on the tray and attempted a bizarre ping-pong ricochet with a wadded tissue ball.

This ended with the paper submerged in red wine.

There were too many drinks.

He had already forgotten which one the coin was under—if it was still present at all. In one final, desperate gambit, the detective opted to shift tactics.

"Alright, you know what?" He threw up his hands, punctuating the action with a long, theatrical sigh of defeat. "Forget it, you win. I’ll just—Oh my God—!"

He pointed wildly toward a patron at the far end of the bar, his voice rising with falsified urgency. Heads swivelled in unison as the bartender and half the room turned to look.

"Is that guy choking?"

A DPD mailroom clerk, who paused mid-sip of his beer, froze in confusion as a concerned bystander started to whip him frantically across the back.

"Not choking—! Not—" He wheezed, pained, as a particularly exuberant slap propelled him from his stool.

Gavin seized his opportunity. Using the cover of the ensuing chaos, he snatched the tray of drinks. A shifty raccoon stealing scraps from the garbage, he turned from the bar, scampering into the night with his ill-earned spoils.

The scenario struck him with an uncanny sense of déjà vu. This might have been the outcome of at least a few of his father’s ‘skilled’ bar hustles.

His victory was nearly usurped as he stumbled into a sign mounted to the side of the bar. It pinged back, narrowly missing his face, as glasses teetered precariously. A couple tipped over, and in an effort not to lose any more precious cargo, he firmly kicked his assailant.

The metal pole clattered to the floor, its cheap black frame lying flat, revealing a hastily scrawled notice:

PRIVATE EVENT (DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT)

OPEN BAR — GUESTS ONLY.

Channelling his inner octopus, he carried what remained of his winnings further into the venue. Glugging from multiple drinks simultaneously, with only a few more ending up on the ground. This was deemed a successful venture.

The tray was eventually abandoned on a fold-out table as he scanned the nearby dance floor. Through a blur of flailing arms and strobes, he somehow managed to spot Nines—tucked into a less blindingly lit nook beside the DJ booth.

Radiating his usual effortless poise, he swayed gracefully to the music. Connor, in contrast, clung with enthusiasm to his forearms, presumably encouraging him to liven his pace.

A plan of attack formed. After a final bracing gulp from one of the straggling glasses, Gavin waded into the throng. He intended to cut between the brothers, stealing his desired target away for a private dance.

Okay, here we go. Moment of truth. No turning back—

In his travels, the detective encountered a group of coworkers. While not dancing, their collective mass occupied an egregious amount of space. They stood huddled together, one member extending his phone, ready to take a picture.

His outstretched limb posed a prominent hazard, as several inebriated partygoers ducked and veered to avoid it. The man himself was blissfully unaware, showing a complete detachment from the concepts of personal space and social courtesy.

Gavin redirected his movements, doing his civic duty to ensure this sin would not go unpunished. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and forcibly inserted himself into the frame.

Disrupting the composition of heights and dazzling his newest, unwitting friends with the blinding white of his flash. Having left the group to gather themselves following the sweeping assault, Gavin stared down at the photo. The gaudy flash had caught the curve of a solo cup—one that was planted squarely over his face.

He lowered the screen, only to find the same cup now seated in his hand. He had no recollection of how it had gotten there and briefly attempted to retrace his steps before concluding the details didn’t matter.

It was still half full, beads of condensation wetting his palm. Taking a swig from the concoction, his mouth was accosted by a horrifying mix of raspberry liqueur and grenadine.

It was something a weaker man might have dubbed a ‘cocktail,’ but what could more aptly be described as a vicious affront to alcohol.

Trying his best to distract from the taste, Gavin turned his focus back to the corner of the DJ stand. It was now empty, save one extremely drunk forensic officer, loudly and persistently requesting tequila shots from the figure manning the booth.

Shit.

Gavin swivelled clumsily, the room spinning in tandem with an eclectic fog of lights and booze. He squinted through the haze, zeroing in on two shifts of maroon heading for the cloakroom.

The twin flashes of LEDs confirmed their identities.

Shit, the silent profanity repeated, but somehow with greater conviction.

It was time to move on, and he did just that—fighting valiantly against the sweaty tide rising before him. He didn’t make it far before he was knocked by one of the bodies, stumbling back from the force of Collins’ ample weight.

The older man was writhing around in a frantic gyration that Gavin initially mistook for a seizure. Opposite him, Brown was engaged in equally bizarre flailing.

It was only then that the detective realised what he’d stumbled into. A ring of onlookers had gathered, hooting and hollering as the two officers tore up the floor in distinctly uncoordinated ways.

Gavin stood in the centre, his inactivity drawing its own breed of attention.

Naturally, there was only one option.

Limbs moving independently from any conscious thought, he allowed the rhythms to guide him. Before he knew it, he was kicking, spinning, inventing shapes never before seen by mortal eyes.

Was it a daring fusion of jazz and shadowboxing? Some intrepid reinvention of breakdancing? Even Gavin wasn’t sure.

A sprawling pirouette ended with an inexplicable karate chop. He dropped into a squat, employing a quick shoulder shimmy that looked like he was trying to shake off a spider. The performance concluded with a finger-gun salute directed at no one in particular.

Jeers and claps died down as the audience stared. Heads tilted, eyes unblinking, struggling to process the masterful spectacle they had just witnessed.

They weren’t ready for his artistic genius. The man was a noble pioneer, decades ahead of his time.

Making history turned out to be thirsty work. He wobbled his way through a dispersing audience and back towards the tables.

His legs felt shaky, making it hard for him to move in a straight line. Stars were beginning to multiply in his vision, the combined influence of lights, fatigue, and deepening intoxication.

He picked up a drink that had been carelessly abandoned by one of his colleagues and took a lengthy sip. This one was another cocktail, albeit a much more palatable one.

The search for his partner recommenced, as was becoming the theme of the evening. He was investing considerable energy into this task—and was definitely not contemplating giving up and returning home to vent frustrations to his cat.

As though sensing the impending retreat, Nines re-materialised. Gavin had no idea where he had come from, his lagging mind and blurred vision omitting the finer details.

God, he looked incredible. It was about the only thing that he could still see in startling clarity. Stunning 4K resolution, standing against the backdrop of a grainy VHS tape—

Stop staring and move, you fucking idiot.

He had just about mustered the energy to stand, pulled up from his slumped position, when a party hat also appeared out of nowhere. It plopped clumsily onto his partner’s head as Nines smiled, politely accepting his ‘gift’ whilst readjusting the elastic.

The result was a soft curl of hair escaping the brim, cascading down his forehead. Slender fingers brushed it back, as pale cheeks tinged powder blue.

Gavin forgot how to breathe. Something that persisted until, in desperation, he arched towards a passerby, claiming the shot glass that had been pinched in their grasp. The acrid liquid burned his throat and shocked his lungs back into activity.

Then, he charged forward.

Enough was enough. The grips of cowardice had dug their claws deeply, a hold which had endured for far too long.

He couldn't bear another three years of pretending to be content with friendship. It was an educated risk—mingled with wishfulness—that he would simply have to take.

Nines spotted him quickly, leading Gavin to conclude the android had been looking for him as well. This, in turn, inspired an anxiety he couldn't quite pinpoint, the burden of imagined expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders.

This was worsened by his partner's expression, which proved entirely unreadable. An enigmatic blend of concern and surprise—mingled with vulnerability.

Chin jutted and chest puffed in manufactured assurance, Gavin confidently entered his path. He then swooped around him in a wide arch, slamming through the doors of the nearby men's room.

The swinging doors propelled him forward, whacking his back and adding insult to the already pathetic display.

He didn't need to piss—but he was overdue a long, hard stare in the mirror.

Following this ritual of self-loathing, he filled one of the basins and proceeded to splash himself. The frigid blow of water stung immensely against burning skin as he muttered disparaging obscenities under his breath.

It wasn't long until his internal dialogue chimed in, levying the man with more targeted scorn, masquerading as advice:

Get it together, Reed. Ti’s right; you're acting like a lovesick schoolboy.

This is Nines. You know Nines. Even if he's not into it, you can laugh it off.

I mean, you gotta kiss someone at midnight, right?

Revelation hit like a truck as Gavin realised he had been presented with the perfect ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card. Should the worst possible outcome arise—and he threatened to implode their partnership through virtue of an unchecked boner.

Right. Midnight. We'll do it then. That gives me—

He checked his phone and scowled at the number displayed mockingly on the lock screen.

10 minutes of extra time.

A final hit of liquid confidence was secured upon his departure. The victim in question was almost knocked flying by the violent propulsion of the bathroom door.

The drink had lined his oesophagus before he had even processed swallowing it. His head was flung back with such zeal that it left him incredibly dizzy.

Then came the taste—and smell—as they finally struck his delayed senses. Distinctly chemical, like battery acid.

Even in his dazed state, Gavin understood he had made a terrible mistake. He attempted to spit the fluid out, but discovered it was too late.

Bubbling heat rose in his gut, threatening to push back up through his throat, wreaking havoc on delicate insides. Apprehensively, he glanced at the cup, noting dregs of iridescent cobalt clinging to the bottom.

This had to be some form of cosmic punishment—atonement for all the chaotic undertakings he had perpetrated.

Glossing over the very real possibility that he had poisoned himself, Gavin stayed focused. The clock was ticking fast, and as the lights in the room began to dim, this was illustrated in foreboding clarity.

Fuck. Where’s Nines?

Buzzing crowds grew hushed as the projected visage of a countdown clock was displayed on a nearby wall. The blasting resonance of the music also tapered until the room was silent.

WHERE IS HE?

In another act of divine intervention—this time, less scornful of his insides—the big man upstairs did him a favour. Partygoers dispersed, and Nines appeared in the centre of the floor. Subtly illuminated by the rays of the overhead projector.

Then the countdown began, a ritualistic grunt that rose through the crowds, offering him unknowing encouragement.

10…9…8…

He wiped the lingering Thirium from his chin, having no time to check if it remained trapped in his stubble.

Every step closer only seemed to highlight the android’s near-ethereal quality. Porcelain skin that effortlessly trapped every ray of light. Delicate freckles that he wanted to map with his lips–

7…6…5…

A body that could send him into a coma.

Those legs were already maddening enough to look at; he could only imagine how good they would feel wrapped around his neck—

No. Stop. Focus.

This was it. The single, decisive action that had the power to shift the tide of their relationship irrevocably. He desperately pushed this to the back of his mind, instead permitting himself to become lost in the moment.

4…3…2…

Gavin grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around before he had any chance to hesitate. Their bodies were close, with only the tiniest sliver of space between them.

After all this time, he was finally ready to shoot his shot.

Happy New Year!

Lips met, pressed together with exuberant force. It was clumsy. Teeth clashed, noses bumped, and Gavin was fairly sure he had trodden on one—or both—of his partner’s feet.

Fireworks filled the sky behind them, flashing through his tightly closed lids as he felt equally zealous pops in his gut. He tried to convince himself these were butterflies and not of impending vomit.

He was too drunk to care, swimming haplessly through a potent mist of alcohol—as well as the enchanting sensations of the mouth pressed firmly to his.

The lips were soft, deliciously warm, with weight and form that seemed measured to absolute perfection.

He loved Cyberlife—loved them. Head Office would be receiving a handwritten letter of gratitude at some point during the year.

An orchestral score had begun to blast through nearby speakers, swelling in time with the climactic fireworks propelled into the sky.

He caught the end of their downpour as he slowly pulled back, tentatively opening his eyes…

Only to be met with a set of brown ones staring back in awestruck horror.

The warmth and satisfaction that had been coursing through his body vanished instantly, replaced by a creeping dread.

Oh, shit.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The two were left to gawk at each other, frozen, silent, suspended in a matched state of shock—like they were the lone survivors of a cataclysmic multi-car pile-up.

Connor was the first to speak, breaking the tension with a curt rejection:

"I'm not attracted to you."

"I’M NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU EITHER," Gavin shot back, much louder—and with far more defensiveness—than was required. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I've been standing here the whole time."

"Well, I—"

Gavin began to swivel haplessly as though searching for anyone—or anything—that could save him from his dire situation. He knew it was hopeless, so instead, he settled for a series of weak, half-formed excuses:

"I've been drinking…and the sweaters…and, shit, it’s dark in here..."

He caught a glimpse of Tina, who was staring at him from the fringes of the dancefloor. She looked completely dumbfounded, entirely dismayed before her bulging eyes and slack jaw were buried in her hands.

"It's an easy mistake to make," Gavin concluded, his jaw locked in a tense snap. "I'm sure it has happened plenty of times."

"This has never happened to me." Connor's eyes brimmed with accusation, simultaneously mournful and furious at Gavin for stealing such a significant moment.

The man stepped back, forced to acknowledge the audience that had amassed around them. It wasn't just Tina who had been looking; several other spectators had joined to watch the disaster.

Sweeping their faces, they sought to cover a staggering breadth of emotions, ranging from the faintly amused to frantic hysterics. One or two people had pulled out their phones, including the instigator of the group photo he had usurped earlier.

Then, there was Nines—the only spectator who seemed to match Tina in genuine dismay. His shoulders were slumped, and his grip tightened on the trench coat draped over his arm. He said something to the PC200 beside him, nodding a courteous farewell before turning on his heel and heading for the exit.

Gavin stumbled in his frantic attempt to pursue, gripping Connor’s face and shoving him callously out of the way. The force sent the android crashing into a group of onlookers, who scrambled together in their efforts to catch him.

Then Gavin ran, weaving between furniture as fast as his shaking legs could carry him. Slamming through the doors of the event hall, he quickly became lost in the staggering maze of sweeping stairwells and winding corridors leading out of the venue.

He couldn't remember it being this complicated on the way in—although, truthfully, he couldn't remember much of anything.

Yet somehow, through sheer dumb luck, he stumbled his way onto the street. There, he spotted Nines, having already covered significant ground.

He was halfway up the block, a small dot of movement tracked under the dim glow of street lamps—persisting at a brisk pace.

Damn him for being so fast.

Knowing his burning lungs could not withstand the additional strain required to catch up, Gavin instead cried out:

"Nines—!"

His partner didn't respond, although he knew damn well that he had heard him. He called out again. A fervent pitch that attracted the attention of more than a few curious onlookers.

"—Fuck, wait a second—"

He didn't care.

He had already spent a large portion of the night humiliating himself. At this point, it was a drop in the ocean—a meagre ripple in a deluge of terrible life choices:

"Just turn around, dipshit!"

The added assertion garnered the desired effect. Nines snapped around, and while his face was blurry from their current position, Gavin could tell the outburst had embarrassed him—a small flare of red visible on the side of his temple.

Slowly, he began retracing his steps, and the detective stood frozen, waiting, ready, hopeful he would be granted enough time to say his piece. His heart pounded in a frenzied rhythm through his ribs, growing more pronounced the closer he got.

He had resigned himself to whatever the android might have to say in return. All he wanted was some semblance of closure so they could both move on—

"Yes, Gavin?"

The man flinched, realising that Nines had already reached him. He stood a few paces away, hands casually tucked into his pockets, expression coldly apathetic. The only indication of anything unusual was the apprehensive yellow of his LED.

All the things he had wished to say promptly vacated his brain. Gavin stood, dazed and confused, desperately willing his slackened jaw to coordinate some semblance of speech.

"You forgot your coat. Inside."

Nines said nothing, just stared at him blankly before his focus shifted down the expanse of his chest. The stuttering light show on his temple was reflected in plastic buttons before he looked back up, neutrality replaced by bewilderment.

"I'm wearing my coat."

"Yeah, same."

Gavin had never wished for the physical capacity to kick himself more than he did at that moment.

With a hissed breath, he started again. This time, hoping—albeit doubtful—that his drunken mind might conjure something less idiotic.

"Look, what happened back there." He concluded it would be best to get to the point rather than drag out the already excruciating process. "With Connor, that was a mistake. I fucked up."

"Indeed," came a frosty response, matched by the intensity of his steely gaze. "I imagine my brother would have appreciated his first kiss amounting to more than a drunken ‘mistake’. I would surmise you certainly did ‘fuck up.’"

The words pierced cleanly through his chest. Nonetheless, he pressed on, determined to address any misconceptions. Offence or resentment be damned. "That's not what I meant." Fuck, here we go, "I mean, there might have been two RKs at the party tonight, both dressed in the same ugly-ass sweater, and I might have… picked the wrong one." The narrowed slits levelling him with a ruthless glower promptly snapped wide. Nines was stunned, reeling from a realisation that threatened to knock him back.

Several emotions passed his face, each mirrored by the cyclical shifts of his LED. First came shock, then elation, before finally settling into a far less desirable disappointment. His eyebrows raised, and his head tilted in a look that spoke to the impressive idiocy his partner had displayed.

Gavin would have much, much preferred that the android be angry. This was vastly worse—something that took significant determination to power through.

"Hey, I'm not the only one who messed up tonight." He folded his arms, chuckling lightly. A casualness that in no way reflected the emotional turmoil plaguing him.

"Some countdown, huh? I sure hope someone gets fired for that one."

"...What exactly are you referring to?" the RK900 questioned sceptically.

Having missed every attempt with spectacular ineptitude, Gavin acknowledged that this was it. One final, lingering opportunity to take his shot. The window for which was rapidly shrinking.

"I mean that the countdown was off. Can't get much worse than that, right?"

"No, I don't think—" Then, Nines paused. Brow furrowed contemplatively before the sunny casts trapped in its folds faded to cool blue. The deep-set frown that had marred his features finally relaxed as he understood the man’s meaning.

"...I see." His lips twitched and gradually pulled upwards—until they formed into a small, fond smile. "And this error in timing, was it delay or acceleration we experienced?"

Nines had begun to step closer, to which Gavin mirrored the action; their bodies moved as if compelled by a strong magnetic pull. This continued until there was only a tiny sliver of space remaining.

"Acceleration," Gavin declared as focus shifted from sharp grey, drifting to the gentle curve of distractingly tempting lips. "Big one—blew their load way too early."

"Alright then," the android hummed, his own attention drifting lower. "So when does the countdown start?"

"It just finished."

He should have realised sooner that the man at the party had not been Nines.

Because there had been none of the same intense, dizzying ignition he felt charging between them. An energy that spoke to the depths of their connection, each clawing grip and desperate sound a declaration of just how long they’d waited.

He clung to the back of his partner's coat, nails burrowed in coarse wool, as though worried he might vanish from beneath it.

Nines was the first to pull away, breaking the detective from his dreamlike euphoria as he spoke:

"Gavin?"

"Yeah, Nines?"

"Why does your mouth taste like biofluid?"

#gavin reed x rk900 #dbh #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #detroit become human #dbh fic

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wardensantoineandevka · 9 months ago

Text

Our little tragedy is in its final act — and it's a long act at six and a half hours, so bring some water with you. I've got a call list here for part three of Downfall. It's currently 51 items long: you can check out all the squares below the cut, and you can grab your own card through this BingoBaker link.

Some quick notes:

I already corrected that misspelling of Umleta that's visible in the example cards above.

"Cassida flees" is at minimum flees combat, since she is as of the end of the episode still in combat.

"Betrayers learn about Society of Primes" doesn't have to be about the Society of Primes specifically. Learning in general that the Factorum Malleus has been tampered with to win the Primes the war is enough.

"Umleta kills someone off-screen" and "Umleta causes trouble off-screen" can be legal at the same time.

"Bolo mention" is absolutely because it is fun for me and my friends to have included.

As always, if you're unsure what a square means or whether something makes it legal, feel free to ask me! There is also a chance that I will add squares before the titles roll, and if I do so, I'll make a post stating such; if you want to play with those squares, simply refresh your card.

Good luck — we'll need it.

a PC killed

multiple PCs killed

Betrayer killed

all avatars survive until the fall

Emissary's Death Ward triggered

Betrayer attacks PC or Arcadia

PC or Arcadia attacks Betrayer

Cassida flees

Cassida killed

a prayer

Asha wolf time

"little lies" invoked

Kord sends storm

another subclass confirmed

Betrayers learn about Society of Primes

other Calamity event referenced

Factorum Malleus damaged by other means

Latimus Princeps destroyed

Cognouza Ward flees

Umleta rejoins party

Umleta kills someone off-screen

Umleta causes trouble off-screen

Umleta remains at large

Acastriel appearance

Erathis appearance

previous god of death referenced

other Prime mentioned by name

other Betrayer mentioned by name

Brashaar or Athodan mentioned

new Magestri named

another Society of Primes member named

Luxon lore

Predathos mention

Hallis mention

FRIDA appearance or mention

Ethedok or Vordo mention

reference to Tengar

Bolo mention

Trist's family mention

Emissary related to stasis bubbles

Emissary is explosive

Guiding Bolt

Counterspell

Stunning Strike

Rage

Metamagic

Insight check against PC

Insight check against Betrayer

PC casts 9th-level spell

other god casts 9th-level spell

pre-5e spell

#Critical Role #CR Downfall #CritRole bingo

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batsplat · 5 months ago

Note

ok, in light of casey and vale’s reunion at the ranch. what are your top 5 or maybe 10 motogp feud developments of the year? could be something like casevale link up or someone saying something insane or it could be some insane fact that you’ve uncovered this year which changed/added to your perception of some rivalry?

excellent ask. obviously I got sent this around the time of the actual ranch visit and prevaricated on answering it, partly because one of my personal top three feud related revelations had not as yet been posted. now it HAS been posted - and while there's other as-yet-unposted material that would probably make this list, I'll have a crack at it with what we've got lol. also, this isn't a particularly balanced list... because obviously 'stuff I've found out this year' is a pretty big caveat. I haven't found out that much stuff this year! generally it's been to do with sete/valentino tbh, and most of it is stuff I've been sent by other people. I've been slacking on doing my own feud research. so as much as I'd like to sneak in a dovi/jorge cameo or whatever, unfortunately there's quite a few feuds where we are currently in a bit of a stagnation period... no real advances in the field I'm afraid. I've decided to go for the nice and round number of six items as nobody's attention will last that long anyway. no need to overdo things

6. casey mentioning valentino's qatar 2007 head rub three times in his autobiography: okay, look, there's a slightly irritating element to this discovery in that... y'know. I could've figured this one out YEARS ago because it literally just relies on reading casey's autobiography closely enough. which you'd think I would have done by now. the process by which I cobbled this one together has been documented here, and now we obviously also have a lovely gif of the moment itself at our disposal. just to refresh everyone's memory, even the bloody photo itself made it to the autobiography:

I love this! casey's so deeply weird about valentino and he's so repressed about it and he lets it slip in such funny ways. such a short moment for it to live so incredibly rent free in casey's mind. as always, it is important to note that casey is not giving an accurate recollection of events. I have little way of knowing whether valentino was still friendly to casey away from the track - but I can use casey's own metric of direct post-race interactions and tell you categorically that valentino continues to warmly congratulate casey after early 2007. there's this fun little technique I use to assess casey's claims called 'the power of my own eyes'

mugello 2009 first time vale lost his home race in a bajillion years and this is how he acts with casey on the podium... let's start a conversation

the underlying reasons for why casey takes such liberties in narrativising the rivalry have been previously discussed in much depth in this parish - and as ever it is fun and neat to note how casey's narrative has become accepted because he has taken advantage of a prevalent narrative about valentino and his affinity for feuding. old tricks used against the teacher!! mainly, though, this kind of thing is a fun little reminder of how rewarding it is to do a lot of reading between the lines where casey is concerned. he does let a lot slip, if you know where to look

5. jerez 2024, the weekend experience: I was thinking about putting something related to the pecco/marc set-up for next year in this post but quite honestly I am increasingly pessimistic about how that will unfold. like,, I do think there's plenty of stuff there and that in this kind of scenario any two of prime jorge, casey and valentino would start stabbing each other, any two of prime jorge and valentino could get something going with pecco, and marc would start a war with any of those three. but I'm just not convinced about this specific combination... and sometimes it's a good idea to set your expectations low. so unfortunately we continue to have to rely on old feuds to keep us fed, which means that valentino's link to pecco somehow remains the most surefire source of narrative tension. I don't particularly like this state of affairs and maybe somebody below the age of 35 should start pulling their weight, but it is what it is. sometimes you just have to contend yourself with archival research. anyway, I really enjoyed jerez!! it was fun having valentino there for all that stuff, the marc/pecco duel was only second to jorge/pecco sepang in terms of on-track thrills, plus repeatedly cutting back on marc does kinda feel like #heritage at this point. grateful that bez moved his ass once this season to get valentino to parc fermé

but above all I really enjoyed that valentino description of marc - how marc attempts to show his superiority over his opponent and that 'when he sees that you are less strong or are already bleeding, he bites harder'. that's lovely stuff. obviously valentino is correct in his assessment of marc... but what makes the whole thing more fun and dramatically juicy is that especially that second part is even more true of valentino himself. valentino sniffing out weakness is basically his entire MO as a rider, including in very practical terms how he likes to study and put pressure on his opponents during races. he's also someone who's always liked to attack from a position of strength - you see this most obviously in the 2008-09 period and it is something jorge himself acknowledges quite explicitly in his biography. idk, something about seeing a little bit of yourself in your enemy... and yeah, 'biting your rival harder when they are already bleeding' is just such a poetic little phrase that I've made heavy use of it since then. old man's still got it

4. what hrc was told at qatar 2004: this is another one of those slightly annoying ones where I suppose I theoretically could have found this out years before I did, but. having finally had the chance to watch the footage from that route 46 route 93 documentary and the bits about sete, twas very much worthwhile. I really enjoyed what valentino said, just a nicely rich text especially given the scarcity of comments he's made since 2004 - but I was particularly interested in the testimony from juan martinez, sete's crew chief. both of which are discussed in some depth here. as far as I can tell, martinez did quite literally say him and sete talked to hrc about the little grid rubber trick valentino's team pulled, which?? he claims it's for 'safety reasons' to try and convince them everybody needed the track cleaned - which is all well and good, but you don't need to be a witch to guess what hrc was going to do with that information

this testimony plus a few more details I've unearthed but haven't posted - primarily relating to the actions of fausto gresini and other honda bigwigs that day - make me increasingly convinced that valentino did have a legitimate grievance at qatar. including directed towards sete. obviously, the manner in which he responded to said grievance was still completely mental... but idk, I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that there had to be something to valentino's accusation. which makes sete's arc throughout that 2004 season and especially from qatar to sepang even more interesting!! I do think he wasn't being entirely honest in that sepang presser, but I also think he panicked a bit for fairly understandable reasons. idk obviously this is just such a fascinating few weeks for everyone involved, so I'm thrilled how I've found out so much more about that time period in such a short amount of time. again, mostly not off the back of my own research!! but I am grateful for what I have been allowed to Divine

3. valentino's podcast adventures: I still haven't talked properly about what valentino said about jorge but I will and I should, because those bits are all pretty enjoyable and fit into the rivalry write-up I did earlier this year. also, the casey stuff was excellent!! more of the valentino ambition vs casey talent theme, plus just some fun descriptions of laguna 2008 I will absolutely integrate into my long post about that race. nothing NEW exactly, but it's always nice having someone confirm your working. and the marc stuff was really fun!! obviously I was particularly keen on the alzamora stuff because I've always felt like there had to be more to his role. the argentina 2015 stuff is just really interesting in relation to what jorge has said (perhaps reflecting paddock gossip at the time question mark) that marc felt valentino deliberately made him crash, so you get into this excellent mutual j'accuse situation. and assen!! obviously valentino's description of marc's attitude isn't particularly novel since it does chime with what we have actual footage of in the presser, but the idea of a private lil confrontation is so much fun. especially paired with marc saying at sachsenring he felt assen was his best race of the season!! 2015 is one of the best puzzle box seasons to try and unravel what 'really happened' and why - and we really haven't gotten new details from one of the two blokes involved that often over the years. always appreciate some additional insight

and obviously the best bit - zero mention of sete. friendships, rivalries, even feuds can fade... curses last forever

2. the 'ciao sete' shirt valentino wore in 2004: which has now been posted here, god bless. this has been living rent free in my mind for weeks at this point, not a day has passed where I haven't thought about it. it has singlehandedly made motogp-blogging on this website worth it because I doubt I would have ever discovered it myself. I love this so so dearly. look at this absolute cunt

a third t-shirt has hit late 2004 feuding towers

first of all, that's a dyke aunt. that is a mother. some deep concentrated evil lesbian energy. I'm not straight but he can get it. second of all, what the FUCK is wrong with you. the best part is that this has been sent to me along with a steady diet of extra details confirming they were like. properly properly friends before all this shit went down, which makes every additional feud-related revelation particularly wild. they were close!! it's so brutal, it's so malicious, it is INCREDIBLY funny and I laugh every time I see those photos. I love the playful edge, the double meaning of 'bye thirst', that marriage of joy and cruelty that is so quintessential to the arc he goes on that year. just having a laff... one dead, dozens injured. I feel like I increasingly have a handle on why valentino went SO far with sete and what it was specifically about losing to sete that drove valentino nuts, which does also leave me with rather a lot of sympathy for poor sete in all this. endless ritual humiliation is one hell of a punishment for your former friend to inflict. that being said, unfortunately it is also hilarious. ah well

1. CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH: casey!! visited!! valentino!! at!! the!! ranch!! CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH. out of NOWHERE too, just suddenly opened tumblr to a bunch of asks and messages on a random sunday evening. I'd previously expressed myself sceptical on the vale/casey dinner front, feeling rather safe and secure in the knowledge they had not done so in the twelve years since casey's retirement. which, y'know. fantastic timing, lads. but I still think my reasoning mostly holds up - obviously, this was a more casual 'valentino harassing casey into sticking around' affair and not quite the soul-searching soul-baring exercise in exorcisms casey might be looking for. and idk, just vindicating of my general read of that relationship. casey's feelings towards valentino are extremely complicated - this weird cocktail of how he feels about valentino as a person and then valentino the character and also valentino the literal embodiment of the sport. valentino doesn't hate casey... and crucially, he also does not seem to particularly mind casey's bi-yearly habit of talking shit about valentino. I mean, come on, SOME of that stuff must get back to valentino. I'm consistent in my stance that - while casey obviously has plenty of legitimate grievances - I do also think valentino could reasonably take issue with some of the ways casey has characterised valentino and their rivalry. if valentino has his complaints, he's clearly not about to share with the class - and there's really not any bitterness whatsoever in how he's talked about casey these last few years. he's content to pass the reigns to casey in narrativising their rivalry to the public. pretty interesting, no?

idk, I like how true the entire ranch visit felt to their dynamic... valentino might have done what he needed to do to beat casey, but there was never any real personal animosity on his end - at most their intense bickering during 2010-12, but even there it was never that serious to valentino. and now, that's all done with as far as he's concerned... the door is open, if casey wants it to be. and casey, always just a bit more cautious and wary and far more conflicted, who clearly still has all these grievances relating to valentino he needs to share with the world... but when they're actually face-to-face, those have always had a habit of falling away. valentino in all his boundless enthusiasm and sincere belief that casey is as good a rider as they come, dragging around his erstwhile rival to proudly show him around his precious home. and casey, who once idolised valentino and perhaps even wished they could have been friends, allowing himself to be dragged along. it was sweet... it warmed my cold dead heart. I liked it. and I am going to laugh very hard indeed when casey gives his next interview discussing how valentino taught him about the horrors of the human condition

#most of my sete scholarship is happening in messages at the minute but that could easily fill up a top ten list #found a clip of an interview of him post qatar 2004!!#just so much fun to actually be able to watch him lol. his perpetual :D paired with how clearly obviously beyond furious he is #also yeah he did curse sete. don't have a clip of THAT but enough quotes of him talking about it #which i did post about but only in a longer essay so. nothing i can easily link to for the purposes of this list #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #//it #//currt #//ht #//curst #i need to give somebody dovi/jorge brainworms so they can do some extensive research #feel free to send in your application

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autumnalwalker · 1 year ago

Text

Empty Names - 21 - Old Flame

Author's Note: In which Eris gets a phone call from her ex, hunts down an eldritch horror and gets backstory trauma put on display. And backstory happy stuff too. Lots of Eris backstory this chapter all around. I think this might be one of my favorite chapters I've written so far for this story, even if it did come out more like three chapters in a trenchcoat. Maybe one of these days I'll go back and split this chapter and the other overly long ones into separate parts/posts to be more digestible. More spoiler-y commentary in the tags. Wordcount: 16,606 Content Warnings: Fantasy fight scene violence. Blood. Trauma flashbacks. Loss of sense of self. Suicide mention. Mild body horror. Brief mentions of sex and kink without detail.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

For all the pocket dimensions Eris has passed in and out of, somehow these past few days have been her first time leaving the country while, strictly speaking, remaining on Earth. Their last mission - somehow the word feels less silly when Road is around - involved helping a young man sort through the collection of cursed and haunted artifacts filling the house he’d just inherited from some mysterious distant uncle. The unlucky heir had found the experience harrowing enough that he took the amnestic Road offered him afterward, but that still left a couple dozen dangerously enchanted items in need of proper disposal. Eris had been able to call up Preacher from her monster hunter contacts for a good old fashioned Catholic exorcism on a few, others were handled by Road and Ashan performing some more esoteric rituals, and three were set aside for storage in some basement of the Bridgewood Manor for Sullivan to take care of. That all left seven objects that Road insisted would be best handled by returning them to their rightful resting places.

Hence the current international road trip with Road while Lacuna and Ashan stayed behind to watch the office. When Road had said they could just about get anywhere on the planet in three hours or less, Eris had taken it for a boast. After seventy-two hours of making more jumps through bridges and pocket dimensions than she’d previously made in the seven years since she first found Crossherd, she’s reminded that Road doesn’t make boasts. France, Peru, Kenya, Romania, India, Korea… and who knows how many other countries they technically passed through for a few minutes between bridges in between those stops.

“So, what’s the fastest way from Seoul to Vancouver?” Eris asks Road as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her van.

The third-to-last artifact on their dropoff list - a spirit of a blacksmith haunting the last sword it ever made - has been picky about who it will allow itself to be passed down to. It’s been insistent about being in the hands of “a true craftsman of its bloodline,” and so far none of its descendents in its home country that she and Road have talked to have made the cut. Hopefully a cousin in Canada with a 3D modeling job and a resin printer for making tabletop wargame miniatures will satisfy the spirit more than a restaurant owner who’s long since given up doing his own cooking.

“If we were walking, there’s a noodle place I know a few blocks away that’s in six different cities and once. Depending on what we order and how fast we eat, we could probably get there in twenty or thirty minutes. Driving through, probably best we go back through the bridge we came here from, then a series of brief transits from Mumbai, to Dubai, to Cambrai, to Quebec, to Vancouver. Should be about an hour if traffic is good.”

“Rhyming our way to France, and then making the French connection to Canada?”

“It might be silly, but it works,” Road says with a chuckle. “Bridges and pocket dimension links have sprouted up from stranger things.”

“Are you sure we’re actually on an achor world? This has been a whole lot of holes and folds in space we’ve been going through. It’s all starting to make the firm bedrock of reality that everything’s tied down to feel more like a sponge.”

“Now you know why the powers that be in Crossherd and similar hub dimensions are so insistent on the Masquerade. Not even most people in the know Backstage have any idea just how… loose… everything really is.”

Eris stays silent for a bit to let that sink in. And to concentrate on driving in a city with street signs in a language she’s had scant opportunity to practice since her parents kicked her out nearly a decade ago. She knew better than to expect anything familiar here, in the birthplace of a grandmother she’d never met that looked nothing like how it would have back before that grandmother met her grandfather and moved with him back overseas. A grandmother she herself probably looks nothing like. Allegedly her father had taken more after his father and passed that on to her. Still, both the arrival and the leaving of this city brought an irrational twinge of hope that she might glimpse something of one of the heritages her parents had been so weirdly insistent about cutting out of their lives in favor of a futile attempt to blend in and assimilate. She’d gotten the same feeling when stopping in India on this trip too, and nothing had come of it there either. It’d probably be the same if she ever went to Mexico, although that unmet grandparent had supposedly been a second generation immigrant.

But hey, on the bright side she’s driving again, even if it is in city traffic at the moment. Between Crossherd’s walkability, the trees at the Bridgewood Estate, and the unexpected lack of monster corpses in need of disposal since joining up with Road, she’s barely been behind the wheel in the past two months. Fortunately, the heavily refurbished van turned out to be just about perfect for transporting a pile of cursed artifacts that were too volatile to shove into bigger-on-the-inside containers. Maybe one of these days when they all have some downtime she’ll talk the others into a more recreational road trip somewhere. It’d get Lacuna out of her basement lab and would probably be a brand new experience for Ashan.

“By the way,” Road says at a red light, snapping Eris out of her traffic-induced musings, “I’ve noticed these past couple days that you’ve been changing up how you refer to me mid-conversation.”

“Just going with what felt right. My bad for not running it by you first though.”

“No, no, I’m just surprised is all… How could you tell?”

“There’s this thing you do with your voice. Your body language and posture too, but mostly your voice. You’ve got three or four different modes of presentation, I guess you could call it, that you’ll settle into as a default for most of the day and shapeshift your jacket to match, but then throughout the day in shorter bursts you’ll shift in and out of those other modes while your appearance stays the same.” Eris raises an eyebrow at him before turning her gaze back to the traffic that’s begun moving with the greenlight. “Am I wrong?”

Road lets out a laugh that peters out into a bemused sigh. “You’re the first person I’ve met other than Sullivan to pick up on that,” she says to Eris. “It feels nice to be seen like that. I knew you were the right one to bring along on this trip.”

“I’ve been wondering about that actually. Why did you pick me for this? Sure, I’ve got the van, but we’ve got one in the office’s garage that we’ve still never taken out for a spin and I know you know how to drive.”

“Partly I figured you would be the best at resisting any influence our backseat passengers start acting up.”

“I’d think the wizard would be the ideal choice for that.”

“Sure, he has his defenses, the same as any other properly trained mage, but even before putting this team together, I’ve always felt you were strong-willed enough not to need such techniques.”

A rapidly shifting sky seen through bloody water. A sense of peace and warmth despite the icy depths. A steady fame from the tip of a white wand. Active thought flowing out to feed the fire. Smooth skin where a scar should be. A flood of lost memories. A sun held between her -

Eris pushes the memories of helplessness back down.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she replies.

“And I wouldn’t be so sure of selling yourself short,” Road says. “Nevertheless, the bigger reason I asked you to come with me for this is that you know how to talk to people.”

“Eh, my Spanish is fluent and my German is passable, but we just saw that my Korean is rusty as Hell and my Hindi is even worse. I never did get around to learning French beyond a handful of tourist phrases, and I don’t know a lick of Romanian. Again, Ashan seems like the better fit with the translation charm.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“You’re right.”

“Then why play dumb?”

The van reaches another intersection just in time for the light to turn red.

Eris turns answers over in her mind.

Why?

Reflex? Humility? Habit?

Why would that be a reflex? When did that happen? How did she let it?

It’s been a long time.

Was it when she started hanging out at a bar full of adrenaline junkies with a deathwish?

Was it when she chose the bloody rush of killing monsters with her bare hands over college despite her scholarship qualifications?

Was it when she got accused of secretly being a boy and on drugs for being too good at sports in junior high?

It’s been a long time.

The light turns green.

“I guess I’m not used to anyone wanting me around for much other than to be the big strong one who’s good at hitting and breaking stuff,” Eris answers.

“Again, you’re selling yourself short. Do you think that’s what Lacuna wants you around for? Or how Ashan sees you when the two of you linger in the kitchen after the rest of us leave?”

“Those are personal relationships, it’s not the same thing. Besides, Sully’s made it abundantly clear what he thinks of me and what I got hired to do for you two.”

“He has, hasn’t he? I’m sorry about that, I really am. Sullivan, for better or worse, has some consistent blindspots with his biases and isn’t half as good at reading people as he thinks he is. Especially anyone that’s even remotely similar to him.”

“Okay, now that’s a low blow. He and I are not alike”

“I mean it as a compliment, really. I’ve never met anyone so loyal or so fiercely protective of the people he cares about. I see that in you too, except you still have it in you to have some compassion for anyone outside those close to you. And, of course, you’re both incredibly skilled at doing violence and enjoy it, even if the reasons are different. But you’re both more than that too. Even with this mission he’s the one who’s been doing the genealogical digging and messaging me with suggestions of where to go and who to take these artifacts to, despite that taking time away from his ongoing investigation.”

“Speaking of that,” Eris says, “what have you had Sully working on that’s so secret? Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t think I’ve seen the guy since the office opened up.”

“You don’t know?”

“Obviously not. And every other time I’ve asked something’s conveniently come up for you to change the subject.”

“Strange. I could have sworn I told you. It must have just slipped… my… mind… again…”

A handful of times, on particularly bad nights, Eris has sat with Lacuna when she just sort of shut down. Those instances were always rough, but seeing Road of all people do it out of the blue like this is chilling. Like the sun going out and revealing that it’s just been a big light bulb hanging from a poorly-painted ceiling this whole time.

Lacuna never snapped back to normal abruptly enough to make Eris question if she'd just imagined it though.

“Anyway,” Road resumes, “remember our first mission as a team?”

“It’s barely been two months.”

“So it has. Regardless, he’s been investigating what caused a dragon and a Culescun bone ship not outfitted for inter-world travel to get drawn into a crossover point and try to occupy the same space at the same time. More specifically, he’s been tracking down whomever it was that blew up the nearby lighthouse shortly after we left and trying to figure out if they’re connected to a different case of an unknown party picking off and stealing the contraband from inter-world smugglers.”

“He’s what now?” Eris asks, keeping her tone carefully level. How is this her first time hearing any of this? “Is that why we’re playing cursed delivery service right now? So we can be bait?”

“In all honesty, that thought hadn’t occurred to me. But now that you mention it, there are worse plans.”

Another red light. The last intersection before the turn into a series of side alleys for the bridge.

“We can come back to that after you explain everything you thought you already told me,” Eris says, “but for now, what was that about the lighthouse bl-”

A custom ringtone that Eris hasn’t heard in years plays over the van’s speakers and cuts off her question. She doesn’t need to look at the caller ID displayed on the dashboard console to know who it is. A part of her is surprised the caller still has her number, but then again, Eris still has hers. And the two of them do still speak from time to time.

She considers letting it go to voicemail. Or even hitting the button to hang up altogether. She has more important things to focus on right now than a phone call from an ex who might have been trying to flirt with her a week ago.

An ex who wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency. An ex who, if she really wanted to get back together, would more likely rope mutual friends into arranging a “chance meeting” where they would “just so happen” to have the opportunity and reason to do something romantic together like walk through a botanical garden, fix an engine together, or fight each other until they can barely stand. An ex who would drop everything if Eris were the one to call.

Godammit.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Eris says to Road before tapping the green call icon on the dashboard screen. “Yo, Gretchen, I’m driving right now with Road, so I’ve got you on speakerphone. What’s up?”

With any luck, knowing Road’s on the line should keep Gretchen from trying to dredge up old relationship history that Eris is even less in the mood to deal with right now than normal. And if it really is an emergency, it will be good to keep Road in the loop.

“Great,” Gretchen’s voice says through the van’s speakers, “that saves me the trouble of making a second call. Do either of you know anything about non-euclidean, shifting, tesseract-esque architecture of the sort Lovecraftian horrorterrors like to make nests in?”

“I know that eldritch-warped spaces should never be entered without the proper training and precautions,” Road offers, “and even then they’re incredibly dangerous to go into alone and nigh-impossible to find your way out of without an anchor back to realspace.”

“Right. Pretty much what I already guessed then.”

“Gretchen,” Eris says in exasperation that hasn’t yet turned into concern, “for the love of God, please tell me that’s not where you’re calling from.”

“Not yet it isn’t, but I am camped out inside the theater department of a Midwest liberal arts college staring at the door to a dressing room that was bigger on the inside when I opened it to chase the tentacle monster I’ve been hunting.”

“In that case,” Road says, “I would strongly advise closing the door, waiting an hour, and then checking to see if it’s gone back to normal by then. The eldritch aren’t mere beasts to hunt.”

“Not happening. I’ve already tagged this one so it can’t fully escape the world into voidspace. It’s my quarry to claim, and while I really would love the assistance if you want to come jump into the proverbial eye of terror with me, I’m going after it either way. And before you start lecturing me about acceptable targets, I’ve already verified that this one’s not sapient; it’s just a passing scavenger that stopped by to feed on the psychic torment of undergrads going through finals week.”

The traffic light turns green.

“Give us an address and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Eris says. “Don’t you dare go in there alone before we arrive.” She just had to turn this into an ultimatum, didn’t she?

“Thanks E, I’ll text it to you. Be seeing you.”

The call ends, and the ensuing text message arrives immediately enough that it was almost certainly typed up in advance. Eris taps to display it on the screen and glances at Road.

“Do I still want to make this turn up ahead?”

“Do you really think she’ll really go in on her own if we take too long?”

“I hate to say it, but yes. I’d know if she were bluffing and she’s not. She’s leaving something out, but she’s serious about that.”

“In that case go three more blocks and then take twelve right turns in a row. There’s a witch I know who owes me a favor.”

“Got it. And thanks for helping with this. I know it’s a detour from the current mission cleanup.”

“It’s practically on the way, and besides, there’s not a rush with the deliveries. It’s not like they’re going anywhere if we leave them unattended for a short time. Wrong kind of hauntings for that.”

“All the same, I appreciate it. Things between me and Gretchen are weird, but I’d still rather not see her lose her mind trapped in some impossible labyrinth.”

“I wouldn’t want to see that happen to anyone. Do you want to loop in Ashan and Lacuna?”

“Nah, someone’s got to watch the office in case something comes up. Besides, it’s like two a.m. there right now. Let them sleep. Between you, me, and Gretchen, we should be fine.”

“Right you are,” Road says with a smile that shows more teeth than his usual. “It’s been awhile since I’ve dealt with one of the eldritch. This should be fun.”

Fun… Yes, Eris supposes it will be once the hunt gets going. No more effective way to forget her worries for a little while. But first…

“Now about that exploding lighthouse…” Eris leaves the implied question hanging.

“I can give you and the others the full explanation when we get back.”

“You can give me the abridged version while I drive.”

“Fair enough.”

Eris could almost swear she hears them whisper something under their breath about it being refreshing to be called out.

*******

It has long been observed that artists, writers, performers, and other such creative types tend to have a statistically significant increased rate of contact with the extra-dimensional entities collectively known as “the eldritch.” While the theory that creatives are somehow possessed of some special spiritual elevation or metaphysical sensitivity has been largely discredited, the actual cause of this phenomenon remains hotly debated. The most popular theories are variations on the proposition that the act of creating art gives of psychic resonances that the eldritch can sustain themselves on similar to how deiform entities (more commonly known as “gods”) are sustained by - and by some indications potentially created by - sapient faith. Others propose that the act of creation is a reshaping of our otherwise relatively stable baseline reality that either draws the eldritch in via a sense of familiarity to their own ever-shifting domain of existence or fascinates them with its alienness.

The most radical theories of why the eldritch seem to be drawn to art and artists is that they are not truly so different from us, and just find it neat.

Such is the potentially relevant trivia that runs through Eris’s mind as she picks her way down a dark hallway strewn with a web of tripwires and enchanted chalk drawings, trying not to catch any of the higher-strung wires on the spear strapped to her back. Less helpful but equally persistent thoughts include stories of victims going mad from merely looking at the eldritch and irritation at Gretchen for setting all this up when she knew Eris and Road were coming to help. And, Eris will begrudgingly admit, thoughts admiring the skill it takes to turn thirty feet of straight hallway into a virtual labyrinth to navigate.

“Okay, stop,” Gretchen instructs her. Golden hair and golden eyes catch the glow coming from the one open door in the hallway while black leather and kevlar blend the rest of the monster huntress into the shadows. Her spear, with its exaggerated bladed crossguard below the main blade, lies resting against the doorframe. “Take two steps to the left, two steps back, another to the left, four forward, two to the right, and then you should be clear.”

“Was this all really necessary?” Eris asks as she catches up with Road and Gretchen in front of a door to a theater dressing room whose contents keep multiplying and folding in on themselves.

“Maybe not, but I had the time waiting for you to get here,” Gretchen answers, “so I figured I may as well account for the possibility of this thing fleeing back outside once we find it in there. These Lovecraftian tentacle monsters are slippery like that, this way we either catch it in there or we chase it back out here where it slithers headlong into a magic net.” She flashes Eris a wickedly playful grin painted poison apple red. “Besides, if you were to accidentally set one of these off it’d be fun to see how long it takes you to break out.”

“Lovecraftian is a slur,” Road points out without looking away from the threshold of the warped space, saving Eris from having to reply to that last part.

“Huh?”

“Old Howard Phillips was a racist xenophobe even by the standards of his time who thought air conditioning was unnatural and scary,” Eris clarifies. “A guy like that was obviously going to interpret any contact with a genuinely alien consciousness in the worst possible faith, and whether it was coincidence or a failed attempt at breaking the Masquerade, he wound up having an outsized influence on the collective consciousness and how the eldritch have even been able to interact with this world over the past century.”

“I never did understand how the other hunters couldn’t see you were a giant nerd at heart,” Gretchen says.

“Not in a flirting mood right now, Gretchen.”

“Spoilsport.” The word comes out as a joke rather than an accusation.

“Anyway,” Road says as they drop their duffel bag on the floor and begin rifling through it, “I think I’ve seen enough to get a handle on the situation.”

“Do tell,” Gretchen says.

“At a glance this appears to be a fairly standard eldritch spatial warping, anchored enough to this world to be merely confusing instead of completely incomprehensible. That said…” he pulls a scrimshaw carving of a deep-sea fish from the duffle bag and sticks his arm through the doorway, holds it there past the threshold for a few seconds until the bone starts glowing, and puts it back in the bag. “Like I suspected, the space is psychically reactive, so we’ll need to be careful about mental feedback loops in there. Luckily I have some countermeasures for that. Just give me a few minutes to stabilize this portal so it doesn’t close behind us and we should be good to go.”

“Cool, while you do that…” Eris says to Road and then turns to Gretchen, “Gretchen, I need a word with you in private.”

“Not a lot of privacy in here, E, unless you want to go walk through the web again.”

Eris stalks over to where the person who coined that nickname for her and all it entails stands lurking just past the edge of the light spilling from the warped space beyond the door. She comes to a stop close enough that the shorter woman has to crane her neck up to look her in the eye. When she does, Eris can see that her pupils are dilated beyond even what this darkness should elicit. Black circles that nearly reach the edge of their sockets with just the faintest rim of yellow iris and hardly any room for the white of sclera.

“We can whisper,” Eris hisses. “And I am not in the mood for you to make a joke out of that.”

“What’s got you all worked up?” Gretchen whispers. “A hunt with rare prey and working with Road? I’d think you’d be enjoying this as much as I am. Or has working with the celebrity hero gotten boring for you?”

“What are you leaving out?” Eris prays that she’s wrong about already knowing the answer to her own question.

“Perceptive as ever. It always was one of your best qualities.”

“Stop dancing around the answer.”

“Tell me how you figured it out.”

“Do I look like I want to play this game?” She used to love playing this game.

“You already know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You want to hear me say literally anything else. I want to hear you say it.”

A request with two meanings if there ever was one.

“Fine,” Eris growls. “You called me.”

“Just that?”

“That was enough to suspect.”

“But there was more. What are you leaving out?”

That same wonderfully wicked smile that always accompanied every inside joke between them.

“If this was just about a hunt gone weird you would have called Road directly. We all have their number, it’s literally posted on the wall at 121813. And you certainly wouldn’t have turned it into a threat to go in alone. You’re smarter than that. You wanted me here, and Road’s an excuse at best and distraction at worst.”

“Go on.”

“You’ve always been good at setting up snares, but not even you could have rigged all this up in the time between the phone call and now. You had these traps ready before you ever picked up the phone. You prepared this for us as much as for your prey, but you made a point of helping us get on this side of them.”

“And why would I ever do a thing like that?”

“We show up and you’re lurking in the shadows like you’re setting up a dramatic reveal. You love being dramatic, but that’s not your flavor. You burst into rooms with flashy entrances and get all eyes on you. You’re two thirds my size and take up twice as much space. You’ve got a miniature bluetooth speaker hidden in your gear so you can play goddam theme music in a fight. You don’t lurk for drama. You only lurk when you’re hunting. When you’re closing in on prey and waiting for it to get in position. When you want to build up your own thrill of anticipation before you come down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that goes with it for your perfect moment.”

“But we’re on a hunt, aren’t we? Why shouldn’t I be lurking outside the hole I’ve run my prey down into?”

“But the eldritch in there isn’t what you really want to catch.”

“My my, my. E, are you calling yourself my prey? I know you’re delicious, but -”

Eris reaches out and grips the flashlight clipped to Gretchen’s shoulder, twists it towards Gretchen’s face and turns it on. There’s an unmistakable flash of eyeshine in the moment before those unnaturally dilated pupils contract into sharp vertical slits, leaving Gretchen more golden-eyed than ever. A predator’s eyes. A hunter’s eyes.

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” Gretchen purrs.

“You were practically showing them off when we got here.”

“They’re lovely aren’t they. It’s amazing what autogenesis can do. But what does it all mean?”

It’s the reason they broke up.

“I almost hit my tipping point on my last hunt,” Gretchen speaks up when Eris doesn’t.

The fifth fate of hunters.

“I changed, and it felt wonderful.”

To get so lost in the hunt, in the thrill of violence, that one becomes no different from the monsters they hunt.

“But then the rush faded, and it was horrifying.”

A recognition of identity that triggers a self-reinforcing feedback loop of autogenesis.

“That’s why I want you here tonight.”

Those who fight monsters and live are doomed to become monsters themselves.

“So you can help pull me back from the brink when I start to go over again.”

“Bullshit,” Eris says flatly.

“Excuse me?”

“You picked out a difficult and dramatic target for your last hunt that you knew had a reputation for making people lose their minds in the hopes that it would be a sure thing to seal you into the fifth fate, and then you called me up so I could witness you change and then tragically have to put you down the way you always romanticized and fantasized about. Bonus points if I die too right after from injuries you inflicted. Your perfect fucked up fairy tale ending.”

“E, that’s not the only way it has to go.”

“Oh, and me turning into a monster too so we can go on a mindless rampage together is so much more -”

“I’m done!” Road calls from the door.

Eris turns around to see them holding an intricately embossed knife in one hand and a smoking censer dangling from a chain in the other. Behind them the doorframe is now surrounded by geometric sigils drawn in glowing chalk.

“Good. So are we,” Eris says.

Road nods in misunderstood affirmation. “Now then, then incense should ward off any eldritch influence to keep our minds stable and bodies intact, so we’ll need to stick together while we’re in there.”

“About that,” Eris says. “Change of plans. Gretchen is staying out here.”

“I absolutely am not! This is my hunt!” Gretchen shouts. The sudden change in demeanor would be jarring if Eris hadn’t expected it.

“I’ve read up enough on these things and talked to enough wizards to know that getting out of weird space like that works best if you have someone on the outside as a lifeline or beacon to follow back. Gretchen’s the one who set up all the traps out here, so best if she takes on that duty so she can manage them if the eldritch comes back out before we do. Better to drive it back out and into her traps to finish it off here than to kill it in an extradimensional space that might well collapse with its death.”

“Oh, now who’s talking bullshit?” Gretchen snarls. Her teeth are sharper than they were three minutes ago. “If anyone should stay behind it should be Road since they’re the one who knows how to keep the door open. Just give us the incense to take with us and we’ll be fine.” She shakes her head. “But no. You’re just trying to poach my prey. Well, I’m the one who found out it was haunting this place! I’m the one who tracked it down to begin with! I’m the one who lured it into realspace! I’m the one who tagged it so it can’t escape! I’m the one who backed it into a corner! I’m the one who kills it! It’s mine! My prey! My hunt! And you can’t take it!”

Eris rounds on her. “Good God! Would you listen to yourself right now? You’re raving. This isn’t you. Not the Gretchen I know. You’re on the brink and that’s the feedback loop talking.”

“And you know me so well, don’t you? In spite of being too afraid of letting go of yourself to see what I see.”

“I know that there’s more to you than just joy of the hunt, and if you go in there you’re going to fall over the edge and lose all of that. And I am not going to help you commit an elaborate ego suicide.”

“It’s not-” Gretchen starts to say before getting interrupted by Road stepping between the two monster hunters.

“Eris, you’ve got a point about someone staying behind as a lifeline beacon,” Road says before taking Eris’s hand in hers to give her a crystal amulet on a silver chain, “but if it’s the hunter’s fifth fate you’re worried about then maybe you should both stay out here while I go in.”

“Me?” Eris balks. “I’m fine.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you are one hundred percent sure of that. Tell me that if you go in you won’t wind up being the one falling over the edge when eldritch exposure starts eating away at your capacity for rational thought.”

Heat. Rage. Ecstasy. The smell of smoke and steam. A cloak of flames. Hair alight like clouds at sunset. A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

The contextless memory leaves Eris gasping. She pushes it back down lest context arrive.

Road nods. It’s the first time Eris has ever seen them look sad. It’s unsettling.

“Gretchen’s liable to run in right after us anyway if we leave her out here unsupervised,” Eris says.

“I would not!” Gretchen protests. “Not that you’re going to leave me out here.”

“Gretchen,” Road says, turning to her, “Eris is right. You’re not well right now. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before firsthand, so I would know.” He raises a hand to forestall another objection. “I also know that, on some level, you know that too, or else you would have come up with a way to just get Eris here and not me. You know how the arrangement I have with the 121813 crew goes; if I’m called in it’s not a hunt anymore and it’s out of the hands of whomever it was that made the call. It’s out of your hands.” Road steps back and gives one of those warm, reassuring smiles of theirs. “And maybe you even meant it earlier about wanting Eris to be here to pull you back from the brink. Yeah, you two weren’t exactly being quiet by the end there. But maybe you don’t have to be all the way to the brink for someone you care about to pull you back and help you.”

Maybe it’s the incense bringing her back down to her senses, or maybe it’s just Road being Road, but something in Gretchen relaxes. Deflates.

“Maybe…” she whispers, eyes downcast.

“Now then!” Road says in a sudden shift from serious to chipper. “You two obviously have a lot of baggage to unpack, so why don’t you take the opportunity to sort that out while I go sort out getting our squiggly visitor back to its home in the Void? Alright? Good. I’m trusting you, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

And with that, Road turns on their heel and heads toward the door with a jaunty wave. By the time they cross the threshold their jacket has finished folding and flowing outward to completely cover them in plated purple armor with green trim. The incense smoke billows around them and trails behind, creating a pocket of stability in the chaotic space that was once a theater dressing room. And then the bubble gets too far away from the door, the room inverts itself, and Road is gone save for a subtle tugging sensation coming from the amulet they left in Eris’s hand.

“So…” Gretchen grasps at the words to say next. Her eyes remain downcast.

“So…” Eris prompts. Her eyes remain trained on Gretchen.

“Is Road always…”

“Like that? Pretty much.”

“And here I thought they were just doing a bit the couple of times I worked with them.”

“Nah, they’ve got that vibe going pretty much twentyfour-seven.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“For me or for them?”

“Both.”

“Eh, it’s endearing, and I’m not convinced they actually sleep.”

The silence of thoughts not yet formed into words descends. Gretchen steps away from Eris to go lean on a section of wall that hasn’t been tripwired or graffitied. Eris shifts her own position to keep herself between Gretchen and the door and pockets the lifeline amulet.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen finally looks back up at Eris.

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen says. “Like you said, I wasn’t really myself when I was going on like that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“It’s just… You know what it’s like. The rush, the thrill, the anticipation. The drumbeat in the back of your head that seems too loud to be simply your own heart. The electric tingle down your spine that spreads through your whole body. The way smell and taste start blurring together and your other senses all start feeding each other so that the whole world seems more. The craving. The memory of blood’s viscosity and the way a drop’s trail down the back of your hand catches on all the little hairs and gathers in the pores and creases. The constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels. Has felt. Will feel next time.”

“I do. All the more reason for you not to go in there.”

“It’s like that all the time now. Even basking in that moment right after a kill, it only ebbs away to a murmur. It’s enough to make you think it might not be so bad if you never felt anything else.”

“Only ever feeling one thing? Sounds like death to me, and I’d rather die as myself.”

Gretchen’s laugh is soft and bitter. “You always say that. Have you ever stopped to think that it might be becoming more yourself, not less?”

“I have, but I’ve seen what someone becoming more herself looks like, and this? What you’re talking about? This ain’t it.”

“How do you figure?”

“Becoming more yourself is about letting yourself grow, and while you might shed some masks that were never really part of who you were in the first place, everything that makes you you is still there in some form, for better or worse. What you’re talking about isn’t taking off a mask, it’s hacking off your nose, ripping out your tongue, and mangling your ears. It’s becoming a caricature of yourself. Maybe if this was a not wanting to be human anymore thing I could understand, but that’s never been what you wanted. It was always that single perfect moment stretched out to infinity that you’d always wax poetic about.”

“How do you do it then?”

“Do what?”

“I’ve seen you in action E, I know you love it just as much as I do. Maybe even more.”

“I’m not the one trying to accelerate losing my mind here.”

“That’s my point! I’ve seen you covered head to toe in blood with a look on your face I only wish I could have ever gotten you to make in bed, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. That’s not even flirting, it’s objective fact. So how are you not the one rushing headlong into trying to feel that way all the time? Where do you find that strength to resist?”

Eris shrugs. “It’s not that complicated really. I wouldn’t even call it ‘strength’ per say. I have other things I care about and I know that there’s more to me than being the strong one who rips out hearts and crushes skulls with my bare hands. I love the hunt - and the kill - sure, but I don’t let my life revolve around it.”

“I could make an argument to the contrary, but…” Gretchen takes a deep breath, throws back her head, and lets out a long exhale in time with sliding her lean against the wall down into a seated position. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should try to take a break for a while. Find myself a new hobby.”

Eris crouches down to get closer to eye level with her and grins. “I’d suggest gardening, but you and I both know your track record there.”

Gretchen’s laugh is sharp and sweet. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“You almost let a cactus die of dehydration before I stepped in.”

“In my defense, we were living in a humid area at the time. I figured that would be enough for it.”

“Not in that case.”

The silence of familiarity lost and found changed descends. Gretchen fiddles with the area on her arm where sleeve meets glove. Eris cracks her neck.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

Gretchen’s eyes drink in Eris’s presence, only flickering their focus to the open doorway behind her for a moment.

“So, finally got yourself a new pair of boots,” Gretchen observes.

Eris glances down, catches herself, and snaps back to watching Gretchen. “You should have seen the rest of the armor they came with. It was an offworld import, a real sci-fi space marine type look just a step shy of full on power armor.”

“What, did you order it in the wrong size and just keep the boots?”

Eris shakes her head. “You know the trope of jumping on a grenade to save your teammate?”

“Yeah?”

“Replace the grenade with a miniature exploding sun conjured by a wizard. It was hovering though, so instead of throwing myself on top of it I just sort of grabbed it with both hands and squeezed.” Eris mimics the motion. “The boots were the only part of the armor that were still salvageable after.”

“That’s my E, walking off a supernova to the face.”

Light piercing through skin down to the marrow. Heat beyond pain’s ability to register. Flame inseparable from flesh. A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over. A soft bed. The fog of painkillers. A request for a mirror denied.

“Eh, that’s overselling it. Remember the salamander den the Lor twins asked us to help clear out that one time? Now that was some fire.”

“Yeah, in Yellowstone. God, I can still smell the sulfur just thinking about it. Was it you or Lornegna who had the dumbass idea to smash a hole in the wall to flood the cave?”

“That one was on Loreghaste for once, if you can believe it. Not that they’ll ever admit to it.”

“Oh really? I always took them for the reasonable twin.”

“You’d think that, but half the wild shit Lornegna pulls is something that Loreghaste said in passing earlier, knowing full well that they’ll take it and run with it.”

“Even plugging a geyser with that oversized hammer of theirs to turn themself into a human cannonball?”

“Okay, that one was one hundred percent Lornegna.” Eris’s laugh is rough and mellow. “Regular pair of menaces, those two.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Eris gasps in mock indignation. “Me? A menace?”

“You got an amusement park shut down.”

“Miraclezone Fun Park had already closed its doors for four whole days by the time we got there, thank you very much. You know, on account of all the mysterious deaths that got our attention in the first place.”

“Maybe, but derailing a roller coaster so that it crashes into the middle of an amphitheater certainly didn’t help their odds of reopening once the weird ape spider things that were eating the night shift employees were dealt with.”

“Says the woman who decided to draw the beasts out by plugging her phone into the sound system, turning on all the stage lights, and doing a solo dance number without realizing how many there were infesting the park. You’re lucky my aim was good enough to take out half of them when I landed.”

“More like you’re lucky I was fast enough to dodge that mess. I’ll hand it to you though, you made one helluva first impression climbing out of the wreckage, ripping off one of the coaster’s safety bars one-handed and using it as a club to lay into the rest of the… what even were those things anyway?”

“Some alchemist’s escaped mad science experiments. It was in the Crossherd papers a few days later when the guy got bagged for a gross violation of the Masquerade after the cops showed up and found a bunch of dead eight-legged monkeys.” Eris shakes her head in exasperation. “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught for that.”

“Fitzy’s always been good at covering for his bar’s patrons. It’s half the point of 121813.” Gretchen pauses, searching her memory. “That night was your first time there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. You offered to buy me a drink and I was too busy trying to hide the fact that my arm was broken to turn you down.”

“Your arm was broken?”

“And a few ribs. Did something to my ankle too, but by that point I already had a good grasp on how fast I heal and I was trying to look cool for the chick who was killing rabid chimeras with a spear in time with the bassline on metal music blasting from stadium speakers.”

“Speaking of impressive spearwork…” Gretchen pauses just long enough for both of them to think of innuendos that are funnier left unspoken. “Is that the new ice spear you mentioned the last time you were at the bar?”

Eris reaches back and traces two-fingers along the sigil-engraved haft sticking up over her shoulder. “Sure is. Intent-activated ice conjuration on contact capable of full encasement without long term damage after thawing out. It is a bit finicky about which part of the spear causes the freezing, but that’s got its advantages once you get used to it. Come to think of it, this thing would have been real handy back on the Miami job.”

“You mean the time some rich kid showed up at the bar begging for someone to do a live capture on his lost pet? Oh yeah, that would have saved us so much time with that slippery little bastard.”

“Oh, be nice, it was adorable.”

“It was a blob of ooze capable of squeezing itself through a showerhead that had us running in circles around that resort all day like a slapstick routine.”

“But it made itself dog-shaped and licked the kid’s face when we got it back.”

“You are such a bleeding heart.”

“I wonder if I still have a video of that. I bet Lacuna would love it.”

“Right, Lacuna…” Gretchen trails off. “How long have you two been together now?”

“We’re not a couple,” Eris says. The sentence is practically a reflex by now with how often the mistake’s been made.

“Really? Well crap, I owe Old Vic twenty dollars.”

“You made a bet with Old Vic? That Lacuna and I were a couple?”

“Me and half the regulars. Separate pool for how long until you bring her in to show off.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish right now.”

“I don’t even bring her up that much.”

“I was going by quality over quantity. Seriously, have you heard yourself talk about her? Adorably fragile little mess of a genius hacker witch that you protectively fret over who lets you indulge your inner nerd and play the experienced worldly butch while you teach her how to be a woman.”

“First off, I have never once in my life called Lacuna ‘adorable.’ Second, the witch thing didn’t work out for her and she hates being called a hacker. And third, that whole description is infantilizing. She is pretty smart though.” In certain areas anyway, Eris bites her tongue from adding. “She’s got a whole server farm set up and programmed to enchant stuff for her. She’s the one who made the spear.”

Gretchen’s self-satisfied ‘You just proved my point’ look is as insufferably smug as ever.

“Look,” Eris says, “Lacuna’s like a sister to me. Maybe in another life, if we’d met under different circumstances, then maybe, but I wouldn’t trade what we have, given the choice.”

The silence of sore subjects and inarticulate hope descends. Gretchen pushes herself off the wall to sit a little closer to Eris and leaves one hand resting in the space between as a clear invitation. Eris shifts her own position to meet Gretchen’s without touching.

Seconds pass.

Minutes.

“Old Vic says it’ll be behemoth season soon on his homeworld,” Gretchen says without meeting Eris’s gaze. Looking more past her than at her. “He invited me and some of the other regulars to come join him there when it does.”

“Sounds like a party,” Eris says, keeping her eyes locked on Gretchen’s hands.

“It really is, to hear him tell it. A solid week of festivals before and after the culling hunts. Dancing, feasting, games, rituals, all that good stuff. Not many offworlders get invited, but we wouldn’t be the only ones, so it’s not like we’d be intruding either.”

“I hope you get to enjoy it.”

Gretchen raises her hand until her fingers brush Eris’s. Her fingers curl slightly. Eris’s curl into them.

“Obviously, you’re invited too, E. It’ll be the first words out of Old Vic’s mouth the next time you show up. I know you’re busy these days with your new crew, but you really should think about joining us. It’s a once in a lifetime hunt for anyone without a triple-digit lifespan.”

“Whatever happened to taking a break from it all?”

The curled fingers become clasped hands.

“That’s the best part. Imagine, one final hunt grander than anything we’ve seen before or ever will see again where we’ll bring down walking mountains and flying rivers of scales. One last hurrah to get everything out of our system, and afterwards once everyone else goes home the two of us could stay for a while and take a real vacation for a hard reset. Spend a month or two in some tranquil hidden elf village, get in touch with nature, calm down from the hunt.”

“Make a fresh start.”

One of them rises to her feet. The other follows. It is unclear who does which.

“Reconnect.” The word is said in unison.

Gretchen places her free hand on Eris’s shoulder and rests her head on Eris’s chest. Eris places her free hand on Gretchen’s wrist and rests her head on Gretchen’s. A foot wraps around an ankle.

“If I could give it up,” Gretchen whispers, “do you think things could work out between us again?”

The silence of past actions considered.

“Think about it, E. Has anyone else ever been as good with you? No one else has for me. And it was just that one thing between us.”

The silence of chance weighed against choice.

“What if, for each other, we really could get out, E? Have one last hunt and mean it. And if it does call us back again, then if we’re both trying to avoid letting it consume us and watching out for each other, who knows how long we might last? Maybe we could even keep each other alive long enough to get tired and settle down.”

The silence of exceptional circumstances accounted for.

“E… What if neither of us had to die young? What if we got to grow old together?”

The silence of a conclusion reached.

Eris pulls Gretchen further into their embrace. They both lift their heads, faces nearly touching. Brown eyes stare into gold.

“Oh Gretchen, you always knew how to say what I needed to hear.”

“E-”

The embrace becomes crushing. Gretchen’s pained gasp at the vice grip on her hands and wrists is made shallow for want of air.

“Never were good at lying though,” Eris laments. “You know that stun gun you still keep strapped to the underside of your wrist isn’t enough to take me down, right? Or was it going to be the retractable blade in the toe of your boot going for my Achilles tendon? Come to think of it, that lipstick’s the poison apple red I bought for your birthday that one year, isn’t it? ”

Gretchen’s laugh is hard and sour. “Could’ve been all three at once.”

“Still wouldn’t have worked.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, and that’s the problem.”

“One more thing to say in my defense?”

“It won’t make a difference. You’re not getting through that door.”

That same old deliciously wicked grin. For the first time, Eris gets the feeling she’s not on the inside of the joke.

Gretchen intones a quick chant with no literal translation and looks up.

By reflex, Eris looks up into the uniform shadows of the ceiling.

The sole set of graffitied warding sigils that Gretchen neglected to point out earlier light up the ceiling’s shadows.

By reflex, Eris dodges to the side of the blade of light that comes piercing down.

Gretchen slips her hands free of her gloves and out of Eris’s grip.

By reflex, Eris lunges to grab her again.

Gretchen reaches over Eris’s shoulder and grasps the haft of the enchanted spear with intent. Ice spreads from the points of contact where the spear is strapped to Eris’s back. The sudden conjured weight causes Eris to stumble and then - when the ice encases her hips and shoulders - to fall.

It is only one third of a second that Eris is on the ground. By two thirds of a second Eris has shattered the ice, rolled to her feet, and unslung her spear in a single motion.

It only takes Gretchen one half of a second to reach the open door to the eldritch-warped space and collect her own cross spear that she left leaning next to it. She wastes a quarter of a second turning around to look back.

“I’m sorry E, but I’m not as strong as you are.”

Having finally turned around to see the door, Eris realizes that sometime while she’d been watching Gretchen the space on the other side had grown more chaotic until it gave up all pretense of resembling a room, now looking like nothing so much as the white noise of television static. She almost reaches Gretchen in time to stop her from stepping through. The tip of the spear brushes against the back of Gretchen’s knee mid-stride, freezing it and dropping her to what passes for the ground on the other side. And then the feet of distance between the monster hunters becomes miles and Gretchen’s receding black and gold form is swallowed by the static.

Eri swears, pulls the lifeline amulet that Road gave her out of her pocket, and drops it on the floor. She figures that as long as it stays out here in realspace, then Road can always get out and come back with Ashan and Lacuna to pull her and Gretchen out later.

She wastes no further time on hesitation before running into the static after Gretchen.

*******

Eris is hunting.

A chill wind howls across a moonlit prairie. The rush, the thrill, the anticipation, are almost too much to bear as she chases down a pack of lupine shadows. One falls to a spear. Another is caught by its tail and dragged to the ground. A third turns and raises itself on two legs to face its hunter. Its claws meet with only open air. Her claws meet with its heart.

There is a disappointing lack of blood. They are naught but shadows afterall.

The pack’s lone survivor sprints for the treeline, wild with fear, only to find a chainlink fence between itself and safety. She is still half human, and her eyes are fully so when she looks back at her hunter.

There’s a name Eris should remember and call out at this part. She doesn’t, but what does it matter? It’s just a beast.

What was she hunting again? It doesn’t matter. It’s all just prey in the end.

High above, tiny flames swirl and writhe. Its watchful eyes are blinded.

The chainlink fence rattles and shrieks when she tears it down and stalks between the support struts of the rollercoaster. The drumbeat in the back of her head seems too loud to simply be her own heart. Perhaps it is the music pounding from that amphitheater over there. Eight-legged shadows leap from support strut to support strut and skitter along the tracks above. What an annoyance, that noise is luring her prey away from her.

A freezing from the spear, a few good kicks, and a mighty heave are all it takes to knock out the nearest pylon and set the entire rollercoaster around her crashing down. The music of the collapsing metal all around her is enough to drown out the metal of the music from the amphitheater, but the drumbeat in her skull is louder still.

She steps on one of the wretched chimerical shadows trying to free itself from the wreckage as she stalks toward the alleyway behind the amphitheater.

Oh, yes, that’s right. She’s hunting Gretchen. The snake, the spider, her lioness.

Amidst the wreckage, tendrils of flame coil around a thorn that will not burn. Its teeth cannot piece this.

The alleyway is awash with the scent of buzzard meat, skunk perfume, and pine scented car air freshener emanating from the dumpster at the far end. An electric tingle runs down her spine and spreads through her whole body as she walks past the garbage truck that has taken her to so many trailheads with signs of new quarry within the dream-born city. The shadow that erupts from the refuse is all horns, claws, spines, and teeth. It is long enough to wrap itself around her, heavy enough to pull her down to the ground when it does, and vicious enough to keep wrestling with her even after she snaps off its saber fangs.

She recalls a dim memory that this thing once hurt her badly enough that she called for help to return to her home lair afterward. The one who answered should never have had to see her like that. She will make this shadow pay for that.

By the time she realizes the shadow is dead and gone, the pavement is shattered, the dumpster is rent in twain, and the engine of the garbage truck she was once responsible for is totalled. There is no proper satiation to hunting shadows. All chase and fight, but no release. She retrieves her spear and vaults over the wall at the end of the alleyway. Perhaps when she finds her true prey at the end of this she will bring satisfaction.

No, that’s not right, she’s supposed to be searching for Gretchen, not hunting her.

Behind her, the flame lashes out at a person-shaped hole. Its claws have fought against the other’s for so long now.

Moonlight reflects off the lake and into the whispering of the trees that brushes against her cheek to welcome her home with the scent of blood in her mouth. Smell and taste blur together as her senses begin feeding into one another until the whole world seems more. Was she really even alive before this?

Her oldest dance partner rises from the lake to greet her on the shore. The one who tried to hunt her and in failing to do so taught her the joy of being the predator rather than prey. Their dance begins again. As it always has. As it ever will. Her dance partner is a gaunt and stretched out figure of tongues and teeth that still resembles a man. Her dance partner is a beast of scale and shell with jaws that bite and claws that catch. Her dance partner is a cacophonous evolution of forms between as the two of them drive one another to learn and adapt with each dance.

Her dance partner is a mere shadow, frozen in a block of ice and thrown into the back of her van to be stowed away and forgotten. She has long since grown beyond it. She slams the rear doors of the van shut.

And yet still the hunt always cycles anew. She is always hunting.

Beneath the water, the ancient flame roils against a timeless knight. Its arms will crush the misbegotten parasite and then the thing beneath.

The air in the candlelit cavern smothers like a damp blanket. A drop of blood trails down the back of her hand, catches on the tiny hairs, leaves bits of itself gathered in the pores and creases, and falls from her fingertip into the crystal clear pool the same as any other drop from the cavern’s stalactites. It seems the shadow of her old dance partner left her with a final parting gift.

She approaches the cavern’s shrine and the wounded shadow praying at its moldy offering plate skitters away. She weighs whether it is worth pursuing but is distracted by a shambling pile of bones. The bones snap and crunch so pleasingly and the soft shadow beneath rips apart so delightfully. But when the bones are ground to dust and the shadow they failed to protect are gone she is still hungry.

The wounded shadow taps a pattern on the ground. Its eight eyes are not human at all but they hold fear all the same.

There’s a kindness Eris should offer at this part. She doesn’t, but what does it matter? It’s just a beast.

Still not satisfied, she turns her attention to the shrine and the small, forgotten god it venerates.

Blood and hearts and bones and stone and ichor and mold. What would a god taste like?

In the reflection on the surface the upturned offering dish, a thousand tiny flames flare to a thousand stars. Its song echoes in triumph over the foolish nothing that thought to hurt it.

The air in the desert tries and fails to sap the moisture from her body. Neither the heat of day nor the chill of night can touch her through the craving.

Feeling like the only person in the world, she lingers in a space only ever meant to be passed through until she hears the howl of an almost-human voice that almost sounds like a song. Feeling the weight of her spear fall from her hand, she steps out beyond the edge of the parking lot pavement to the edge of the edge of the furthest lamplight, that twilight border between known and unknown. Feeling no need to announce her presence, she locks eyes in the dark with a shadow and utters a growl that almost sounds like words as she circles her prey and blurs the line between beast and self.

There are only claws and teeth for the thing whose face is almost human. A stinger strikes through the air with a whipcord whistling but is a step too slow. An inhuman growl from a once-human throat accompanies the tearing sound of a sting ripped free from its tail and plunged into its owner’s neck. Deed done, she retrieves her spear and walks back to the truck whose cargo has been her excuse to travel the land’s liminal spaces for prey like this.

She opens the door to the sleeper cab and finds herself face to face with a squawking peacock.

The avian incongruity leaves Eris shocked enough for the bird to shuffle out past her and take to the wing. She blinks. Waking up to find a peacock in her cab wasn’t even the same year as hunting the manticore. That was in Vermont and this was in Arizona. Why are those two memories mixed together?

Wait. Memories?

Cautiously, she climbs into the cab. Something about it feels too small, but otherwise all is as it should be. Neatly made bed in the back, movie poster from her old bedroom on the ceiling, air plant hanging from the rearview mirror… The mirror! Her reflection! Her eyes! She turns and flees into the dark tunnel in the back of the cab until she can no longer feel that awful piece of glass staring at her.

No. This isn’t right. She’s not…

Somewhere in the long darkness, a core of flame is trapped and pinned. Its heart withers in fear and thrashes until the instinct to survive leaves nothing but…

Rage.

There has ever been constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels. Has felt. Will feel next time. And few things have had are having will have a death so sweet as the pile of garbage before her that calls itself a man. It is not even fit to be prey, but the righteousness of ending it will more than make up for that. It has captured, enslaved, and sold the innocent. It has hurt one of her own. It has arrogantly tried to summon the sun itself.

She swallows that sun. Lets it burn away that which is not needed and bring light to what remains. Its fire erupts from her scalp to become her hair and tumble down past her shoulders. Its core melts down the flimsy scraps of armor and becomes her carapace. Its hunger welds with hers and becomes yet more fuel for the hunt.

Her charred lips pull back nearly to her ears in what is both a snarl and a grin and in any case is all teeth.

The flash of her brilliant metamorphosis alone was nearly enough to dispose of the garbage, but not quite. What is left of it continues to cough and twitch on the steaming ground. She walks over to it and raises a foot in anticipation of a heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

No!

This is not her!

This has never been her!

This can never be her!

Upon her shoulder, a gentle hand removes the thorn. The flames dwindle to embers and scatter.

Eris is not hunting.

Eris is searching.

Eris is herself.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Out of the corner of her eye, Eris catches sight of a tiny flickering flame amidst the endless static that surrounds her. It darts out of view and she turns her head to follow it. Rather than finding the flame in the middle of the white noise once more, she finds herself in the middle of a living room she hasn’t seen in nearly a decade. It’s been even longer since she last saw the mottled green-brown shag carpet sticking up around her boots.

“But why do I have to only speak English at school?”

Eris turns around to find a family of shadows standing in the soft morning light that shines in through the bay windows. Outside, a schoolbus waits on the suburban street for other small shadows to join the ones already piled inside and blurred together. But these shadows in the room with her now are far more interesting. A mother, a father, and a child with a backpack. Even just as silhouettes she knows them.

Her mama.

Her papa.

Her.

“Because,” the shadow of her papa answers the shadow of her childhood, “that’s all any of the other kids speak and it’s important for you to fit in.”

“But I already don’t fit in!” Eris’s shadow whines. A petulant response, but a true one. She remembers this conversation - or at least the impression of it - from her second week of first grade. Even by then she was acutely aware that none of her classmates looked like her.

“If you really wanted me to fit in, you would have given me a normal name,” she and her shadow grumble in unison. Her shadow’s parents don’t seem to hear that part.

“All the more important for you to make an effort,” the shadow of her mama admonishes. “Just because you’re perfect as you are, that doesn’t mean everyone else is ready for it. So until that’s different, blending in is safer. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“But then why do you make me practice all those other languages that we speak at home?”

“They’ll be useful when you’re an adult and trying to get into college and find a job,” her shadow’s papa hastily answers. “Now hurry before you miss the bus.”

Eris’s shadow ducks her mama’s kiss on the forehead and turns away from her papa’s hug. Her shadow only pauses for a moment, just past the door’s threshold when she hears a pair of “I love you’s,” in two different languages. She smiles for a moment at the tears that don’t quite form and didn’t manage to back then either.

Then she remembers where she is and what Road said about psychically reactive spaces. Eris has never been good at keeping psychic entities out of her mind, but she’s consistently found herself to be very good at telling and resisting when they’re trying to change or insert anything. Save for that one time with whatever Lacuna did, but she tells herself that’s because she was intentionally letting her most trusted friend poke around in there for the sake of healing. As for the looking, she tells herself that she has nothing to hide or that she’s afraid of being thrown in her face and used against her.

She follows her shadow out the door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow is taller now, taller even than the shadow of the boy she just knocked down. She’s in the eighth grade and she’s just gotten in her first fight in the middle of the school cafeteria. Not that it was much of one. One punch and the boy was down on the floor rolling and clutching his nose.

Eris made a point of forgetting the boy’s name a long time ago (it was Justin) but everything else is burned into her memory. After a year of taking rumors and accusations in silence this last bit of harassment finally hit the tipping point. And damn, had it felt good to finally let it out. She can’t see the creeping wild grin on her shadow’s lack of a face, but she can feel the temptation to mirror it. Now’s the part where her shadow’s nonexistent eyes should be flickering to the fleck of blood on her knuckles. There’ll be an intrusive thought to lick it, just to see what it tastes like. Not that she will, but it suddenly occurs to Eris to wonder if what she is now was always in her, even back then.

Was she always a monster in waiting? She dismisses that intrusive thought for what it is and turns around and walks for the door as the shocked silence permeating the cafeteria erupts into chaos. She turns around before she has to see the horrified look on the shadow of her best friend at the time. Dylan.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

Her shadow’s in third grade and Dylan’s shadow is teaching her how to talk with her hands. It’s after school and they’re sitting at his parents’ kitchen table, homework already done. When his family moved in down the street last summer their parents got together and started setting them up with playdates in hopes that the two misfits would at least have one friend apiece going into the new school year.

Eris smiles and signs the alphabet along with them. Her shadow mastered it months ago, much to everyone’s surprise, but at this point it’s a game for the two of them to see who can get through forwards and backwards the fastest before they move on to anything else. Eris is only halfway through the reversal when the shadows finish their game. She’s gotten rusty these days with only video calling Dylan two or three times a year to catch up and get the latest news on how her folks are doing.

Eris’s breath catches when she notices Dylan’s shadow addressing her - no, her shadow - with a simple thumb over palm with fingertips curled. He’s got a more specific name sign for her these days and she’d forgotten that it used to just be an initialization.

When the shadow of Dylan’s mom walks in to get the cookies out of the oven, Eris remembers where she is, stands up, and heads for the nearest door.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Eris.”

“That’s not my… Present.”

Her shadow is in second grade and she has just given up. If the teacher can’t even pronounce the shortened nickname she came up with correctly, then what’s the point of fighting it anymore? May as well just go along with whatever people decide to call her than constantly struggle over something that doesn’t really matter. She knows who she is regardless.

Eris opens the door and leaves the classroom. She may not have anything to hide, but that doesn’t mean she has to stick around and give whatever’s manifesting all this a guided tour of her childhood either.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Is she really even a girl?”

Her shadow is in seventh grade and it’s unseasonably hot outside. She’s sitting on a bleacher bench trying not to cry while the shadow mother of the girl who’s not accepting her apologies has it out with her mama’s shadow.

It was an accident, really. A car drove by and the glare got in her eyes, throwing off her aim.

“What girl can even throw a softball hard enough to knock out a tooth?”

It was an accident, so why isn’t saying sorry enough?

“Just look at her! What girl her age is that tall or has shoulders like that?”

It was an accident, but the shadow is talking too fast for anyone else to get a word in.

“Or maybe she’s on steroids? You should get your daughter tested!”

Eris tunes out the rest of the conversation while she slips on a pair of fingerless black gloves. Just because she’s made her peace, that doesn’t mean she has any interest in sitting around watching this trainwreck all over again. She traces the silver-stitched runes on the gloves with one finger. Back of the hand then the palm. Left hand then the right. There’s no door to exit through on the softball practice field, so she’ll just have to make her own.

Eris claps her hands together and twin jolts run through her palms and up her arms to meet at the base of her neck. She throws her head back involuntarily at the shock and bares her teeth in a grimace that lacks any of the usual excited edge from using these. The initial sensation fades as she crouches down low to the ground but her hands are tingling now and will be until she takes off the gloves.

One punch is all it takes for the ground beneath to crack and shatter into the white noise void for her to fall into.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in her bedroom with the door locked. She’s in her sophomore year of high school and staying up far too late on a school night in front of a mirror with a makeup kit she bought at the drugstore. She meant to do this earlier, but her AP Calc homework took longer than expected.

Eris lands in the room, takes a look at the decorations, and shudders at that phase of her life. All that work to be someone else for the sake of burying a reputation that never actually went away, just hid in the whispers behind her back. She can still remember how alien her own body felt, soft from making a point of never exercising anymore after being banned from school sports, yet still too big to be fashionable. Who was she ever fooling besides herself?

Her shadow hisses in frustration as she tries to figure out how to bridge the gap between how her mama taught her to do makeup and the styles in the magazine one of her friends that weren’t her friends gave her. None of the models in the magazine look anything like her.

The room has a door, but punching a hole in the wall to step through into the static is more in line with Eris’s mood.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

Her shadow is in sixth grade and her teammates are all hugging her and cheering. They just won their game. For once she’s the star instead of the outcast.

Eris punches another hole in the illusion.

Å̶̹̱̈́́Ȓ̷̦͚̳̱̗͐̒̍̈͠T̵̛͎͓̲̠͎̭̉̅͒̅͑?̶̜̰̮̺̖̕

“From whence comes the starlight in the Dark Forest?”

Was that Road’s voice? This time the static doesn’t resolve into another shadow of a memory.

“Yo, Road!” Eris shouts into the void. “Can you hear me? Gretchen’s lost in here somewhere. Have you seen her?”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Not art. Pigments. Raw materials. Kindling for the spark.”

“Road, who are you talking to? I can hear you, but I can’t see you!”

“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down now. You gave me a scare when you ran off like that after I got that tag off of you.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“I understand you need that, yes, and I’m sorry I had to be rough with you earlier, but you can’t go forcing what you need out of mortals like that. It’s not good for them.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’d help you with that myself if I could, but I can’t.”

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“I’ll see if I can get her permission. These things work a lot better when the mortal agrees to it, you know. They can even help and cooperate.”

Eris scans the white noise all around her, but still finds nothing, save for a tiny flame that quickly gets lost again. Or was that just her brain trying to find an image in the noise where there is none?

“Road, what are you getting at here? What do you need me to do?”

“Hey there Eris, sorry to put you on hold. I’m with the eldritch right now and I can see you and Gretchen, but I can’t get to you.”

“Is Gretchen alright?”

“Physically, yes, but mentally she’s not handling this place nearly as well as you are. Nothing irrecoverable yet, but it’s… not good.”

“Where is she? If you can see us both, maybe you can help me reach her.”

“The concept of ‘where’ is subjective at best right now. Our best bet is going to be helping the eldritch get what it wants - maybe needs, communication is tricky - in exchange for it leading all of us out of here.”

“And if we don’t cooperate?”

“You and I will probably be fine, but it’s not too happy with Gretchen right now. There’s a good chance it’ll leave her in here when this space collapses upon its departure.”

“Of course it isn’t happy with her,” Eris mutters under her breath. “Fine. So what does it want? It sounded like you were saying something about art earlier. Is it going to conjure up a paintbrush and easel for me, or am I about to get sent on another trip down memory lane?”

“More likely the latter, unless you’re a painter or musician on top of everything else.”

“Nah, I was always more of a STEM girl before I dropped out, I’m afraid.”

“That’s something. Gardening can be an art.”

Gardening? Oh, right. “Not what I meant, but go on, let’s get the brain probing over with.”

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“Yes, art. But she’s going to choose what to show you, and you need to respect that she’s trusting you not to invade her privacy or touch anything.”

T̸̤͛r̶̭̲̥̠̫̼̒̐̌̀͆͂u̷̮̿̋̈́̆̈ś̷̡̬̝̠̮͙͊̿̓͘͘ẗ̷̘̙̲͋.̸̤͕̯̹̫̪̏̑̆͠

“Good. Now, Eris, just focus on what art is to you. What is the art in your life? What have you created? What have you experienced? What have you shared? Everyone has something. Just let your mind find it and then let it flow.”

Eris nods. Focus on art. That shouldn’t be too hard. She’s no artist, but she’s seen plenty.

She closes her eyes…

She is locked in a dance of death on the lakeshore with the hateful spirit of a thing that won’t stay dead. She is using a tire iron to spraypaint the lifeblood of a rabid fae crossroads hound into a mural of autumn leaves on the side of a truckstop rest station. She is standing on top of a moving rollercoaster and doing the on-the-fly math to calculate the optimal location and angle to hurl a broken flagpole in order to launch the ride, herself, and the dozen bloodthirsty ape spiders on the cars behind us into the amphitheater next door. She is admiring her handiwork in the aftermath of a percussive demon exorcism that looks so very much like a tornado just tore through the gas station. She is at the bar, arm wrestling two other monster hunters at once and winning. She is at Doc’s clinic one of the few times she’s ever been hurt badly enough to need it and is thinking about how much the X-rays of her shattered arm look like a river delta. She is holding the sun between her hands and feeling like God.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

“Yes. Destruction, too, is an art.”

She is destruction. She a hunter. She is a beast.

She is gasping and trying to open her eyes. She is finding them already wide and staring. She is afraid to look down at her hands.

She is something other than that. She is something more than that. She is something greater than that.

She is protection. She is an avenger. She is a shield.

She is still just violence. She is a danger. She is a threat.

She is unwanted. She is an outsider. She is a disowned child.

She is scared. She is hypocritical. She is…

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

“E.”

She has never been only one thing. She is what the world shaped her into. She is what she chose for herself.

She is walking back home practicing the name sign Dylan came up with for her. She is in the library reading a book on Greek gods and reclaiming a teacher’s laziness. She is driving back and forth across the country, trying out a new name with the same initial at every stop.

She is in her parents’ kitchen, loving the rhythm of the name they gave her every time they ask her to pass the dishes or how her day went and the way that rhythm changes when the language shifts. She is teaching that name to Lacuna. She is sheepishly asking her best friend not to use that name afterall, but holding back tears over the fact that her friend took the time to master the pronunciation.

Ā̸̧̙̔r̷̭̤̤̊̀̽t̶̳͉̓?̵̼͙̻̋̾͜

She is planting seeds in the huge backyard garden with her papa. She is hanging a tillandsia air plant in the sleeper cab of her truck. She is watering the tiny balcony garden of her apartment.

She is working with her mama in her garage to repair the engine on the family car. She is performing emergency roadside maintenance on her truck near a corn field. She is renovating a barely-drivable van older than she is into something as new as the stage of life she just entered is.

She is watching a movie in the theater with her parents, eyes wide and hands full of popcorn. She is crying in a motel a month after leaving home because that movie just came on the television when she was flipping channels. She is lounging on the couch with Lacuna for movie night, excitedly explaining everything about that movie and the underappreciated nuances of the genre.

Ā̶̜̬̼̄̚̚r̵͉͓͗͒̉͝t̶̖̞́̍̆!̷̲̦̱̩̆̐͌͗

She is listening to her favorite song on the radio while driving down the highway. She is singing her favorite song on karaoke night at 121813. She is laughing as Gretchen unpacks a record player and puts on her favorite song for the two of them to unpack boxes to in their new apartment.

She is learning the four different languages her parents learned from their parents, still unaware that they aren’t all one. She is learning ASL alongside Dylan, growing up together with something that feels all their own. She is learning German from Gretchen, teaching her a few things in exchange and talking about how they’ll travel the world together someday.

She is learning to tie knots at summer camp and practicing over and over again with her eyes set on a merit badge. She is tying a makeshift harness onto a cool statue she found next to a dumpster to the side of her garbage truck so she can take it back home to her apartment. She is in the bedroom with Gretchen, undressed and discussing the hypothetical logistics of trying to tie knots in industrial steel cable since she keeps accidentally breaking the ropes.

A̴̡͓͙̺͙͛̔ͅR̷̺̠̲̞͌͐̿̎̏͋T̷͇̣̹͖̐͛͘!̸̜͖̲̂͜

Eris is in a dark place that she does not recognize from any memory of her own. The only light is a faint starshine spearing down through gaps in the canopy to create ghostly counterparts to the surrounding tree trunks. Just at the edge of her hearing she can catch the sound of something lurking in the shadows. For half a heartbeat, she spots a flash of gold.

Eris grins and shows what she knows is too many teeth for most people’s comfort. Looks like that last set of memories got the desired reaction from the eldritch.

“Still hungry for more, huh?!” she shouts. “Fine. One last performance for the road!”

The nearest shaft of starlight becomes Eris’s spotlight as she takes the stage and steps into a ready stance with her spear. She taps her foot in time with a remembered opening bassline from the track Gretchen always kicked off their exercises with. She gets the rhythm down until she can almost hear it, and then starts the show.

Eris has heard of spears being called the oldest weapon. She’s always felt it to be a dubious claim at best, when there are plenty of heavy and sharp rocks just lying around, but it’s true enough that the basic concept of “sharp pointy bit on the end of a long stick” is old indeed; old enough that just about everywhere you care to go has some variation on it. She starts with the forms out of the illustrated Renaissance manuals that got Gretchen into the art to begin with. She moves through the pike and lance devices, even though her own spear is too short for them. She shifts to the staff swings, then the halberd techniques, then the peasant stick. She works her way through the memorized Germanic style manual and moves on to the Italian.

In the dark, between the trees, a lurking presence closes in. Eris keeps her view straight ahead. The flashes of gold in her peripherals are enough to confirm she has her audience’s attention.

Eris skips across the globe to Filipino kali. Stabbing their way around the world, Gretchen always liked to call the workout. The point was never to master any given style. Staves, pikes, lances, poleaxes, sibat, halberds, naginata, guandao, bō; it didn’t matter if the device, form, or kata was made with the types of spear the two of them happened to be practicing with in mind. Martial arts were made for fighting people, and all that technique disappears when you’re fighting beasts. It was about the novelty of finding new ways to move your body and learning all the ways the weapon can feel in your hands as an extension of yourself. It was about acknowledging the human universality of finding interesting ways to swing a stick. It was about compiling a wishlist of places to travel to one day.

It was about an art the two of them shared.

“I know you recognize this,” Eris whispers. “Come join me.”

Eris traces her performance over Asia. Through the Indian subcontinent and into Africa. She crossed the ocean into the Americas. She ventures into the Pacific, lands in Australia for a single stance, then returns to Europe where she started. All along the way she feels the buildup of thrill for what comes after this opening act. For what comes from having kept her eyes locked forward and back unprotected.

In the moment Eris stops moving, Gretchen comes down like lightning with all the flash and thunder that comes with it. Eris steps forward and turns around, denying the lightning strike its perfect moment, its perfect kill.

Gretchen is crouched low, modified boar spear impaling the ground instead of Eris. She rips the weapon from the earth and sparks arc between the spear’s tip and bladed crossguard. Her shadow cast by starlight and sparks is too large; it coils like a serpent and handles its weapon with too many arms. Her face is furred, her neck is scaled, and her arms are chitinous. She hisses and her jaw unhinges to expose her fangs. She blinks, and she is simply Gretchen. She blinks, and she is a beast. She blinks, and she is something caught between.

Eris could swear that the trees and starlight are humming a reprise of the music in her head.

Gretchen lunges forward and Eris sidesteps. She skitters sideways, as close to being on all fours as she can get while still holding her spear. She strikes again and Eris parries.

Strike, retreat, skitter, strike, repeat. Thus go the steps of the dance’s first movement.

A strike is parried. A hand grabs a neck. A body is thrown.

“Is this the best a beast can do?” Eris calls. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want your kill!”

Gretchen grips her spear with both hands now. Circles more thoughtfully. Thrusts with the full length of her weapon to maintain the safety of arm’s reach while she stays outside the light.

Circle, thrust, parry. The dance’s next movement is a slow one, defined by distance and separation.

A thrust is dodged. A boot drives a haft to the ground. An icy speartip peels a scale off a neck.

“I know that’s not all you’ve got!” Eris shouts. “You taught me better than that!”

Gretchen adjusts her grip closer. Stands more upright. Steps inward and swings her spear, catching Eris’s between the cross blades to see her opponent’s muscles twitch and hair stand on end until their weapons freeze together and pull apart in a shatter of ice.

Step, swing, shock, shatter. This movement’s tempo is lively and its notes are loud as the words unsaid.

A cheek is cut. A hand is slashed. A fleshy palm emerges from broken chitin.

“Now that’s more like it,” Eris growls. “You made me bleed, now come taste it!”

Gretchen shakes her hands free of the coverings that got between her grip and her spear. Settles into a stance meant for close-quarters footwork. Rushes in too close to swing or parry and stabs.

Stab, redirect, cut, grapple. The dance’s final movement is an intimate one.

Hands grab wrists. Spearpoints rest at necks. Eyes lock.

“There you are,” Eris breathes. “I knew you could do it.”

Ą̸̥̥̘̪͈̗̥̬̒̿͂̐̌́̔Ắ̶̪̼̞̳̼͉̰̘͙̹̍̀͛̈́̿͘͘Ą̵̝̳͚͈̺̟̬̻̗̟̓R̵͈͍̙̘̰̽̀̚Ř̵͉̝͉͉͇̇͊̃̃́͗͝R̷̛̗̫̙̎͌͐̇̅̈̇̚͝͝T̵̜̘̻̓̈̓̋T̵̙̆͂̎́̆Ţ̵̥̗̩̲̂̆̄͊́̍̿̂̄͘͘!̴̤͓͔̫̼͙̰͚͇̀͋̉͌̀̒͝!̵̧̞̟̜̝̳̳͑̇̂̀!̴̡̨̬͍͚͉̮̈́̊͊͊͂̈́͛̈́

The two of them maintain their embrace, breathing heavily.

Gretchen attempts to move in closer still, but is stopped by the blade still at her neck.

For a moment, Eris considers letting the blade shift out of the way. She was able to bring her back from the brink, so could it work? Without that one thing between them, could they? Looking out for one another, could they grow old?

Eris’s grip on her spear loosens. Gretchen’s does the same. Blades shift away from necks. Distance closes. Smoke fills the air with the smell of incense.

Eris blinks and sees Gretchen’s face anew.

That expression on her one-time partner’s face says all the reasons it could never work. Pulled back from the brink but not yet fully lucid. There’s still hunger there, and while it’s less bloody now, it’s still enough to draw her into an intertwined spiral if she were to let it. She can picture it now: Overconfidence in their ability to pull one another back morphing into enabling one another to ever greater risks until they both fall at once.

Eris takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Lets go. Steps back.

Maybe if they could both give up the hunt, but neither of them are that strong yet.

“Good job,” a familiar voice says from behind her.

Eris turns around and finds herself gazing into a person-shaped hole. A suggestion of identity without truth or core. And then it’s just Road, a smoking censer dangling from one hand and the match to the lifeline amulet dangling from the other. A rock of stability in the middle of the chaos while the rest of the scene dissolves back into the white noise.

“Something wrong?” Road asks.

“No, just taking a minute for the incense to kick in and clear my head. Thanks for that.”

“Of course, although you were holding up remarkably well without it. Not many people could. Speaking of...”

Eris turns back around, following their gaze to where Gretchen has discarded her spear in favor of curling in on herself and shaking with silent sobs. Her words are barely coherent as Road comforts her, but Eris can make out enough to piece together a picture. With the incense slowly clearing Eris’s own fog over the memory of what she’s been through since entering this space, not having a similar reaction is a matter of well-practiced effort, and she wasn’t the one who went through a near ego death.

Eris slings her own spear back over her shoulder, picks up Gretchen’s, and then offers her other shoulder to lean on. The two of them follow Road back to the door to realspace in silence. On the real side of the threshold, Eris spares one last glance back to see a swirling mass of tentacles, eyes, and tiny ancient flames.

*******

Eris leans on the outside of her van, surrounded by cursed and haunted artifacts and answering a wall of text messages and pile of voice mails through the glare of the late afternoon sun and listening to the hum of the engine. It turned out they were in the eldritch warped space for the better part of a day and only the grace of the campus having just started its break between summer and fall semesters has saved them from some uncomfortable Masquerade-endangering questions from students and faculty that might otherwise have walked into a booby-trapped hallway and a door to nowhere.

“How’s she doing?” Road asks.

Eris looks up from her phone. Has she ever heard them approach?

“She’s sleeping it off,” Eris answers with a thumb cocked over her shoulder towards the back of the van. “I’ll wake her up and get these loaded back in when we’re ready to head home. How’s the eldritch?”

“Doing as well as it’s possible to tell with one of them,” he says. “Communication’s always a bit tricky, but seems like no permanent harm done and no grudges held. I had a good long talk with it about more responsible feeding habits, consent, safety, and the wide range in mortal tolerances to eldritch contact. And I was able to talk it into helping with the cleanup in the hallway before it left, so we’re good on that front.” She gestures toward Eris’s phone. “News from the office?”

“Yeah. A client came in this morning, but Ashan and Lacuna handled it. Sounds like it turned into this whole thing with some fairy lord getting involved, but it all worked out. They’re on their way back now with a changeling and their human counterpart, so we’ll have some more followup to do there. I figure I can get the rest of these delivered while you handle that.”

Road smiles warmly and shakes their head. “You should get some rest too when we get back. You deserve it after today.”

Eris tries and fails to meet Road’s eyes. A question burns. She struggles to voice it.

“What was all that about starlight in a dark forest?”

“Oh, caught that, did you? I guess you could call it a code phrase of sorts between people that do a lot of travel between worlds. It’s also a question that should only be asked by those who already know the answer. But that’s not what you really want to ask about, is it?”

No. It isn’t.

Eris closes her eyes. Breathes. Opens her eyes. Does her best to meet Road’s eyes.

“How much did you see?”

Road nods in understanding. “Bits and pieces. Enough. I did what I could to keep it from prying too deeply or to shift its focus when it looked like things were getting too private.”

“And before that?”

“I was busy trying to subdue a panicking eldritch within a warped space under its control at the time, so my focus was elsewhere. But,” they admit, “I did feel some of it. I felt Gretchen too.”

“Oh. I see. Could you… maybe not mention any of that to the others? Some of the stuff from when I was a kid I haven’t even told Lacuna about.”

“Of course. I’ll do my best to forget I saw any of it.”

“Thanks.”

“And if it helps, I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like when someone completely unravels and loses themself, and I don’t see that ever happening to you. Especially not after today.”

“That… does help, actually. Thank you.”

It helps more than it should.

“You’re welcome. You want to wake Gretchen while I get these boxes?”

“Sure thing,” Eris says, moving towards the van’s sliding door. “Oh, but one more thing?”

“Yes.”

“I know you meant well, calling out to me when I was on the edge back there, but E isn’t a name for you to call me.”

*******

Gently as she can, Eris closes the door to Gretchen’s room and heads back downstairs. She steps lightly over the one board she knows creaks so as not to wake the changeling and their brother sleeping in the other two guest rooms of the bed and breakfast above the office. The thought crosses her mind that the creaky board might have been a security feature left in on purpose with all of Sullivan’s renovations on the building, but she doesn’t follow it. She’s too tired and it doesn’t matter.

Lacuna is waiting for her by the reception desk.

“Hey.”

“Yo.”

“So, uh, didn’t get the chance to talk, really. Since we all got back. What with the clients and all.”

“I guess not.”

“So… Are you… Okay?”

Blood between her teeth. Hunting. Names forgotten. Burning. Hunger. A heavy, wet, crunching sound repeating over and over.

“Been better. You?”

“Tired. But what else is new?”

Eris nods. What else indeed? “The others head out already?”

“Yeah. Bridgewood Manor. Road mentioned Sullivan might be back soon.”

“I should probably be there for that.” Eris leans on the reception desk. She’s so tired.

“I’m sure they’ll fill us in.”

“Probably.”

Lacuna Looks over at the living room. “We’ve got a couch.”

“Huh?” So tired.

“If we’ve got guests, we probably shouldn't leave the office unattended. So reason to stay here. But all the beds are taken. So couch.”

Eris pushes off the reception desk, staggers over, and throws her arms around her best friend. She feels Lacuna stagger under her limp weight. She feels a shaking hand stroke across her back. She feels a chin rest in the curve between her shoulder and neck.

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Do you think,” Eris’s voice cracks, “we could do movie night early this week?”

*******

“This one?”

“This one.”

“You realize it’s your turn to choose the movie, right?”

“I know. And. I chose this one.”

“...”

“I’m surprised this one was even on the shelf here.”

“I figured it’d be good to get a copy to leave here. Just in case.”

“...”

“Sis?”

“Yeah, E?”

“Just this once, do you think you could say my other name?”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

#This originally opened with showing one of the deliveries but it was going on too long without being the real point of the chapter.#I swear at this rate Eris's POV is going to have a quarter of the chapter count by half the wordcount.#writers on tumblr #writing #original fiction #urban fantasy #web novel #Writeblr #Empty Names #serial fiction #creative writing #literature #writers #fantasy #fiction #my writing #emptynameswriting #If Gretchen keeps this up she's in danger of becoming a recurring major character.#I worry this chapter loses a little bit in the Tumblr post formatting not letting me play with the alignment on the eldritch text #Just pretend the indented text is right-aligned for the eldritch and center-aligned for Road.#Not to stroke my own ego too much but I'm very pleased with how much this chapter builds on itself and prior chapters.#Recurring phrases imagery and such. And foreshadowing.#The long sequence of Eris losing herself to the hunt is all retellings of events that have either happened or been referenced earlier.#I'll confess I'm kind of nervous about having finally made more concrete references to Eris's ethnicity.#Worried about accidentally being disrespectful in some way.#Same with the inclusion of Dylan as an explanation of how Eris learned sign language.#I am pleased with how the childhood flashback segments turned out though.#And the “Art” flashbacks. And the last dance with Gretchen.#Mostly I think I just really like playing with repeating format/structure for paragraphs and sentences.#Makes me feel like I'm dabbling in poetry or something.

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cleverhottubmiracle · 1 month ago

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Ever wish you could text the most stylish people in the world to ask them for their lists of things to do in the places they know best? Here are insider travel tips for those who would never be caught dead in a tourist trap. Bon voyage!WhoThree of the region’s most inspiring locals and regulars share their essentials for the UNESCO-World Heritage Site city and winding, rural wine destination: Teresa Barros, the founder and CEO of the tastemaking Xpose consulting; AD 100 architect Elizabeth Roberts, a Porto regular who is currently building a home for her family and a hotel in Alentejo, Portugal; and Michelin-starred chef Nuno Mendes, who is perhaps best known for developing the cuisine at London’s Chiltern Firehouse but recently opened the restaurant Cozinha das Flores in Porto.WhatWhat to Bring:“Portuguese people value quality over brand names, so skip the flashy logos,” Roberts says. Laid-back, tailored apparel is the way to go here. You can make yourself comfortable in this lived-in, history-filled city. “A raincoat is essential, but make it stylish,” she adds, noting that a rain hat which can be folded into a purse is also a smart item to throw in your suitcase.Porto can also be humid and vary in temperature throughout the day, so dress in layers. It’s a small and beautifully walkable city, filled with cobblestone streets and hidden cafés. “Opt for your funkiest walking shoes,” Barros says with a grin. She adds that renting a car will be key, both to take advantage of the region’s beaches and to visit the Douro Valley, which she would recommend planning at least two to three days for a trip. “Count on a 1 hour 30 minute picturesque drive along hilly vineyards and the riverside,” she says. “Evenings [in Douro Valley] are cold, so make sure you bring warm clothing.”What to Leave Behind:“Don’t even think of wearing heels—the cobblestone streets don’t work with heels, and there’s no need for discomfort or formality,” Roberts says.Additionally, be prepared to slow down. There’s no place to rush in a city that puts careful energy into the slow life. Take a deep breath and allow yourself to properly detach.What to Keep in Mind:As mentioned, Porto is a city that moves at a calmer rate. “Be respectful,” Roberts says. “Porto’s slower pace of life is about valuing family and well-being. Don’t mistake that for laziness!”She also notes that people will make the effort to speak your language. “They appreciate kindness and respect but dislike having other cultural ways imposed on them,” Roberts adds.WhereWhere to Stay:“Although there are many options, I always prefer alternatives which allow me to connect with a city’s history and people in a slightly different way,” says Barros, who favors Armazem Luxury, “a stunning converted 19th-century iron warehouse.”Courtesy of Armazen Luxury HousingThere’s also Mo house, a family-owned townhouse “where it feels like you are staying at a friend’s,” the 18th-century townhouse Rosa et Al, and Casa do Conto (“think historical building meets concrete architecture,” she offers).“For something slightly more upscale, there is the recently inaugurated Palacete Severo, a carefully restored manor house filled with stained-glass windows and wooden interiors,” Barros adds.Courtesy Palacete Severo. Photo by Rupert EdenThe Largo, a small residence with a focus on local artists, is also a beautiful option. Roberts likes Torel Palace Hotel (“they have a really good spa,” she notes) and Vila Foz, which she also recommends for a date night and “a special place for drinks.”For Douro Valley, the Six Senses Douro Valley boasts gorgeous villas and a central location in the heart of the many vineyards.Courtesy Six Senses. Photo by John AthimaritisRoberts stays at Quinta da Corte when she’s in the area. “You can stay in the old vineyard house that was beautifully renovated and furnished by Pierre Yovanovitch,” she says. “The pool is perched on the steep mountainside with the most incredible views of the Douro Valley.”Barros also suggests Quinta Nova de Nossa Senhora do Carmo, a family home originally built in 1764 which brings “a profound sense of calm,” and Casa do Rio, a tiny eight-suite hotel with Scandinavian design and “a stunning infinity pool with breathtaking views of the Douro River valley,” she says.Where to Start the Day:Porto is a pastry city, and if you ask Roberts, Portuguese-style croissants filled with ham and cheese then pressed and toasted (“they are more like brioche in Porto,” she says) at any small “Padaria” are the perfect way to begin exploring the city. “For a classic breakfast, Padaria Ribeiro is a staple, and Padaria Formosa in Foz is a must-visit,” she adds. “Downtown, there are a ton of trendy brunch spots, but Confeitaria do Bolhão offers a unique experience.”Courtesy of Padaria FormosaThe 1920s artist hub Majestic Café is still a breakfast staple in Porto. “It’s one of my favorite places,” Barros says. “The leather upholstery and varnished wood is joined by the decorated ceiling and Flemish mirrors. It’s quite well-known now, so it’s of course frequented by many travelers but locals still frequent this emblematic café.”Facade of the Cafe Majestic located in Santa Catarina Street in PortoPhoto by Cristina Arias/Cover/Getty ImagesIf you like to make breakfast at home, Barros recommends Ogi by Euskalduna, noting that all their breads and pastries are sourdough.Where to Eat:“There’s a real sense of creativity and entrepreneurship in the city’s dining scene,” says chef Mendes, who looks to the region’s deep heritage in his own space, the buzzy Cozinha das Flores. “I have early childhood memories of being here, but after spending many years away, returning to the region and reconnecting with its ingredients, traditions, and cooking methods has been truly inspiring. “When I first started, I had limited knowledge of the region’s culinary landscape, but as I explored its products and reawakened old memories, I developed a much deeper connection,” he continues. “Here, there is a huge passion for tacho (one-pot) cooking, and we embraced this with Tacho do Mês—Cozinha das Flores’s lunch menu that changes every month and is always served in a pot, featuring a traditional northern Portuguese meal. Tacho do Mês has become our guiding concept—a North Star that drives our creativity.”He recommends a mix of classic and experimental spots when in town. “For a more Michelin-style, experiential dining experience, Euskalduna is definitely a standout,” says the chef. “On the other hand, I also love more casual spots. Places that are fun, welcoming, and full of character, like Casa Expresso.”Porto’s dining scene is also full of fresh ideas. “What fascinates me most about Porto is that there’s still so much opportunity for independent ventures,” Mendes says. “There are some exciting, youthful projects in Porto that I find really inspiring. Babel and Pata Gorda are great examples.”If you’re looking for an of-the-moment, vibey spot, both Barros and Roberts suggest Mistu. “It’s in an old metalworks factory and offers world cuisine with a bit of a local twist,” Barros says. She also loves Fava Tonka for a vegetarian option and Tia Tia if you’re looking for a light meal based on seasonal produce with natural wine.Adega São Nicolau is Roberts’s top pick for traditional Portuguese food in a beautiful environment, and Meia-Nau is her go-to spot for high-quality seafood.Finally, when in Douro Valley, Seixo by Chef Vasco Coelho Santos and Toca da Raposa (try the wild boar stew) are fantastic, adds Barros. “In Portugal people love to eat!” she says. “You’ll be eating an incredible lunch and find yourself salivating at the prospect of eating something else for dinner.”Where to Shop:Porto is known for its thriving independent business and creative culture. “One of the things that fascinates me most about Porto is the sense of opportunity that still exists,” Mendes says. This space for invention comes through in the city’s many concept shops and artfully designed spaces. “I see this in all areas, not just in food, but also in craftsmanship, design, and wine,” Mendes says. “There are beautiful, thoughtfully curated shops, artisanal workshops, small wine bars, and cafés where every detail is considered, from ethical sourcing to honoring local traditions. The care and passion behind these spaces are inspiring.”Some favorites worth checking out include 50:50 Warehouse, a newly opened tableware, furniture and lamp shop Roberts loves; the architect-owned Moopi; and Traço Deluz, “for lighting modern, vintage and antique,” says Roberts.Barros calls out the concept shop Good Things, where you can find an assortment of curated garments and decor objects. She says that shopping is all about “strolling the streets and discovering absolute gems in unexpected places.“I recently discovered a place called Escovaria de Belomonte with exquisite handmade artisanal brushes and brooms,” Barros says. A final recommendation is the recently restored Bolhão Market. “This is one of the city’s most iconic places, a monument of public interest and a place which still beats in the heart of the people of Porto,” adds Barros, who shares that you can find everything here, from charcuterie to freshly made cheeses, just-harvested fruits and vegetables, and more. “With merchants still shouting from stall to stall or teasing the customers, its character is absolutely unique.”Where to Look at Art:Don’t miss the renowned Serralves museum, which is worth saving half a day for so you can properly explore the expansive installation-filled gardens, exhibitions, and film spaces.Barros and Roberts also recommend Miguel Bombarda Street for galleries. “Highlights for me include the Nuno Centeno Gallery (my favorite and arguably the city's best) and De La Espada,” says Barros.For live arts, check out Casa da Música and Rivoli before you come, adds Barros. “Their cultural calendars are noteworthy.”Where To Be in Nature:Nature is within easy grasp as long as you have a car in Porto. “Foz Beaches are beautiful,” Roberts shares. “For a perfect beach day, locals prefer Maceda—a surfer’s paradise. Matosinhos International Beach is popular for beginner surf schools, though often crowded and less charming.”She also recommends a stroll through Parque da Cidade for a calm escape without leaving the city. Then, “for a day trip, head to Passadiços do Paiva, Gerês, or the Minho coastline,” she says.Vineyards to Explore:The Douro Valley is a true gem of Portugal, and the region is rich with breathtaking offerings. “There are so many incredible wineries, it’s difficult to highlight just a few,” Barros says.Roberts’s favorite is Quinta da Pacheca, which you can walk to from the Six Senses Hotel and Spa.For Chef Mendes, the Douro Valley is not just a source of indulgence but inspiration. “One of the things I love most is how close to home this all feels—especially with Pra Lá, a project tied to wonderful friends who are also such an important part of our team,” he says. “Beyond that, there are so many winemakers I admire. Dirk Niepoort has been a dear friend and a true visionary in the industry. Then there’s the new wave of independent winemakers bringing fresh energy to Portuguese wine. Quinta da Costa do Pinhão and Quinta de Tourais are doing fantastic work in the Douro Valley, crafting wines that honor tradition while embracing innovation. Mateus Nicolau de Almeida is making wines that deeply reflect the land, and Vasco Croft of Aphros Wines has been pioneering biodynamic and natural winemaking, pushing boundaries in the best way. There’s a deep respect for tradition, but also a fearless curiosity that’s shaping the future of Portuguese wine.”Barros recommends booking visits in advance to ensure access. Some of her favorite vineyards include Quinta do Seixo, Quinta de Crasto, Quinta da Vallado, and Quinta do Bomfim.Where to Grab a Drink:“One of the places I go to is Fiasco,” says Barros, a sentiment also echoed by Roberts. “Here, you’ll find an artistic vibe,” Barros explains. “They have a resident DJ and an amazing vinyl collection (jazz, hip-hop, indie) with over 100 new and used albums by Luca Massolin, and an art gallery.”She also loves Candelabro for wine tastings and RCA, which has a “garden, live music, and serves mainly artisanal beer and wines.”Roberts suggests Capela Incomum for wine with friends. “It used to be a small church,” she explains, “Now, it’s a wine bar with a great selection and a great atmosphere.”Another nice option is a drink on the water. “Try the vibe-y Praia da Luz or Lapa Lapa bar in Foz,” Barros says.Where to Stay Up Late:If you want to keep the night going, both Barros and Roberts agree that there are a few key spots for those in the know. “Passos Manuel is a staple in Porto’s nightlife, managed by Becas, a legend in the nightlife scene,” says Roberts. “Maria’s—former DJ and now Passos curator—curated programming is always inspiring. Plano B is another great choice.”Barros also recommends Maus Hábitos and Pérola Negra for a nightcap.When to VisitDue to its temperate climate, Porto is a great option year-round. That said, “May and June are ideal for skipping rain and enjoying the outdoors,” Roberts notes.Barros suggests September and October, during which Douro Valley is in the grape harvest season. “At this time, besides tasting the many wines, you will witness workers in the fields and perhaps be lucky enough to participate in the winemaking process,” she says.Why“Porto has a fascinating interplay between old and new—long-standing traditions blending seamlessly with progressive ideas,” says Mendes. “You’ll find a centuries-old shop next to a bold, modern concept, and somehow, they coexist harmoniously. It’s that delicate tension between history and innovation that gives Porto its unique character.”This juxtaposition is worth traveling for. “And what’s even more special is that the people here—both locals and visitors—understand this essence of Porto,” he says. “They treasure it, and they work hard to preserve it.”Roberts agrees: “It’s the people,” she adds. “While the locals in Porto may not seem the warmest initially, they are genuine and incredibly friendly once they let you in.” Source link

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norajworld · 1 month ago

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chilimili212 · 1 month ago

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togetherweflyhigh · 4 years ago

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Chronicles Of Owning A Hybrid| Chapter 1: Here You Are

Pairing: Ragdoll Hybrid! Yoongi x Owner! Female Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU, slow burn, eventual romance

Trigger Warnings: Brief mentions of past harassment/bullying, brief mentions of being gaslighted

W/C: 2.2k

A/N: So, I wrote something. This was very spontaneous of me but this is my first BTS and hybrid related fic. I very much have plans to have this as a small series. From short to long chapters. I have no idea how much this will be updated.

Comments and kudos are encouraged!

It wasn’t supposed to happen, truthfully.

You were asked by a friend to attend a consultation with them because they felt nervous about going in alone. They needed some support so, going with them was going to be fine. Because that’s all that was supposed to happen.

Now, here you were at your appointment, alone because you weren’t sure how to ask your friend since they were home still getting associated with their hybrid. Nobody knew you were here doing this. Reviewing over a cat hybrid- a Ragdoll- that was on his fourth strike.

Past families that adopted this hybrid before only saw the breed he was. A pretty Ragdoll cat. Not the human he mostly presented as. They thought that just because he was mixed with a Ragdoll meant he would be gentle, calm, and sociable. A known cat breed to be perfect with families. What they got was the complete opposite.

The most they seemed to be able to tell you was he’d been adopted four times already, the longest housing being six months. He was quiet and didn’t interact much with the other hybrids in the shelter. Mostly stayed in the same areas in the room they had for them. The way they spoke about him, made you think they were trying to discourage you from adoption. You couldn’t see what was so wrong with him even when they were describing him as distant and antisocial, overall unfriendly. It still didn’t make you rethink it for some reason. Something in you wanted to give him a place to call home after hearing all this.

---------------------

A few weeks went by with no word from the shelter. You were starting to think the extra shifts for the past month and a half at work for preparation were in vain. Perhaps they were being more cautious of his strikes and worried you would return him like all the others. If it was, for this reason, you really couldn’t blame them to be picky about who was to attempt adopting him next. You could only hope they cared so much for those in their care.

As you washed some dishes that had been a bit overdue, your phone rang. You weren’t quick to answer, at first, as hope had gone from high to low in the few weeks. Though, you still dried your hands-off because it could have been work. Who knew you’d be seeing the number you’d familiarize yourself with. Your heartbeat must have doubled as you stumbled over, sliding the answer button. “H-Hello?” You answered, cringing over your nervous voice. “This is Hope’s Shelter calling for (Y/N)(L/N), we were wondering if you were still interested in adopting?” The words felt like they were going through one ear and out the other. You weren’t all too sure what to expect when answering the call but hope had suddenly being reassured. “Yes, of course!” You answered almost too quickly. The eagerness felt as if it was spilling out of you at this point. “Great! Would Thursday be fine for you to come in?” It was currently Monday, another few days was nothing to wait for after these weeks. “That works out perfectly.”

After the short goodbyes were said, you stood there in your kitchen nearly dumbfounded. You were officially days away from adopting a hybrid. Suddenly, the mixed feeling of excitement and worry came over you. The first week was only filled with thoughts of not living in your apartment alone anymore. In the past, you had roommates. Some worked out just fine and others not so much. To the point, you never wanted to experience them again unless it was a close friend.

The second week was filled with doubts of if you even seemed worthy enough to take care of another, especially when the other couldn’t exactly take care of themselves. Hybrids didn’t have much freedom. They couldn’t go anywhere alone without their owners. Unless they were service hybrids, which there was a lot to go through to get them certified. They really couldn’t do anything and suddenly thinking about that, you realize how weird it’s going to be for someone to call or to even refer to you as their ‘owner’ will be.

There was no way in hell you could treat hybrids as a pet. They were way more human than human and capable of feelings of understanding, not at all saying normal animals weren’t capable of such. There were a few times you’d gone over to a friend’s house and they introduced you to their hybrid. Sure they had some traits of the animal they were mixed with, but they acted like their human part in front of you for the most part. This was nearly the only time you’d interacted with hybrids. So, the experience was on the low of how they truly acted behind closed doors.

-----------------------

The few days of waiting went by sluggishly. Mentally you had a list of things to do or things you thought you needed to do before Thursday. You went out and bought a few different types of clothes, not much as you had no idea of what he would like. Bought more food than you’d ever stocked your home with before, again, not knowing what he would like. There was so much you didn’t even know about him yet, not even his name.

Standing in front of the shelter, the weeks and days of waiting were finally over. The nerves and enthusiasm had mellowed out in the slow waiting days. Though, you couldn’t help feel a little nervous walking into the shelter.

Almost immediately, you were pulled into an office to go over some paperwork. It was nearly the same as papers to adopt a normal animal. It didn’t seem as strict since you didn’t need things for an animal. Though, you were surprised at how they didn’t seem so… disheartening towards you anymore.

Signing the papers felt unreal as the pen glided across the paper. You had officially adopted a hybrid.

---------------

Being a hybrid wasn’t all it was cut out to be, at least, not for Yoongi. Spending nearly all his life in the shelter. Maybe a year and a half were in actual homes. It was probably not even that if he was being honest with himself, but after the third home, he stopped counting the days and hoping.

The first time he was adopted, he was around ten years old, a little old for being adopted but nothing too bad. The family was looking for a hybrid around their twin son and daughter’s age, and Yoongi just happened to be two years younger than them. It was perfect they thought. It seemed like a happy family a month in but there was change. The children were constantly harassing him, pulling his ears and tail, pressured him to do things that would get the adults involved to the point of punishments.

It went on for months before they returned him, saying he was a deceiver and untameable. Yoongi was unsure of what they meant by this as it was their children who were the liars. Even when he told the caregivers of the time he had with them, it never seemed like they thought he was telling the truth either.

It was some years before Yoongi was adopted again. Age thirteen going on fourteen. He was adopted by a young couple. Must have been between the ages twenty-two to twenty-five. He never got around to asking because as soon as he was there he was brought back. The couple seemed to want to prove to themselves that they could take care of another breathing being. That is what he gathered by overhearing them a few times. All it did was tear them apart in the end over disagreements on how to take care of him.

The next two times were practically the same. One was lonely while the other was another person trying to prove something to themselves. Yoongi was done with these humans and their selfish ways. He didn’t want to attempt to get close with them anymore when he knew that they would return him like a replaceable item in the end.

Yet, another was trying to adopt him again. ‘I’m too old for this.’ He thought to himself when he was dragged into the office to be told someone was interested in him. Being twenty-five years old as a hybrid was considered old. Unadoptable. Plus he was on his fourth strike. A fifth- and by law- would mean he would have to be put to sleep.

The weeks dragged on because of him constantly denying to see through with this person’s desire to adopt him. It was an actual decision between life and death. He thought about it though. Would he rather be stuck in here? Wasting away inclosed in white walls or to live out in the world just a little bit longer, if the person would let him out that was.

-----------------

The introduction of you and the hybrid, who you now knew as Yoongi was, well, short and awkward. Was it to be expected? The short answer is yes. Yoongi seemed unfazed and distant right away which, in a way, you know he would be like this. The real question was, was he always going to be like this. You were new to each other, so feeling like strangers was going to be present for a while.

The taxi ride home was silent. Nothing but the sound of wheels on the pavement with random songs playing on the radio softly. You wanted to make some kind of conversation with Yoongi, you did, but with awkwardness still lingering heavily in the air, it was difficult to start with anything. It was interesting to spot his ears out of the corner of your eye, twitching ever so often.

The climb up the stairs was just as silent. Nothing but the taps of feet with some huffs from you nearly the top. No matter how many times you’d walked up these four flights of stairs, you were sure to always be out of breath before reaching your door.

By the time you reached your door, you were indeed out of breath, and with the last huff, you pulled out your key unlocking the door, pushing it open revealing the seemingly small apartment. “And home.” You spoke out as you began pulling your shoes off, placing them on a rack before slipping into house slippers. “Oh, here’s some slippers for you. If you want to wear them.” You already owned some for when you had guests but you went ahead and bought new ones specially for Yoongi. Looking at them now, they seemed a bit… small. Though it didn’t seem to matter as Yoongi slipped off the shoes the shelter provided and ignored the slippers.

“I have a room for you ready.” You spoke again after a moment of silence. Seems silence between you two was something you were going to have to get used to. Walking through the kitchen and living area- either side had a room the same size. Though the room to the right used to be your storage and office space, you were able to move things around in your room for your desk and got rid of some stuff you’ve been meaning to. Now the once-office turned back to a bedroom. It was pretty bare besides the matching wood bed and dresser you’d bought.

Moving aside to the doorframe, allowing Yoongi in the room to inspect it. His eyes never seemed to stop taking in things. His ears moved with him as he looked around and his tail was low as the tip curled to one side.

As he took in the new home, you took in his unique hair color. It was probably the Ragdoll genes but the contrast between his hair and the fur on his ears and tail were a bit different. His hair was silver-grey and as for the fur, it was a bit lighter in the same color. You wondered for a moment if his DNA was manipulative to make the animal features stand out more but you quickly shook the thought away. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable even though it was just a thought.

“There’s some clothes in the dresser. I wasn’t sure what you like so, there are a few things in the dresser. Just for until we go shopping.” The response you got was nothing but an ‘mhm’. Yoongi seemed uninterested but curious about the clothes you’d gotten. He wanted to know if it was the type they would get him. Well-fitted ones that rubbed and itched all over. As he pulled them out, sure enough, there were the ones he knew he would find but as he kept pulling out and unfolding the clothes he found some that were baggy and much softer. Something about watching him digging through the clothes felt endearing and it showed on your face with a small smile on your lips.

As you turned away to allow him to have some privacy you wondered to yourself what Yoongi would want to have for dinner.

#min yoongi x reader #hybrid!yoongi x reader #hybrid!bts x reader #bts x reader #bts hybrid au #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader

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bartistic · 4 years ago

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Bruce Goes To The Market!

knife tw, food cw, incredibly dumb self-indulgent concept cw, outsider (oc) pov

It is universally acknowledged that a cashier possessing free time, will be in want of an extra task to fill that free time. At least, that’s what James’ managers seemed to think. Privately, he agreed, as he found restocking the shelves to be a most agreeable pastime, one that could in fact suck up hours of his eight hour closing shift.

He was in the soda aisle, debating whether sparkling water belonged with seltzer or with the rest of the store brand items, when he noticed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses and a Gotham University sweatshirt, inspecting the selection of diet tonic water and looking utterly flummoxed. Customer in need of assistance!

“Hi, how are you doing tonight? You need help finding anything?” Mentally, James winced at the preppy-ness of his ‘customer service robot voice’ as his favorite coworker Stephie liked to call it. Luckily, he’d thrown his voice out enough screaming to Queen karaoke the night before that his voice stayed in the normal octaves rather than shooting into the stratosphere. The man straightened up and looked down towards James, who suddenly felt very short in all of his 5’9” glory. (Well, 5’8 3/4” but who’s counting.)

“Yes, actually. I’m new to the store, could you direct me to where the soap is?” Oh god. Of all the things it had to be the one item James swore was never in the same aisle twice.

“Of course!” He lied through his teeth. “Here, right this way.” Turning, he set off towards the general direction of where the soap tended to lie, with a variation of four different aisles. Luckily, the first aisle was correct, and he watched, intrigued, as the customer gave a thorough inspection to at least 14 different bars of soap. “Anything else I can help you with?” He added, as the man finally selected a bar and placed it in his basket. The man looked sheepish.

“This is actually the first time I’ve been in a grocery store. I’m not usually the one doing the shopping. My—the person I live with gave me a list, but I honestly don’t know where or even what half of these things are.” He held out a grocery list, scrawled in an elegant cursive. It was double-sided. James checked the front of the store, where the other cashier was engrossed in his phone while trying not to appear engrossed in his phone. It was an hour and a half until they closed, and he was pretty sure there was only one other customer in the store at most.

“Sure! Alright, so our first step should probably be to hit the deli, seeing as they have the longest wait times.” After walking the man through ordering Roast Beef, Prosciutto, Pastrami, Swiss, Havarti, Gouda, and Picante Provolone (what) they moved on to the canned goods. “We should probably grab a cart, I don’t think that basket’s going to be able to hold all of this.” Turning into the canned goods aisle, James sighed.

“Caution: Hazard Detected! Precaución, ¡Peligro Detectado!” The store’s resident useless robot assistant was stuck in place, screaming at a small bit of an onion peel that had fallen to the floor.

“Batsy, I swear to god.” James went over and kicked the peel under one of the shelves, pressing the button on the robot to reboot it.

“...Batsy?” The customer sounded somewhere between bemused and amused. Perhaps just ‘mused.

“Yeah, it’s our obtuse robot that only sees what’s right in front of it and makes a big fuss over literally nothing. It can’t even clean anything up, and the few moments there actually is a spill it just skids through it and makes it worse. Technically corporate calls it Patsy, short for Patrick, because we’re Patrick’s, you know? But since this is Gotham, we call it Batsy. Short for... Batrick. I’m not the one who came up with the name, that honor goes to my coworker Stephie. She’s, uh, not working tonight.” James internally began banging his head against the shelves. Why. Was. He. Like. This. “So, do you know what brand of chickpeas your... roommate wanted?”

/ / /

Finally, after another 45 minutes of shopping, they were ready to check out. James noticed the shift had changed while he was away. “Alright, so I can actually take you at this register over here, ‘cuz I’m still logged in and all.” He gulped as the customer began to load up onto the belt. This was... a lot of food. He’d scanned around a quarter when he officially ran out of room, turning to bagging instead. “Let’s get you another cart, actually, so we can load into that without squishing what you haven’t unpacked yet.” He moved to go grab one, but the customer was faster, jogging back with another cart before he could even finish bagging all the protein shakes. There were, admittedly, a lot of protein shakes.

Scanning the meat-substitutes, James scanned his own mind for an avenue of conversation. “So, you mentioned that it’s your son who’s the vegetarian. How old is he?”

“He’s 13. It’s not religious or health-wise or anything, he just really loves animals. Our house is practically a zoo on a good day, and that’s not even counting all his siblings.”

“Oh, how many kids do you have?” It had to be a fair amount for it to be ‘all’ his siblings. The customer opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again. He seemed to be thinking. Did he... not know how many kids he had??

“Legally I have... fffffour? Five? Yeah... that sounds right.” James tried to hide the bewildered expression in his own face, but he must not have been doing it well. “That makes me sound like such a bad father. No, I promise, I love them all, I just have quite a few of their friends living with us as well, and I’ve known those kids long enough to feel like they’re my kids too. Not to mention the whole difference between the ones I’ve adopted, the one who was my ward who I then retroactively adopted, the one I’m fostering, and the one who is legally an emancipated minor. And... the one who. Is no longer with us.” James blinked. That was indeed complicated.

“You must have a lot of love in your heart,” he settled on, finally.

“I just h— Oh, #%*$.” The blueberry container had burst open, all over the floor. James internally groaned.

“Oh no! Sorry about that, that’s the third one tonight. The packaging is just... not great. Do you want me to go get you another one?”

“No, I can get it. Thanks though.” The customer gingerly stepped through the minefield as James power walked to go get the clean up supplies. Six feet away, Batsy was screaming at a blueberry.

“Eat your heart out, Mister Miyagi,” he aimed a light roundhouse kick at the button to reboot the robot. Batsy got two feet before it encountered another world-ending-threat, danger level blueberry. James sighed and went to go clear that area first.

/ / /

Finally, almost everything was scanned. James was scanning the bread and rolls as the customer fit all the bags into the two carts, like an expert game of tetris. There were a few hiccups where James had had to explain that you probably shouldn’t bag Raid with milk, or that it was a good idea to double bag heavy items, or that you should wait until the end to put the eggs in (and there were a lot of eggs. Gaston-levels of eggs. Probably to be expected with that many kids in the house. Hah. eggs-pected.) But by the end they were working like a well-oiled machine. James bagged the last item, hit the button to total it, and watched as the customer realized he forgot his deli items.

“I’m just gonna— gonna run and go get those real quick. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you fill out the charity question real quick though? Th...thanks.” The customer was gone before James could question him on the fact that he’d used the custom amount option to apparently donate $1k to Gotham General’s children’s ward. It was... probably a mistake, but he’d wait around to check. He turned as he heard the beginnings of a commotion behind him, from the one other customer in the store. This guy’s whole aesthetic just screamed gross, from the white-boy dreads to the Blue Lives Matter gaiter mask. It looked as if he was having trouble at self-checkout. James was about to head over to help when his coworker passed him. He turned back to keep an eye on the clock. 10 minutes until closing. Please come back with the deli items soon. He heard an aggressive murmuring that sent chills up his spine, a distinct feeling of Not Right Bad. He turned back to where his coworker was engaged with helping the other customer. His coworker who was... very pale. Frightened. The customer whose hand glinted silver with... oh #%*$, that’s a knife. Not Good Very Bad... oh hell no, you are not hurting my coworker on my watch.

“HEY #%$&FACE, EAT BEANS!” As the aggressive customer turned to meet the container of garbanzo beans that was currently hurtling towards his face at the maximum speed a theatre-kid-who-never-did-sports could throw, the world seemed to throw down. Faintly, James could hear rational thoughts pounding at the door to his mind, begging to be let in. Thoughts like ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for attacking a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for cursing in front of a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for damaging the merchandise’ and ‘You can’t even throw a ball to save your life, there’s no way that’s going to hit him.’ Praying to Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and all other things holy, James watched as the beans sailed through the air and struck their target true— albeit a little lower than planned.”

Grossface automatically brought his hands down to protect his nethers, apparently forgetting that their was a knife in his hands. He let out a second agonized howl as he stabbed himself in the balls. Blindly, James groped around for more ammunition. Holding out a zucchini as threateningly as he could, he watched as the would-be aggressor ran out of the store as fast as he could with both hands clasping his junk. “Are you okay?” He asked his coworker, feeling his voice echo through the suddenly very-quiet-sounding store. She nodded mutely. He nodded back, then turned back to his register and oH shit there’s His Customer, holding the deli items.

“Nice shot.” Okay, this time he definitely sounded amused.

“I... am so sorry about the beans, I can get you a refund on those or I can go get you some more or—”

“No need, they definitely went to a good cause.” The customer grinned and held out the deli items. Faintly, James began to wrestle with the bag to get to the barcodes. Finally, everything was scanned, for good.

“Alright, will that be everything?” The clock read two minutes until closing.

“Yes, that should be everything. Again, thank you for all your help.” James watched as even with the membership points taken off, the total soared to over $750.

“Alright, your total is... $754.33, here’s some coupons and a survey slip. If you fill that out you get entered for a drawing to win a $500 gift card. Which... I don’t know that you’d need, but. Why not.” The customer reached into his wallet and counted out 5 $100 bills. Then he pulled out a black card. He paid off the total with the card, then handed the bills to James.

“Here you go, I wasn’t sure how much you tip cashiers.” James opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.

“People don’t normally... tip cashiers...” and especially not HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS.

“Oh. Well, you were a good cashier. You deserve it. And here—” at this he pulled a crisp business card out of his wallet. “At Wayne Enterprises we could use quick-thinkers like you.” Pulling down his sunglasses, he gave a quick wink. James waved absentmindedly as BRUCE #%*$ING WAYNE walked out of the store. He looked down at the business card. Written upon it were the words: “Call here for an interview, mention Malone and they’ll know I sent you. Best of luck with the current job— BW”

James sat down. The clock was 10 minutes past closing before he remembered to look at it. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Oh my god I joked around to a billionaire. I cursed in front of a billionaire. I chucked a can of beans into a man’s nutsack in front of a billionaire.

But oddly enough, the only question that remained at the top of his mind was this:

This is because I have black hair and blue eyes, isn’t it.

#batfam #batman #bruce wayne #crack fic babey #my writing #written over the course of 2 hours following an 8 hour shift #shameless self-insert time

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jeongi · 6 years ago

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caught me. | jjk (m)

(edit done by my love, @httpjeon)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 13.5k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | roommate au. slight e2l au. smut. porn with very little plot.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. mentions of vaping. mutual masturbation, sex toy usage, oral sex (f + m receiving), gagging, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, some wall fucking, riding, unprotected sex (you know the drill, wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, jungkook has tattoos, long wavy hair and a giant schlong.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

“Seokjin, how could you do this to me?” You whine from the kitchen island, reflexively stabbing at the bowl of cereal in front of you. You can’t believe your roommate is just now telling you, a day before he leaves for vacation, that his “friend” will be temporarily moving in while he’s away. Of course, Seokjin pays no mind to your tantrum. Instead, he continues packing the last of his luggage in the living space, across the room. Simply rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh in response, he’s far more acquainted with your antics than he’d like to be. He could almost call you the younger sibling he most certainly never wanted, a nuisance wrapped in feigned misery. The arrangement between the two of you seemed nothing more than the result of a last-ditch Craigslist roommate search.

He should have known the consequences, he supposes.

Another sigh escapes his lips as he turns his attention away from the luggage. “_____, I’m only leaving for three months.”

You wail again, this time, your arms stretching across the cool, granite counter to push the bowl away from yourself. You’ve wholly lost your appetite, ready to wreak havoc as you slide off the stool you’re sat on and stomp your way over to him.

“I don’t care about you leaving me!” Seokjin scoffs at this statement, returning his focus to the open suitcase laid on the floor in front of him. “I care about you stuffing me in this apartment with a complete stranger while you’re gone.” What was the fucker’s name again? Jon Q, John Cook? You’re furious, but of course, Seokjin fails to take notice of this. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone and scrolls through his extensive list of items to pack. He’s only gotten through half of it.

Your words don’t seem to have much of an impact on him, fueling your fury. “What if he tries to murder me? Or even worse, what if I end up murdering him? You won’t even be here to help me hide the body— this is a travesty!” This is followed with another signature sigh, all drama, your wrist shooting up to your forehead as you dab at invisible sweat.

You briefly think you might actually hate Seokjin.

He pauses, dropping his phone into the open luggage before craning his head towards you. Blinking, purely baffled by the lunacy he has to constantly put up with, he internally gives his utmost gratitude to the heavens that his work has sent him on this European trip tomorrow. Three clean months of the peaceful canals of Venice, the Colosseum in Rome, the Eiffel Tower in Paris and most importantly, three lovely quiet months away from you. Suddenly, three months no longer seems an eternity to him. How could it? He assesses you top to bottom, seeing nothing more than a rabid young woman scorned, hands placed sternly on her hips, expectant of a reply.

No sir, three months is not long enough at all.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks through gritted teeth. “You are the most melodramatic person I know— you think you can afford to pay my rent for the next three months?” This shuts you up momentarily.

For a moment, you’re disarmed. You can’t argue that he’s right, and you hate admitting it’s the only reason for your new (temporary) roommate.

Releasing his nose, he looks at you, warming a little. “Look, he asked to stay here -temporarily- until he finds his own place. He’s my best friend; wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

That final bit had the effect he wanted it to, and boy, did it sting. Of course, you’d do the same for your best friend. The only trouble is that you know very little information about this John Cook character, only getting brief details about him moving into the big city for the first time and Seokjin “graciously” providing him a rental until he can find something more permanent. It isn’t a fault on Seokjin’s half. You just don’t know the poor bastard.

Beyond that, you know this guy is a Taekwondoin, moving here to join one of the most prestigious Taekwondo academies in the country. Your blood runs cold in a sudden rush, a certain grim realization dawning on you that you’d absolutely be no match for him if he did try to kill you. Perhaps Seokjin has told you so late because he too wants you dead. You really shouldn’t have met him through Craiglist.

You consider leaving a lengthy, final Tumblr post in remembrance of your inevitable end, hoping one of your 12 followers would come forth and save you from a gruesome slashing. At best, someone saves your life. At worst, you’ve written your own eulogy.

Huffing a breath of frustration, something akin to a groan escapes you as you march back to the kitchen island for your now soggy bowl of cereal. It only fuels your now quiet rage further, but pettiness takes over, mentally muting Seokjin’s yelling profanities after watching you dispose of one of his favourite glass bowls. It’s the least you can do as revenge.

As it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is a nearly six feet tall mural of muscle and inked skin that rarely stays home. His dark wavy hair falls gracefully past his large doe eyes, and his plethora of tattoos litter the tight expanse of his neck and arms. Notably, the blossom of two red roses painted over the porcelain of his neck.

Though verbally a silent roommate, you find he vapes far too much and equally plays far too much Fortnite at odd hours of the night. He only comes out of his room to either make himself food or to leave the apartment, and a couple of times you could have almost sworn he might’ve been doing his laundry. He’s a feast to lay eyes on, that much is irrefutable but he leaves at least one utensil unwashed after eating, irritating you to an unprecedented degree.

Jungkook also enjoys eating ramen at two in the morning- you know this because it wakes you up almost every time you hear the microwave blare its oppressive siren. He also figures he must shower each time he returns home from being out, suitably fattening your poor water bill. You’ve only briefly spoken to him a handful of times, mostly about house rules and a tour of the facilities.

It’s only been two weeks since he’s arrived, yet you already seem to despise him- sending Seokjin angry messages from across the globe about this, all of which have been ignored. You’ve been too busy lately anyway, rarely seeing Jungkook who seems to be out for most of the day.

However, it’s today that you finally catch him when you’re just coming home from work. He sits at the kitchen island, flipping through a comic while he loudly chomps on an open bag of shrimp chips, pausing to look at you as you make your way inside.

You’re on speakerphone with your friend Nari, both of your arms too occupied and laden with groceries to normally hold the phone to your ear. Upon seeing this, Jungkook gets up from his seat and immediately rushes to lend a hand. He’s completely shirtless, his loose dark sweatpants hugging the low subtle curve of his hips, and it’s only then that you notice the mosaic of more tattoos scattered across his skin beyond his full sleeves and the two red roses on his neck. He has much more than you had initially seen, a large black and white snake running over his pelvic bone. It draws your eyes forward, let’s it linger over to his bare abdomen, untouched with ink and defined with muscle. You can see it evidently, the indents carved into him as if he’s been sculpted from the finest of limestone.

You catch yourself from staring, thanking him with a silent bow of your head as he turns away from you, all the bags of groceries now racked effortlessly down his taut arms. Your momentary and involuntary ogling is cut short by Nari’s voice booming through the loudspeaker of your phone.

“God, you really need to get laid soon- I’m tired of you being so grumpy.” You freeze, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I already deal with one grump on a daily, I don’t need to add another to my inventory.”

Fuck. “Yeah, well, working on it!” You titter nervously into the microphone. It’s all in vain, for Nari is relentless in her pursuits.

“Didn’t you say your new roommate was hot? Just fuck him, that’d be pretty convenient. It’s like, like...dick-on-demand!” She laughs, guffawing into the mic as though it’s the most hilarious thing she has ever said. You stand there, eyes wide and mortified as the cackle from the other end of the line sounds more villainous than genuine humour. Her words linger still in the air, and a very deep desire to Crtl+Z yourself from life’s current existence fills your petrified body.

You know Jungkook has heard the words because he pauses in his step very briefly, faint stutters in his movement as his back stays turned towards you. Before you catch the slightest motion of his head about to look over his shoulder, you’re whipping around and fumbling for your phone. With the greatest deft you can muster, your thumbs desperately try smashing the giant red ‘end call’ button.

To no avail, the phone screen freezes, Nari’s cackling report still filing through.

You think this feels like a nightmare. In fact, you’re certain you’ve had a nightmare precisely like this before. Except this is real, very much real and you’re humiliated. cheeks surely flushed crimson as you tut in annoyance at your malfunctioning product of capitalism.

Jungkook simply clears his throat and continues moving towards the kitchen once again, acting as if nothing has happened. Under any other circumstances, you would almost be offended, but given the current nature of what has just transpired, you both let the feeling pass. “Anyway,” Nari continues and you wish she’d shut up. “I gotta go, Yoongi just got Minecraft and I’m going to give him the best head of his life,” she groans into the mic in satisfaction. “I love you, bye!” She cuts the mic, completely and blissfully unaware of the impending Armageddon she’s inadvertently spawned. You’re stood there in horrified silence, counting to five in your head before you’re very anxiously swivelling around.

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. What could you even say?

Jungkook cuts in. “I’ll uh, put these away. Don’t worry about it.” He beams you a rather charming grin, completely devoid of any awkward tension that filled the air moments ago. Somehow, this surprises you far more than if he had acknowledged it.

You thank him with haste, your feet acting much quicker than your head as you swiftly cut across the kitchen towards the hallway where your bedroom stands. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, your face is surely now painted just as red as Jungkook’s bag of shrimp chips on the counter.

Perhaps it’s to ease yourself more than anything that you decide to get angry over this situation. You’re not angry at Nari, no, you’re angry at Jungkook. Who was he to waltz into your apartment and have you monitor your phone calls? And be shirtless nonetheless? Had he no manners? Why should you have to tiptoe around him? You think if this were Seokjin, he wouldn’t nearly make everything so uncomfortable for you in your own place of living. Seokjin would also wash all his dishes and sleep at a reasonable time. This thought only fuels you more.

The words slip out of you before you can even comprehend stopping. “For Christ’s sake wear a shirt while I’m home, I don’t need to see you prancing half naked around the apartment. This isn’t Magic Mike, it’s home- my home.” You bark, halting Jungkook in his movements as he goes to place a new carton of milk into the fridge. He turns to look at you, the dangle of his silver earrings glinting against the light and you almost grimace at how attractive he looks in this moment.

Before he can respond, you’re pivoting away from him and walking towards your bedroom.

You slam your door with a thud and let out a strangled groan. Perhaps it was too harsh, the anger is now replaced with further distress. You toss yourself onto your mattress, stuffing your face into the nearest pillow and restraining yourself with every ounce of self-control you have from screaming your lungs out into it.

You hadn’t even called Jungkook hot, you had mentioned that he was conventionally attractive- which wasn’t a lie in the slightest. You’re half tempted to call her back and scold her good for the humiliation she’s so blissfully unaware of causing, but as you pick up your phone, a text flashes across your screen with a name you’re all too familiar with. And all too soon, your agitation grinds to a halt, dissipates and metamorphosizes into a goofy, toothy grin.

Taehyung - [1 New Text Message]

Kim Taehyung works just across the room from you on the seventh floor of the accounting firm. He has rich blonde hair and plump pink lips that he constantly wets with a dab of his tongue. You swear he’s been purposely winding you up recently, the brushes against your skin too frequent, the lingering stares too prolonged and the husk in his voice too low when he speaks to you. You’ve had a crush on Taehyung since you’ve started working at the firm, two years ago. Of course, he’s completely unaware of this.

5:44pm [Taehyung]: Hey, can I ask you for a favour?

The squeal you let out is unbearable, even to you. You feel the reminiscence of being back in middle school when your sixth-grade crush, Park Jimin had asked you to the Halloween dance. Of course, that night had ended terribly for you, catching Jimin and your rival, Sooya slow dancing while you went to get unnaturally lukewarm fruit punch from the snack bar. But much like right now, you remember the butterflies fluttering through your entire body the night before the dance.

Feeling the crimson warmth return to your cheeks, you clutch your phone to your chest while a coy smile stretches across your lips. You practice your well-rehearsed, five-minute wait before texting Taehyung back, typing and retyping your response until you’re satisfied with a legible reply. Pursing your lips, you go back and forth between adding a smiley face or not, ultimately choosing to go with one just to further the delusions in your head that adding one will somehow make him fall madly in love with you.

5:50pm [You]: of course you can! :)

You gasp when your phone vibrates within seconds, a giddy coo leaving you as his name flashes once more across your screen. You slap a hand over your mouth when you hear the footsteps of Jungkook pass by your door, your eyes darting towards the shadow of his feet seen just underneath the crack of your door. His room- rather Seokjin’s room- is right next door to yours, another unfortunate occurrence in your miserable life.

5:50pm [Taehyung]: Could you possibly drop me off at the airport tomorrow morning? I’ll treat you to breakfast on the way!!

Your grin grows tenfold, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in its hold as you glide your fingers over the keyboard with an answer.

5:52pm [You]: it’d be my pleasure!!

It seems as if everyone but you and Jungkook were going away on vacation from this hell city. Perhaps you may be in need of one too.

You drop Taehyung off at the airport at five in the morning. You think it should be illegal for anyone to wake up at such an hour. You hadn’t had much time to sleep, Jungkook’s nightly ramen snacking occurring at exactly two in the morning, just two hours before you were supposed to be awoken by the chirps of your alarm. As if the morning couldn’t have gotten any worse, you had learned Taehyung was travelling abroad to meet his very long-term and long-distance girlfriend for the first time. Your luck seems to have worsened as you’ve aged. All the signs you thought you’d seen of him visibly showing his interest in you had all been in your head.

By the time you reach home, it’s six, the sun barely peeking through the hillside view from your apartment and your eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep. A yawn escapes you as you place your keys on the kitchen counter before you kick off your shoes and shuffle towards the living room in a slump. You plop onto the couch, releasing a long exhale as you lift your feet up to lay more comfortably.

Briefly, you think you should stay up and get your day started, as you reckon most people who have their shit together would do as such. Unfortunately for your itinerary, you’re not most people and you’re certainly not someone who has their shit together. You’re _____ and you’re now dreaming, dreaming of a single Kim Taehyung.

His mouth is on yours, golden locks under the tight grip of your fingers and his cock is steadily rocking into you, fingers digging into your sides. He has you seated on the bathroom counter, your legs circled around his waist as his sharp thrusts elicit the neediest of cries from you.

“Taehyung!” You’re moaning, eyes rolled so far back into your skull, you feel the pull of your optic nerve. Loosening your grip on Taehyung’s hair, he moves away from your mouth and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck. Every curve of his dick plunges in calculated fashion into your cunt, egging you closer to your undoing.

Another sharp thrust has your entire body shuddering, a lapse of jitters filling you as your orgasm rumbles through you. When Taehyung lifts his head from the crook of your neck, you gasp. For when you look at his face, it’s no longer Taehyung, it’s now Jungkook.

He offers a lopsided smirk, an indent of his dimple forming around the right side of his mouth while a finger trails down your cheek.

“Wake up,” the apparition whispers.

You gasp awake, spine shooting upright as you heave heavy breaths. Skimming your hands over your face, you let out a frustrated groan, bewilderment and daze hitting you as you land right back to reality.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You hear a low voice and you immediately shriek, arms hugging yourself in a mock attempt to hide yourself even if you are fully clothed at the moment. You look over, glancing at the tall, frozen figure stood in the kitchen. His doe eyes are wide, startled by your reaction, dark hair wavy and long, clinging around the edge of his pale face and you can see the faintest trace of the red ink on his neck underneath the loose collar of his black hoodie. He’s got a knife in one hand and a half-cut tomato laid on a cutting board in front of him. “I-I was going to wake you up for lunch but…” His face has suddenly flushed to a shade of rose, tongue swiftly dabbing at his bottom lip. He clears his throat and hesitates before looking away. “Y-you seemed engrossed in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.” What was that supposed to mean?

When you look behind him, the pot on the stove is steaming and it’s then that you catch the aroma of sauteed onions and oregano. Naturally, your mouth instantly waters, eyes glancing over to the digital clock that displays itself on the stove. It reads as five minutes past noon and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before you’re blinking towards the time again. Had you really passed out for a solid six hours? How long had Jungkook been here? “You...don’t have work today?” You swallow, slowly raising up your feet.

Jungkook merely chuckles and shakes his head no. The silver of his dangling earrings swings with this motion. “I’m not working yet, I’m a student at Master Seong’s.” You had almost forgotten about the Taekwondo Academy, it’s the exact reason he’s now standing here in your kitchen cutting tomatoes. “Hopefully, I’ll be the one teaching by next year.” As he speaks, you notice he has a perfect set of pearly whites but then you think of course he does- anything that would make Jeon Jungkook less perfect at this point would be a micropenis. For whatever reason, that makes your blood boil but as much as you’re in disdain, the thought instantly brings attention to a sweltering puddle between your legs.

Your head shoots down, feet shifting uncomfortably as you feel a slick cling against your panties and it’s then that every aspect of your sex dream hits you in a movie montage. You had fully and wholeheartedly dreamt of Jungkook fucking you.

You gasp, unwillingly, feet losing balance before you catch yourself against the counter. Jungkook pauses and looks at you, a tentative eyebrow cocking in your direction in question.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, more curious than considerate. His voice seems to ebb and flow with the sultry ease that only he could— my god, maybe you do need to get laid.

You use your elbows to push yourself off the counter before you’re walking over to the stove, body brushing against Jungkook’s back as you reach for the vent switch.

“Next time you cook something, turn on the exhaust fan or else it’ll get smokey in here.” You say, voice stoic like ice in this smothering heat, ignoring the blatant arousal seeping out of your cunt. You brush past him once more to make way towards the hallway.

Jungkook sighs in defeat, watching as your figure disappears into your bedroom.

The moth outside your window bats against the patio light with a fierce determination that boggles your mind. You wonder what might be going through the moth’s head: does it ponder this alien, man-made warmth it now feverishly flutters around? Does it understand it in the slightest? Why else would such a simple creature be breaking the peace of a sticky midsummer’s eve?

You glance at the clock on your dresser. It’s now half past midnight, and you’re dying in this stupid heat. Perhaps it didn’t help that you had a six-hour nap, impressed by your ability to do so in broad daylight. And you can’t get it out of your head, the dream. It’s kept you horny all day- in need of relief. You think about the last time you’ve had sex, a one night stand with a tall, polite gentleman named Namjoon. It was quite possibly the best sex you’ve ever had, a shame you never caught his number.

With a less than pathetic groan of protest, you put your head between the pillow and the mattress, savouring the seconds of coolness that surround your head in a desperate bid to lower the temperature however you can. Something’s got to be better than stringing sex and a fucking invertebrate into the same train of thought this late at night.

Raising your head up from the pillow, you weigh your options. You’re not about to drink yourself to sleep, and your secret supply of ZzzQuil has run dry. Fortunately, you have a solution.

It’s nights like tonight that you can’t hold yourself back, orgasms helped you sleep better anyway. Your vibrator mocks you, blinking as it charges for the first time in weeks. You hear Jungkook shuffle on the other side of the room, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as you quietly reach your bedside table for a pair of headphones. You grasp at odds and ends until your fingers find purchase, and with a small sense of victory, you pull a very tangled mess of headphones from the drawer. You hear a cough on the other side and pause, gulping as if you’re fourteen all over again and just discovered the fruits of pleasuring yourself for the first time.

The vibrator’s LED light switches to a solid green, indicating its readiness to abuse your very untouched clit. You flush at the thought, yet eager as the familiar moisture pools in between your legs. You’re suddenly all too ready, all too demanding of the touch of a toy that you haven’t felt in too long. Why had you been putting this off for so long?

Unplugging it from the outlet next to your bed, you slip off your shorts and lay comfortably back onto your mattress. Another blush creeps onto your cheeks, your thumb unlocking your phone and opening the Chrome app. Making sure to switch to a private browser, you hesitantly type it in.

‘Pornhub’

The link loads embarrassingly quickly and you flush further, a mix of both the heat and your self chagrin marking the apples of your cheeks. You don’t even know what to look for, the home page overwhelming you with a variety of sinful thumbnails, begging to be clicked on. It almost makes you grimace in distaste, suddenly too aware of your surroundings and the situation at hand. You decide against pornography, gripping onto your imagination as you toss your phone aside and clear your throat, settling back onto the mattress with your eyes closed.

You’ll think about Namjoon. His broad hands, slender fingers and that deliciously thick cock. His moans, his honey skin and the way he was able to make you come twice that night.

Spreading your legs apart, you fixate the vibrator against your heat, gasping at the cool tip of the silicone already sensitive against your clit. You’re already soaked, the head gliding over your clit with slick.

It feels wrong when you turn the device on, the low buzz of vibrations filling the air. Brows knitted together, you picture Namjoon again. Trying to imagine the stroke of his tongue against your folds as the buzz of your vibrator rings through you, you gasp at the overwhelming sensation. Why didn’t you do this more often? You try to stay quiet, breathing growing laboured as the image of Namjoon between your legs morphs into something else. Rather, it morphs into someone else.

You see it in your head, your fingers threading through dark curls, legs pinned apart by two ink-sleeved arms. When you look down, you’re met by the intense gaze of brown doe eyes, his brows furrowed as his tongue flicks relentlessly against you. It’s almost as he’s smirking at you, the slightest quirk in his eyebrow implying that he knows he’d fucking you well with only his tongue. The image makes you shudder, shaking your head as you kick this sick fantasy out of your mind. Were you out of your mind?

On the other side of the room, Jungkook’s ears perk up to the sound of this low buzz. He hadn’t realized you were still awake. But as the buzzing intensifies, and a rhythmic deep breathing follows, it soon grows impossible to ignore. He has to be certain. Cautiously removing one earphone, he almost leans into the noise, cocking his head to the side.

No, that’s definitely you, alright.

You gasp as you apply more pressure to your clit, eyes rolling back from the waves of vibrations surging through your entire body. You can’t get it out of your head, imagining Jungkook’s taut arms holding you down, his tongue unforgiving against you. The moan that escapes you is wholly on accident, a hand slapping against your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself further.

Jungkook sits at his desk, dumbfounded. Were you really doing what he thought you were? Surely not. It’s then that hears the moan. It penetrates the thin wall that separates the two of you and stirs a familiar twitch in his boxers. He feels it press against the fabric, stretching with every heartbeat that knocks against his ribcage. His breathing begins to deepen, only letting his imagination wander as to what you were doing in this moment, merely a few feet away.

No, he thinks. Absolutely not. Behave yourself.

You’re…well, you’re moaning.

Fuck this, Jungkook’s inner dialogue protests. If you’re not going to play fair, then neither is he. He rises from his desk, tripping slightly over his office chair, clattering the plastic wheels against the hardwood floor. The sound reverberates through what feels like the entire house, and the silence is broken by the impact, which by all accounts seems far too noisy for its own good.

Jungkook freezes, terrified. The buzzing ceases just as suddenly, and the air is replaced with an undesirable discomfort.

Inside your room, your left hand tightens over your mouth the other switches off the vibrator. The kerfuffle seemed to have occurred frighteningly close, prompting a sudden cease to desist all sinful pleasures. The anxieties come in waves, one after another. Did he hear you? Oh God, how long was he listening? Was that even him?

A painful eternity passes. The silence fills the house once more, the crickets outside resuming their nightly song.

Jungkook half expects you to barge into his room, fuming at him for being a pervert and listening in but your feared assault never comes. If anything, his cock only seems to grow harder, the thought of you pleasuring yourself just on the other side of the wall so alluring, he begins to palm himself over his boxers.

You, on the other hand, upon the silence, convince yourself that he hadn’t heard after all. Surely, it was something else, Jungkook had probably already gone to bed.

Jungkook. Your lips form the shape of his name but no sound comes out, only a heavy exhale. This is wrong, beyond inappropriate and downright vulgar. It’s the dimples, you try to argue with yourself. Or those eyes, a deep coffee brown that take away from his masculine frame. It almost brings a childlike charm, distracts you from the surfeit of tattoos that mark his muscular build.

With impatience, you start the vibrator again, placing the device over your clit once more. You’re soaked beyond control, your own fingers itching to be stuffed inside yourself. Thumb hitting the setting button, the buzz of vibrations grow an octave higher as the intensity of the second setting rolls over your bead with a blast of euphoric pleasure. It’s almost too much, legs clamping shut as the judder of silicone repeatedly assaults your clit. Your panting growing quicker, inching you to tip over the edge. Oh, how you yearned to be filled with a cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, giving into the barbaric thoughts in his head. Quietly, he slides his boxers down his thighs and situates himself back onto his desk chair. His cock is throbbing, tip a blushed pink as his heartbeat begins to resonate harder. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you testing him? Teasing him? He rests his head back, eyes fluttering to a close as he holds the base of his painfully erect cock with his right hand.

His hand slowly begins to slide up and down his own length, twisting slightly whenever his fingers cross over his glans. The sensation fills him with ecstasy, and he can’t help but gasp as he tightens his grip and continues to stroke his cock. He thinks of you, on the other side of the wall with your legs spread, flushed and begging to be fucked. How well he’d fit inside you, how well you’d take him in your tight cunt and how you’d whimper his name into his ear. With these thoughts, his pace on himself quickens, breaths laboured against the air. This was wrong, so wrong but hearing you like this, imagining you sprawled on your bed in desperate need of his touch only pushes him further to his climax.

For a moment, he thinks about risking it all and just ripping your door open to fuck you into your next existence. He stays planted onto the leather seat, his hands roaming in a familiar rhythm.

You are minutes, seconds away from seeing strings of white. It’s when you raise your vibrator to its third setting that you come undone, biting the inside of your cheek as your orgasm plummets you to a new horizon and Jungkook’s name sits at the edge of your tongue.

You feel it spray out of you, your arousal sprinkling over your bed sheets in a clear indication of your collapse. You gasp and shudder, quick to turn off the device as its relentless motion becomes far too much for your sensitive clit.

You lay for a moment, gathering your bearings as your high lingers between the furrow of your eyebrows. Your head feels heavy, sleep overtaking every inch of your body and you begin nodding off almost instantaneously, vibrator still in hand. It’s when you shift to doze more comfortably that your thigh makes contact with a cool, wet splotch.

Your eyes spring open and you’re sitting up, flicking on your bedside lamp. You have just squirted all over your sheets, the damp puddle prominent and deride. You sit there in disbelief, blinking at the mess between your legs. You frown, suddenly becoming aware of the incessant pounding in your head from your high and you curse yourself for making such a mess.

Now you have to do the laundry, there’s no way you could sleep in these.

Jungkook is close, frustratingly so…it won’t take much at this rate for him to blow his load all over himself. He places his hand firmly around the chair handle, fingers gripping against the plastic. His other hand strokes faster than ever before, breaths deepening. And as he reaches his climax, the quietest of moans escape his lips, followed by your name. It’s so soft on his tongue, it feels uncouth. The trail of white fluid follows, spurts out of his cock and onto his stomach. He pants, quick to milk every ounce of himself with the squeeze of his palm around the edge of his head and then he’s reaching for his water bottle, taking a cool swig of the liquid.

He has to shower now, there’s no way he could sleep like this.

As you unhook the last of your sheets from the mattress, you quickly roll the fabric into a giant ball within your arms. You’re on your tippy-toes, hesitantly reaching for your door as you twist the knob and pull the barrier open. You look around, relieved to see the hallway engulfed in complete darkness. Jungkook’s door is closed, no light emitting through the cracks which means he must be asleep. Gingerly, you close the door behind you and tiptoe towards the end of the hall where the laundry room is- attached to the shared washroom.

You’re quick to stuff the sheets into the washer, loading the detergent into the cartridges and powering on the machine. The room’s lights aren’t even on, you’re too lazy to find them. Besides, the stark moonlight and LED of the washing machine are plenty of light enough. When you’ve set the machine to its cycle, you ponder on what the hell you can do with no bedsheets to aid in your sleep and your body covered in sweat.

Even if you are hotter than before, sweatier than before, slumber takes a toll on your body. Your head feels weighted, drowsy from your hard climax. You think a shower would work best, turning to go back into your room for a change of clothes when you bump into something, rather someone.

You shriek and take cover under your raised arms, a soft glow of white light sifting through the crack of your arms as the washroom lights get flickered on. Raising your head out of the shield of your arms, you find Jungkook standing in front of you, void of a shirt and clad by only a pair of boxers.

“Jungkook, what the fuck?” You can’t help it, your eyes wander, rake him from head to toe. You can see it, the ever so light outline of a bulge, something that is definitely nowhere near a micropenis.

“I was just...about to shower. I’m sorry- I didn’t know you would be out here, I would’ve worn more clothes” His gaze is soft with worry and you’re reminded of your earlier outburst. It was quite hypocritical of yourself when you’ve just fucked yourself on a sex toy to scandalous thoughts of him. His eyes flickers to the low drone of the washer and then back to you. “You’re doing laundry?”

Your cheeks flush, your voice hitching in your throat as you promptly pull up an excuse as to why you’re doing laundry at nearly two in the morning. “I-I spilled some tea on my sheets, I have to wash them.” You hope it’s convincing enough. “I was about to shower too.”

Jungkook regards you carefully, expecting a scolding for even asking but it never comes. You’re flustered and painted a shade of red he is familiar with. He’s only familiar with it because he too is the same shade of red. You two had been pleasuring yourselves, separately yet simultaneously. The memory almost brings a fresh wave of lust.

“Why are you showering at-” you glance at the time on your phone, “-one o’clock at night?” Jungkook doesn’t expect this question from you. You had never been interested in anything he did other than if it was something bothersome to scold over. He clears his throat and uses his slender fingers to push his hair back. You reckon he’ll need a haircut soon.

“I was exercising in my room.” Technically, masturbation was a certain form of exercise…

The air is stiff, you feel it. It crosses both of your minds, had you heard one another? Was it obvious? You shift on the balls of your feet, teeth crashing down on your bottom lip. “Well, who’s gonna shower first?” You eye his practically unclad figure. It’s impossible to not take notice of the Adonis belt that leads your vision straight to his casual bulge. You look away. “Technically I was here first.”

Jungkook chuckles and pokes the inside of his cheek with a tongue. “Technically this is your house too, right?”

Your head drops to the ground, a shameful pout crossing over your features. Perhaps you were too harsh earlier, but you may just be feeling this way from the endorphins.

You go against the wish for a shower, it’s the least you can do. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, just letting you know. Please don’t make food at some obscure hour of the night or I will kill you.” With that, you push past him, your shoulder knocking against his arm as you head towards the living room.

To Jungkook, there’s something so beguiling about your clear disdain for him. He merely observes you from where he stands, feeling another rush of blood make way to his cock. How could you so ignorantly disregard that you had just been touching yourself? Did you really not know he could hear you? It baffles him, leaves him with another hard-on as he turns away, closing the washroom door behind him before he’s turning on the shower.

Today, you’ve had a shitty day.

Kim Taehyung has put in his two weeks' notice. He’s quitting this job to move halfway across the world and live with his girlfriend abroad and your boss had informed you one of your very own clients have committed tax fraud, costing your firm thousands. Along with this, you’ve spilled coffee over your white button-up and the hair tie holding your crisp bun up had snapped to unleash your unbrushed, unwashed owl’s nest.

When you walk into the apartment, you almost don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was strategically placed in the foyer by Seokjin, his scientific reasoning behind it being so he could start a positive day by looking at himself one last time before leaving the house. This logic seems like bullshit to you now. Your hair is a lion’s mane, your black bra visible against the translucent, chestnut coffee stain on your chest and your face is shiny from the amount of sweat you’ve had building up throughout the day from this sweltering heat.

Kicking off your heels, you take notice that Jungkook’s Pumas don’t take their usual occupancy on the shoe rack. This means he’s not home and this means, he wouldn’t be seeing you in this state. Relief floods over you.

Somewhere prior to the halfway point of Jungkook’s stay, your animosity for his presence seems to have expired ever so slightly. Perhaps it had to do with your newfound liking towards him from your late-night fantasies, or maybe it was because he had actually been putting more effort into working around the house as of late.

You barely see him now, and when you do, he’s usually made your food along with his own or he’s left you sticky notes telling you he’s taken out the garbage for you or cleaned the washroom. It has warmed your rigid heart but only to an extended degree.

Carding your fingers through your hair, you tame as much of it as you can before you’re unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting the air dry it out. Your bra feels slick against your skin, the mixture of coffee and sweat too unbearable. You unclip it from behind and toss it onto the bar stool by the kitchen island.

After opening the fridge for a can of iced tea, you walk over to the pantry for a snack to accompany the icy, perspiring drink. But before you can make it, you suddenly take notice of it, the twinkling mound of silverware against the sunlight seeping through the windowpane. You look down at the small pile of unwashed cutlery in the stainless steel sink, an inferno flickering in your chest.

The feeling crawls back, the feeling of wanting to reinforce your disapproval of him. It’s an emotional memory, screaming at you to go back to your familiar disdain, to a more comfortable habit. Or maybe it’s your horrible day, everything bad that’s happened leading up to this breakdown. You feel like an overly emotional pregnant lady, getting fired up over unwashed spoons and forks but you can’t push it down. You’re seeing red.

A click is heard from the bathroom down the hall, followed by the tune of a cheerful whistle. You wrap the open ends of your shirt around your chest, crossing your arms as you stand in the kitchen and await the figure’s emergence from the shadowy refuge of the hallway. Jungkook now appears at the mouth of the hall, one arm rubbing a small towel against his wet hair and the other clutching the towel hanging off his hips. Upon seeing you, his whistle abruptly drops.

“Hey,” he begins nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be home—”

The words come out of you like rapid-fire, all “good deeds” he’s ever done as a roommate escaping through the vents. “You…” You begin, and he winces. “Do you see this?” You point to the sink. “How fucking hard is it to wash your own forks and spoons? Fuck, I’m so tired of picking up after you!”

You’re really unable to stop yourself, weeks of pent-up frustrations just now unleashing, lashing against the boy with such vigor, you can see a gulp send his Adam's apple to a bob. “For the record, if you’re going to smoke, do it the absolute farthest away from the apartment- I cannot stand the scent of fake strawberries and watermelon anymore.” Your arm motions towards the hallway, your foot stomping with it. Jungkook’s gaze very briefly strays to your shirt that unravels, just barely covering your breasts. Were you not wearing a bra?

“For every shower you take after the initial one, you have to set aside two dollars extra towards the water bill and for the love of all things holy, please start eating dinner at a reasonable time- you make it impossible to like you when I’m forced to wake up at two in the morning almost every single night.” With one push off the counter, you’re off towards the hallway to your bedroom, the heat of Jungkook’s stare burning into the back of your skull as you pass by him.

Jungkook sighs.

“I try, you know.” His quiet words halt you in your steps. “I knew you never liked me but I never knew why...that much was always a mystery. It never stopped me from trying to be the best damn roommate you’re ever going to have.” You twist around, taking in his stance. Now his arms are crossed, the towel once on his head now draped over his arm. “And yet you still hate me.”

You’re disarmed, mouth suddenly dry as you take in his words. Jungkook continues. “I...I just don’t get it- and I have to admit it’s a little disheartening,” He takes an idle step forward. “I don’t know what to expect from you- one moment you’re scolding me and the next…” His eyes trail to the exposed delve between your breasts, carefully covered underneath your unbuttoned shirt. You coil into yourself, wrapping your shirt over your chest again as you shift your gaze to the marks of ink blossomed over his skin. “And the next you’re staring at me.” Steadily dragging his gaze back up towards your eyes, he smirks and speaks again. “Kind of like you’re staring right now.”

If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s being called out. Your pride is wounded and you rise to the challenge, huffing a bemused breath. You shoot back with faux scorn. “I’m only staring because you’re practically naked in front of me. Have you no decency in the presence of a woman?” This makes Jungkook cock an eyebrow, and he finds himself closing more distance between the two of you.

He laughs, mirthless but nonetheless amused by your rebuke. “Usually in the presence of a woman like you, decency is the last thing on my mind.” Leisurely, you’re losing each other in one another’s gaze.

You scoff. “Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy, you and I both know you’re not near as good as you think you are.”

This statement catches you off guard, wholeheartedly. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes flicker between the towel that’s barely clinging around his waist to his eyes that have seemingly darkened, ablaze with something akin to salacity. Jungkook licks his lips, the length of his damp hair sending a tiny trickle of water down the side of his face. “And that doesn’t even count all the weird shit I’ve heard in this house.” Now you’re the one gulping, frozen in place as he takes another step closer. “You moan in your sleep, you moan when you touch yourself at night...” Your eyes widen in horror, he had heard you that night and possibly every night after that.

“I’ll never forget what your friend said on the phone, you know. With lips like that…you make it impossible to forget anything about you.”

Shit.

He’s gotten closer, much closer. With anyone else, the lack of distance between you would be nothing short of uncomfortable and unwanted, but you find yourself pulled towards him. The closing of the gap between you is mutual, and before you have a chance to shoot back a reply, his lips are hovering above yours. “Pretty lips that make pretty noises.” And then, his mouth is on yours.

Your knees nearly give out.

Before anything else, you’re filled with shock, an invasive shock. How could he be doing this?

He… He’s…he’s actually a pretty good kisser. You’re swept away, his arms cocooning around you. His lips pillow against your own, his tongue the taste of mint.

Jungkook is damp from his shower, his skin slick and cool under your touch as you slide your arms around his neck. This motion beckons you closer, pushing your lips harder against his. He walks you backwards and you follow suit, mouths remaining on one another as your back hits the wall right next to your bedroom door. There is absolutely no turning back now.

His hands are sliding down your body, feeling every curve of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes and kneads until he’s reached your ass. You moan into his mouth when he grabs handfuls of your bottom, a calculated grip that he uses to push your pelvic bone against his growing erection. This invites his tongue into your parted mouth, taking in the taste of yours into his own. They cushion around each other, a synchronous valse that only grows the moisture in between your legs. You feel his want for you build against your stomach, the thickness that lays just beyond his towel.

Jungkook’s teeth find the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh before he’s tugging at it. The whimper you let out only elicits a growl to emit from his chest, the hands on your ass now sliding up your sides until they’re cupping your face. It’s then that his clear want for you becomes evident, a taut prominence poking against your stomach.

“M’Jungkook…” You whimper into his mouth, his right hand moving from your cheek to the base of your neck. You gasp as his palm pushes against your sternum, the fingers wrapped around your neck tightening in the slightest as you’re pushed farther against up against the wall. Jungkook hums in response, his lips relentless against your own.

His mouth works in precise vigour against your own. It’s as if he has been starved of this moment for too long, days, weeks of holding himself back. You can’t stop yourself either, not quite being able to comprehend the happenings of this exact moment. Nights of pleasuring yourself to the thought of your roommate and here you two are, your cunt seemingly progressing into an ocean of slick and his cock ready to be smothered in it.

Jungkook pulls away, and when you get a chance to look at him, his cheeks are powdered in a shade of rose, his lips marginally swollen from your heated kissing and his eyes ablaze with a craving you can’t even describe. “Not so smart with that mouth now, are you?”

You swallow thickly, words failing you. Your eyes glance towards the roses stoic on his neck. Oh, how you’d like to lick over them. The situation is beyond words, and you reckon if it hadn’t been, that actions still would fare far better than words.

Jungkook drops to his knees in front of you and fiercely grabs your hips. You inhale sharply, head dropping as your fingers instinctively grasp for purchase against his impossibly broad shoulders. They’re marked with feathers that lead down his biceps in the shape of wings. You can’t help but dig in, your nails leaving thin red crescents slashing across the ink as your back rests against the wall.

“You think you can get away moaning my name every night?” He groans, alternating between breaths and kisses around your pelvis, slowly moving past your navel. His fingers hook around the belt loops in your pants, his free hand eagerly tugging down your zipper. With precision, he pulls your pants down until you’re clad in only your underwear. Thank God, you chose today of all days to wear a thong. The baby pink silk, smooth underneath his fingertips. Jungkook looks up at you wishfully, his doe eyes radiating a boyish innocence that contradicts the ink littering his skin. But then he speaks, his voice a soft growl.

“I hope you taste as delicious as you look,” he says, not doubting for a second that you won’t as he bites the elastic of your thong. You are breathless; it’s hard not to be when Eros himself is between your legs, yearning for a taste of your dripping sex.

Your breath catches in your throat, Jungkook’s thumb skimming down your pubic bone to where you want, need it the most. You shiver as he circles against your clit through the cloth, a purposeful pressure that has you tightening your grip on his shoulders. He can feel the moisture against the fabric, your arousal clinging against the material.

“I didn’t even have to touch you and you’re already this wet for me, baby?” He licks his lips, fingers running up and down your thighs. The nickname baby stays with you, lingers and only soaks you further. You roll your head back against the wall, letting his fleeting fingers latch around the band of your thong before you feel them being tugged down your legs.

It’s almost instinctive for you to want to cross your leg over the other, to keep Jungkook from seeing you so bare and needy for him. But of course, Jungkook doesn’t let this happen. He kisses your right hip bone before tracing a bold lick diagonally down to your pelvis. Your fingers rub against his shoulders, one hand gliding up the back of his head to comb through the mass of his damp dark curls.

Jungkook hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, letting the balm of your foot rest against the delve of his back as he spreads you above him. A broad hand pushes your hip back against the wall, the one leg you’re balanced on steady underneath his aiding grip. He uses his free hand to run his second and third digit up and down your wet folds. You shiver.

He looks up at you once more. This time, a lopsided smug grin adorns his face as he beams you a set of perfect teeth, the familiar indents of his dimples marking against his lower cheeks. “I’m going to make you come so hard.” You’re moaning in response to this, leg wavering as you feel the slide of Jungkook’s forefinger push into you. He hums in appreciation, your tightness inviting the chafe of his finger. He places a chaste kiss just above your pubic bone as he begins a slow rhythmic pump of his finger.

“Fuck,” you breath out, the ridges of his calloused digit filling you far greater than your own ever has. You can’t even begin to imagine how his dick will feel, your fingers laced into his hair tightening their hold as well.

It’s when you feel the point of Jungkook’s deft tongue stroke against your clit that you cry out, his hand gripping your hip harder against the wall as he feels you waver above him. Your eyes flutter to a close, letting him have his way with you against his tongue. He uses it mercilessly, flicks pointed and dexterous against your clit as his finger pushes in and out of your tight heat. “Oh my god, Jungkook.” He inserts another finger and you nearly lose yourself.

Your eyes are rolled back, your hips involuntarily jerking away from Jungkook’s grip as they push forward in search of more of his mouth. You feel it bubbling inside you, each stroke of his fingers and each swirl of his tongue making it impossible for you to focus on anything else but this feeling. He laps around your clit, strict and continuous. When you open your eyes to look down, you see his gorgeous hair enveloped in the thread of your fingers. You’ve never been eaten out against a wall like this and it only adds more to your impending undoing.

Jungkook’s digits move quicker now, with each pump comes a curl that elicits the neediest of whimpers to fall past your lips. He feels his cock twitch with every sound you make, a melodic hymn to his ears. He alternates between sharp flicks and taking the whole of your clit with his mouth in a gentle siphon. This time there is no barrier of a wall between the two of you, this time he can hear you as vividly as he hears the tits chirp outside his window every morning and this time, you are not using a vibrator on yourself, he’s fucking you with his tongue.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke. You are close, so very close and the feel of his relentless tongue lapping around your clit along with his slender fingers has you seeing nothing but the ceiling above you. Jungkook picks up the pace of his tongue as well, his head moving in vigour as he fervently pushes the wet muscle against your bead.

He senses it coming before you do, his tongue and fingers in a violent rhythm. You jerk above him, your hold on his hair impossibly tight as you let yourself go, crying out his name from your orgasm. He feels your squirt spray out of you, it coats his mouth and chin, sprinkling even to his chest as you shake above him. Jungkook does not stop, digits pumping even faster, tongue continuing their assault.

You chant his name as you writhe underneath his grasp. The sensation becomes too much within seconds of your orgasm but somehow his persistence makes it feel as if you can come all over again.

“J-jungkook p-please,” you beg, your fingers unraveling from his hair and tightening onto his shoulders as you try to push him away. He follows suit, unlatching his mouth from your heat before languidly rising to his feet.

When you look at him, his lips are swollen and painted in your clear arousal, your squirt coating down the cleft of his chin, streaming his neck and sprinkled across his chest. It matches his damp hair, uniform with the wetness of his previous shower.

“You...just...squirted. All over me.” You can’t quite tell if this statement holds aversion at first. Truth be told, you’ve never squirted from a man’s tongue against you.

Jungkook steps closer. “Do you know how fucking hot that was?” You don’t know, but Jungkook is taking your hand into his and placing it over it his very hard bulge. You gasp at the feel underneath your palms, unyielding to your touch. It’s far greater of a bulge than you’ve ever felt before.

You smell yourself on him, a faint fragrance that you taste when Jungkook leans forward to kiss you with greed. His mouth his sticky, kisses lingering against your lips. When he pulls away, his fingers glide over the knot that holds his towel up. You watch him, eagerly as he pulls at the twist, letting the towel to fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

“Oh my god,” you catch yourself saying out loud.

Jungkook is big. Larger, thicker than you could have ever imagined. An erect serpentine that lays firmly in his hand as he takes the base of his cock in his palm, you can’t look away. You gulp, eyes flickering between his daunting length and his growing smirk. Your mouth suddenly feels parched, a tentative tongue poking through the seams of your lips to swipe over your lips. Something about him not using the towel to directly wipe off your squirt makes your stomach flip with somersaults, so aroused by the idea of him wearing your ograsm on him with pride.

Jungkook twirls his forefinger in the air. “Turn around,” he commands and you oblige, twisting your body as you lay the flat of your palms against the cool wall. Jungkook pulls at your hips, mumbling words of profanities as your ass grinds against his thick erection. He already feels so full against your heat.

Kicking your legs open and apart, his feet stand in between yours, making it impossible for you to close them. He places a kiss against your shoulder, your forehead rested flush to the wall as a tender hand kneads at the cheek of your ass. He spanks it once, the echo of both the slap and your yelp of surprise travelling down the hall.

Hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, his damp hair tickles your neck as he whispers. “Think you can take it, baby?”

“Y-yes.” Your answer is short and breathless, hips instinctively grinding against him for further proof of your want. This earns you another spank and Jungkook is taking the base of his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with his free hand as he lines up to your cunt.

He nudges past your folds with his head, speaking in a low growl. “Good girl. Now let’s hear you scream.” He pushes in.

The stretch of his tip pressing into you tingles with a sizzling burn, the pressure that follows has your fingers curling against the wall and an arm reaching back to grasp onto Jungkook’s hip.

He takes your offering hand, interlocking your fingers together as he pushes another inch into you before pulling back out. He lets you adjust, your mixed moans echoing throughout the hallway as he juts his head forward to fill you once again.

His girth pinches against your walls, deliciously so and Jungkook pauses every couple of moments to let you feel every inch fill you until he’s reached the hilt.

He lets your hand go and you bring it back to press against the wall in aid of holding you up. “That’s it, baby...take every inch of it.” His voice is low, husky, something so carnally divine in the clip of his syllables that it has you rolling your head back. “You’re doing so fucking good. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you say as you exhale shakily.

He rolls out of you, his name just on the edge of your tongue before he’s thrusting forward to have it spill out of your mouth. The velvet smooth feel of Jungkook’s cock mixing with your slick arousal makes the pinching sensation come to an ease. He’s swearing behind you, alternating between muttered profanities and guttural moans.

“So. Fucking. Tight. You feel so good, baby, taking me so well.” His fingers are firmly grasping onto your hips, his thrusts now beginning a steady rhythm as he steadily fucks you against the wall. Jungkook’s girth knocks the breath out of you, a full pressure that fills your tight cunt so satisfyingly, you almost lose yourself a second time within minutes from your first orgasm.

Jungkook is panting behind you, fingers surely leaving bruises against your skin as he speeds his hips to pound into you. He loosens his grip, three of his digits tracing a line down your spine before cutting around your waist and hovering above your clit. “Come again for me, baby. One more time, squirt for me.” It’s with these words that you decide, you don’t want to squirt on the floor once more, you want to squirt on him, on top of him.

“W-wait.” You reach your arm back, pressing the flat of your hand to his hip in a gesture to stop. He stills immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” The worry in his voice only causes you to release a breathless laugh, shaking your head no in reassurance.

“I want to ride you.” How could Jungkook ever say no to that? Without a beat of hesitance, he slides out of you, taking his cock in his hand before lightly tapping the head against each of your cheeks. Gripping your waist, he spins you to face him, a dimpled smile greeting you as you reach his gaze.

“Mm, is that so?” He asks and you nod, returning his smile. The dim glow of sunlight pouring into the hallway allows you to see the glowy sheen of his sweat and your arousal glimmer against his face and chest, enhancing his tattoos. The dampness of his curls have dried but a new layer of perspiration forms a film over his forehead.

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, leaning forward to place a chase kiss on his lips before you’re leading him into your bedroom. You walk him backwards, your hands on his shoulders and his eyes focused nowhere but on yours. It’s when the back of his knees knock against the edge of your bed that he’s forced to have a seat.

He expects you to straddle him, you see it in the glimmer of his doe eyes but instead, you drop to your knees in front of him, arms separating his inked thighs apart. This takes Jungkook by surprise, he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raising in question.

You hands glide up and down his legs, a grin stretching across your face as you lean forward and place a gentle peck to the base of his thick cock. Jungkook hums in satisfaction, eyes holding a challenge as he watches you with great concentration.

The pink of his head looks all too inviting as you take his cock in your hands. As you do so, Jungkook’s hands roam up your arms before they’re resting on each of your shoulders. He benignly grips at the tense muscles of your shoulders, thumbs moving in circles over your skin. “You’re tense.” He vocalizes.

“You’re fucking huge.” You hit back, eyes wide and mouth salivating at the heaviness in your grasp. It’s tacky, coated in you as you swipe a thumb over the head and Jungkook hisses above you. When you look up at him, his dark eyes are speared to your movements, teeth gritted. You begin moving your hands up and down his length.

“You can take it in your mouth, can’t you?” The tone in his voice depicts a challenge and your ears nearly perk in interest. Of course you can take him in your mouth. You lean forward, Jungkook’s broad hands leaving the expanse of your shoulders to slide up the sides of your head. His fingers comb your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. The movement flexes the muscles on his inked biceps and you have to admit to yourself that he looks so fucking good.

Jungkook is all too eager as he watches you, the flat of your tongue sticking out to lick around the rim of his head. He chokes back a groan, grip on your hair tightening. You stretch your mouth as wide as you can, a discomfort to your movement as you engulf the whole of his head with your tongue. Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, fingers threaded into your hair as he eases you down to take more of him.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning a slow suction. “Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles from above you, shifting on the mattress, watching you. “Open wider, baby.” You do as asked, jaw already sore from the girth of his head alone. He pushes his hips off the mattress in the slightest, grip on your hair firm as he thrusts more of himself into your mouth.

You’re careful not to let your teeth graze over the skin of his cock, your fingers tightening around his length before you start to twist your wrists and continue sucking. Jungkook is careful to be gentle with you, very tenderly urging his cock to fill more of your mouth. It shocks you when you feel the blunt of his head hit the cap of your airway, eliciting a gag.

Jungkook pulls out a millimeter before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. Your mouth looks so pretty stuffed with his cock; it’s almost as pretty as your cunt taking him to the hilt.

Another gag rumbles out of you and vibrates against his member, this time, Jungkook being the one to moan. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the walls of your bedroom, followed by the guttural moans of Jungkook as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva as you find purchase of the flesh of his thighs. You let him have his way with you, your mouth stretched as wide as you can physically make it and a single thread of a tear rolling down your cheek. You look up through the flutters of your eyelashes, pleased to see the Adam’s apple in Jungkook’s throat bob up and down while his head is thrown back in pleasure.

The sudden pull of his cock from your mouth comes with a light ‘pop’ followed by you gasping for air. Using his hold on your hair, he jerks your hair back so you’re forced to look up at him. He hungrily latches his lips onto yours, sloppy and wet with a relentless tongue that intrudes your mouth.

You slide your hands over his thighs, towards the ridges of muscles on his abdomen as he helps you rise to your feet. Your right palm travels up his chest, your other arm circling around Jungkook’s neck as you let him grab a handful of your ass. With a persuasive lift, he places you on his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso as his mouth remains on yours.

“M’let me ride m’you,” you gasp in between kisses, Jungkook’s toned arms looping around your waist as he shuffles closer to the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah?” He moves from your mouth to the edge of your jaw.

“Please.” Jungkook loosens his grip around your waist, letting you rest the front of your calves on either side of him. You situate yourself, raising your hips as your hand finds his still, very erect length to line against your core.

“Look at you so needy for my cock, don’t hate me so much anymore?” The smugness in his tone only grants him a glare from you, a chuckle following his tease. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in need of you too.” You have noticed, his massive cock hasn’t wavered in want in the slightest since he first kissed you.

You huff a breath. “I never hated you.” Rubbing his head a few times over your sex, you finally sink down onto it, your cunt eagerly taking in his head. You gasp at the feel of this new position, his length gliding in much smoother with your previous practice. “You just need to start washing your fucking dish- ah!” You cry out, hands fumbling to grasp at his shoulders as Jungkook juts his hips up, slamming into you. His girth stretches your walls once again and he feels so fucking delicious in you like this. Quite frankly, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to go back to an average sized penis ever again.

“Mm, I should keep pissing you off if it means I get to shut you up like this.” His voice hitches at the last word as you pick your hips up and ram yourself back down onto his cock. You both moan at this, your arms once again looping around Jungkook’s neck as his hands firmly grip your hips in guidance.

Your teeth clash as you kiss him with each bounce of your hips, the position more so letting you gently rock over his cock. Your clit rubs against his skin with each roll of your hips, making sure you alternate between circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Jungkook is losing himself, you know this because he holds you tightly, firmly as he lets you take control. You ride him hard and slow, the pre crescendo to his coming end.

“Come for me, Jungkook,” You moan against the shell of his ear, legs losing stamina as you try to keep a rhythmic pace. But Jungkook doesn’t want to finish just yet, he wants you to come again too.

You yelp as he slides his hands under your ass, lifting you off him before he’s throwing you onto the mattress so you’re on your back. He stands up, above you at the edge of your bed, taking your knees in the crevice of his elbows before yanking you towards him.

“Where is it?” He gruffs, fingers gripping your waist.

“What?”

“Your vibrator, where is it?” If you weren’t flushed already from Jungkook’s cock, you’d be blushing at his knowledge that you even had one. You stretch your arm above you, fingers reaching underneath a pillow where you usually keep it hidden. Grasping the device in hand, you bring it out, idly waving it in front of the ink-skinned boy. He grins, the youthful boy-like glint returning in the doe of his eyes as he releases your leg from the arm that extends to retrieve it from you.

Inspecting the controls, he finds the power button, clicking it on. A low buzz fills the room. the words that follow leaving you breathless again.

“Ah...now there’s the noise I like to hear every night.” Clicking it back off, Jungkook places it carefully next you before hooking your leg back around his elbow, hoisting your hips up. You watch with eager eyes as he pokes his tongue past his lips, letting a string of saliva drizzle carefully over his cock. He smooths the slick over his cock, letting it coat the entirety of his length before he’s guiding his head against your opening.

He gently slaps his head against your clit before rubbing against it, letting your arousal build once more. You shift your hips in impatience, fingers gripping tightly against your sheets. Jungkook leans down towards your mouth, claiming your lips once more, hard and deep. He tastes of sweat and your arousal, a tinge of salt that you lick away. When he pulls away, he’s pushing his cock into you again.

The curve of his dick hits differently with this position, now he has more control with hitting just the right spots. He’s slow at first, frustrating slow as if he’s testing each stroke of his hips to see how you react. When he’s surging forward until he’s got an inch remaining, you’re crying out loud.

“Here?” He asks and you nod profusely, words unable to form on your tongue. Jungkook pushes even deeper, another cry escaping your lungs at the new fullness. Your grip around your sheets grow tighter, teeth harshly biting down on your lip as he begins steady rock in and out of you.

You’ve never been filled so well like this, his cock hitting every surface area of your inner walls as he stretches you delectably with each roll of his hips. He fucks into you, hard and deep, changing from circling his hips to pistoning into you with no mercy. He talks filth into the air, profanities and moans chased by the sounds of skin slapping as he relentlessly plummets into you.

He can feel you about to come, the pressure of your clenched walls tightening around him to un unprecedented degree. With each thrust, your cunt only eagerly invites him back in, needy for his spurts of cum. This is when Jungkook grabs the vibrator he placed beside you, thumb quick to power the device on. You yelp and mewl as he places the silicone tip against your clit, the vibration ringing through both of you. The sensation is overwhelming, the girth of his cock mixed with the jolts of your stimulated clit leave you near screaming his name. You shake underneath him, legs quivering as you feel the rise of your orgasm build through your entire body.

“You can squirt again, baby. I know you can. I know you want to.” Your body jerks and still as the combination of one more thrust and the vibe hit you exactly where you need it to, to come undone. Jungkook doesn’t fight it, the pressure of your squirt pushing his cock out of your tightness. “That’s it, darling, so fucking hot.” He keeps the vibrator on you and you whimper, releasing the clutch of the sheets as you flail your arms towards the vibrator in an attempt to push it away from you. Jungkook does not budge.

“P-please, fuck, Jungkook...it’s too much, please.” He does not stop, watching you with intent as your body shakes underneath his control of the vibrator. He knows you can come again.

“One more time.” Your legs are desperately trying to clamp shut but Jungkook expertly holds your legs apart with his torso as he continues assaulting your clit with the silicone. It buzzes against you, rings through your entire body and within minutes you’re coming all over again. It’s so intense, you nearly black out, your voice clamouring to a scream of Jungkook’s name.

He turns it off and throws it somewhere on the mattress before he’s sliding into you with ease. He fucks your squirt back into you with a push of his cock.

This time, Jungkook wastes no time. This time, he drills into you, clamping your legs together as he pushes them forward until your knees hit your chest. This position allows him to go deeper, watching your cunt swallow every inch of his cock with greed along with every thrust of his hips. He feels his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Each snap of his hips become sloppier, his laboured breathing sporadic as his fingers dig harshly into your calves.

“Where do you want me to come?” He rasps, pulling your legs apart once more.

“I-inside me, please.” Your words elicit a mumbled fuck from him followed by a groan. You watch him through lidded eyes, your head thick and heavy from your plentiful of orgasms. Jungkook looks like the God of sex himself above you, sweat dribbling down his forehead, his dark long waves spilling over his eyes, his inked chest glistening and his muscles flexing with every grind of his hips into you. He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “Come, Jungkook,” you coo, egging him to come undone. “Come inside me.”

With the last phrase, his hips stutter and still before he’s gasping for a breath as he spills himself into you. He shouts your name, voice getting caught in his throat. He steadily moves again, milking every last drop of himself inside of you as your walls achingly aid him.

As he comes to a stop, the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your mixed heavy panting. Jungkook leans forward, pressing a heavy kiss against your lips before he’s pulling away from your mouth and away from your cunt. He watches, mesmerized as his cum dribbles out of you. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, your tight cunt filled to the brim with his seed.

“Fuck,” he pants, reaching his arm out to help you sit up. You roll your head forward into your palms, the rush of dopamine pounding into your skull with a massive headache. “You okay?” He asks and you nod your head, face still encompassed by your hands.

“You...should piss me off more often.” Jungkook chuckles at this. When you look up from your hands, his wavy locks have a newfound dampness, beads of sweat encompassing his tattooed chest. He’s grinning, a lopsided grin that leaves you with a warm feeling pounding in your chest.

Jungkook offers you a hand, guiding you off the bed. You take it, letting him pick you up to your feet with the strength of his biceps.

“Yeah, yeah I should.” You’re both walking out your bedroom and towards the shower.

Seokjin wears nothing but a grimace at the kitchen island as he watches you and Jungkook coo at each other. He’s just returned from his trip abroad, hands crossed over his chest as he observes the blasphemy before his eyes. Jungkook is by the stove, flipping the last of Seokjin’s steak and you’re beside him preparing a salad on the counter.

“Disgusting.” Seokjin scowls. “I leave for three months and this happens?” He scoffs at the thought of the two of you cooking him steak for dinner, as if it would break the bearer of this terrible, awful news. You two are now dating. His best friend and his roommate- to Seokjin, it’s an ultimate betrayal.

You sigh and roll your eyes, setting your freshly made salad in front of him as Jungkook brings over a sizzling pan of steak. He wears a grin on his face, a grin that matches yours before you’re leaning on your tiptoes to kiss against the indented dimple against his lower cheek. Seokjin nearly gags at this.

He truly thought he’d be rid of you as soon as this lease had ended but here you were, snogging who he thought to be his best friend. He thinks he’ll have to burn his mattress too.

“Great,” he says, deadpan, picking up his knife and fork. “I’m stuck with you forever now.” With the greatest of fake enthusiasm, he musters a disingenuous smile and angrily digs into his steak.

He hates that it’s delicious.

a/n: HEWWOOOO. how u feeling!? 🥴i REALLY!!! did not expect this fic to be so long holy shit im so sorry, i went out of control!!!! this was very loosely based off real-life events that were then fuelled by jungkook’s lotte concert look. and badda bing, badda boom, a 13k fic of pure smut is born and i am wholly unashamed of myself. i really hope you enjoyed reading this filth, it was very fun for me to write!!! please let me know what you think and as always, thank you for reading and i love youuuu 💞

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #ggukienet #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan smut #btssmutclub #networkbangtan #bts x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts #oneshot #fic #kpop

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rainofaugustsith · 4 years ago

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Rain Plays SWTOR: Optional Companion Reviews/Info

Given that several companions are being offered with Galactic Seasons, it's time to revisit this post on optional companions.

You get five class companions and a ship droid, plus many more in KOTFE/KOTET and onward. Why would you even want optional companions? Simple:

- If you can’t stand your class story companions, they can act as replacements while you quest. You might find that one of your toons seems to get along with one of them. They usually can craft, and some of them, like Darth Hexid, seem really good at it. Some, like Shae Vizla, have very strong DPS; others like Z0-OM have excellent healing.

- Most of the companions also have small recruitment missions attached to them; many have achievements.

- It's fun and adds variety to your game.

Subscription Rewards: As the name suggests, these companions were obtained by being subscribed to the game at a certain time. There was no other action required. All three are now offered in the Galactic Seasons vendor for 5 tokens.

Shae Vizla

Nico Okarr

Paxton Rall

All three of these characters have recruitment missions/conversations that can be accessed once you get to a certain point in KOTFE and complete "To Find a Findsman." However, these characters ALSO come with a “communicator” that you can use to add them to your companion list without the recruitment scene as early as Level 1 if you don’t want to wait (you can still do their recruitment missions later). Yes, you can run around Tython or Korriban with Shae, Nico or Paxton if you want.

If you received Nico, Shae or Paxton as a subscription reward they are unlocked free for your legacy. Every new character you create will receive mail with the item that can summon them. If you received Nico, Shae or Paxton through Galactic Seasons you will need to pay 10 CC to unlock each for your legacy.

IMPACT ON MAIN STORY:

Shae Vizla is the only one of these companions with a substantial impact and inclusion in the story. As you may know, you encounter Shae during Shadow of Revan, and again during a chapter of KOTFE. She may send you mail later, depending on story decisions. She's also heavily included in the Spirit of Vengeance storyline and has several cut scenes on the Odessen base.

SHAE IS IN YOUR STORY REGARDLESS IF YOU HAVE THE COMPANION. However, if you do have the companion and bring her along to meet Indigo on Mek-Sha in Onslaught, she will have special, specific dialogue.

If you have Paxton Rall before completing Hearts & Minds, there is one line of dialogue in which he’s mentioned. You can also click on Paxton if he’s in the Odessen cantina or out as a deco in your stronghold to chat with him.

ACHIEVEMENTS:

Paxton Rall: There is a “cantina crawl” achievement not directly tied to the companion. You click on Paxton Rall when you find him in cantinas on the worlds you visit.

Nico Okarr: There’s an achievement for completing Nico’s Alliance Alert. There’s another if you waited until the Alliance Alert to recruit him, ie you didn’t use the holocommunicator to summon Nico before KOTFE.

QUALITY OF COMBAT/HEALING: All three of these companions are formidable, especially at influence level 50. All three are ranged. Shae is known for being a particularly strong DPS with some abilities pulled from the Mercenary rotation, including Death From Above.

Hexid/Ranos Darth Hexid: Originally could be earned by completing three flashpoints or warzones of any difficulty via group finder. Now requires 40 flashpoints or uprisings. Unlocked free for the legacy.

Master Dazh Ranos: This companion was originally a reward in the Dark vs. Light event. She is now available from the Galactic Seasons vendor for six tokens. Can be unlocked for legacy with 10 CCs if you got her through GS. Otherwise, if you earned her through DvL, every character you create will get a mail with the item that summons her.

Both Hexid and Ranos have Alliance Alerts once you get to KOTFE, complete "To Find a Findsman" and get to a certain point. However, like Shae/Nico/Paxton, they come with a communicator that allows you to unlock and use them whenever you want.

IMPACT ON MAIN STORY: Darth Hexid will send you a letter after Ossus which differs with your faction. I’m not sure if Ranos does. Both Ranos and Hexid can also tell you about missing class story Force-sensitive companions who have not yet returned at that point in the narrative, if you ask. Otherwise, none. Ranos and Hexid both hang out in the Force enclave after being recruited; you can click on them to chat.

QUALITY OF COMBAT/HEALING: Like the subscription companions, Ranos and Hexid are absolute powerhouses, especially if you get them to influence level 50. I took Ranos through the Umbara flashpoint with my squishiest, hardest to play Jedi character, and they rocked it. Hexid can literally clear content on her own when she's still set on heals. Darth Hexid also has some very charming battle banter and ambient comments.

Caption: Master Ranos: I'm not that kind of Jedi. I don't want to change you, I want to join you.

ACHIEVEMENTS:

Darth Hexid: There is currently an achievement, “With a Little Help from My Friends,” for completing the correct number of uprisings/flashpoints/etc. to earn Hexid.

Master Ranos: I’m unfamiliar with the DvL achievements but I imagine there was one for her.

THE HKS AND OTHER DROID FRIENDS

You only need to complete the recruitment mission(s) once, but each subsequent character must pay an unlock fee to gain the companion:

HK-51: Can be earned by completing a mission arc that includes several different quests and flashpoints on numerous worlds. HK-51 requires an unlock fee for each character who wants him, but you do not have to run the original missions again.

IMPACT ON STORY: If you bring HK-51 as your companion in the False Emperor flashpoint (you know, the really long one with Malgus), there is special dialogue when you encounter HK-47. In addition. HK-51 has his own series of companion conversations. HK-51 also appears briefly in KOTFE chapter 9 with a couple of lines if you have him.

ACHIEVEMENTS: There is an achievement for 100 and 1000 kills with HK-51 as your active companion.

Must be earned on every character who wants them:

Each of your characters actually has to run the missions to obtain the companions.

HK-55: Was originally a companion for all in KOTFE, but was killed off in the story. Was able to return via Arma Rasa, an Alliance Alert mission. If you subscribed to SWTOR at a certain point you got free access to this mission; if not you can now buy it as a bundle with Shroud of Memory in the Cartel Market. It unlocks for all characters who get to Chapter 9 of KOTFE and complete "To Find a Findsman."

ZO-0M: Available via the Shroud of Memory chapter. This was once given as a subscription reward but now comes bundled with Arma Rasa as a Cartel Market purchase.

IMPACT ON STORY: Arma Rasa has no impact on the main story, and unfortunately HK-55 never appears there again. However, if you complete Shroud of Memory before doing the Iokath section of the game (post-KOTET), one of Lana’s lines will be different.

ACHIEVEMENTS: There are several associated with completion of Arma Rasa and Shroud of Memory.

COMBAT/HEALING: ZO-0M is known as one of the strongest healing companions in the game. She's not bad in combat, either. The HKs are okay, with 55 being slightly stronger than 51 in my experience.

Galactic Seasons

Altuur Zok Adon

This companion is granted to everyone - subscribers, free to play and preferred alike - in level 1 of Galactic Seasons. The gifts needed to raise him to high influence are also earned in various GS levels, but some are only available on the subscriber track.

IMPACT ON MAIN STORY: None as of July 2021. He has a small alliance alert conversation.

ACHIEVEMENTS: There are achievements for getting him to influence level 50 and for killing a certain number of insectoid NPCs with him as your active compaion.

COMBAT/HEALING: He's good. He has some very unique skills and is pretty high powered.

The Star Fortress companions

Once you reach Odessen and finish chapter 9 of KOTFE (or have skipped to KOTET) you can do these missions. You need to pick up the Star Fortress story arc on the Odessen base (the quest giver is in the hallway outside the military wing). You’ll run a story version of the Star Fortress, and then run individual quests with each of these companions on different planets. Once those are complete you can earn each companion by running the VETERAN level Star Fortress for their planet. The Veteran SF can be soloed, but it has become more difficult than it was before 6.0.

These companions were reviewed here: https://rainplaysswtor.tumblr.com/post/190237305230/rainofaugustsith-yay-star-fortress-companions

Veeroa Denz (Nar Shaddaa)

Choza Rabat (Alderaan)

Rokuss (Voss)

Hemdil Tre (Hoth)

Khk’hrol (Belsavis)

Deadeye Leyta (Tatooine)

IMPACT ON MAIN STORY: If you have Rokuss recruited before doing the first chapter of KOTET (about Voss) there will be dialogue about him, a few different background NPCs and one bonus mission auto-completed for you. All of these companions also send you an email once recruited. Otherwise, these companions have no influence over the story.

ACHIEVEMENTS: There are numerous achievements for the Star Fortress gameplay and completion. All of the companions have achievements for completing 100 and 1000 kills. There are also achievements for recruiting each of the companions.

COMBAT/HEALING: Veeroa Denz, Kkhrol, and Rokuss are first-class companions who will support your characters well. Choza Raabat is virtually useless with very weak sage skills. Leyta and Hemdil Tre are middle of the road.

#swtor #rain plays swtor #swtor companions

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rachelbethhines · 4 years ago

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Tangled Salt Marathon - No Time Like the Past

While I wouldn’t call this the worst episode of the series, there are several others I dislike more, I would call this the most ill conceived story in the show.

All the other bad episodes have potential but are let down by poor presentation, boring predictability, or sloppy planning. This one however, is fundamentally flawed in it’s very basic premise and so ranks in the bottom of most fans lists. Even people who are far more forgiving of season three and than I am, and are hardcore New Dream stans, still dislike this episode. That’s how bad it is.

Summary: Rapunzel discovers Old Lady Crowley tossing out Cassandra's things. She is upset and demands that they be left alone. She then has Lance and Eugene help her save all of Cassandra's mementos and personal belongings, but she becomes saddened when Eugene reminds her that Cassandra turned her back on "her". Rapunzel takes a box of her things along with, unknowingly, a mysterious hourglass. As she examines it, she accidentally drops and smashes it and she and Pascal find themselves sent back into the past. They run into a teenage Eugene and Lance who keep calling Rapunzel "Sideburns". Rapunzel realizes that she and Pascal have inhabited the bodies of the Stabbington Brothers and decide to recruit the young thieves in getting the hourglass from the castle back.

Fun Fact! That Dummy is Rapunzel’s Doing

Minor nitpick here, but Cass had nothing to do with putting Eugene’s face on her sparring dummy. Rapunzel voluntarily did that back in Under Raps. Cas never requested it nor even expressed any joy over receiving said ‘gift’.

Basically the show is attributing one of Rapunzel’s mistakes/flaws to Cassandra in order to introduce a very nonsensical plot point later. So I need ya’ll to keep that in mind as we go along.

Lets Talk About the Episode’s Ordering

We don't have production codes for season three like we did for the previous two seasons. So we can’t know for sure what order everything was originally planned in, but I would argue that this episode should have came before Return of the King.

For starters this is a “bottle” episode; it takes place mostly in the past and the only present day characters who show up are Eugene, Raps, Lance, and Crowely. As such you could potentially slot this episode in anywhere before Cassandra’s Revenge. You can’t really do that with most of the other episodes so it could have been easily moved around when airing.

Therefore, I would argue that it should have been the first episode after Rapunzel’s Return for three key reasons.

It would have given Edmund time to travel to Corona and give Raps time to start up big building projects like fixing Old Corona. In fact she’s already approving building plans for the capitol city at the start of the episode. Which could even explain why she took so long getting to the castle repairs if she was taking care of the stuff that the Saporians messed up else where.

Rapunzel’s stance over wanting to keep Cassandra’s things makes more sense early on, both in universe and in a meta context. Raps would still have hope if Cass has only been gone for a month or two instead what would now be four or five months down the line. It also makes sense that Crowely wouldn’t wait around for that long. And from a meta standpoint, the audience would still be oblivious to what the heck Cass was up to and could theoretically side with Raps better; or at least empathize with her view point more, even while disagreeing with her.

Events in this episode better explains Eugene’s decisions in Return of the King and gives the audience more context for certain stuff.

So Why Is There a Random Magical Time Traveling Hourglass in the Storage Vault?

Slowly but surely the series has abandoned all pretense that there’s any logical world building in the show. Magical things just appear randomly now without any explanation whatsoever. Worse than that, things like the hourglass and map to the cursed tomb are treated as if they were always there, unlike the magical beings that they happened to run into in past seasons.

The problem with this is a lack of consistency. You can’t have sceptics like Eugene and Varian if magic is so common and wide spread that anyone can run into it at anytime. Not to mention it diminishes the specialness and importance of the sundrop and moonstone if powerful magical items can be so easily found and stirred, undermining important plot points and the tension surrounding them.

But most frustrating of all, is that this could have been easily fixed by just stating on screen at some point that magic attracts other magic. Meaning it’s only Rapunzel herself who routinely runs into these things and not just everybody and anybody.

None of This Stuff Holds Any Meaning

Show don’t tell!

At several points through out season three, both Raps and Cass morn over Cassandra’s left behind things. They tell us constantly that these objects hold significant meaning to them, but I, the viewer, have no damn clue as to why.

We were never shown on screen what was so special about these things other than the fact that it was junk Cass collected. There’s no story attacked to these assortment of objects nor any previous indication that Cassandra valued them beyond their usefulness. As such, any scenes involving her stuff fall emotionally flat.

Eugene is the One in the Right Here.

Eugene’s right.

Any well adjust and mature adult will tell you he’s right.

If someone doesn’t want a relationship with you, than that’s it. There is nothing you can do but to move on. It sucks, but its life. To ignore that is to ignore someone else’s boundaries and personal autonomy; while also devaluing yourself and you’re own needs.

In a competent show this would be a set up for Rapunzel to learn something about letting go and taking care of oneself emotionally.

But this isn’t a competent show.

But Lobster is for Poor Folk

Food history time!

Lobster, and shellfish in general, have been considered low class food for centuries. Especially around costal areas like Corona. It’s easy to attain, cheap, and not regulated like hunting was in much of Europe. In America, specifically, lobster was fed to prisoners and there’s historical accounts of riots being started over it.

Heck, less than forty years ago, no one lived on the coast but poor people. That’s why there’s historical communities of black people living on the southeastern islands in the US and why my father grew up in the swamps of Alabama during the 50s and 60s.

The gentrification of coastal property and seafood, like lobster, is a very recent phenomenon in human history, starting in the late 70s early 80s with the booming tourism industry and increasing globalization.

So while I understand that the joke here is meant to be reflective of our current understanding of lobster being a status symbol, in universe, it’s the equivalent of Eugene getting excited for chicken nuggets instead of his usual bowl of cereal because the story takes place before the 20th century.

This means that these kids are so poor that fucking mcdonald’s fast food would be considered a rare treat compared to the slop they usually eat. Yet again what is meant to be a lighthearted joke turns suddenly dark when you stop to think about it for all of two seconds all because the writers are so flippant about their world and characters.

This Wasn’t Planned Out, So the Timeline Doesn’t Add Up Anymore and Resources are Wasted

Remember the flashback in The Return of Strongbow?

Now I need you to remember that season three is two years later from season one and the movie. Eight years ago then, would be ten years ago now.

The Eugene and Lance in the bottom picture is suppose to be roughly the same age as the Eugene and Lance in the top picture; give or take a few months.

I know teenage boys can grow fast, but not that fast.

Eugene at 16 looks the same as he does at 26. All because the writers were too lazy to preplan things out ahead of time.

We should have seen the teen models with recasted voices back during that first flashback if they were going to tell this story later. Or the previous plot point should have been less than eight years ago.

In fact the first flashback no longer makes any sense being so many years ago given Eugene’s engagement and recent breakup with Stalyan, and the later reveal that he was working for the Baron during the original movie.

Sloppy planning like this not only makes for a confusing timeline but it also wastes limited resources. I like the new models, I like the actors cast for these younger roles, and I do like the concept of seeing more of Eugene’s past. But going through all of that trouble and money for what amounts to one throw away episode is mismanagement of the budget and work schedule.

Baby Varian Is the Episode’s Only Saving Grace

I know people are divided on the deign here. Some love it and some hate it, but that’s a personal taste thing. The actual scene itself is golden either way, because it’s such a funny eater egg. Fans on both sides made memes out of this for days. It’s legendary.

Personally I’m more in the ‘love it’ camp, though I can see the issues people have with the design. My main defense of it is more the fact that we got kid designs for the other OCs in the show and it’s only fair Varian got one as well. The fact that he’s in smaller versions of the S1 clothes doesn’t bother me anymore than when Lance ran around for two seasons in the same outfit, including when he was a kid.

So if I like it, then why am I talking about it a salt review?

Cause the most memorable part of an episode shouldn’t be a throw away gag!

People bring up baby Varian way more than they do about anything else in the episode, and no it’s not just because the character popular. It’s because most would like to forget what comes after this scene.

Where is Quirin, by the Way?

Why is your six year old son running around the big city unsupervised?

This wouldn’t get talk about as much it wasn’t for the fact that Quirin being neglectful in season one was a motivating factor in his conflict with Varian. A conflict that was suppose to be resolved back in Rapunzel’s Return but we the audience have yet to visually see any difference in behavior since then.

Quirin’s absence here in the past highlights his absence in the present day and reminds the audience aware that we’ve not been given a satisfying conclusion to one of the most important arcs in the series.

Lets Talk About Wasted Potential

Like I said, I like the idea of exploring Eugene’s past. But we should have gotten that back in season two when it was more relevant. Part of why this episode fails is because Eugene has reached the end of his original character development. He’s now on an identity crisis arc which has nothing to do with this episode.

But you know who still hasn’t finished developing? Rapunzel.

Rapunzel has lots to still learn and viewing her past through outside eyes could have turned this story into something really special. Especially with the ‘inhabiting another body’ plot point.

You have no end of options here,

Have Raps inhabit Cassandra’s body for a day and gain insight into what motivates her. It could have been either before or after they met, both offers up possibilities.

Have Raps inhabit Eugene’s body and experience what he had to deal with growing up and come to see his point of view. (This could have also worked with the Sabbingtons set up had the writers not been stupid.)

And my personal favorite, send her back to right after Queen for a Day and have her stuck in either Varian’s or Ruddiger’s bodies. Force her to see what she did to him and have her acknowledge she was wrong.

And those are just the most obvious choices, there’s other more out of left field things you can do that would still work with good writing. Like exploring Lady Caine’s past, inhabiting Arianna’s body and learning how to be a real queen, get dumped into actual young Gothel and lay out clues to the future Zhan Tiri plot, or possess one of the Brotherhood and experience the final days of the Dark Kingdom; the list just goes on and on and on.

But I Thought You Didn’t Put Kids in Jail Frederic?

Remember that Raps and Pascal are possessing the Stabbingtons who are still teenagers here. They can’t be much older than Varian.

This means that Varian isn’t some special case. Teens have received harsh and deadly punishments in the past for non-violent crimes like theft.

Also teens are called kids still by the majority of the cast. They’re aren’t considered adults with the same rights as someone in say their twenties, yet they can be punished the same as an adult would. Which is horrendous in any time period.

So in conclusion, Frederic is a fucking liar!

Tangled the Series can’t decide if it’s in the far past or a reflection of the modern day. As such it winds up supporting the worst of both worlds. Barbaric practices like hanging for minor crimes and prison slave labor are treated as the norm and never called out for the horrific things that they are; treated as a joke even, but we’re suppose to accept that this world also somehow views adolescence through the lens of late 20th century sensibilities even as it forces minors to go through such atrocities.

Like what are you trying to say show? What is your message on the transition of adolescence to adulthood regarding rights and responsibilities? And don’t tell me ‘it’s not that deep’ because this is suppose to be a coming of age show! That’s the entire premise of the series!

So How Old Are Stan and Pete Again?

I was always under the impression that Pete was a newbie guard, closer to Cass and Eugene’s age than say Cap or Frederic. That’s why he screws up so much because he’s inexperienced, why he seemed to be the closest thing to a equal colleague Cass had in the guard when she was also just starting out, and why I assumed those braided girls from the movie were his sisters.

I mean there was nothing on screen previously that would necessarily contradict this reveal, it just doesn’t feel right, that’s all. I guess he could be like 20 here and be 30 in the show. That would make him only a few years older than Eugene, but still doesn’t explain why he’s so useless a decade later.

I’m fine with Stan being here though. I always thought of him being the older of the two. In fact I headcannon Willow as his mysterious wife that he talked about back in Monty’s episode during season one. (She’s Stan and Pete’s beard, and they’re totally in a open poly relationship. That’s why they’re allowed to stay in the royal guard despite being so incompetent cause they’re technically Ferderic’s in-laws and Rapunzel’s uncles. Just no one ever talks about it cause it’s a minor sandal for a princess to marry lower class and Willow’s hardly ever there.)

And Why Does Xavier Have All Those Plot McGuffins?

I know we’ll never get an answer, but at this point Xavier’s exposition fairy powers border upon ridiculousness. It’s just lazy and a waste of character.

So How Does Time Travel Work In This?

There are three types of time travel stories in fiction.

First is the ‘Changeable Past, Changeable Future’. You see this in Back to the Future. What you do in the past will change the future, i.e. your present. You may or may not remember that you did it, but be warned you could change things too much and break stuff. Like erasing yourself from existence, or ruining your love life ect. The only way to fix it is to go back in time again and change stuff again. But beware of paradoxes or you may destroy the universe altogether.

The second is the ‘Alternate Timeline’, where changing things creates new realties and it’s a matter of finding the right reality again. The tv show Sliders is a great example of this. Each new timeline is a different dimension. What you do in one won’t effect your original point of origin, only that particular world. The challenge if often getting home again because the probable diverging timelines are infinite and the changes of getting back are a zillion to one.

Third is the ‘Closed Time Loop’. No matter what you do nothing will change. The future is inevitable and whatever you do in the past was always meant to happen anyways. Gargoyles handles this really well. You can also have ‘fix points’ where certain important things are set in stone but small things can be changed like in several Doctor Who episodes. Braking a fix point breaks the universe once again, while paradoxes are often the solution rather than the threat.

So which type of time travel is Tangled dealing with here?

Scenes like the conversation regarding Pete’s and Stan’s mustache or the ones involving Eugene working on his smolder suggest a closed time loop. Yet the ending to this episode reveals a changed future. Further still the grandfather paradox revolving around the hourglass would make you think an alternate timeline yet, we’ve no indication that anything else changed other then Eugene’s opinions on Cass, and Raps shows no concern about getting back to her original point in time indicating that it actually isn’t another dimension.... so what is it then?

You don’t have to have a tightly plotted time travel story to have an entertaining piece of media. Endgame is riddled with plot holes and contradicts itself constantly, but what it lacks in coherent plot it makes for with fun characters, emotional story beats, and good pacing that manages to balance the action with the drama while hiding the cracks just enough that you don’t lose immersion.

Tangled however fails at even this because it gets the character beats so fundamentally wrong. Like you may dislike where the characters ended up in Endgame, but can’t say that those developments didn’t match the characters’ previous storylines and logical trajectory. Tony finally becomes the selfless hero by committing the ultimate sacrifice, Steve learns self care as a mirror to Tony’s arc as they were always parallels to each other, Bruce learns to accept himself, Thor processes his grief and lets go of the role he was assigned at birth but never truly fit into, and Nat becomes the leader she was destined to be rather than the sidekick.

What happens to the characters in this episode however makes no sense.

This is Another Missed Opportunity to Explore Eugene’s Past

The other problem behind the episode is that we don’t actually learn anything new. If you’re going to promise a story focusing on Eugene’s past then I expect to actually glean some new insights.

We still don’t know why he’s working with Baron or how he fell in/fell out with him, what his relationship with Stalyan is like, how he became so cynical; not just the general basics, like the orphanage, but that point in his life where decided that survival meant giving up his morals and ethics; where did he first learn his better ethics that he originally suppressed (cause it sure as heck wasn’t Rapunzel), and when did he and Lance become separated?

This are questions that series decides to raise by making allusions to them and building conflicts off of them but never wants to explain the details of where they originated from. It’s super frustrating and wholly unnecessary. If you didn’t think the story of Eugene’s past worth telling then why did up repeatedly bring it up Chris?

Why Are You Surprised by This Rapunzel?

Rapunzel you know Eugene’s past. You know what he used to be like. You were literally there in the movie and saw him being an ass before this. You didn’t start to like him until he dropped his guard down in the flooded cave back when you both where about to die.

You fell in love with him when he showed you his real self and he fell in love with you when you proved that you were accepting of that. You earned each others’ trust. This here; angrily yelling at him and judging him, when you’re already hiding who you really are from him both literally and figuratively, is a breaking of that trust.

Who the fuck are you any more, Rapunzel?

Cause you’re not the same character from the movie. You’re not even the same character from season one. But whoever hell you are now, it’s not an improvement I can tell ya that.

So How Did The Hourglass Go From the Treasury to the Basement Storage, and How Would Raps Know It Was There At This Point and Time?

I’m guessing the implication here is that Crowley put Cass’s stuff in the vault, but like why the fuck would she do that? We’re not talking about a family attic here, but the royal safe. The most heavily guarded room in the castle with the kingdom’s most priceless treasures and antiques. Nothing Cass owned was that valuable.

Rapunzel Is Full of Shit

Oh let me count the numerous ways in which this whole lecture is stupid.

Rapunzel left Varian behind. Rapunzel left Varian behind multiple times, including that time he was thrown in jail. She was not a good friend, and no, this is not a case of her learning from her past because not once has she ever admitted that she was wrong to do that. So this scene just makes Raps look like a hypocrite.

Eugene does not need to relrean a lesson on being a better a person. He did that during the movie and has progressed beyond that point. This ‘lesson’ is a waste of time and a misuse of the characters.

This reframes Rapunzel as being in the right during her argument with older Eugene at the beginning of the episode, even though she’s not. In fact this is such a counterintuitive plot point that it boggles the mind. Who structures a narrative this way? Why so blatantly point out how the main character is wrong if not to have her learn something? Why frame the story to make the person who’s personal conflict isn’t even the episode’s focus, into the one who needs to learn something? Especially if that something is already a lesson that they’ve learned on screen beforehand.

And why, oh good heavens why, would you teach children such a toxic message? Like on the surface it sounds like something you’d hear in a children's show, but the context of it is justifying harmful behavior where you selfishly ignore other people’s wishes and boundaries just to satisfy you’re own personal desires.

And finally, Eugene and Lance do not work as a parallel to Raps and Cass. Cassandra is an adult who left of own free will. Lance is a teenager who was arrested due to Rapunzel’s own actions. Eugene isn’t the one who is responsible here, its Rapunzel. Who also left them both behind in her carelessness. Secondly, Eugene’s decisions are spurned by years of trauma and a healthy fear of dying, while Rapunzel’s is wrapped up in her own need to always be right and to keep her immature and fanciful outlook of the world intact. As harsh as it seems, what Eugene did was based off a predetermine agreement and presumably Lance would have acted the same way or been pressured to act the same way by Eugene. In short, Eugene’s cynical world view as a teen is not the source of his disagreement with Rapunzel but an adult perspective back by common sense and a respect of others choices. It makes no sense for present day Eugene to ‘learn’ anything from this misadventure that he didn’t already know and for Rapunzel to not learn anything that would actually tie the parallel together.

Locking Another Teen Inside a Jail Cell With Another Adult as a Joke, Does Not Erase the Inappropriateness of Varian’s Story

The episode tries to add another joke about Shorty sneaking into the prison without the guard knowing, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact someone had to have tossed Lance in there with him on purpose. Otherwise Lance wouldn’t have assumed Shorty was a fellow prisoner if he or the guard that locked him up saw Shorty sneak in before then.

Furthermore Lance’s nonchalant response suggests this is not an out of the ordinary occurrence. Nor do any of the other guard comment upon the irregularly of teens being jailed with an adult. Now add in the fact that the show fails to clarify that previous ‘cellmate’ line from Rapunzel’s Return and now gives us more confirmation that Varian was underfed and malnourished for a year with that gruel joke and you have a horrifying picture.

Shorty might be non-threating, but that doesn’t mean Andrew, a known attempted murderer and manipulator, is too. Nor any other adult who previously was housed with a teen before then. This is still very much not okay and no amount of ‘jokes’ will suddenly make it right.

Raps, Who is an Adult, Just Physically Threatened Two Teenaged Boys and It’s Played as a Joke....

How many times do I have to say it? Humor does not fix bad writing. I’m not laughing when a heroine at age 20, threatens a couple of kids for merely annoying her. Especially when said heroine has a history of abusing children; because let me repeat once again, neglect is abuse!

This is a Lie

No you wont.

Rapunzel never tells Eugene what happens on screen. I suspect that if she ever did, they would no longer be together, because what she wound up doing here was a violation of trust and boundaries in the worst possible way.

And This is Now a Time Paradox

A Grandfather Paradox to be specific. How can Rapunzel be here in the past to break the hourglass if the hourglass that sent her here is broken?

In a competent series this would be the point of a future conflict and not the actual resolution. It’s not a closed time loop because of the paradox and the changes we’ll see in the future.

So either she’s in an alternate timeline/dimension and just doesn’t gives a shit; leaving the real Eugene, Lance, Cass, ect. to go on without her; or she’s just broke the universe and everything is slowly unraveling around her; galaxies are dying as she whines about being dumped, people in the future are being eased from existence, and God is cursing her name for ruining his creation, all the while she carries on oblivious to the destruction in her wake, as usual.

That’s it. Those are you’re only two options now. Is everyone from here on a fake copy or is Rapunzel the damned destroyer of worlds? You decide.

So This Confirms That the Stabbingtons are Indeed “Family”

Another reason why I place this before Return of the King; it explains why Eugene considers the Stabbingtons ‘family’. Though if it was Rapunzel he actually bonded with and not the real Sideburns, then how much of his feelings are real and how much of them were fabricated by her? How much agency did this episode steal from him?

So What Exactly Did We All Change?

Well the dummy no longer has Eugene’s face, but Cass’s painting of the three of them still has him ripped out of the photo, soo... Keeping in mind that Raps painted the dummy anyways and considering that Moonandra tries to kill him later on; I’m going to guess that Cass’s feelings weren’t actually altered. If anything their relationship might actually be worse now, cause Cassandra keeps acting like she’s never had friends and Eugene has taken up Rapunzel’s blind devotion.

All that development in season one is just, poof, gone. Also it’s quite possible that the first movie as well has now it has been erased from existence as Eugene got his needed character development eight years too early. How the hell that’s suppose to work, I don’t know.

Outside of the that we get no confirmation how anybody else was effected, even though a more brainwashed Eugene running around would undoubtedly have caused a butterfly effect. Don’t expect that to be explored anytime soon.

Though, it would explain why he’s suddenly such a doormat in season three, if this was the second episode as theorized.

No! This is the Wrong Lesson!!!

Let me explain narrative promises.

Everyone, on some basic fundamental level, understands how stories work. We hear them recounted to us over and over again from the day we're born to the day we die. It’s integral to how we communicate as human beings. Everyone knows innately how to tell a story even if that person couldn’t tell you how stories or structured or what certain literary terms mean, but they do it every day just through speaking. And while most audiences can’t always pin point what upsets them about a story they can for sure notice when things are off and not satisfying to experience.

Now that doesn’t mean that everyone can write an awarding winning novel, that study of a craft isn’t important, nor that every amateurish critique thrown at any given media is valid. But it does mean that people have come to expect certain storytelling practices and can pick up on narrative cues. We’ve familiarized ourselves with the language of film, novels, comics, ect, into order to comprehend what’s going on.

Rules of writing are just following that established language so that the audience can keep up. You can break these rules, sure, but unless you know what you’re doing and have a good narrative reason to do so, then you can easily lose you’re audience. And if you’re making money off said audience that’s something you want to avoid.

A narrative promise is a cue; a set up that lets the audience know that ‘hey this is important, pay attention to this cause it’ll come back into play later’. Now that the audience has been alerted to the plot point they expect fulfillment of the promise. If you break that promise, either through poor set up, lack of follow through, or by breaking an established convention of writing for no other reason then because you just wanted to, your audience is going to walk away unsatisfied.

The argument at the beginning of the episode was a narrative promise. It was a cue that set up the interpersonal conflict of the main character. For add context, I know that this is a coming of age story. Convention would dictate that the protagonist would resolve this conflict by learning they were wrong.

That’s not what happened here.

Convention was subverted. It wasn’t the protagonist who grew and change, it was the person they were in conflict with who did. And it wasn’t subverted because of any greater narrative reason, or future pay off, or even as effort to be shallowly ‘clever’; it was subverted because the author just didn’t want to hold the main character accountable for anything. Because said character has now become his avatar for his wish fulfillment fantasy and having the main character admit fault would be to admit fault in ones own self. Rapunzel doesn’t feel like Rapunzel this season because she’s just Chris in a wig.

The episode broke a narrative promise to the audience; both within the episode and in the greater premise of the story, because of ego.

I don’t claim this episode is bad just because of personal taste nor because I find it morally repulsive (even though both those things are true), I call it bad because it exhibits bad writing. Plain and simple.

Way To Undermine The Entire Point of the Original Movie, Show

Speaking of breaking narrative promises....

TTS is suppose to be a squeal to the original movie. It’s even in the title of the show; both of them. In one fell swoop, the series has managed to sabotage it’s very reason for existing, as it erases Eugene’s motivation and the inciting incident that kick started the film.

Way to fucking go.

To further twist the knife, it diminishes the duel protagonist of said film in order to prop up a series original character, who isn't even present in the episode itself.

I don’t mind Cassandra’s existence. I don’t even mind her being the new deuteragonist and one of the main villains; even though she wouldn’t have been my first pick to fulfill those roles given her lack of set up. But I do fucking mind it if she upstages other characters and/or derails their character arcs in the process.

This is the Death of New Dream

I was still in denial when this episode first aired. I honestly believed that this and The Return of the King was build up to a third “betrayal” where Eugene finally became fed up with Rapunzel’s bullshit and joined forces with Zhan Tiri. I thought the end of the series would have Rapunzel apologize to everyone she did wrong, Varian, Cass, and Eugene, in order to break ZT’s hold on them, and that true love’s kiss would reunite the sundrop and the moonstone and that would just tie everything together into a neat little bow and give us a truly daring character study of a Disney hero.

Oh dear merciful heavens, was I ever wrong.

How did we go from season one’s challenging and mature storyline, complete with Disney’s first real anti-villian, to this?!

What the hell happened!?

Rapunzel not only disrespects Eugene’s opinions, violates his privacy and trust as she manipulates him as a teen, and then brainwashes him to think like her (even if accidentally), but doesn’t even have good grace to tell him. She instead has the audacity to look all happy and self congratulatory because she got want she wanted. She, and the show at large, doesn’t care what evil thing she does to get the desired outcome Rapunzel wants.

Rapunzel in this show is a spoiled brat. And the image of her and her now lobotomized boyfriend staring dead eyed at a picture of the creator’s previous waifu OC with plastic smiles on their faces, sums up this series perfectly.

Conclusion

This isn’t even the worst episode of the series guys. I don’t know if it would even make it onto a bottom five list. That’s how much crap I have to wade through when it comes to this show. This is however the most damaging episode to the franchise as a whole.

Not even the most hardcore of New Dream fans want to acknowledge the existence of that final scene, and Rapunzel stans won’t defend her beyond, ’well she didn’t mean too, it’s the writing that’s bad.’ Yeah, the writing is bad, that’s why the character can’t and shouldn’t be defended, not here and not in other badly written episodes where she also does bad things and never makes up for it.

Anyways I’m finally caught up to where I left off, before the move, though sadly I don't think I’ll get this series done by the end of the month like I had originally hoped. But if you would like to help out I have a ko-fi you can drop a tip into if ya want.

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #Eugene #anti-rapunzel #anti-tangled

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 01

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: some profanity, a side character who is a dick about Reid, set in season 06, self beta’d

Word Count: 2437

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 01

March 2010

Dr. Spencer Reid

(Current Tenure: California Institute of Technology): Fred Kavli Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics; Director, Walter Burke Institute for Theoretical Physics, Department Head of Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy at Caltech.

- (Degrees, in order) Ph.D. Mathematics, Caltech, 1995; Ph.D. Chemistry, Caltech, 1997; M.A. Nuclear Science, MIT, 1999; Ph.D. Engineering, MIT, 2000; M.A. Sociology, Columbia University, 2001; M.A. Philosophy, Georgetown, 2001; Ph.D. Psychology, Georgetown, 2002; M.A. Applied Analytics, Columbia University, 2003; M.A. Socio Economic Statistics, MIT, 2004; M.A. Geology, Caltech, 2006; Ph.D. Geography, Caltech, 2006; M.A. Economics, Caltech, 2008; M.A. Brain and Cognitive Sciences, Caltech, 2009

- (Teaching positions, in order) Professor of Mathematics, Caltech, 1995-1997, Professor of Mathematics and Statistical Analysis, MIT, 1998-2005, Visiting Associate, Georgetown, 1999-2002; Professor of Chemical Engineering, MIT, 2002-05; Kavli Professor, Mathematics, Caltech, 2005-; Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics, 2006-; Deputy Chair, 2005-; Director, 2008-.

“Jesus.”

The dossier is just an information sheet; no photo ID, no news articles beyond text component pieces, but it is a thick stack of correspondence and case consultations that S.S.A Aaron Hotchner holds in his hands.

“Five Ph.D.’s and eight separate M.A.’s in fourteen years? What was he doing before that?”

“Who knows? You don’t earn a Ph.D. overnight, even if his accommodation sheet makes ‘em look like they pop up like mushrooms,” Mark Anderson says, audibly tired through the phone speaker on his desk. He was one of the Unit Chief's from the teams at the FBI L.A. field office, who’s phone number was given to him by an old friend, Sam Cooper -- another BAU team leader. Hotch had hit dead end after dead end on this case, and sitting at his desk in Quantico, Virginia, he looks down at the recommended consultant’s extensive list of degrees and teaching positions with a building headache behind his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fan of Anderson, or his briskness, but at this point he’d take anything he could get. “I’m pretty sure that man has never lived outside an academic field. He’s a handful, runs my agents up the damn wall, but he knows his stuff.”

“I hope so. I’ve been on the phone the past three days trying to find someone with a background in Obscure Cognitive Linguistics,” Hotch reads from a separate file, filled with violent images and depraved acts described in morbid detail. “Our unsub sites a very particular thesis about a Study of Language from a Cognitive and Developmental Law, and I keep getting sent to experts in adjacent fields. I don’t see anything in this Dr. Reid’s background about language.”

“Oh, trust me, Hotch -- you’ll get more than you bargained for. This is your guy. He’s basically an expert on everything, and if he doesn’t know anything about languages I’ll eat my tie. He never shuts up.”

Frowning at the speaker phone, Hotch keeps his comments to himself. He’s sure that Anderson probably doesn’t appreciate having an old professor puttering around the field office, but that didn’t mean he had to insult the man. Especially when he was there as a consultant.

“Okay, fine. Thank you. I’ll give him a call now-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. Just send him an email. Trust me.” Anderson all but groans like a petulant child. Graining on Hotch’s nerves excruciatingly.

“I’m sure he’s busy enough with his students, he doesn’t need to be fielding emails from the FBI,” Hotch hedged, still frowning.

“Not too busy to write you a dissertation in reply, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get the answers you need. You could be on the phone with him a half hour before you get to what you called about. Hopefully it won’t take you too long to sift through.”

Alright, now he is done listening to the other agent.

“Right. Thanks, Mark.”

“Anyti-” Hotch hangs up on him before the man could make any other remarks. His patience is non-existent after the past week and this extremely brutal case that only seems to compound exponentially in it’s viciousness with each passing day. If Anderson felt like being an asshole to some old man with nothing better to do than rack up Ph.D.’s, he could do it on his own time. Hotch needed help, and this man seemed to be the only person around who might be able to finally do so.

Dr. Reid’s office number is in front of him, as well as about three different lab location phone numbers, and one email address connected to the school faculty. He considers for a moment just ignoring Anderson’s advice and calling the old professor, but he has a meeting with his Department Chief, Strauss, in twenty minutes and the team would be arriving from canvasing the dumpsites soon.

So with a suffering sigh, Hotch pulls up a new email (for what feels like the millionth time for this case) and composes a standard correspondence introduction. Who he is, credentials, case numbers and specifics as far as clearance rates for civilians go, and then finally the questions he needs answered. There is something about this particular thesis that has to be very tongue in cheek to the unsub, saying something that isn’t really there, and this could just be another dead end -- but if it led to them saving a victim from becoming another dead body, he is willing to give it one last try.

Thank you for your time, S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Quantico, VA.

Then he hits send, and leaves the response up to the universe.

The team came up with nothing fruitful. Strauss proceeded to ream Hotch six ways from Sunday for wasting valuable bureau resources and coming up with zero results. His day was spinning down the drain in a hellish cyclone when he sits down behind his desk in his office an hour after leaving it. Case files still piled to one side, grotesque photos stacked within them, and Aaron Hotchner wants nothing more than for them to disappear. For the case to be solved and to be able to go home to his son and his quiet house. But there was no break in sight, no new information, nothing.

Except a new email in his inbox.

Agent Hotchner,

I know that thesis paper well. I can help you.

All air seems to have been sucked from the room as Hotch reads the words a couple of times, not quite comprehending after the morning he has had that someone wasn’t giving him more bad news. That this Dr. Reid said he could help him.

A single click of the email opens up the correspondence reply, and the agent is met with a giant wall of text. Scrolling down for pages, and a quick skim of the material shows such a complex, comprehensive amount of information that there is no way it’s just copy and pasted from any one source. Or even several. It’s a long email spanning a vast number of pages, covering every topic he had asked about (and then some).

The thesis paper, the tongue-in-cheek citation from the unsub, how this killer is acting like he’s being clever when it’s really ‘very obvious what he’s doing, as long as you know the paper’ and detailed links and quotations and references to locations and side tangents on items mentioned that could be evidence to look for or weapons of choice, and so much else Hotch’s head feels like it’s spinning. Like reading the cliffnotes of a complex spy novel, with all the spoilers in one place.

It takes him half an hour to read through everything Dr. Reid sent, meaning the professor had to have been typing a million words a minute from the moment Hotch had emailed him to get everything replied so quickly, and Hotch was baffled to realize that an old man with a handful of Ph.D.’s and no FBI training just solved his case.

Not a figment of speech.

Dr. Reid just solved the case, without even holding the file in his hands.

Hotch is dialing a phone number on his speed dial without even looking away from the screen.

“Garcia? Call the team into the briefing room, and phone SWAT to mobilize. We’re going down to the riverfront in thirty minutes.”

“--Wait, what are you talking about? Did you figure out the unsub’s code?”

Not me, Aaron thought to himself, standing up and printing Dr. Reid’s email after forwarding it to the entire team and their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. He didn’t have time to explain it that many times, and the amount of information in that single email would be enough to send any of them tumbling heels over head. But it solved every aspect of their case. Hook, line, and sinker.

And the clock was ticking.

“Now, Garcia.”

He rushes from the room with the stack of files in his hands and his laptop open to Dr. Reid’s email. Not even thinking to thank the man for his help as he heads across the bullpen with profound determination.

They have work to do.

They catch the unsub that very day.

Quick, efficient, completely by surprise. They saved Amanda Sutton and another girl they hadn’t even known was missing. No one died. None of his team was hurt. The unsub hadn’t confessed, but Rossi and Morgan had played him like a fiddle in interrogation and now all of his team members were walking to the elevators leaving for a long weekend where they wouldn’t have to worry about serial killers or another dead soul on their conscience. Today was a win. As close to a win as they ever can get, in their line of work.

And it isn’t until he’s back at his desk, the hours ticking into the night, that he opens up his email and there in his inbox is the very reply that started everything. Dr. Spencer Reid. CalTech Department Head. Professor of everything under the sun. Expert on anything, even the obscure.

The reason Hotch will get to spend the weekend with his son, without the overbearing aftershocks of a case gone so horribly bad plaguing him.

His hands are moving before he can stop them. Opening up the email, typing out a response to Dr. Reid thanking him for his help. Relaying what happened, detail by detail much in the same fashion he had completed the paperwork piled on his desk. Letting him know that his information really did end up helping them. All of it. Even the side tangents.

I don’t know how I can ever thank you for the extensive consideration you gave this case, or how to explain how it solved it so seamlessly, but your time and effort does not go unnoticed by me.

Okay, so maybe he fluffs it up a bit more than the dreadful bullet-point list descriptions required by the Deputy Chief and the Director and SWAT Team justification reports. Just so it doesn’t look so inadequate in comparison to the man’s thesis-paper-length email he sent to aide Hotch and his team. The passion he has for his work leaps off the page, but it was a lot -- and if the old man put that much dedication into a basic FBI correspondence email, then he was probably used to it being a thankless effort.

Hotch sends the reply, and continues with his work. He always takes a bulk of the paperwork, so his team can go home and rest and recharge. He needs them at their best for each case, and if that means he spends a couple hours longer after when they finish a case, it is worth every minute. But this time, once he finishes, he gets to take the coveted time off as well.

It’s as he’s finishing up, everything stacked neatly and ready to be dropped at records, in the mailroom, Strauss’s office, the director’s, and he’s about to log off his laptop that he sees a surprise -- Dr. Reid replied to him, again.

It’s much more brief this time.

Agent Hotchner,

I’m so glad I was able to help you.

You are one of the only agents to reach out and tell me how the case went after my consultation, and I’m very grateful to know that my information actually helped your team catch the killer. I know I tend to spout facts at random, but I do have methods to my madness and it’s such a nice change to correspond with someone who understands that.

My services are always at your disposal. Anytime. Whatever I can do to help.

Sincerely, Dr. Spencer Reid

Hotch types out a brief reply. Thanking him for his offer, for lending him his expertise, and letting him know in not so many words --

I’ll have to take you up on that.

He’d be a fool not to. Someone with that much knowledge and the ability to connect it all in the way Dr. Reid had in the span of an hour? He could be a real asset to the BAU, as a permanent consultant, even through email correspondence.

He sends the reply just as he stands to leave. Turning off his office light, and his chest feels lighter for the interaction. For giving the professor that sense of assurance that what he had to say did in fact do some real good. Hotch even finds himself smiling softly, sadly, that he has also found a little bit of solace in helping another lonely old man across the country find a sense of purpose that night. Who was working late, as well, despite it being the end of the week. Speaking to not much waiting for him back at home, in whatever shape ‘home’ takes for the man. But Hotch can relate to that, too. Jack is at Jessica’s until the morning, and there is nothing at his apartment to greet him but silence and bare walls and memories he’d rather not dote on. Maybe this Dr. Spencer Reid is in a similar boat, finding comfort in his work when he can. He certainly seems to, with the amount of time he’s poured into his doctorates and degrees. In the number of departments he runs and monitors.

Hotch can’t help but feel a connection, a companionship between empty offices. Thousands of miles apart, but maybe -- possibly -- at least similar in that aspect.

Not so alone, even if only for a brief moment.

(tbc...)

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls

#omg i forgot to do tags #Jesus so ive been so excited for this and here it finally is and i fuck it up .2 seconds in go me #this is a S L O W B U R N fic and we are starting all the way at the beginning and im so excited im kind of shaking #updates every saturday evening #message me if you want in on the tag list #also on ao3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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roman-writing · 4 years ago

Text

bring home a haunting (3/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 27,332

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

read it below or read it on AO3 here

Where once Dani had imagined scenarios of breathlessly rounding a corner to find Jamie there, only to find an empty space and a sense of something — frustration? anger? relief? feigned indifference? disappointment? — now Jamie would be there. Every time. As though their schedules had aligned, suddenly and without warning. Dani couldn't tell if this was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps a mix of both.

Or — what was it Judy had said? Kismet.

Dani drove up to the gas station and stepped out of the car. Stanley, the local attendant, jogged out to fill up the tank, and Dani thanked him with a smile. It was an overcast Saturday, but she had dinner at the O'Mara household to look forward to later that evening, and Eddie was off in the next town over helping Tommy build a new deck. Leaving Stanley to handle the car, Dani walked into the shop to idly peruse items she had no intention of buying while she waited.

Her fingertips were ghosting over the frames of sunglasses that had been on display for at least seven years, when a truck with faded green paint puttered into the row beside her car. Dani's brow furrowed; she didn't recognize that car, and she recognized all the regular cars in this town. Either someone was passing through, needing a top up on their way to some more worldly destination, or someone new had — oh.

Oh, no. That was Jamie. Jamie was jumping from the high seat, boots hitting the concrete. That was Jamie slamming the door shut and giving Stanley a wave as she made her way into the shop. Before she knew precisely what she was doing, Dani's hand had curled around a pair of large sunglasses and she was sliding them over her face. She angled herself away from the door with the pretense of admiring the glasses in the small smudged mirror perched atop the display rack.

Behind her the bell jingled. The sound of heavy footsteps and the brush of a draught as the door swung shut once more. Dani held her breath, eyes flicking up towards the mirror. She could see the reflection of Jamie's legs angled in the glass. Even when Jamie turned and strode towards the counter, Dani could feel the tension in her own shoulders until she was wound tight as a spring.

There was the slap of the service bell and Jamie's unmistakable voice calling out, "Hunter! I know you're back there! C'mon! I'm trying to give you actual money here!"

The door to the back room swung open, and Dani could hear a sigh. "Jamie," said Hunter, sounding weary. "You couldn't wait five minutes for Stanley?"

"He's busy, and I need oil."

"I just sold you some last week."

"What? Is there a ration enforcement in these parts? Are we still at war with ze Germans? Didn't anyone tell you? That shit's all over, mate."

"I'm not that old."

"Bullshit, you aren't," Jamie said, and even without seeing her face Dani could see the teasing grin that came with her tone. "I've seen those medals you parade around every Veteran's Day."

"Those are for Korea, you dunce."

"Really? Always thought it was for those damn Boers."

"All right. All right. I'll get your damn oil. You happy?" He began to stomp back through the rear door. "How many bottles do you need this time?"

"Make it six," Jamie answered. "Best be safe, yeah?”

Whatever he grumbled in answer, Dani couldn't hear. She kept her shoulders hunched, reaching for another pair of sunglasses — bigger this time — and jammed them atop the bridge of her nose. Through the windows she could see Stanley finish up with her car, replacing the cap, and then move to Jamie's. Clearly he intended to ring them both up at the same time. Made sense, but that didn't stop her from wishing she could slip away without Jamie noticing her presence. Maybe she could just lie and say she left her wallet at home, drive away, and then come back to pay later when the station was decidedly Jamie-free.

Jamie herself had vanished from the little mirror. Dani's ears pricked, and she glanced around as surreptitiously as she dared while maintaining the illusion of shopping. There, at the corner of her vision, she could see the slope of Jamie's profile moving through the only two aisles in the whole place. Dani shuffled around in an attempt to keep her back facing Jamie, rather than turn the display rack. She kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, and tried to remain as quiet and unassuming as possible.

"Don't reckon that pair suits you much."

With a jerk, Dani glanced over her shoulder. Jamie was leaning her elbows on the short aisle dividing the space between them. She had clearly been shuffling through the magazine section, for she held the latest Wonder Woman comic book edition in her hands, along with some other magazine that bore bold red text over a picture of Cher’s face.

"Oh," said Dani. "Hi, Jamie."

Jamie did not answer immediately. Instead, she withdrew and wandered around the aisle to stand beside Dani. She tucked the comic book and magazine under one arm, and lifted a hand to point at various sunglasses in silent judgement. Her lips were pursed in thought. She shook her head, pointed to the next, made a face, pointed to the next, and then finally -

"These," Jamie said, pulling down a pair of pink-rimmed glasses. "Try these."

Clearing her throat, Dani took off the pair she was currently wearing. Jamie had unfolded the pink sunglasses and was holding them out towards Dani for her to put on. Dani ducked her head slightly to let Jamie slip the sunglasses into place.

"Oh, yeah," Jamie said. "Those are the ones."

One hand still occupied with the other pair, Dani reached up to push the ones she wore further up her nose. "Better?"

"Worse. So much worse." Jamie grinned. "You should definitely buy them."

With a snort of laughter, Dani pulled them off and put both sets back on the rack. "Still giving out terrible fashion advice, I see."

Jamie shrugged, the corner of her mouth curled in a grin. "Keeps me honest."

Turning towards the rack, Dani plucked a pair of vibrant chemical green sunglasses with triangular frames, and held them out to Jamie. "I'll buy the pink ones if you buy these."

Without a lick of hesitation, Jamie took the sunglasses and donned them. She looked at herself in the mirror. "Really bring out my striking personality, don't they?"

Dani was biting at her lower lip to keep herself from laughing. "Oh, absolutely. People will see you coming from a mile away now."

"I was thinking I could use them to direct traffic when the grid goes out. Are they glow in the dark?" Jamie pulled them off to check the tag.

Before Dani could answer, the door opened and Stanley entered. He looked over at the two of them. "You're all done, ladies. Who should I ring up first?"

Dani pointed at Jamie, who pointed back at her.

"No, really," insisted Dani. "You should -"

"Nah. I'm still waiting on that oil from Hunter. Go on."

And as if summoned, Hunter reappeared from the back room with a case of oil beneath one arm.

"Didn't just have six bottles lying around," he said, moving behind the till and scanning the box into the system. "Had to scrounge around in storage. Let's go, Taylor. I don’t got all day."

He waved at Jamie to approach, like a king beckoning forth a serf.

"Guess that answers that question, then," Jamie said. She gave Dani an apologetic smile, then strode over to the counter.

When she placed the two magazines and the sunglasses down, Dani blinked in surprise. "You're not honestly buying those, are you?" Dani asked, stepping into line behind her.

Hunter rang up all the items, and Jamie passed over some cash. "'Course I am," she said. "The kid'll love them."

Hunter gave Jamie her change, at which point Jamie stacked the magazines atop the cardboard box of oil and swept them all up beneath her arm. Then, she whipped the garish sunglasses over her nose and ears, said, "Ta," and sauntered out of the service station like she owned the place.

Dani was still staring after her when Hunter asked, "Was there anything else you wanted?"

Dani jolted as if from a daydream. She shook her head. "Uh - no. Thanks, Mr. Thompson. I'll see you at Church tomorrow."

By the time she had paid and walked out to her car, Jamie was gone.

Dani didn’t even have to wait for the end of the day before another run in. No sooner had she stepped into the O'Mara house, than Judy was sighing about having forgotten to pick up onions for dinner. Dani immediately held out her hand for the shopping list, saying, "I'll go. You stay." and Judy gratefully handed it over.

"You're a star," said Judy, pressing a kiss to Dani's cheek and cash into Dani's hand.

"It's no problem," Dani said with a laugh, already heading back towards the front door where her car awaited, parked on the street outside.

Carson trotted after her, intent on coming along to keep Dani company. And also, she suspected, to have free reign over her stereo, where he could blast the latest pop tunes without anyone in the house telling him to keep it down. With a shake of her head and a small smile, Dani drove them down to the supermarket.

It should have been a quick jaunt. Grab what they needed and head back home for dinner. In and out. Completely uneventful.

Dani was bickering with Carson in the produce aisle, when she saw her. Eyes going wide, Dani immediately dropped down to a crouch beside the display of potatoes.

"What are we doing?" Carson whispered loudly as he crouched down beside her. "Did you drop something? Oh, look, I found a quarter."

"That's - uh - That's nice," Dani said, not really paying any attention to him as she lifted her head to peer over the potato display as though peering over the parapets, fearful of incoming gunfire.

Carson did the same, and his eyes lit up. "Hey, is that Jamie? Mom mentioned she was back in town -"

"Shh!" Dani tugged him back down by the back of his leather jacket until the both of them sat on the ground, their backs pressed against a fruit stand.

Carson gave her an odd look. "Okay, this is not what I expected."

"What do you mean?" Dani asked, not really paying him much attention. She dared to peek around the corner, but Jamie must have moved along to a different aisle; she was nowhere in sight.

"Well, for starters, I thought you'd be glad to see her again. Not -" Carson gestured to her with one hand. "- Doing whatever this is."

The tiles were cold beneath her. Dani met his gaze and held it for a moment before turning away once more. "It's complicated."

"Complicated? You two were glued at the hip."

"Yeah, and then she left," Dani said far more sharply than she had intended.

Carson held up both hands in surrender, quarter still stuck between the fingers of his left hand. "Okay. Okay. None of my business, clearly." When she didn't answer him, he said in a low voice, "So, how long are we going to wait here? It's just — I'm hungry. And I am contemplating eating raw spuds at the moment, so -"

"What the hell are you two doing down there?"

And for the second time in less than twenty four hours, Dani nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of Jamie's voice. She craned her neck to find Jamie leaning over a display of garlic and shallots to stare at them in bewilderment.

Immediately, Carson gave the quarter a flick into the air with his thumb and caught it again. “Found this.”

Jamie’s eyebrows rose and she grinned. “Not bad. And you are -?”

Pushing himself upright, Carson pocketed the quarter and said, “Aw. Don’t recognize me for my devilish good looks? I’m wounded, Jamie.”

For a moment Jamie’s forehead furrowed in bemusement, and then her eyes widened. “Holy shit. Carson? No way.”

He laughed, arms opening for a hug which she stepped into without hesitation. While they were having their happy little reunion, Dani rose to her feet and surreptitiously brushed off the backs of her legs, trying to not appear as out of place as she felt. Jamie and Carson parted with hearty pats on the back and full smiles. Jamie let her hand linger on his shoulder for a moment before lowering her arm.

"Look at you," she said appraisingly. "Christ, but you shot up, didn't you? Still the shortest brother, I see."

"Hey, fuck you," he said but his grin only widened. "I bet you're the shortest of the group now. Hey, Dani! Stand beside her and let's see who's taller."

Hesitant, Dani did as she was told. She and Jamie stood back to back, while Carson measured their heights with the flat of his hand. It was like being back in Judy's house as kids, marking growth spurts in pencil on the wall that Judy refused to repaint as the years dragged on, so that to this day it was littered with marks. Except this time, Dani and Jamie were very careful not to touch. Dani could feel the brush of Jamie's bulky jacket against the back of her arm, and she jerked her hand away immediately.

"Hate to break it to you," Carson said to Jamie, "but you're now officially The Shortest. God rest your soul, Jamie Taylor. I hardly knew ye."

When Dani turned back around it was to find Jamie looking genuinely horrified at this news.

"Come off it!" Jamie said, and she checked Dani's legs. "You're wearing heels, aren't you?"

Shaking her head, Dani lifted one foot to prove that she stood in simple flats, whilst Jamie herself wore thick-soled leather work boots encrusted with mud.

"Fuck me," Jamie muttered, while Carson laughed mockingly at her.

Dani cleared her throat and reached for a pre-packaged bag of white onions from the display. "Hey, Carson, we should -" she said with a jerk of her head towards the exit. "Your mom's waiting for us back home to bring these."

His eyes lit up and he turned to Jamie. "You should come over! You know mom. There's always room for one more at the dinner table."

For a brief terrifying second, Dani thought Jamie was actually going to accept his offer, but Jamie only shook her head. “Nah. I got to get back home to the kid before he burns the place down. Some other time, maybe.”

Jamie gave them each a nod, and then continued on her way, picking up a plastic shopping basket as she went. Dani watched her go, jaw tight. When Jamie had rounded the far aisle and vanished from sight, Dani turned to find that Carson was watching her instead.

“What?” Dani asked, fingers tightening around the netted packaging in her grasp.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” Dani lied. “It was fine.”

Carson smiled at her, indulgent and gentle, before nudging her. “I wasn’t lying about starving to death, though. Come on.”

Rolling her eyes, Dani followed him to the register to pay.

It was nearly six in the evening when Dani finally tore herself away from her desk at school the next week. She had run out of papers to mark and classes to plan, no matter what she told herself to the contrary. There was always more work to do, but even she could not deny that there was nothing more to be accomplished now. Not when she could hardly concentrate enough to do more than twirl a pen between her fingers and ignore the growling of her own stomach.

She should go home. She should make dinner. She should do the dishes. Hell, she should probably vacuum. And yet here she was, grasping at any straw that might detain her for another five minutes.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the desk and rose to her feet. Packing everything away, she slung her bag over one shoulder and left, stopping to lock up the classroom behind her. The halls of the school were empty. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and washed the floor in golden tones that warmed her ankles with every step. As she trotted down the stairs leading to the front door of the school — the janitor would lock up everything at seven, she knew — Dani paused.

Mikey Taylor was still seated against the trunk of a tree on the front lawn. His head rose and he waved in a bored manner towards her. Dani lifted her hand in return. She almost took a step in his direction, before with a shake of her head she steered herself away towards where her car was parked in the staff lot.

It wasn't her business, she told herself sternly. How Jamie raised her little brother was Jamie's prerogative. Never mind that Mikey shouldn't be sitting out here alone for nearly three hours, waiting to be picked up. Never mind that the school library closed at four, kicking out any loitering kids. Lips pressed into a narrow line, Dani yanked open her car door and threw her bag into the passenger seat. It wasn't any of her business. Jamie had made that clear enough ten years ago.

Dani shut the door behind her with a little more force than was strictly necessary. The keys jangled as she stuck one into the ignition. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the key, Dani paused. From here, she could just see Mikey over the dashboard. He had taken to tearing up grass and making a pile on the ground.

Dani firmly ignored him as best she could, and turned the key. Her car sputtered and groaned. She stopped, then turned the key again, only to be faced with the same results.

"Come on," she muttered, gripping the steering wheel tight.

This time when she turned the key, the engine gasped to life, followed by an awful grinding noise. Dark noxious smoke started to eek up from the seams of the hood. Dani groaned and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, while the car shuddered beneath her seat. She would need to go back inside to ring a towing company and then ring Eddie and ask him to come get her. Doubtless, he would spend the whole ride home complaining about her car and how she should give it up.

Great. Just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

Someone rapped on her window. Dani’s head jerked up. She blinked out the driver’s seat window at the sun-drenched silhouette of Jamie Taylor standing just outside. Dani’s hands flexed against the wheel. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in, but then Jamie was tapping at the window again with the back of her knuckles. Opening her eyes, Dani wound down the window.

"Not that I should tell you how to live your life," said Jamie by way of greeting, "but you should really turn off the engine."

Dani twisted the key in the ignition, and the car spluttered and died. The dark smoke that had been threading from the hood was now beginning to fade, though she could still smell something acrid on the air.

Jamie had shifted somewhat so that the sunlight now lanced directly into Dani's eyes. Dani squinted out the window, lifting one hand to shield her brow, and said, "Hi."

"Mind if I have a look?" Jamie asked, gesturing towards the front of the car.

"What?"

"Your engine. Mind if I check?"

"Oh. It's - You really don't have to,” Dani stumbled over the words. “I was just about to run back inside to call a tow -”

“I don’t mind,” said Jamie, briefly glancing at Mikey, who was now sitting in a green truck parked on the street. “Reckon the kid won’t mind either. What’s a few more minutes?”

Finally, Dani gave a relenting nod. "Yeah. Sure. Thanks."

Jamie was already rounding the car to stand before it, her fingers searching beneath the seam of the hood. "Can you pop the bonnet? Should be a lever or summint in there."

Dani scouted around until she found the lever Jamie was speaking of, and the hood popped open with a lurch. She opened the car door and stepped out as Jamie was lifting the hood with a groan of metal on metal and holding it in place with a steel arm latch. The moment she hoisted it up, a cloud of oily smoke bloomed forth, and Jamie waved it away with a cough and a screwed up face.

"Fuck. That's bleedin' awful," Jamie muttered to herself.

Arms wrapped around herself, Dani moved to stand by one of the front tires. "He's been waiting out here for a while," she said, nodding towards the green truck. "I - uh - I tend to keep an eye on him. From the classroom, I mean. I can see the front lawn from my classroom."

"'Fraid there's not much I can do about that," Jamie said, already bending over to poke around in Dani's engine. "I work long shifts at the botanical gardens. Got to make a living somehow."

"Yeah, but - It's a long time, is all I'm saying."

Gingerly, Jamie touched some sort of spout and unscrewed a cap so she could pull out a long narrow stick of metal from the engine. "Yeah? He say anything to you about it?"

"Well, no," Dani admitted.

"Anybody pick on him?"

"No."

Jamie shrugged, still not looking up from where she worked. "If he's that keen to get home earlier then, he can walk. I used to walk further to school everyday. Remember?"

Nodding, Dani sat on the edge of the car, careful not to get any grime on her skirt from the exposed engine. The car had been sitting in the sunlight for so long, she could feel the burn of metal through the fabric of her skirt. "Yeah," she sighed, shifting slightly so that she wasn’t leaning her full weight on the car. "Yeah, I remember."

Silence fell between them. Dani watched idly as Jamie did this and that, wishing she knew anything at all about cars. Jamie's overalls and band shirt were already dirty, the jean material streaked with mud. An errant leaf was stuck to the sole of Jamie's boots, and her hair was tied back from her face with a bandana. Dani chewed at her lower lip, glancing away when Jamie bent over further so that the torn collar of her t-shirt revealed her collarbones and a length of silver chain disappearing beneath the fabric.

"How long's it been like this?" Jamie asked.

"About six months now," said Dani. "I just got it out of the shop a few weeks ago, but nothing seems to stick."

"Well, whoever worked on it last clearly did a shit job if it's still doing this."

Dani bit back a swell of embarrassment. The mechanic had been under the recommendation of Eddie, and it wasn't as though there were many mechanics to choose from in a place like this. Not any that would take her seriously on her own, anyway.

"Trust me," Dani said, "This is an improvement."

"That bad, huh? Can't make any promises that this'll do much, then. Might be able to patch it, if we’re lucky."

"I thought you could fix anything," Dani replied, unable to keep back a small grin, and something like lead dropped in her stomach at the familiarity of the comment.

Jamie paused, eyes flicking up to meet hers, standing frozen for a moment. Dani could feel the smile slide from her face, and Jamie turned her attention back to the engine.

“Would if I could,” Jamie finally said. “But I’m no mechanic. Just a bit of a gearhead in my spare time.”

Wringing her hands together in her lap, Dani said, "Thank you anyways."

"No problem, Poppins."

Hearing that old nickname again was like an electric shock, like a current racing up her spine and buzzing at the nape of her neck. Dani twisted the gold band of the engagement ring around her finger and bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something she would regret.

“Well, now,” Jamie grunted a while later, arm still half-buried in the engine of Dani’s poor car, “There’s one problem, right there. Your rear main seal’s leaking all over the place.”

“And that’s -” Dani said slowly, “- bad?”

Jamie continued poking around, leaned over so far she was standing on her toes now to crane her neck and see past all the bits and bobs Dani couldn’t name if her life depended on it. “It’s not great. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed a trail of oil in your garage or driveway? After you’ve parked, maybe?”

Dani nodded.

Even after receiving confirmation, Jamie stepped back in order to crouch down and look beneath the car. “Yeah, there’s some here, too. Thought as much.”

Dani asked, “How bad are we talking here?”

Straightening with a shrug, Jamie wiped at her cheek with the back of one hand, leaving a streak of oil in its wake. She leaned over the engine for another poke around inside. “Means you’ve been slowly running out of oil since you last took this to the shop. If it were the front main seal, it would be an easy fix, but this -” She hissed and yanked her hand back from the hot metal exterior she’d touched, “- ow! Fuck!” Jamie waved her hand through the air for a few seconds before diving back in. “This is a big job. Got to remove the transmission, the clutch, the fly wheel — you get the picture. Hours and hours of work just to get at a five dollar seal. Nothing I can do about it here.”

“Do I need to call a tow?” Dani asked, already wincing at the bill that was yet to come.

“Nah,” said Jamie, leaning back and standing up straight. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I have some oil in my boot. Should be enough to get you home, but you’ll need to have it looked at sharpish.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Dani nodded. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe it was just time to sell it. Maybe it wasn’t worth anything but scrap. Maybe -

“Hey.”

Dani jerked her head up.

Jamie had undone the bandana and was now using it to wipe off her hands. Her brows were furrowed, watching Dani with an expression of distant concern, as though afraid to get too close but idling just an arm's length away. Without the bandana, her hair was a mess of fly-aways wisping about her face. Dani had to throttle the urge to reach out and smooth them back. Maybe if it had been a decade ago. But not here, and not now.

Jamie tilted her chin up in a nod towards Dani. "You all right there? Got that look. One that says you're too deep in your own head."

Dani cleared her throat. Her hands itched to move, so she occupied them by running them through her own hair with a sigh of frustration. "Yeah. It's - It's nothing. Really. My car's been having a lot of problems lately, and -" She cut herself off, then laughed ruefully. "It's going to sound stupid, but I just don't have the heart to sell it, you know? So —"

Dani let her hands fall back to her side, but even then they fidgeted; her ragged thumbnails running along each individual pad of her fingertips.

"So," Jamie said slowly. "Buy a new one."

Dani's mouth dropped open, but the words escaped her.

"What? Don't have enough money?" Jamie asked, sounding incredulous. "I know they don't pay you that poorly here. And didn't you just sell your old house?"

"How do you -? How do you know that?"

Jamie gave her a look. "Dani. Please. You think there are secrets? In this town?"

For some reason that simple statement sent a shiver of apprehension down Dani's spine, coiling in her gut like a live snake. She swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders. "I know North Liberty isn't London or anything, but it's not that small."

"If there are more than two thousand people in this place, I'll eat that rear main seal of yours," said Jamie, swatting at the exposed engine with her grimy bandana.

Glaring, Dani huffed and crossed her arms. "It's not the money."

Jamie was winding the bandana round and round the knuckles of one hand. She looked so at ease, leaning against the front of Dani's car, engine oil on her face, one booted foot propped back against the rusty bumper. She could have been a poster. "What's it then?"

Dani lifted her chin. "None of your business."

Jamie blinked, taken aback, eyebrows raised. "Wow." She laughed, but the sound held no real mirth. "Right. Well. Suppose it isn't."

Dani glanced away, arms tightening around her midriff. When Jamie pushed off of the car and began walking away, bandana slung over one shoulder, Dani said, "Where are you going?"

Jamie did not stop. "To get that engine oil."

The little frisson of fear was joined by a curdling guilt and shame. Dani ground her teeth. Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against her opposite rib cage, counting seams in bone. There was the banging of a truck door, a scuffling about followed by muffled swearing — ‘Mikey, hand me the - thanks, mate’ — then Jamie was striding back towards her with a squared blue bottle in one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Dani said, when Jamie had come back into earshot.

Already Jamie was shaking her head, not looking in Dani’s direction as she made a beeline towards the car. “What was I going to do?” she asked. “Up and leave you stranded here? For the vultures?” Jamie unscrewed the bottle and gestured with the cap towards the empty suburban street filled with sunlight and white picket fences. “It’s bloody dangerous in these parts, you know. Take my life into my own hands even dropping off the kid every day.”

Unable to help herself, Dani gave a huff of laughter. Jamie still wasn’t looking in her direction, but Dani could see the smirk from the slant of her profile as she began pouring oil in what Dani presumed was the right place. Dani watched. She loitered. She brought her hand up to her mouth, realized what she was doing, and dropped it firmly to her side again. In no time at all, Jamie straightened, screwing everything back into place and lowering the rod that held up the hood of the car so that she could drop that, too, and latch it into place by leaning atop it with one palm. The vehicle dipped over its front wheels, suspension squeaking slightly.

When Jamie turned, Dani held her breath and waited for some kind of backlash.

Jamie patted the hood of the car. “Better take the old girl home, eh?”

Dani nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I will.”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Jamie said, and her grin was soft. Dani stumbled for a reply, and could form none.

When Jamie made a motion as though she was going to walk back towards her own truck, Dani blurted out, “Thank you.”

Jamie’s footsteps faltered for a split second, but then she was continuing on her way. As she passed Dani, she said, “Good night.”

“Night,” Dani heard herself say as if from miles away.

The drive home for the most part was uneventful; the car creaked and rattled with every sharp turn of the corner, the old air freshener hanging from her rear view mirror swung gently, and the streets were clear from the evening traffic rush. A normal drive, interspersed with the events of the last few days like a broken film reel on loop. Every single expression that crossed Jamie’s face, the things Dani said or could’ve said, the steady confidence in Jamie’s hands as they delved into her car’s engine.

At a stoplight, Dani’s eyes strayed to the ring on her finger, the evening sun making it glitter bright. Her stomach twisted tight, and an eyedropper of uncertainty rippled through her. When the noise in her head became too loud, she flicked on the radio where the station Carson had set still played, the sound of Madonna blaring through her tinny speakers and filling the cabin. She set the volume high, and let it carry her the rest of the way home.

Home, which happened to be a two storey house painted white with dark green shutters and a grey tiled roof, with too neat of a green lawn and a white picket fence. Eddie’s dream house. When he had finalized the deal, he'd picked her up in a rib crushing hug and spun her around, laughing. The day they finally got the keys and moved in, he had insisted on carrying her through the front door and bellowed, “Honey, I’m home!” into the empty house, the sound echoing and loud. She had laughed then, happy to see him so happy. Happy to be a part of that moment with him. Now, as she sat in her idling car in the driveway, staring up at the house, a part of her wished that he'd asked, just once, if she had liked it at all, too.

She shook off the feeling and pressed the remote clipped to the sun visor to open the garage door and park the car inside. She sat there for a moment, listening to the radio play when the thought suddenly occurred to her — wondering if Jamie still listened to that same jarring music she used to adore. The same kind of music she would play on the boombox shared between the boys, laughing as Eddie and David winced at the aggressive sounds while Carson and Tommy nodded along. Dani particularly didn’t feel one way or the other, merely enjoyed how much fun they seemed to have.

She cut the engine, leaving her in silence. She stepped out of the car and entered the house, debating with herself the entire way. Eddie wasn’t home yet, the house somehow emptier and colder without him there as a buffer to the long shadows cast against the walls and floors from the evening sun. There was a wariness to her entry, being alone in a house that seemed to have a will of its own, like being locked in a room with a voiceless stranger, trying to get to know one another and utterly failing. Dani set down her car keys and purse with an apologetic wince at the clatter of metal against tile. Shaking herself of the feeling that she was being watched, she went in search of Jamie's old mixtape.

She’d have to go looking for Eddie’s walkman as well, having no idea where he had placed it last. Maybe she could ask him when he came home. The thought made her pause, mid-way through shedding her heels and blazer, acid building in her stomach just at the idea of explaining why she suddenly needed to listen to a tape a decade old. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, cursing under her breath before delving deeper in the house to press play on the answering machine as she went through her evening routine instead.

The crackling sound of tinny voices accompanied her throughout the house like absent ghosts. Dani only vaguely paid attention to the words: messages from Eddie’s friends with plans for dinner parties and dates, Judy reminding them of forgotten tupperware, a tipsy Carson trying to convince them to come to his next show as music blared in the background, Eddie’s coworker reminding him of important dates, Eddie —

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice echoed through the house, thin and staticky from the machine, “I know you’ll be home before me today, so I just wanted to let you know not to get started on dinner tonight. I’ll be bringing home something. I have some great news. Love you, see you soon.”

And then the house dropped silent once again. Dani sighed, already midway through preparing leftovers from Judy. It was like a sign, a ticking clock counting down ominously, compelling her to abandon the leftovers back in the fridge and leading her towards the corner of the house where she had temporarily placed the simple wooden box without any idea of where else to put it. The idea of hiding it in the closet she shared with Eddie left her skin crawling; it had no place there, not where she already shared so much of herself with him. The attic or basement didn’t feel right either, like she was tucking away those memories, like something to be abandoned. Instead, she had placed it where other stacks of boxes were piled, unopened and forgotten, in a corner in the dining room. A place she knew Eddie hadn’t bothered to touch for weeks, too busy setting up the other vast rooms of the house.

She twisted her hands as she was lured towards it — like a shining bright beacon, like a lighthouse on storm-battered shores — but when she turned into the dining room, she slowed, her heart plummeting to her stomach. The corner was empty. Void of any labeled cardboard boxes. Her brows furrowed as she stepped towards the corner, a cold sweat sweeping over her skin.

“Shit,” Dani muttered, her heart crashing against her ribs, her hands clenched into fists.

She spun around on her heels, searching every corner of the room, scattered with an assortment of their shared belongings along the walls and around the long dining table. She rummaged through it all, her hands trembling, panic rising in her throat like bile.

“Shit,” she repeated, when she came up empty, her breathing heavy.

She ran through the logical possibilities, her mind racing. Eddie decided to finally tackle the dining room. Eddie packed away the contents of the cardboard boxes. Eddie found her box. Eddie opened it to glean its contents. Eddie threw it away.

No. No, he wouldn’t do that. For all his own feelings regarding Jamie, she knew he wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t crack open and toss away the beating heart of Dani’s memories, like it was something foul and rotten. At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself, as she tore through the rest of the house, repeating it in her mind like a mantra — he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t — her breath coming in faster and her eyes burning as she came up empty at every turn.

It was like the house had eaten it, swallowed it whole. Hungry in its desire to consume anything that didn’t belong. That didn’t fit in.

After fifteen minutes of searching, her eyes wild and her throat thick, she stood in the middle of the living room. A pressure formed in her chest, slow but familiar as with every shallow breath she took, along came a dull burn that spread across her chest. Dani pressed a hand hard to her breastbone, willing away the pain as her heart pounded against her palm. Dani hadn’t had an asthma attack in years. She couldn't remember the last time she even had one, always so diligent and careful. And of course, it had to be over this of all things.

The front door clicked open. Dread pooled in her stomach at the sound of Eddie shuffling in. “Hey, I’m home!” he called.

Dani couldn’t find the words to respond, her breath coming in too fast, too sharp. Every struggling breath pained.

“Danielle?” Eddie called again when she didn’t respond, and then, “Danielle!” Heavy hands fell on her shoulders, and then her cheeks. “Hey, are you okay? What’s going on? Open your eyes."

Dani hadn’t realized she closed them. She flickered them open to meet Eddie’s concerned face. “Inhaler,” she finally managed to gasp, wheezing.

He nodded, spinning around to locate her bag, digging through it and pulling out the small blue device before returning to her. He watched silently with a deep frown and thinned mouth as she inhaled her two doses, letting her breathe it in for a moment.

“Are you okay now?” he asked softly.

She was still breathing heavily, her hands trembling around the blue device, but the low embers in her chest slowly ebbed away. The pressure that had formed a tight knot began to loosen. It was slow going, but the rescue inhaler did its job. Dani pressed a hand back to her chest and nodded, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. His shoulders visibly dropped, sighing and pulling her in towards his chest in a hug.

“Jesus,” he muttered, “You scared me.” Dani pressed her eyes closed, unable to compel herself to wrap her arms around him. “That hasn’t happened in a long time. What happened?”

Her chest ached. Slowly, she pulled away from him, her trembling hands against his chest. “My things, Eddie,” she murmured, swallowing hard against the tremor in her voice, and finally looked up to meet his frown, “Where are my things?”

His frown deepened. “What things?”

“My box.”

Eddie’s eyes flickered between hers, bewildered. “I’m...what box?” Exhaling sharply, Dani took another step back and rubbed hard at her eyes. “I really don’t know what box you're talking about.”

“In the dining room, Eddie. It - it was a plain box.”

He stared blankly at her, blinking. “There were a lot of boxes in there,” he said slowly, as though patiently explaining to his nephew why dinosaurs didn’t exist anymore.

Her breath started coming in fast again. “It was a wooden box with a bronze latch,” she said, desperately willing him to remember. He nudged up his glasses, his frown deepening in puzzlement and concern, visibly thinking hard. “Eddie…” she breathed, fighting back the burn in her eyes.

A light bulb seemed to switch on in his head, his eyes going wide. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers, his mouth pulling into a smile. “Okay, yeah, hold on — just stay there.”

He abruptly disappeared deeper into the house, leaving Dani alone. She breathed slowly, rubbing at her eyes again to vanish any unfallen tears before wrapping her arms around her stomach, listening to Eddie’s footsteps vibrating through the house, down and then back up some stairs. He returned with a triumphant grin, and the sigh of relief that escaped Dani at the sight of her box in Eddie’s hands seemed to make her lungs rattle. She took the box in her grasp and pressed it close to her chest, as if she could tuck it under her ribs. Dani sniffed as she looked down at it, and slowly exhaled.

“Thanks,” she murmured, like she hadn’t just spent the last half hour spiraling.

Eddie’s grin slowly fell, chagrin replacing his triumph. “I’m sorry,” he said, burying his hands in his grey pantsuit, “I didn’t know what to do with it, or where to put it. So I put it in the basement.”

Dani nodded absently. The basement. Right. Nine feet below the earth, like a coffin.

“I really am sorry,” he repeated, softer this time, a hand falling to her waist.

“I know,” she said, and finally met his eyes, giving him a weak smile. “It’s okay.”

He grinned, warm, and said, “I do have good news, though, to make up for it.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, gestured behind him, and said, “I got us some dinner too.” Dani glanced over his shoulder where on the side table next to her bag sat a box of pizza and a bottle of wine. Eddie’s hand moved from her waist to her upper arm, gently rubbing it. “Why don’t you put that away, and I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

At Dani’s silent nod, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and bounded towards the kitchen with the pizza and wine in hand, but not without another grin. She barely managed to send one back, her mouth twitching at the attempt. She returned her eyes back to the box in her arms, the weight of it suddenly heavier as the exhaustion from her episode finally hit her. Dani didn’t know what to do with it now. There was no other place in the entire house she trusted. Not even her old childhood bedroom; the risk of it falling into her mother’s hands was out of the question. The glove compartment of her car wasn’t totally ideal, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving it on the backseat floor or shoving it away deep in the trunk. It would have to do for now.

Dani returned to the kitchen where Eddie had shed his suit jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up as he set the kitchen table with plates and wine glasses. He grinned at her. “Here we go," he said, opening the pizza box with a flourish to reveal a Hawaiian pizza.

She hesitated for a moment. At the risk of disappointing him with the reminder that a simple veggie pizza was her favorite and that the very notion of pineapple on pizza was an affront to the senses, she offered him a weak grin. "Thanks." She cocked her head at the table, and asked, “What’s the occasion?”

Eddie’s grin widened. “I may have gotten a little raise.”

“What?” Dani's face relaxed into a smile. “But didn’t you just recently start?”

“Yeah, I know! But they’ve apparently been really liking what I’ve been doing, and —” he paused, seemingly for dramatic effect as his eyes glinted “ — I got an in with Councilman Alan Fields.”

Dani’s eyes widened. “Eddie, that’s amazing,” she said, grasping his arm.

“I know it’s not much for now and I still have a long way to go yet, but — “

“It’s a start,” Dani finished for him, cupping his chin. “I’m proud of you. I think this does call for some wine.”

He grinned bashfully as she dropped her hand and started towards the counter, pulling at a stubborn drawer to retrieve a corkscrew as Eddie began piling their plates with pizza. “It is a start, isn’t it. Felt like a long time coming too,” he said from behind her, as Dani huffed at the drawer, jiggling it by the handle, “And step one is dinner with Fields and his wife.”

The handle popped off at a strong tug. She blinked down at it, and then, as if now absorbing what Eddie said, she looked back at him, bewildered. “Dinner?”

“Yep, seven o’clock on Friday.”

Dani blinked at him, her stomach turning sour. “The both of us?”

“Yes,” he said, chuckling, his grin indulgent. “We have to start impressing Fields somehow. He has influence all over town, and if I get him on my side then — “ his grin turned smug “ — You may be looking at a future city councilman.”

Dani chuckled breathlessly, her cheeks aching. “That’s great,” she managed to say.

She didn’t want to ruin this moment, not when it seemed like all of Eddie’s dreams were coming true, handed to him on a silver platter. Dani could see it happening now; she knew that on Friday, she would push down all her exhaustion from a week of teaching, and herding around twelve year olds, and the pulse of anxiety under her skin. She would put on her best dress and style her hair flawlessly, but just enough to seem modest, and play the part of the perfect golden girl turned perfect fiancée. Dani would smile too much and not enough, and Eddie would hold her hand for all the world to see the ring on her finger as if to say, “Here, world. Here we are, the golden couple.” She felt a chill settle over her skin just thinking about it, and wished desperately to feel anything else, wished that Eddie had just asked her instead of —

“What happened there?” Eddie’s eyes darted towards her hand, his brow furrowing, gesturing towards the drawer handle she held in a tight fist.

“Oh, um,” she chuckled again, helplessly holding up the handle for him to see, “It broke.”

He snorted. “Make that one more thing for the repair list," he said, and let out a long sigh. A hand at the base of her spine and he gently guided Dani to the table to sit as he took care of it.

That should’ve been the end of it, the end of the conversation as wine was finally poured and the kitchen radio switched on low as they sat down to eat. She hoped for it — to be given the space to breathe in between sips of wine and let her shoulders sink against the back of her chair, letting her frustrations and the exhaustion from her day to just sink away. Just for a little bit, just long enough for her to let her mask slip until she had to once again pull on the ropes to part the stage curtains open. But Eddie insisted on clinking their glasses together, a curious glint in his eyes as he sipped from his wine.

“I was thinking,” he started, setting his glass down. A ball of lead sank in Dani’s stomach.

“Yeah?” She took another heady sip.

“With just a little more money coming in, we could finally afford to start fixing up the place. Like, actually fixing it,” he said, leaning forward on the table, “And just with everything seeming to come together, you could take the lead on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted more time for some hobbies? This is a great opportunity to start. Add a splash of color to the place.”

Dani blinked at him. There wasn’t something right, with the way he was looking at her so expectantly, so pleased with himself. “I don’t have the time for that, Eddie,” she reiterated.

“Well, obviously,” he said, grinning boyishly, “Not until after you stop working at least.”

Dani stared, her breath shallow, her nails digging into her palms in her lap. Remnants of the indignant fire from earlier, the rush of panic, swelled within her. “I’m not quitting my job, Eddie,” she said, her back ramrod straight.

He frowned. “Wasn’t that part of the plan?”

“No.”

Eddie leaned back, his expression puzzled, and said, “Oh, I thought we agreed — “

“We didn’t,” she said with more bite than she expected. More than Eddie expected. His eyes went slightly wide, and he at least had the decency to look abashed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just thought — the other day you were saying you weren’t looking forward to the parent-teacher conference. I thought it could be good for you, good for us. Especially when — ”

“Dealing with parents is one thing. Kids are another,” she said, the fire quickly leaving her. She sighed. “I love my job. I love my kids. I love how I’m able to help shape their minds and their futures. I don’t want to give that up.”

Not for anything, she didn't say out loud, Not even you.

Leaning his elbows back on the table, Eddie smiled slowly at her, and nodded. “Okay,” he said. A look crossed his face, something between hopeful and knowing. It did nothing to help the whirlpool of dread twisting Dani’s stomach, making her feel sick. “Maybe in the future. Just think about it?”

Dani could do nothing but stare at him. It was like what she said went into one ear and out the other, like it was already written in stone. The next step in fulfilling his dreams, and Dani was just along for the ride, molded and shaped to his expectations. Dani often wondered how strange it was to care for someone so much who loved merely a shadow of her.

Dani took another sip of her wine, her gaze fixed on her mostly untouched pizza, appetite gone. She should stand her ground, dig her heels in. Set the record straight. Instead, she reset her mask, pulled the rope to part the stage curtains, and tied the other end around her neck. She nodded.

His face brightened into a smile. Seemingly pleased with the outcome of his wishes coming true, he returned to his pizza. Dani followed suit, forcing down the food, feeling like she could choke on it.

“In other good news,” Eddie said around bites, his expression vaguely curious, “Did you hear who moved back into town recently?”

“I did,” she said, nodding, not meeting his eyes. “Your mom mention it?”

“Yeah. You must be happy about that.”

Dani didn’t know how to respond to that. Not with the way her skin felt jittery at even the thought of being in the same room as Jamie, and certainly not with the tension just barely underlying Eddie’s voice. Her eyes darted up, catching him staring at her with an expression that to anyone else would seem as passing curiosity, but to Dani, was careful scrutiny. A part of her couldn’t truly fault him for it, after all he had borne witness to the aftermath of it all. But the other part of Dani, the part that never knew how to stop missing Jamie, tensed her shoulders and clenched her teeth, nodding as her eyes darted away and she sipped her wine.

“I am,” she said, the words surprisingly feeling almost true. “I saw her earlier today, actually. At the school.”

He frowned. “At school?”

“Mikey’s one of my students,” she said. Eddie blinked at her, his expression mystified. “Jamie’s little brother?”

“Oh,” he said, and chuckled. “Wow. Time flies, huh? Still remember him when he was just a baby. Is he anything like how Jamie was? Causing any trouble?”

Dani tensed. “Jamie was a good kid.”

Eddie gave her a look. “Really?”

She fought back a frown, exhaustion settling deeper into her bones. “Anyway, Mikey’s a good kid,” she continued, “Really smart. Quiet. Shy.”

“Is that even possible? A shy Taylor?”

Dani shot him a glare. He backed down with a chuckle and his hands raised. “All right, I’ll take your word for it.”

It was a little easier, after that. Less like the walls of the kitchen were closing in on her, and more like she could finally breathe as Eddie moved on from conversation topics that left her feeling like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. They talked about their work day instead; how Eddie came to meet Alan Fields, one of the more prominent councilmen in town, and Dani offered anecdotes of her own, the funny things kids said, and how good they’d been. She didn’t mention the car. Not yet. She briefly entertained the idea that she could somehow sneak the car over to the mechanic without Eddie knowing, but realized she wouldn’t know how to explain away the hundreds of dollars missing from the bank, spent on repairing it.

Dinner flew by fast. Dani washed down the rest of her pizza with another glass of wine. She even managed to laugh with Eddie when she hiccuped after the last sip. He grinned fondly at her, as she gathered their dishes and brought them to the sink to clean them. With her hands sudsy, the two glasses of wine had loosened her shoulders just enough to relax and sway to the radio, set to some oldies station. It took her a moment, as she rinsed a plate while listening to a smooth voice croon, to remember her plight from earlier. The sheer fear and desperation, looking for her box of Jamie’s things. The reason why she went searching in the first place. Just as Dani felt her face fall, hands wrapped around her waist.

“Leave that,” Eddie said, pressing his temple against her own, his body enveloping her from behind.

She swallowed hard, managing to refrain from tensing in his arms. “They’re not going to clean themselves,” she said, proud at how steady she kept her voice.

Eddie began to sway them both along to the music, and said, “They can be done in the morning.” He pressed a telling kiss just below her ear.

Dani shivered, but for all the wrong reasons. She felt Eddie grin against her skin, chuckling. Distantly, Dani wondered if he could also hear her heart pounding, the blood rushing through her ears. The way her body wanted to curl away from him and up into herself. If she were to glance down at the silver tap, she’d see their distorted forms, pulled in all the wrong directions as they gently swayed.

“Eddie…” she stumbled out.

“Come on, leave it,” he insisted, pressing another kiss to her shoulder, “I know I upset you today. I want to make it up to you.”

She could say no, like she’d done before. Citing exhaustion, sleepiness, a headache. She could say she felt like she was slowly being digested within these walls, until inevitably, all that would remain would be the shadow Eddie so loved.

Would he still love her then? When all that would be left of her to hold would be a shell, a ghost of a person? Would he care? Would Jamie?

The thought was so abrupt and cutting, Dani pressed her eyes shut and bit hard at her lip, her hands stilling under the running water as a dull ache spread across her chest.

Clenching her teeth painfully, and feeling the skin of her cheeks flush in a fit of indignation, Dani swept the thought away. His arms were warm around her, safe and strong as they’d always been. He still smelt of the same sharp cologne she had gifted him last year. She could want this, she thought faintly. This could be her, if she just tucked away everything else. The perfect loving wife. The girl next door turned childhood best friend turned childhood sweetheart. She wanted this, didn’t she? All those years ago, heartbroken and hollowed out, when she finally said yes, and then never stopped.

Somehow, it didn’t burst out of her. Not when Eddie pressed another soft kiss to the crook of her neck. Not when she turned off the tap and spun in his arms to rake her wet hands through his hair, smiling weakly into a kiss.

Dani could want this. She could be this.

The arm slung across her waist felt like an anvil. Holding her down into the too soft sheets and bedding until it felt like she was sinking right into it. There was a heaviness to Dani’s body that she couldn’t shake. She hadn’t moved in over an hour. An hour and thirty seven minutes to be exact. She knew. She counted, her eyes unmoving from her bedside alarm clock as she lay on her back, slowly coming back to her body, still as stone, watching the red numbers flicker minute by minute until it read 12:03am.

The arm moved, shifting. Dani held her breath as she felt the bed gently shake from the twisting movements next to her. And then it pulled away, the arm lifting from her waist to disappear into the darkness next to her like a phantom. She exhaled slowly, and swallowed hard past the thickness in her throat.

Dani blinked. 12:04am.

Slowly, she finally turned away from the alarm clock, her neck screaming at her from holding the position for so long. She winced and slowly sat up, holding the sheets up to her chest. The air was cold against the skin of her back, sending a shiver down her spine. Dani welcomed it, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead on them, her body feeling overheated as if a fever was expelling some sickness from her.

The bed shifted again along with the sound of a soft sigh. Dani raised her head at the motion and finally turned her gaze to the sleeping form on her left where Eddie lay flat on his stomach, his head twisted away from her, his torso rising and falling so slowly she’d almost think he wasn’t breathing at all. Dani knew, if there was any more light in the room beyond the fair trails of moonlight, she would find a star map of beauty marks across his skin. Any other person, any other woman who deeply loved their fiancé would slide closer, pressing the length of their worn and satisfied body next to Eddie’s and would trace those star maps with the tip of their finger. Instead, Dani stared at him, drained and heavy.

He always slept so deeply after, like all the weight of his love and desire condensed into a single point, taking and taking from her, until he was full and sated, collapsing half on top of her. He’d lay there as his breaths would eventually even out and deepen, slowly pulling away, so sure, so confident that Dani felt the same. There were some occasions Dani could force herself to, taking it for herself in a way that always left him surprised, wanting so much to morph herself into this mask that she’d almost convince herself at the height of it. But, it was an occurrence that was rarer than being struck by lightning, and she’d always feel so empty afterwards. And then there were nights like this — grateful to the dark shadows to conceal her. Grateful that he never looked her in the eye and asked.

Dani finally pulled away from the bed, silently leaving the too warm sheets, shivering in the dark. She quickly pulled on nearby clothes — a nightgown and a thin robe — and quietly made her way out of the room, stepping over loose floorboards. She made her way downstairs, her fingers skimming the walls to guide her way in the dark, listening to the house creak and groan, settling like a weary creature. She padded her way through to the kitchen, the floor cool beneath her feet, making a beeline to where they left the bottle of wine on the counter.

Grabbing the bottle in a white-knuckled fist, pulling out the cork and taking a long swig. The house maneuvered her through the shadows, stumbling lightly in the dark, and all Dani could do was watch her own actions, divorced from her own perspective. Watch as she retrieved her keys from the side table and made her way to the garage, generously sipping at wine. When there was nothing left in the bottle, she left it on the floor near the garage entrance to open the passenger door of her car and fall heavily inside, closing it shut just a little too hard in the overbearing silence of the night.

It was cold, but comforting inside. The air felt different in the cabin. Thinner, dustier, lived in and familiar. For a moment, she rested her head against the headrest and let her eyes slip shut, enjoying the cold and the quiet. She opened her eyes and with a sigh, she reached over to open the glove compartment, carefully pulling out the wooden box to rest on the passenger seat.

Slowly lifting it open, she stared at the contents inside, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. The fear she had felt earlier today had left its residue on her, like chalk dust. It pressed hard against her chest and behind her eyes until they burned as she skimmed her hands over the faded t-shirt. Expelling a trembling exhale, Dani carefully dug through the contents until she unearthed the cassette tape and turned it over in her lap. It appeared physically undamaged, though nothing could be said to what dust and age had done to it over time. Dani didn’t even remember what songs Jamie had cultivated for her, just the distant memory of side A being songs she chose to Dani’s tastes, and side B being more to her own.

There was only one way to listen to it now. Even with Dani’s confidence of Eddie’s deep slumber and the thickness of the walls of the house, there was still a part of her anxious of the thought of Eddie waking up to find her delving through childhood memories as if shamefully flipping through a dirty magazine. Or worse, thinking she was running away in the dead of night.

The thought made her pause. It’d be so simple. To just pack a bag, and take off, speeding her way out of town and leaving everything behind to see the world like any small town youth dreamed of doing. It sounded so easy, and so astronomically unthinkable.

Shaking it off, Dani tensed her shoulders and twisted the engine on, revving it to life. It shuddered and groaned, but remained on with no tell-tale sign of smoke or questionable smells. Dani exhaled slowly, and fiddled with the tape again before finally pushing it in the player and pressed rewind for good measure. She listened to it wind up and finally click to a stop, the sound unusually loud in the silent cabin, ominous and thrilling.

She swallowed hard and licked her lips, pressing play.

The sound of layered voices in harmony with sparse melodious instruments filled the cabin, tinny and crackling through the old stereo and the age of the tape. Her mouth dropped open, her breath trapped in her chest. Gradually, Dani sank back into the seat as a voice joined in, a shiver creeping down her spine. Dani couldn’t count the years she hadn’t heard this song, it almost felt like hearing it all over again for the first time, the memory of it crashing into her like a wave.

Dani curled up on herself, twisting just enough in the seat to pull her knees to her chest and wrap her arms around her legs, a thickness growing in her throat, the pressure building behind her eyes. She bit her lip hard to fight it off, desperately willing it away — the pain borne of being stripped away down to that old exposed nerve. Prodded at and scarred. A wound opened and healed over so many times, it was a wonder Dani remained so recognizable.

But even as the first song ended and a familiar sparse guitar filled the car, the pain of her teeth pressed against her lip and her nails digging into her palm couldn’t stop the tears spilling down her cheeks. Dani trembled as she exhaled deeply, her breath wobbling, curling further into the seat and resting her head against the crackling leather.

Five more minutes, she told herself. Five more minutes, and then she’d seal it all away again. She had managed to live with everything else now for years, she could manage another couple more. Dani had grown used to it. Tucking away the memories and the tears, the lost pieces — all for something that didn’t exist anymore.

Parent teacher conferences certainly weren't the highlight of Dani's school year. She was good with kids. Not parents. Especially not parents who she grew up with, and who she remembered from when they attended this very same school together. Some of them had grown up a bit since then, but only some. Most still interacted with her as if talking to a cardboard cut out person, all plastic smiles and tacit social acceptance that they would never speak of times past.

It was rare that anyone new came to live in town at all. Not unless they used North Liberty as a sleeper suburb for the factory plant a good hour drive southeast. Most people who lived here did so all their lives. Just like their parents had. And their parents before them. And even those who tried to venture away somehow found themselves wending back. Like a labyrinth with no exits. Like a glue trap that held one fast by the ankles.

Dani was using the edge of a pen to scrape away some glue that one of her students had gotten onto their desk during the day. The dried glue came away in gouges. She could have left it for the janitor, but he had enough on his plate and she had time before the next set of parents walked into her classroom.

Honestly, this was the last time she allowed glue in class. It would join glitter on the 'banned for life' list.

There was a polite rap of knuckles on the open door behind her.

Without looking up, Dani said, "Come in!" and gave the glob of glue a few last scrapes with the pen before giving up and turning around with a sigh. "Sorry about that, I was just -"

She froze. Jamie was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching silently. She still wore her work clothes, but she had left her jacket behind, and the sleeves of her jumpsuit were rolled up so that the definition of her bare arms was stark against the canvas material.

"I - uh -" Dani used the pen to gesture weakly towards the student's desk. "There was a glue disaster."

Jamie tilted her head and said, "Acetone."

Dani blinked. "What?"

"You should use acetone," said Jamie. "Take it right off. No elbow grease required."

"Oh. Right. And I'd - I'd get that where?"

In answer, Jamie pushed herself away from the door frame and made her way through the maze of desks until she stood before her. Dani watched her approach with some alarm, not knowing what was coming. And to think she used to know Jamie so well she could tell what she was thinking just from the barest crease of her eyes.

Jamie stopped and made a small gesture with her hand. "Let me see your fingers."

Completely befuddled, Dani set down the pen and lifted both hands for inspection. Jamie cocked her head and nodded as though that confirmed everything.

"Looks like you've got the solution at home already," Jamie said, meeting her gaze with a soft smile. "Nail polish remover. I'm talking about nail polish remover."

Dani glanced down at her hands. She normally didn't bother painting her nails; it was only a matter of time until she chewed them to bits again. Yesterday evening however she had idly applied a few coats of polish to her nails while sitting with Eddie on the couch, the television screen flickering and sending shadows dancing along the walls.

Curling her fingers against her palms, Dani made a stiff gesture towards her own desk at the head of the classroom. "Of course. Thanks. Shall we -?"

Jamie went without further comment. She had slouched in the chair opposite Dani's desk while Dani lowered herself carefully into her own seat.

"Right. So," said Jamie, her leg bouncing restlessly. "Never done one of these before. What're we talking about exactly?"

Dani pulled a file towards her from across the desk. "We're here to talk about Mikey. His progress. How he's doing. Et cetera."

Jamie nodded. Her gaze roved across the classroom, wandering here and there. She lingered upon the various fixtures of the room in bored contemplation. "You reckon he's settling in all right?"

Dani shrugged. "Better than you did."

A rueful grin was Jamie's reply. "Well, that's not very hard, is it?"

Dani smiled back at her. "No." She opened the folder and quickly flipped through a few pages. "There haven't been any incidents that stand out to me so far. Regarding him fitting in, I mean. Nobody's picked on him or anything, is what I'm saying."

Jamie nodded. "Glad to hear it."

"He's a good kid," Dani said.

"Smarter than I'll ever be."

"Now, I didn't say that."

"True though," Jamie said with self-deprecating flair. “What about his grades?"

Dani plucked at the corner of a page, lifting it up so she could see the paper beneath. "Exemplary, to be honest. His class participation is a bit lacking, but otherwise he's gotten nothing but top marks so far."

"Need me to talk to him about speaking up more in class?"

Dani shook her head and let the page fall back down. "No. Not really. I think that will come in time as he grows more comfortable."

"Right." Jamie was looking directly at her now, and Dani almost wished she would go back to studying the room's contents instead. "Anything else?"

It was difficult not to fidget beneath the weight of Jamie's gaze. Dani found herself shuffling a few of the papers nervously, and forced her hands to go still. "There is one thing, actually," Dani said.

Jamie arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" she said warily.

"It's not - It's not like that," said Dani and she leaned forward in her seat, resting her weight upon her forearms. "I was actually wanting to talk to you about the possibility of Mikey attending some special math courses."

Jamie's brow furrowed. "Why? I thought you just said his grades were fine? Top marks, even."

"No, I'm -" Dani cleared her throat to collect herself somewhat before continuing. "I'm talking about advanced courses. He seems to like math. A lot, actually. And I'd like to encourage that, rather than risk him becoming bored with things he's already mastered."

If anything, Jamie seemed taken aback by this news, sitting upright. "Will that be a lot more work for him?" she asked slowly.

Dani shook her head. "The class is after school. Held in the library for an extra hour. But I won't be giving him homework for regular math, so it should all come out in the wash."

"Huh." Jamie blinked and sat back further in her seat. "All right, then. I'll have a chat with him tonight. See what he thinks."

"Great," Dani said, and her own smile felt plasticky this time.

"If he doesn't want to do it, I won't force him," said Jamie.

"That's okay. He doesn't have to, if he doesn't want to."

"All right."

Silence settled over them. Dani was staring, fingers tracing the sharp edge of the folder, while Jamie waited.

"That it?" Jamie asked after the seconds had ticked by with neither of them speaking.

Startled by the abruptness of her voice, Dani closed the folder. "Yeah. Yeah, that's - that's it!"

Jamie gave her an odd look, clearly waiting for her to say something, but Dani's mouth was dry, and she had another set of parents coming in fifteen minutes, and she hadn't expected this to go so fast, and -

"Guess I'll be off, then." Jamie stood and jammed her hands into the pockets of her jumpsuit, while Dani pushed back her own chair to rise to her feet as well.

"Of course. Have a -" Dani gestured awkwardly towards the exit. "Have a good rest of your day."

“See you around.”

Jamie was at the door before Dani finally worked up the courage to blurt out, “Do you -? Do you want to grab a coffee sometime? With me?”

Jamie paused and turned in the doorway. "You Yanks and your coffee." Jamie shook her head but she was smiling. "Sure, but I work everyday except Sunday."

"That's fine,” Dani said, hand on the desk as if to ground herself. “We can meet Sunday morning?"

"Don't you have church?"

"They'll be fine without me for one service. Besides, I -” Dani said, “- I want to catch up.”

Jamie’s smile flickered briefly, and when it returned she appeared reserved, as though she had taken a step further away. In the end all she said was, “Sounds like a plan. Ten?”

Dani nodded. “Ten’s great.”

With one final backward glance, Jamie left. It was as though all the air rushed back into the room in her absence. As though Dani could finally breathe properly again. She dropped back down into her seat, which creaked beneath her weight, feeling dazed, a faint buzzing beneath her skin.

Footsteps down the hall, and Dani’s head jerked. “Oh! You’re early!” she said, rising to her feet and extending her hand to the latest set of parents. All plastic smiles again and false pleasantries. “Horace. Clara. How nice to see you. Please, sit.”

Dani arrived at the cafe late. She had parked her car further along down a side lane in town while running a quick errand at the local pharmacy. The car had been acting up on the drive in and she didn't want to risk it breaking down again along the way. So, she turned over her wrist to check her watch, and walked as briskly as she could without outright jogging. By the time she arrived at the cafe, she was slightly out of breath and raking her fingers through her hair to fix how windswept she felt.

She paused at the entrance to drop a hand into her bag just to check that she still had her emergency inhaler. When she had assured herself that it was there, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The cafe was cooler than the air outside. As the door slowly creaked shut behind her, Dani turned her head, perusing the empty tables. Most people at this time of day would be at their local church, and it had felt odd even running chores with so few others on the street. Yet sure enough, Jamie was seated in the far corner at a table with a little handwritten reserved placard atop it. Shrugging at the strap of her handbag, Dani steadied her breathing and walked over.

"Sorry," said Dani. "Car troubles. Again."

Jamie remained in her seat as Dani sat across from her. "No problem," she said. "Did you get the seal fixed?"

Dani nodded and dropped her bag onto one of the spare seats. "Yeah. I did. It's something new now."

"Hmm," said Jamie, looking thoughtful. Then, she shrugged and handed over one of the menus on the table.

"Recommend anything here, to be honest. Can't go wrong with Owen's food. Trust me."

Dani took the menu, hesitating when she heard a voice call out from the kitchens in a pleasant but surprising English accent, "I heard that!"

Jamie lifted her voice, but kept her gaze fixed on her own menu. "No, you didn't! And stop eavesdropping!"

A man stuck his head through a window cut in the wall between the kitchen and the main room. His moustache twitched in a tell-tale smile, and his dark eyes gleamed with a mischievous light behind thick spectacles. "You know I never pass up the opportunity to bask in praise."

"I'm fresh out of praises today," said Jamie, aiming a pointed glower at him over the top of her menu.

"Oh, forgive me," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "Interrupting your date, am I?"

"Hardly," Jamie replied dryly.

Dani's shoulders stiffened. She jerked the menu up slightly higher, hoping to hide the widening of her eyes.

Jamie noticed. Of course, Jamie noticed. “He’s joking,” Jamie said, then lifted her voice so he could hear. “And being a pillock about it, too!”

Behind her, Dani could hear a chuckle, and then the sound of fading footsteps as he — Owen, presumably — went back to puttering around in the kitchen.

Dani cleared her throat. "I know that." When Jamie gave her a questioning glance, Dani continued, "That he was joking. I know."

It was a godsend that there were no other patrons, otherwise Dani might have panicked at the mere insinuation that she was — but, there was no one to listen in. Just a joke. Nothing she needed to worry about.

Those footsteps had returned, and Owen stood beside their table, tucking a pen behind his ear. His striped apron was immaculate, and his sleeves rolled up just below the elbow, but there was a streak of flour at his jawline from where his white-smudged fingertips had brushed. "Tell me," he said, "What can I get you ladies this fine morning?"

Jamie handed over the menu to him. "A pot of English breakfast and poached eggs on toast for me, thanks."

“A classic,” he murmured with an appreciative nod, then turned his attention to Dani, his expression expectant.

"The omelette and a coffee, please," Dani said.

Owen took her menu as well. "What kind of coffee?"

"Uh -" Dani said eloquently. "The kind with beans in it?"

"Drip coffee?"

"Yes?" she said with a wince at her own ignorance.

"Thank god," Owen sounded relieved. "My barista is at church and I have no idea how to operate that thing." He gestured with the menus towards a gleaming brushed chrome coffee machine that came with its own conical grinder filled with fresh beans. Then he lifted the menus to the side of his mouth and whispered as though the machine might be listening to them, "I think it's sentient. And I know it hates me."

Dani bit at her lower lip to keep a snort of laughter at bay. Owen gave her a parting wink, then strode off towards the kitchens to put together their order. When she turned in her seat, it was to find Jamie watching her with a fond smile that made Dani’s breath catch in her throat. Owen returning with their drinks gave Dani the opportunity to regroup. She straightened in her seat and thanked him with a smile.

"So." Dani reached for the milk and sugar that came with both their drinks. "What brought you back?"

"Right. Straight to it, then."

"I'm - I didn't -"

"No, no," Jamie shook her head. She poured a bit of tea into her cup, only to set the pot back down when the colour wasn't dark enough for her liking. "You know me. Direct is how I prefer it."

Dani held the mug of coffee between her hands despite the burn through a layer of porcelain. "It's just - ten years is a long time to suddenly make a reappearance."

"Maybe I like the attention," Jamie drawled.

Dani gave her a look.

Making a face, Jamie poured herself a cup of tea. "Or maybe not."

She let the silence stretch between them as Jamie poured a splash of milk into her cup. Jamie sipped at her tea and for a long moment said nothing. Then she shrugged, "Dunno. Seemed like a good idea. A fresh start." She gave a rueful huff of laughter. "Must've been what Nan felt like when she first brought me here. A nothing place in the middle of nowhere. Clean slate. All that bullshit."

Dani's thumb traced the handle of the cup. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, building up the courage to admit, "It's good to see you again."

"Could've fooled me," said Jamie, but she was smirking.

Dani winced. "Sorry."

"S'alright. I don't blame you." Jamie set down her cup to let the tea cool. "It's good to see you, too."

Something in Dani's chest unspooled upon hearing that. Like finally breathing in a lungful of air after years of a hand around her throat. She could feel her shoulders relax, the tension running out like a thread pulled from the ragged edge of a sweater.

"And how're you?" Jamie asked. "Got that teaching job, like you always wanted. Well done."

Dani's face softened into a smile. "Thanks."

"How long have you been teaching at the school?"

"About three years now."

"Don't know how you have the patience." Jamie leaned her elbows on the table. "Some days I feel mad just having to deal with one. Meanwhile, you've got a whole classroom of the little buggers."

Dani laughed. "You grow to love them. Even the worst ones."

Jamie scoffed. "Pull the other one."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah?" said Jamie, her eyes glinting as she grinned. "Which was the worst you've ever had?"

"Oh, my god," Dani lowered her voice and began the tale of the Willoughby boy in her second year of teaching. By the time she was done, Jamie's expression was a mixture of horrified and amused.

"I would've killed him," Jamie said. "And the world would’ve better off without a possessed devil child."

"And risk the wrath of old lady Willoughby? No, thank you." Dani lifted her mug of coffee for a sip. "But he honestly wasn't that bad all the time. Just...most of the time."

"Have you ever seen the kid step inside a church?" Jamie asked.

Dani shook her head. "Nope."

Jamie made a gesture with her hand as though that proved her point.

“Oh, like you were the best behaved child on the planet.”

“Fuck no. Nan was a saint in retrospect.” Then Jamie added, “An absolute bitch, too. But still.”

Owen reappeared before Dani could reply, and he placed two dishes down on the table in front of them. Dani thanked him, while Jamie murmured a belated "Cheers, mate," before picking up her cutlery.

"If you need anything else," he said, "I'll be the one in the back, singing along to the radio before the rest of my staff can return and tell me how off-key I sound. Bon appetit."

Shortly after he left, Dani could indeed hear a radio being turned up in the other room. Jamie shook her head but did nothing to hide her smile.

"I can see why this place is so popular," Dani said, utensils in hand so she could dig into her own meal. "New faces don't tend to do that well here."

"Food's not shite either," Jamie said.

Mouth full, Dani made an affirmative noise and nodded her agreement.

"So, did you ever make it out of state like you always wanted?" Jamie asked, gesturing with her knife while she spoke. "See the world? Backpack across Europe?"

Dani's chewing slowed. After swallowing, she shook her head. "Not really, no. I ended up attending the University of Iowa, and — well, I guess things just went from there. Came back home. Got a job."

"All the way to Iowa City? The bustling metropolis itself."

"I'd still like to," said Dani. "Travel, I mean. I'm not sure about the backpacking part anymore. Maybe a rental car instead."

"Fancy," Jamie said. "Not missing out on much, really. At least, not the part of Europe that's the UK."

"I thought you never made it to the continent?"

"Yeah, that's right." Jamie paused to drink some more tea. "Still know it's better than England, though."

"Your patriotism is as strong as ever, I see," Dani said with a grin.

"Must be all the time I've spent here." Jamie winked at her and Dani laughed softly. "Went back for a few years when I turned eighteen," Jamie continued. "Saw my older brother and my dad."

Hearing that, Dani's knife and fork went still against the plate. Her eyes darted up, but Jamie was focused on cutting up her own food. "And how'd that go?" Dani asked carefully.

"Badly," said Jamie, and there wasn't the hint of a smile now. "Dad was disinterested. Denny and I almost killed each other. I ran off to live in East London. Had a bit of a brush up with Her Majesty's finest swineherd. Got my act together. Got Mikey back. Came here."

Jamie's hands were tight around her cutlery, and her voice was clipped. Dani watched her, knowing there was more to that story than Jamie would tell. Not today, at least.

"Sounds like fun," said Dani, spearing a bit of omelette on her fork and lifting it to her mouth for a bite.

"About as fun as your story, I reckon," Jamie said. "Did Ed go to the same university, too?"

It felt like some sort of trap. A trick question. As though Jamie already knew the answer and was asking only to make a point. Dani nodded. “Yeah. He did.”

"How many times did he ask you to marry him before you finally caved?"

Dani shot her an exasperated look. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?"

Dani took a sip of coffee to avoid answering for as long as possible. After a lengthy pause she muttered around the lip of the cup, "Five times."

"That all? Huh."

“Most of them don’t count,” Dani insisted. “We were kids.”

“Oh, I remember,” said Jamie, and her tone gentled. “And things are good?”

“Yeah. Great,” said Dani, setting down her coffee so she could pick at her food rather than meet Jamie’s piercing gaze. “Perfect. Things are perfect.”

Jamie’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. Jamie, who hated being lied to. Jamie, who was as keen-nosed for the truth as a sleuthhound with the scent of blood. Dani felt a thrill of anticipation race up her spine, and she readied herself for whatever pointed question Jamie would lob in her direction with surgical precision.

In the end all Jamie said was, “Judy must’ve been over the moon. She finally gets that daughter she always wanted.”

Dani didn't know what to say to that. She picked at her food, then hummed and said, "Yeah. Though we basically were that for years, until -"

Across the table, Jamie went stock still. When Dani glanced up at her, Jamie's expression was wary, as if waiting for an incoming blow.

Dani set down her cutlery against the edge of her plate with a clink of metal against earthenware. "Do you know how I found out that you'd gone?" she asked quietly, and didn't wait for an answer. "I came over to your house, and your neighbor told me."

She didn't tell Jamie about how she had knocked at the door, about how she had sat around for nearly an hour, thinking that Jamie would be back any moment, about how the neighbor had found her there. ‘Didn't you hear? Oh, geeze. I don't know how to break it to you kid, but -’

Now, Jamie sat across from her, refusing to meet her eye, pretending to be engrossed with pouring out the last dregs of loose leaf tea from the pot. When it became clear that Dani wasn't going to throw her a bone — not this time, not about this — Jamie said stiffly, "Wasn't like I was given much time to say my goodbyes. Child protection services can move pretty quick, when they want to. Barely had time to pack my bags, truth be told."

Dani opened her mouth to speak, but a bell chimed behind them, and her head turned. Someone had entered the cafe and was walking into the kitchen with smiles and apologies to Owen for being late. More people followed, trickling in from the street, hoping for a fortifying brunch after the Sunday service. It wouldn't be long until the tables filled up. Someone recognised Dani and waved at her. She prayed her smile in return didn't resemble a grimace.

"Excuse me," Jamie murmured, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet.

Dani blinked and turned back to face her. "Oh. Where -?"

"Won't be a moment. Just going to the loo."

She half expected Jamie to not return. Maybe she would make a run for it. Scramble out a rear window and sprint all the way home. Dani pushed her plate further away, appetite gone.

True to her word however, Jamie returned not a few minutes later, but she did not sit back down. "C'mon," she said. "Let's get some fresh air."

Dani stood. She slung her bag over one shoulder and opened it to pull out her wallet.

Jamie waved her away. "No need for that."

"But we need to pay," Dani said, pointing to the till, where a young man was taking orders.

"Already handled," said Jamie. She jerked her head towards the exit, where a line was beginning to form.

Hesitant, Dani stuffed her wallet back into her handbag. As they left, a few others took notice and tried to strike up a conversation. There were remarks about how they noticed her missing at church, and they’d wondered if she had been feeling ill. Dani shook her head and smiled and inched her way out of the cafe without being roped into another cup of coffee. Though it was a narrow escape.

When they had successfully managed to extricate themselves and were wandering down the street, Dani murmured, "Thank you for breakfast."

"No problem," said Jamie. "Where are you parked?"

Dani gestured further up the street. "Pretty far, actually. About ten minutes that way."

"I'll walk you back."

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, but I want to." Jamie shot her a roguish grin. "Not much else to do on my Sundays except hang out with the kid. And you know how siblings are. We get on each others' nerves at the drop of a hat."

"You could've brought him along," Dani said. "He didn't have to stay at home alone."

Jamie shrugged. "He likes it. Means he gets to watch reruns while I'm gone."

"Quite the Wonder Woman fan, I saw."

"Christ," said Jamie, rolling her eyes. "And — what's the one called? Star Hike? Star Something?"

"Star Trek?"

"Whatever. He won't shut up about it. At least Lynda Carter is easy on the eyes."

Dani had to tuck her thumbs into her fists and refrain from agreeing. She steered the topic towards safer waters, and Jamie seemed all too happy to talk about Mikey. They walked, taking their time. And something seethed in Dani's stomach the more they avoided talking about anything of substance. As if they could just pretend everything was fine. It galled, and every word seemed to turn a key like loading a spring, coiling it taut.

By the time they arrived at her car — parked in a quiet side alley beside the pharmacy, tucked away from the main street — Dani already gripped her keys in her fist. She offered Jamie a tight smile, "I'll see you later, then."

And the worst part was, Jamie was unreadable again. Just as she had been the whole walk. She leaned her shoulder against the brick cladding of the pharmacy's outer wall and nodded. "'Course," she said, but remained standing there, watching.

For a moment Dani met her gaze, silently daring her to say something — anything, so long as it was actually something — before she unlocked her car and lowered herself into the driver's seat. When she turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtered and refused to catch.

"Not now," Dani muttered to herself. Her eyes darted to the window, to where Jamie stood witness, and she turned the key again. "Shit."

Jamie's voice was slightly muffled through a layer of glass. "Let me have another look."

Yanking open the door and stepping out, Dani said, "No. I'll call a tow this time. The pharmacy has a phone I can -"

Except Jamie was already leaning across her, reaching into the car to pop the hood. "It's fine. Really."

Dani shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Jamie -"

"I can fix it."

"You can't."

"You haven't seen me with a spanner, yet," Jamie said, and she grinned over her shoulder as her fingers sought the latch to lift the hood of the car.

"No, I'm saying — you can't."

Something in her tone made Jamie pause. Dani lowered her hand, only to clench it into a fist, pushing down hard on the knuckle of her thumb. She swallowed, trying to tamp down the nerves that made her feel like she was half-crawling out of her own skin. All that circling around one another — veiled pleasantries and wary exchange of glances — like being inexorably drawn down by the gravity of the very thing neither of them had the courage to voice.

“I don’t -” Dani started to say, and had to try again when her voice slipped. “I don’t want you to fix my car.”

Jamie cocked an eyebrow, straightening slowly from where she had been leaning over. "Then what do you want?"

"I want you -" said Dani shakily, "- to talk to me. Actually talk to me."

"Thought I was doing a pretty good job of it until now." Jamie was still grinning, as if with a well-timed joke she might make this whole conversation never happen.

Shaking her head, Dani breathed, "Stop. Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like everything's fine. Like this -” Dani gestured between the two of them with sharp little movements “- is fine. Because it's not. And I know you know it."

Jamie’s hand was balanced on the top of the car door, holding it open. She stepped back and shut it, not loudly but firmly. “What’s there to say?”

“You come back after all this time, and you don’t even acknowledge that - that -” Dani grasped for the right words, but the feeling danced just out of reach of articulation, like catching the edge of a bowl on a high shelf with the very tips of her fingers. “Ruth died.”

Jamie’s jaw went tight. “Yeah, I remember. Found her myself, even, if you recall.”

"And then suddenly you were just -" Dani lifted her hand only to let it drop back to her side "- gone! No goodbye! No note! And I - I had to go on like everything was okay, when it wasn't. Nothing was okay. I wasn't okay.”

“And I was?”

“No!” Dani said. “That’s not -!”

“You think all this happened because I wanted it?” Jamie asked, making an all-encompassing gesture towards the empty alley.

“That’s not what I said! I just -!” Dani took a deep breath, trying to steady herself when it felt like the world was rocking on its axis around her. “I missed you. Everyday. I still do."

Jamie stared at her as though the rug had been pulled right out from under her boots. "I'm here now," she said.

"Yeah, but you weren't. Not then. Not when I -!" Dani cut herself off from whatever idiotic thing she'd been about to let slip.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? I didn’t ‘leave.’ I was taken." Jamie took a step forward, her hands balled into fists at her thighs. "Jesus, Dani, I was sixteen! Sixteen and trying to raise a kid by myself. Can you imagine what kind of disaster I would've -!" But Jamie just turned her head aside, lifting her hand to cover her mouth and shake her head.

"You didn't think to talk to anyone?" Dani asked. "Me? Judy? Or -?"

"Judy? Judy was the one who called social services! And you know what? I'm fucking relieved she did. At the time I was so mad, but now, I -" Jamie swallowed past a burr in her voice. "I couldn't have stayed here even if I wanted to."

For a moment Dani waited, waited for Jamie to say something else, to continue. When she didn't, Dani breathed an incredulous huff of laughter. "What? They -? They un-invent telephones where you went? Never heard of the postal service before?"

Jamie was shaking her head and smiling, an angry rictus grin, as she looked down at her feet and kicked at a loose stone. "Not that simple, is it?"

"Isn't it? God knows I tried to send letters to you. All the time. Even years later."

Jamie still wouldn't look up at her. The line of her mouth was hard. "I couldn't."

"Couldn't?" Dani pressed, and it was her turn to step forward, ducking her head to try and get a good look at Jamie's face. "Or didn't want to?"

"No, I - I wanted -"

"Well, clearly not."

"Dani -"

"Because the Jamie I knew wouldn't have gone down without a fight! The Jamie I knew was -!"

"Jesus fucking Christ! I didn't send you a letter because I couldn't stand it!" Jamie yelled. "Because if it was going to end, then I wanted it over quickly! Put me out of my misery! Send you a letter? Then what?"

Dani's mouth dropped open but no sound came out. Jamie was looking at her now, and her eyes were over-bright, her cheeks flushed, her lower lip trembling. They stood close enough that when Jamie exhaled shakily, Dani could feel the stir of the air.

Jamie breathed in sharply before she said, "You would've stopped replying. Eventually. You would've slipped away, and I — I couldn't do that. Not this time. Not with you."

The silence stretched between them, terrible and vast. Dani made an abortive movement — to touch her, to do something — but Jamie flinched as if expecting to be slapped. Dani blinked, freezing in place with her hand outstretched, while Jamie ducked her head and wiped briskly at her cheeks.

"I wouldn't have," Dani said finally, feeling raw, feeling flensed. "I'm still here. I've always been here."

"Yeah. Yeah, y'are." Jamie nodded. She cleared her throat gruffly and straightened.

Slowly, falteringly, feeling brave beyond compare, Dani lowered her hand, only to reach down and touch Jamie’s balled up fist. Jamie started at the contact, her eyes darting down as Dani brushed her thumb against the back of her knuckles until Jamie loosened her hand enough to clasp their fingers together. Dani was enchanted by the way Jamie held her mouth, by the brief flutter of her eyelashes and her unsteady inhalation at that simple touch.

"So, you missed me?" Jamie gave her a watery grin.

"Of course, I did,” Dani murmured. “You were my best friend."

Jamie nodded, swallowed thickly, but said nothing.

Dani squeezed Jamie’s hand gently, feeling the ghost of that pressure returned before she let go. “Can we -? Can we start over?” Dani asked, and she smiled weakly. “Oh, wow! I'm so glad to see you again! Do you want to catch up sometime?"

Jamie laughed and shoved her hands into her back pockets, rocking in place on her heels. "I'd like that." When she met Dani’s gaze this time, her teeth caught on the side of her lip, a corner of her mouth curling in a smile. “You want to come over for afternoon tea next week?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

Jamie jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Probably should have a look under your bonnet, though.”

“God,” Dani muttered, darting past her to pull open the car and pop the hood. “I almost forgot about that. I’m sorry - I - ”

Jamie stilled her movements with a warm hand on Dani’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Really. Let me fix it.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Dani nodded. “Okay.”

It was by now second nature for Dani to sweep her eyes across her childhood home the moment she stepped foot in it. By all accounts, it was a picturesque two story house with not a picture frame or vase out of place. The floors swept and vacuumed, the plastic plants eased into corners, dusted and shined. But there were things only Dani had a keen eye for. The thin layer of ash collected on windowsills and corners of kitchen countertops. Empty glasses hidden in bathrooms or the back porch. Empty bottles under the sink that needed to be collected and thrown out. Cigarette butts hidden under sofas and chairs — those scared her the most.

It was simply her good daughterly duty, to check in at least once a week, fearing the day that there wouldn’t be a childhood home to come back to. She was well versed in the nature of it, and not just the fear and the duty, but the side stepping and placating that came along with it.

“I just don’t see what the issue is,” her mother said, sitting behind Dani at the small round kitchen table, smoking as Dani cleaned the empty glasses piled in the sink. “You’ve always loved reading.”

Dani sighed. They’ve been circling this conversation since morning before church. “I told you, I don’t have the time for a book club.”

“There’s so many other young women your age there, and they don’t have any issues with time,” her mother said, in between puffs. Dani could practically feel her mother’s hard stare on her back. “Weren’t you friends with some of them? Susan? Jackie?”

Dani clenched her teeth, scrubbing particularly hard at a wine glass. “I’m sorry mom, but no,” she said.

Karen exhaled sharply, expelling a stream of smoke. “I just don’t understand you, Danielle,” she said, her voice cutting. Dani’s shoulders tensed. “We always do anything you want in your free time, but any time I want us to do something together, you can’t even bother. Every time. Every time it’s like this with you.”

There it was. You simply just didn’t say no to Karen Clayton. Not without consequence. Dani learned that a long time ago, browbeaten into something smaller and softer for Karen to mold and subdue when her eyes weren’t so glassy and her words weren’t so unsteady. But the past week had lit a flame under Dani’s feet, a sort of weightlessness she hadn’t felt in so long that she didn’t even remember what it had felt like before.

Still, it didn’t stop Dani from hunching her shoulders in an attempt to curl into herself as Karen audibly stood from her chair, the legs screeching against the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, as if that would soften the blow, rinsing off the last glass and shutting off the pipe.

Karen scoffed as she opened the fridge to pull out a carton of orange juice and a bottle of vodka. When she spoke, the cigarette bobbed between her lips. “No, no. Far be it from me to want to spend more time with my daughter, do something fun together. And the ladies would’ve loved to have you there. They’ll be so disappointed.”

Dani would have laughed if the idea of it didn’t make her feel taut at the seams. There was no fun to be gained sitting in a room with women who either relentlessly taunted her in their youth or whispered behind their books of how Dani was spotted just the other day having dinner with councilman Fields and her perfect fiancé, the promising politician to-be. Nothing to be gained in being her mother’s showdog, paraded around like a prized possession, her mother’s pride and joy. Dani would’ve laughed, if the thought didn’t make her feel hollow.

Instead, Dani frowned, drying her hands on a dish towel as she watched her mother make herself a drink, her mouth pulled tight in a scowl as she poured and mixed, expertly maneuvering the lit cigarette between two fingers. It was her third drink of the day, having already downed two mimosas during lunch. Dani wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling it curdle uncomfortably as she watched.

As her mother took a long sip, Dani murmured, “Work has just been keeping me busy, is all.”

Karen gave her a look. “Honey, you’re a teacher, what could possibly — “ she cut herself off when Dani’s stare hardened. Karen exhaled sharply, turning away to take another sip and stabbing out her smoke in an ashtray Dani had just cleaned. “Never mind.”

“No,” Dani said, pulling her arms tighter around her. “What were you going to say?”

“I said never mind, Danielle,” her mother repeated, her eyes hardened. She sighed and rubbed her temple. “God, I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

Karen stumbled away, retrieving her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the table before wandering out of the kitchen towards the living room. Dani watched her leave, her breathing shallow and her hands clenched into fists.

It took a minute longer than usual, to let it ease out of her. To let her shoulders drop from her ears and her fists to relax open. Maybe it was her mother switching on the tv to a loud sitcom. Or maybe it was the orange juice and vodka, still laid out on the counter along with other empty bottles that needed to be thrown out. For one brief intense second, Dani considered combing through the entire house for every single bottle and carton of cigarettes, to empty them down the drain and toss them all in the garbage.

She took it out on the dishes instead, drying them with a cloth, her movements jerky and rushed. If she wasn’t so focused on it, wasn’t frowning so hard down at her reflection in the glass as she focused on trying to ease the tension in her coiled muscles, maybe then she’d have noticed the knock on the front door a second sooner. Maybe then, she would have remembered —

“Afternoon, Mrs. Clayton. Long time no see.” Jamie’s distinct voice, cheerful and pleasant as ever, came from the front door.

Remembered that Dani, temporarily car-less, had made plans for Jamie to come pick her up at the old house.

Dani froze at the sound, her eyes wide at the silent interval, and then: “You have some nerve coming back here and knocking on my door,” Karen said, derision dripping from her voice.

“Shit,” Dani muttered, and rushed to where her mother stood sentry in the doorway. Just over her shoulder stood Jamie on the porch, hands in her pockets and wearing a grin. A familiar grin, one that Dani knew Jamie had worn in the presence of her mother since they were young, placid and charming but which Dani knew hid its own share of derision. When their eyes met over her mother’s shoulders, Jamie’s grin softened.

“Hope I’m not too late,” Jamie said.

“You’re early actually,” Dani said, ignoring Karen’s piercing stare as she stepped aside to make room for Dani by the doorway. She had been hoping for her mother to be distracted by her television and her drinks to leave at the same moment that Jamie was supposed to pull up towards the house, but now —

“Oh? Early for what?” Her mother asked pointedly.

Dani swallowed hard, pulling her mouth into a tense smile as she finally caught her mother’s gaze. “Oh, um. Jamie and I were going to go have tea. To catch up."

Karen hummed, folding her arms across her chest, sparing Jamie another sharp look, and said, “I didn’t realize you two were friends again.”

Any answer Dani could have given became lodged in the back of her throat. Her eyes flickered towards Jamie to find her already staring back, her expression blank but for the soft curl at one corner of her mouth. That was the rub, wasn’t it. Neither of them had identified what it was they were trying to do here. A tenuous strand of hope was threaded between them that afternoon a week ago, but Dani, feeling like a newborn colt on wobbly legs, wasn’t even sure where she stood in the realm of Jamie letting her back into her life. Wasn’t sure how far she herself was willing to go.

“Well, you have to start somewhere, yeah? A cup of tea’s a good enough place as any,” Jamie said, shrugging, her grin turning mischievous as she looked at Dani, “No matter how rancid.”

Dani would have chuckled at the teasing words if it weren’t for the eager thrill going down her spine at Jamie all but confirming the start of something.

Her mother smiled, the curl of her lips more of a sneer than anything. “I see,” was all she said, arching an eyebrow at Dani.

Dread pooled to her stomach, her muscles tensing as Karen bore her eyes into Dani, displeasure leeching off of her, her lips thin.

Dani cleared her throat, pulling her mouth into a smile until her cheeks ached. “Well, I um. I just have to go get changed, and then we’ll get out of your hair,” she said, mindlessly reaching her hand towards Jamie, whose face flickered with bemusement.

Karen's face fell. Far too obediently for her own sake, Jamie took hold of her hand, her bemusement morphing into something more mischievous. A shock almost went up from Dani’s palm up to her shoulder at the touch, Jamie’s hand calloused but warm and dry in her own. Letting herself be pulled in the house, Jamie was already toeing off her boots as she offered Karen a wink. Dani squeezed her hand with a reprimanding look when her mother’s eyes hardened. Jamie didn’t even have the decency to look contrite.

“We’ll just be a few minutes,” Dani said, pulling Jamie insistently towards the staircase, offering her mother one last weak smile, “Promise.”

Her mother huffed and shut the door, disappearing back into the living room with one last scowl. When she was finally out of sight, Dani immediately dropped Jamie’s hand and led her up the stairs with a murmured, “This way.”

Jamie whistled low. “Your mum's still as charming as ever, I see,” Jamie murmured just behind her.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Dani breathed out an awkward chuckle. “She’s, um. She’s been in a bit of a mood today.”

She expected a sharp retort, the kind of snark only her mother could pull out of Jamie, but instead there was silence behind her. Dani glanced over her shoulder with a frown to see Jamie staring thoughtfully at the framed photos lining the staircase walls as they climbed. Portraits of Dani throughout the years, family photos of just Dani and her mom, and photos with Eddie intermittently spread across the board. It wasn’t anything new or special, photos Dani’s seen a million times that they could’ve faded into the walls, and she wouldn’t have noticed. But as she followed Jamie’s eyeline towards Dani’s high school graduation portrait, Jamie’s eyes lingering intently on it as they passed, a dull ache spread across Dani’s chest and she spun back around, swallowing hard.

When they reached her bedroom, Dani shut the door closed with a click, the sound uncomfortably loud in the sudden quiet. Six years. Six years of after school hangouts, of homework, of sleepovers, and never once had Jamie appeared so out of place as she did now, standing in the middle of the pale pink of Dani’s childhood bedroom, hands tucked deep in the pockets of her jeans, her expression carefully blank as she took in the scene.

“Hasn’t changed much,” Jamie said.

“Wasn’t really any need to,” Dani murmured, still trying to shake off the panic of having Jamie in her room for the first time in a decade, trying desperately not to recall the memories of the last time they had been in this room together.

As if her mind had drifted towards the same place, Jamie’s gaze wandered over to the purple comforters of Dani’s bed, visibly swallowed hard, and promptly meandered away towards Dani’s bookshelf. Feeling as if she’d both seen too much, and not enough at all, Dani cleared her throat and started towards her closet where she still kept some change of clothes, blindly pulling some out.

With clothes in hand, she froze on the spot and murmured, “Um.”

At the sound, Jamie looked back at her and then down at the clothes she clutched in a fist. She blinked for a moment and then grinned. “Need me to turn around?” She asked, twirling a finger in a circle as a curious pale flush spread across her cheeks.

Dani felt her stomach swoop and drop, her cheeks warming. She chuckled breathlessly. “No, It’s — It’s okay. I’ll just — I’ll be a minute,” she said, and didn’t even wait for Jamie to reply as she darted out the room to change in the bathroom.

In the time it took to change into jeans and a blouse, she managed to ease the tremble in her hands. To settle the panic of Jamie alone in her room, and of the embarrassment of just rushing out like that. Maybe it was a fool’s hope, to believe that things could’ve been easier after they had finally aired the frustrations of their reality. That things could’ve just inexplicably gone back to the way they were, and it would’ve suddenly been easier to look and talk to Jamie without feeling as unmoored as she did.

When she returned to the room, she found that Jamie had wandered now over to her vanity, her arms loosely folded as she looked at the photos taped to the edges of Dani’s mirror. Photos that Dani knew contained so many memories that didn’t involve Jamie, memories that Jamie wasn’t around to take part of. Dani took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hanging her dress on a rack behind her closet door.

It was simply the new normal, Dani reminded herself. The dawn of their fresh start, something she’d have to keep reminding herself until they finally found their footing, or until they eased their way into something different and new. The thought left her feeling unexpectedly calmer.

Striding towards the vanity, she caught Jamie’s eyes through the mirror and gave her a small grin.

“Senior prom looked fun,” Jamie said, taking one last scan of the photos before retreating to the other side of the room just as Dani stepped next to her.

Ducking her eyes, Dani smiled weakly down at the contents of her dresser. “You didn’t miss much, to be honest,” she said, and began to exchange her modest earring studs to a pair of gold hoops. “Someone spiked the punch and almost everyone got super drunk.”

“You kidding? That’s loads of blackmail material right there for the taking,” Jamie said. “At least tell me you took advantage of that?”

Dani gave her a look through the mirror. Jamie rolled her eyes and shook her head, her grin fond. “A goddamn waste,” she murmured, and then unexpectedly sobered. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

Dani froze, her eyes locked on Jamie, feeling her shoulders tense. “For what?”

“For riling your mum up like that. Habit, I guess,” Jamie said, shrugging with a rueful smile, before softly adding, “And also, everything else.”

There was something to be said with the way Dani’s heart immediately softened, her throat going thick at Jamie’s earnestness. The mirror needed a polish, and Jamie’s reflection was slightly smudged, so that she seemed to be standing further away in the background, as though a camera lens had been dialed out of focus. The new normal, Dani reminded herself. “I know,” she murmured, smiling faintly. “Me too.”

Jamie nodded, exhaling shakily and ducked her head to delve deeper in the room. Dani watched her silently through the mirror, brushing out her hair as Jamie wandered around as if she were in a museum, hands tucked away and her expression back to being painfully blank. When she finally reached Dani’s bedside table, she jerked to a stop, staring down at the one thing Dani had never found the heart to remove. The one photo left of Jamie out in the open, the only one framed and resting at her bedside, proving that she was here, that she had once existed in the orbit of Dani’s gravity.

It was one of Dani’s favorites. Taken when they were around fifteen, sometime in the evening after a long spring day, Jamie holding Dani up in a piggyback ride with Dani’s arms wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders, the pair smiling so big and bright. Dani didn’t even remember what they were doing that day, only that feeling of endless carefree days, when she felt most like herself.

She watched as Jamie picked up the frame, her face softening until she wore a faint but fond grin. Do you miss it too? Dani wanted to ask. Did you miss me? Instead, she looked away as Jamie’s throat bobbed, feeling again as if she’d seen too much.

She finished by tying her hair up neatly with a blue scrunchie, exhaled softly, and said, “All done.”

Jamie cleared her throat and returned the photo to the bedside table, and said, “Right.”

The escape out of the house was easier than Dani had expected it to be. While Jamie slipped her boots back on, Dani retrieved a takeout bag she had left on the kitchen counter before bidding her mother goodbye for the day. Karen merely waved with a hum, distracted by the tv, though her mouth was still pulled tight in a scowl.

They were almost out the front door scot-free when Jamie, clearly unable to help herself, smirked and called out just before the door shut, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Clayton. I’ll have her home by eleven.”

Dani huffed and knocked her elbow into Jamie’s ribs. At Jamie’s grunt, Dani bit her lip to contain her grin and shut the front door.

“Your elbows are still as sharp as ever,” Jamie said, rubbing at her ribs, grinning widely as they strolled towards Jamie’s truck, as if the fresh air and distance from Dani’s room made it easier. “You Clayton women are pieces of work. Do I have that to look forward to in another twenty years?” she said, jerking her thumb behind her.

Even as a thrill went down Dani’s spine at the thought of twenty more years of Jamie, she rolled her eyes and said, “Keep talking like that, and you just might.” Jamie smirked in response.

The truck was warm from the afternoon sun as Dani slid in the passenger seat. There was a faint citrusy smell along with the little tree air freshener as if it had just been cleaned. When she caught sight of a variety of stickers attached to the glove compartment — a collection ranging between Star Wars, Star Trek, cartoons she vaguely recognized, and a legion of silver stars — Dani hid her smile by biting her lower lip.

“What’s this, then?” Jamie said, gesturing down to the takeout bag Dani held in her lap as she started the engine.

Dani grinned sheepishly. “Lunch. From Owen’s,” she said, “Can’t visit someone else’s home without bringing something.”

“You don’t have to do that with me, you know,” Jamie said as they took off down the street, not looking at her. “All that social niceties bullshit. All you need to do is bring yourself. S’all I care about.”

Leaning her head against the headrest, Dani watched Jamie’s profile with a soft grin. “It’s a midwestern thing,” she explained. “Besides, I wanted to.”

Jamie spared her a short glance, grinning crookedly. “The kid’ll appreciate that then,” she said, returning her gaze to the road. “My cooking is not up to snuff most days.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Dani. “You did tell him, right? That I was visiting?” she said, lifting her head and sitting upright.

“Oh no, I figured we’d surprise him.” When Dani gave her a look, Jamie rolled her eyes. “Of course I told him. D’you think I’m bloody mad? Imagine you at twelve years old, having a nice day at home when whatsherface from fourth grade comes knocking on your door for an afternoon cuppa with your mum. Christ, I may be a prat, but not that much of a prat.”

Dani laughed, and said, “You’re not a prat.” It was Jamie’s turn to give Dani a look. “Okay, maybe just a little. For comparing me to Mrs. Walker.”

“Believe me. You are miles ahead of that woman.”

A warmth spread across Dani’s chest up to her cheeks. With a pleased grin, Dani turned to stare at the passing buildings and landmarks as they drove by. The drive wasn’t too long, but it was filled with anecdotes of surviving their hard-nosed fourth grade teacher.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jamie muttered. “She was mental.”

“Fourth graders can get rowdy.”

Jamie snorted, and shot her a dry stare. “She yelled at you for reading ahead.”

Dani paused. “I actually forgot about that.”

Jamie chuckled as they pulled up to a house. “Right, here we are. Home sweet home.”

Dani eagerly leaned forward to look up at it through the windshield, smiling softly at the modest two story house. Pale grey with white shutters, a small porch right up front, and a bright red door. There were flower boxes along the windows on the first floor, blooming colorfully bright, and as she hopped out of the truck, she could see that there were also beds of flowers growing right along the walls of the house.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie,” Dani said softly.

Jamie shrugged. “Front’s all right. Back is a bit more of a mess.”

“Kinda have trouble believing that,” Dani said, enchanted with how picturesque it all looked.

Jamie rolled her eyes and started up the front steps to the door, swiftly unlocking it. But as soon as Jamie led Dani inside, they both heard the thudding of feet bounding up a flight of stairs and the telltale sound of a door slamming shut. Dani hesitated, shooting Jamie a worried look.

Rolling her eyes again, Jamie huffed and shut the front door. “Dunno what he thinks hiding is gonna do,” she grumbled, pulling her boots off, gesturing for Dani to do the same. “Gonna have to come down at some point.”

“Are you sure this is okay?” Dani slowly asked, setting her shoes neatly aside on a rubber mat.

“Seemed perfectly fine when I told him.” Dani gave her a dubious look. “Okay, I bargained pizza for dinner with him, and he promised not to be a git about it, so it looks like pizza’s off the table for now,” Jamie said, her words gruff but still unable to hide a grin. It was charming, but did very little to comfort Dani, worrying her lower lip. Seeing this, Jamie softened. “Look, just give him a minute to settle. You know how us Taylors are.”

Slowly, the tension in Dani’s shoulders eased, and she nodded with a small grin. “Yeah, I do."

Jamie mirrored her grin for a moment before clearing her throat and stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Right, well. How about a bit of a tour?” she said, gesturing broadly to the house, “That’s another thing you midwesterners like doing, yeah?”

Dani grinned dubiously and said, “You realize you are a midwesterner, right?”

Jamie snorted. “Hardly."

The first thing Dani noticed was how bright it was. Every window they passed was wide open with the curtains tied back, letting the afternoon light bounce across the off-white walls and a warm breeze waft through the rooms. The second thing she noticed was that there were plants everywhere. Greenery eased into corners and on tables and ledges. As Jamie led her through the kitchen to drop off the takeout, Dani smiled at the various plants and flowers propped up on the fridge and counters.

Leaving the takeout bag on the counter next to the sink where a variety of pots rested on the ledge just behind it, basking in the sun, Jamie stepped next to her and gave a curious shake to the watering can that sat in the sink.

“Ass didn’t even finish watering them,” Jamie grumbled, but at Dani’s chuckle, she shook her head and grinned, turning around to lean her back against the counter. “Guess this is the kitchen.”

“It’s lovely,” Dani said, taking in the white cupboards and dark countertops. She especially liked the small dining table separated by the kitchen island that sat cramped next to the open window overlooking the small glimpse of what Dani could see as the backyard.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Jamie said. “Needs some work, more like. Feels like every time I empty a box, another magically appears, I swear.”

Dani couldn’t say she knew the feeling. Every box in the house she shared with Eddie that was emptied and packed away felt like one step closer to a locked cage. She didn't say this though, didn’t let it show on her face, not when there already seemed to be a strange sort of stiffness to Jamie’s shoulders as she guided Dani out of the kitchen, gesturing with her chin towards the door that led to the basement with her hands deep in her pockets. Tense eyes that refused to meet Dani’s own as she pointed out the bathroom and various cupboards and closets, like she was nervous as to what she might see in Dani’s expression.

Like the truck, the house smelled like it had just been cleaned. Floors swept and not a speck of dust in sight, like the house had been cleansed of anything unsavoury. There was something both sweet and unnerving to it. Slowly, as if leeching off the nervous energy from Jamie, Dani wrapped her arms around her stomach, wishing she knew what to say as Jamie guided her towards the living room.

She wished she could tell sixteen year Jamie how charming the visibly well worn and loved the mismatched furniture was. The same Jamie who was taunted relentlessly for living in the poorest neighborhood in town, but never seemed to care when it came to Dani. Wished she knew how to tell this Jamie, who seemed to think Dani was the kind of person who grew to care about such a thing. Wished she knew how to tell her that every single object, every single plant and knickknack and visible record vinyl was like getting a piece of the puzzle back, like getting little pieces of Jamie back.

New normal, she reminded herself faintly, meandering away from Jamie to wander around the living room, eyes darting about, hungrily taking everything in.

When her eyes landed on the picture frames lining the mantle, her stomach twisted tightly, and slowly, she neared them. There were only four, and while they were so few, it somehow made them all the more precious given how Dani hadn’t seen a single other photo among the rest of the house.

The first one she sought was a charming school photo of Mikey, looking just a few years younger, smiling wide with his hair tamed and slicked back from his usual mess of curls. The one next to it was an old black and white portrait of a striking woman who could only be Ruth Heron, square-jawed and stern-eyed even in her youth. The next one Dani actually remembered taking; Jamie on her fifteenth birthday, sitting in front a cake with lit candles, wearing a wide crooked grin as she held a baby Mikey in her lap with Ruth standing just beside them, an arm across Jamie’s shoulders and wearing a rare warm smile. Dani swallowed against a lump in her throat, her grin rueful, memories of that day warming her skin.

When she reached the last photo, she paused. It was of Jamie and Mikey, though Mikey was much younger than he was now, looking near six years old. Small enough for Jamie to hold up against her hip with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, both wearing near identical smiles. Jamie stood shin deep in water, her pants rolled up to her knees though still damp at the edges, and behind them was nothing but dark blue water. Dani’s hands itched to touch the frame, to pick it up and inspect it more closely.

“Atlantic ocean,” Jamie’s voice came from behind her.

Dani jerked the hand away that had been inching across the mantle, spinning around to see Jamie had stepped nearer, hands still in her pockets, shoulders still tense but the corners of her mouth curled faintly.

“Sorry,” Dani said, balling her hands in fists by her side.

Jamie shook her head. “S’alright,” she said, and shrugged, “Only fair, I guess.”

Dani chuckled, recalling the way Jamie had seemed unable to remove her own gaze from the photos in her childhood house. She gestured towards the photo and said, “You saw the Atlantic?”

Jamie hummed, her eyes straying to the photo in question, her face softening into a fond smile, and stepped closer. “Scarborough, Maine if you want to get particular about it,” she said, “Water was cold. He didn’t want to get in or let me stray too far. First time he ever let me hold him like that.”

“Good day?” Dani asked, still looking at Jamie.

“Yeah,” Jamie murmured, nodding.

There was something enrapturing with the pensive warmth in Jamie’s face, eyes distant as though she was recalling that day. But all too quickly, the look was gone, cleared away to a carefully blank expression.

“Anyways,” Jamie said, clearing her throat, and gesturing with a nod of her head behind her, putting on a grin, “Backyard’s this way.” Dani followed dutifully as Jamie led them to a door near the kitchen, already open save for the mesh screen to let in the breeze. She pulled the screen open and gestured for Dani to take a look. “Remember. Bit of a mess.”

Giving Jamie a look, Dani peeked her head out, feeling distinctly like was looking at an unfinished piece of artwork. There was a porch that encompassed the whole length of the back of the house, painted white and swept clean, various tools and gardening supplies shoved into each corner. The backyard itself was larger than Dani expected, clearly still in the process of being cleared; the grass was cut and weeds removed, but there still remained unwanted bushes and a collection of yard waste bags filled to the brim scattered around. Near the back corner, there were more tools and supplies shucked by an old shed that seemed as if it could give Dani tetanus just by looking at it. It wasn’t as much of a mess as Jamie had made it out to be, but Dani could see the potential in it.

“Isn’t much yet, obviously,” Jamie said, leaning her shoulder against the wall next to the door, “Haven’t had time to work on it, unfortunately, due to work and all.”

Dani spared her a soft grin before stepping out on the porch, the wood warm beneath her feet, and leaned against the wood railing. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Jamie who stared at her with an odd look for a moment before following her outside and leaning on the railing next to her.

“The plan,” Jamie said, exhaling as she looked over the yard, “Haven’t thought about it much.”

“Bull,” Dani said. Jamie smirked at her, shaking her head fondly. “Seriously, what’s the plan?”

“All right,” Jamie murmured.

Leaning her chin on her fist, Dani watched as Jamie explained her vision for the backyard, eyes bright and gesturing towards different corners of the grass, pointing out which flowers would go where, and which vegetable plot there.

“Could use a tree,” Dani offered. “A fruit tree, maybe.”

“What kind?”

Dani hummed in thought. “Apple.”

“All right, where?”

“Somewhere there.” Dani gestured in a vague direction towards the back.

Jamie chuckled, and said, “That’s where the greenhouse is going.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Fine, a cherry blossom out front.”

Arching an eyebrow, Jamie grinned. “All right, anything else?”

“I’ll let you know.” The warm breeze brushed against Dani’s skin as they chuckled. When they fell quiet, listening to the trees rustle, Dani straightened after a moment, and said, “I always knew you were gonna do something with plants.”

“That right?” Jamie said, straightening to lean against a pillar, eyes still warm, but there was a guardedness to it now.

Dani nodded. “You always complained about it, always wanted to do something else when Nan put you to work but,” she paused, eyes drifting back to the yard, recalling those days Jamie would roll on her back in the grass next to Dani after a long day of chores, eyes shut with the faintest of smiles, her nose speckled with sun kissed freckles. Dani’s mouth curved into a warm smile, “You were content after.”

Her gaze drifted back to Jamie who was watching her with an unreadable expression. Soft as it was, it sent Dani’s stomach fluttering not unpleasantly. And then, Jamie blinked and glanced away, shrugging. “That’s the thing with plants, I suppose,” Jamie said. “Easier than people. Predictable. Good listeners. Give back what you give them.”

Dani’s smile gradually slipped away, and before she could find the words to respond, Jamie pushed off the pillar and gestured to the house. Dutifully, Dani followed her back inside. The rest of the tour went by at speed light with Jamie leading her upstairs, pointing vaguely to three doors she described as another bathroom, her own bedroom, and a spare room they mostly used for things they haven’t found a place for yet, until they reached the last door at the end of the hallway, covered in more stickers.

“And this’ll be the kid himself,” Jamie said, winking at Dani before knocking hard on the door, "Oi, unless you’ve got a hankering for my dry pasta, I suggest you best get yourself sorted out in five minutes for lunch.”

There was audible scrambling from behind the door. Dani shook her head with a grin as Jamie chuckled under her breath. “Yeah, yeah, fine, I’ll be down,” Mikey called through the door.

When they returned downstairs to the kitchen, Jamie immediately went about setting up a kettle on the stove to boil.

“You know, you don’t have to spook him for my sake,” Dani said, watching Jamie comfortably move about in her own kitchen.

Jamie chuckled, “He’ll be all right. Gives back just as good as I give him, believe me.”

“You mean like all those Star Trek reruns he subjects you to?” Dani said, grinning.

Jamie groaned. “This entire week’s been a nightmare. You’d have thought it was the World Cup last Monday, and I bet it’ll be the same tomorrow,” she said, “Absolute torture, I’m telling you.”

“I’m sure,” Dani said, chuckling.

At the sound of the floor creaking behind them, they both turned to see Mikey standing in the entrance to the kitchen, fidgeting with his hands and looking just as anxious as he’d been that day Dani first spoke to him about his math homework.

“Christ, took you long enough,”Jamie said, “What were you hiding from? The boogeyman?”

“Maybe,” Mikey said with a pointed scowl at Jamie who snorted.

Just barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Dani smiled gently down at him, and said, “Hi.”

Catching her eyes, Mikey’s scowl immediately evaporated into a shy anxious grin. “Hi, Miss Clayton,” he said.

“How’s your weekend been?”

He shrugged noncommittally, his eyes flickering away to the floor. “Was okay,” he said, and then twisted his face around as if thinking something through with a great deal of effort before meeting her eyes again and adding hesitantly, “How was yours?”

“I could say the same,” she said, and leaned forward just a little as if divulging a secret, “Though don’t tell Jamie this, but I think it’s gotten a lot better today.”

She was surprisingly pleased when Mikey broke into a grin, and even more so when his face scrunched up in bewilderment, glancing at Jamie dubiously and asked, “Why? Because of her?”

Dani was unable to hold back a snort when Jamie huffed behind her. “Y’know, unless you want the boogeyman to eat your lunch and bite your head off for dessert, I suggest you help set the table.”

Jumping into action, Mikey did as he was told, grabbing the plates Jamie handed to him and a set of cutlery from a drawer to set on the kitchen table.

“Do you need help?” Dani asked.

“Nope, you’re our guest,” Jamie said, offering Dani a grin over her shoulder, “You just sit right there, and get yourself comfortable.”

With nothing better to do, Dani settled into a chair at the table, resting her chin on her palm and trying not to watch the pair too closely, but it was hard not to. Not with the way Mikey seemed to brighten from the shy boy she was familiar with to one who bickered quietly with Jamie on who got which favored mug. Not with the way they danced around each other with ease, grabbing things from cupboards and drawers to place on the table. But when Mikey rolled his eyes at another one of Jamie’s quips, snickering and jumping away from a well aimed kick to the back of his legs, all at once Dani could see the ghost of a twelve year old Jamie in his soft features, and she had to finally look away.

When they finally settled into their chairs adjacent to Dani, teapot on the table and takeout bag in hand, she helped them distribute the three sandwiches she had bought.

“I wasn’t sure what else to get, so I got us something I remembered you liked,” Dani explained, anxiously watching them unwrap their lunch.

Jamie offered her a grin. “Like I said. Can’t go wrong with Owen’s handiwork,” she said, a glint appearing in her eyes, “But — “

“Oh no,” Dani muttered.

“But,” Jamie repeated, chuckling and opening her sandwich to pull out a pickle that had been peeking out the side, “If I ever see you bring a gherkin into my house again, we’re gonna have some words.”

“Oh,” Dani murmured, her cheeks going warm as Mikey followed suit, leaving the pickles on the side of his plate with an awkward grin. “Sorry. I - um. Guess I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Jamie said, giving the teapot a quick glance before pouring tea in each of their cups, “Next time.”

The thought of a next time sent a thrill down Dani’s spine, her mouth flickering into a pleased smile down at her food, and with a sudden brazenness that surprised even her, Dani reached out to Jamie’s plate to pluck a discarded pickle and eat it. Jamie froze, eyes wide, and laughed.

“Now why do I get the feeling you forgot on purpose?” Jamie said, eyes bright.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dani said, shrugging and not meeting Jamie’s eyes.

Jamie laughed again, and without prompting, relinquished both hers and Mikey’s discarded pickles on Dani’s plate with a flourish. Dani caught her eye, grinning in thanks.

Mikey watched this all with a puzzled frown as he poured sugar into his tea before sliding the small container towards Dani. “Um, Miss Clayton, do you want sugar?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dani said with a grin, tossing in a few teaspoons of sugar. “You know,” she started slowly, reaching for the milk to pour in enough until it was the color of pale bark. “You don’t really have to call me that, I’m not your teacher here. You can just call me Dani.”

When she set the milk back down, she caught Mikey looking at her tea with wide eyes just short of aghast and Jamie shaking her head.

“Just ignore it,” Jamie said, “And whatever you do, never accept a brew from her. It’s probably poisoned.”

Dani rolled her eyes and kicked at Jamie under the table who shied away, grinning into her sandwich. When she looked back at Mikey, his face was slightly pained. “Okay - um. Miss Dani,” he said, and at Jamie’s snort he glowered at her.

Dani smiled gently when he bit into his sandwich, chewing roughly. “You know, I’ve always been impressed with your manners,” she said, chuckling when his eyes darted to her in surprise, “I’m just not sure where you’ve gotten them from, ‘cause I know you didn’t get them from Jamie.”

“Oi!” Jamie said. While Mikey had no problems snorting loudly, Dani fought hard to not laugh at the exaggerated look of betrayal on Jamie’s face, biting hard at her lip. “I’ve got plenty manners, thank you very much. Gentlemanly one might say. Perfectly charming.” Dani caught Mikey’s eye and they shared a mischievous grin. “Oh, I see how it is. This is what I get for inviting you over and treating you to my patented Taylor hospitality.” Dani only hummed, hiding her grin as she sipped on her tea. Jamie gave her a dry look and said, “Never again.”

Dani laughed, unable to help herself. A fond grin slowly creeped it’s way on Jamie’s face, shaking her head.

Mikey’s eyes bounced between the two of them curiously, landing on Dani with a small frown. “Miss Cla — Miss Dani?”

“Just Dani is fine.”

Mikey’s face twisted, settling into a stubborn frown, and firmly said, “Miss Clayton — ” Jamie shared a small grin with her out of the corner of her eyes “ — Jamie said you both grew up together.”

“We did,” Dani said, smiling indulgently.

“Did you also know me?”

“She sure did,” Jamie said, smirking. “Changed your diapers and everything.”

Mikey’s eyes immediately went wide and his cheeks red, hiding his face as he returned to his sandwich. When Jamie chuckled, Dani gave her a look. Jamie merely responded with a sheepish shrug.

“Hey, you know that photo on the mantel? The one from Jamie’s birthday?” Dani started, patiently waiting for Mikey to meet her eyes. When he did, curious and nodding, Dani tilted her head, her grin soft. “I took that photo.”

His eyes widened, “Really?” At her nod, he took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, and said with his mouth full, “That’s cool.”

Dani chuckled, and after a brief moment of consideration, she spared Jamie a sly look. “And you know,” she said slowly, grinning when Jamie frowned suspiciously at her. Dani ignored the look and turned back to a curious Mikey. “Jamie was telling me that you’re a big Star Trek fan.”

Jamie froze. “Dani.”

Dani continued to ignore her, her grin wide as Mikey’s eyes lit up, straightening in his seat. “Yeah! Are you one too?”

“Dani — “ Jamie tried again, her voice pained.

“I used to watch reruns of the original, and the weird cartoon they made.”

“I have the VHS tapes for all the movies!” Mikey said, “I even taped the new show last week, have you seen it?”

“I haven’t actually,” Dani said, enjoying the horror creeping on Jamie’s face way too much as Mikey seemed to nearly bounce in his seat with newfound energy. “Is it any good?”

“It’s amazing, do you — “ he paused, seeming to slow down, a sudden shyness overtaking him, “Do you wanna watch?”

“Christ, not again,” Jamie groaned, burying her face in one hand, rubbing at her forehead, resignation settling heavy on her shoulders.

Dani laughed, and said, “I’d love to.”

At the rate Mikey finished his sandwich and tea, lunch was quickly over. Before Jamie could get a word edged in, Mikey shot up from his seat, grabbed their empty plates and cups to dump in the sink, rushed out a breathless, “Thank you for lunch, Miss Clayton,” before dashing into the living room to set up the tv.

Left alone to bask in the aftermath of Mikey’s hurricane of excitement, Dani leaned her elbows on the table, pulling her lips between her teeth to hide her smile as Jamie stared at her. “I’m beginning to think you may be the devil in disguise,” Jamie said dryly. Dani laughed again, unable to help herself as Jamie grumbled under her breath, standing to step towards the sink. “Laughs at me, she does. Who knew human suffering was just a barrel of laughs.”

Shaking her head, Dani stood and followed Jamie to the sink as she opened the tap, nudging Jamie’s shoulder with her own. It earned Dani a grin, the terse edges of Jamie’s mouth gone, leaving only indulgent fondness that seemed to strike hard at Dani’s chest, leaving her somewhat breathless.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jamie said, handing Dani a cloth.

Dani slowly took it, carefully avoiding Jamie’s hand, and said, “I promise to go easy on you from now on.”

A curious look crossed Jamie’s face, one that Dani didn’t have time to decipher before Jamie was grinning crookedly again. “Best not to make promises you can’t keep," she said, and winked.

Feeling her stomach twist, Dani matched her grin and they both set about cleaning the dishes. Jamie washing and Dani drying in companionable silence, Jamie’s shoulder and arm occasionally brushing up against Dani’s, warm to the touch. Dani wore a soft grin the entire time. When they were done, Jamie dug through her fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer, offering one to Dani, only to shrug when Dani shook her head no, replacing one back.

“I am definitely going to need this if I’m going to survive the next hour and a half,” Jamie said, popping open a bottle.

Dani blinked. “An hour and a half?”

Jamie snorted, pointing the bottle towards Dani. “You made your bed,” she said, taking a hefty swig.

Making their way to the living room, Mikey was already set up in the middle of the couch, legs crossed with a remote in hand while the big boxy tv set up on the other side of the room was paused, the screen flickering over a distorted image. Jamie collapsed on one side of Mikey, lounging back with an arm resting on the back of the couch, and her legs stretched out on the coffee table, one leg crossed over the other. Dani meanwhile, sat gingerly on the other side of Mikey, stiffly sinking into the soft blue cushions, her shoulder resting inches away from Jamie’s hand.

Jamie sighed. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Mikey knocked his arm into Jamie’s rib. Grunting, Jamie retaliated by flicking his ear. Mikey swiped her hand away, huffing before turning to Dani, and asked, “Ready?”

Chuckling at the sibling antics, Dani nodded. “Ready.”

Dani settled in as Mikey excitedly pressed play, the screen coming to life as planets flew by and familiar music began to play. Dani’s mouth slowly curled into a warm smile. It was as though she absorbed Mikey’s excitement, anticipation buzzing at her skin, nostalgia draping over her like a warm cloak. The memories of curling up next to her dad as they sat through another rerun together weren’t unexpected, but they did spread a warm and somber fondness through her. Her smile faltered just slightly.

As Mikey murmured along to the intro under his breath, Dani felt eyes on her. Flicking her gaze to her right, she was met with Jamie staring at her with gentle concern. When Jamie arched a questioning eyebrow, Dani shook her head and smiled. Jamie stared for a moment longer, before returning her eyes to the tv, taking a sip of her beer. Dani kept her gaze fixed on Jamie for just a second longer, studying her profile, before returning it back to the show, chuckling silently at Mikey’s murmured recitings.

It was strangely easy, to sink further into the cushions, to settle in the comfortable silence with Jamie and Mikey, curtains closed to block the glare of the evening light and swinging gently in the breeze. To share another grin with Jamie as a man in out of place medieval looking clothes appeared on screen, Jamie’s feet rocking back and forth. To chuckle when Jamie received another elbow to the ribs as she sipped her beer after muttering a “Cheers, mate,” when the aforementioned man decried human civilization, and Mikey muttered back, “Stop being embarrassing."

Dani got lost in the warmth of it, taken in with Jamie’s teasing and soft grins, and Mikey’s shy eyes and barely restrained eagerness. A slow ache creeping across her chest, pulling apart the fragile seams that held together the longing for what could have been as Mikey, over time, relaxed deeper and deeper on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest as he slowly leaned his back against Jamie. Dani carefully observed them when he rested his head against Jamie’s shoulder, her heart swelling as Jamie’s eyes slowly drifted down to Mikey relaxing against her side, her face softening in the diffused evening light, a corner of her mouth curling into a faint smile. As though feeling Dani’s gaze on her, Jamie’s eyes darted up and caught her own. Dani’s grin widened as Jamie fondly rolled her eyes, turning back to the tv.

When the episode drew to a close, a pair of giant space jellyfish reunited once more to the sound of Jamie’s exasperated sighs, Mikey turned back to Dani, eyes bright and eager with questions; if she enjoyed it, what were her favorite parts, who was her favorite character? Dani laughed and answered as best as she could while Jamie left them to it, retrieving another beer from the fridge before returning to listen quietly as Dani and Mikey discussed the episode. But when Mikey began enthusiastically planning for next Sunday, Jamie nudged him in the shoulder with a tisk.

“Don’t go making plans without asking the lady first,” Jamie said.

“Oh,” Mikey murmured, looking up at Dani, his eyes shy again. “Do you want to come back next week to watch the next episode, Miss Clayton?”

Dani softened under the stare of his brown eyes, aware that Jamie was watching with a careful blank expression. “I’d love to,” Dani said, and grinned at him, “Only as long as you call me Dani from now on when I’m here.”

Mikey made a face, and finally relented with a nod. Pleased, Dani glanced back up at Jamie whose face was still curiously blank for a moment before she cleared her throat, and said, “Reckon I should get you home in time for dinner then.”

Dani froze. “Oh,” she said, struck by the reminder that there was an entire world that existed outside Jamie’s house that she needed to return to. She swallowed against the discomfort rising in her throat, her mouth flickering with a faint smile. “Guess you’re right.”

Jamie shot her another grin before rising to her feet, ruffling Mikey’s hair and disappearing back into the kitchen. Dani stood, hands fidgeting as she grinned down at Mikey. “Well, it was good to see you,” she said.

“You too,” he replied softly, just a touch of that anxious tension returning to his shoulders now that there was no longer the topic of Star Trek to play as a buffer between them.

Dani forced her smile to relax as Jamie returned sans beer bottle, hands tucked into her jeans again as she stood waiting. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, okay?” Dani said, offering him one last grin, “I really enjoyed watching the show with you.”

Mikey’s smile brightened slightly. “Me too,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

She left him with one last small wave, and let Jamie quietly guide her towards the front door where Dani slipped on her shoes.

“Thank you,” Dani said softly, “For having me.”

Jamie grinned crookedly. “My pleasure,” she said, and her shoulders bunched up an inch, that same uneasiness from earlier edging its way into the lines of her face.

Dani hesitated briefly, and said, “He really seems to enjoy it. Sharing it with you.” Jamie’s eyes softened, and she ducked her head to hide it. Heartened at the unexpected shyness, Dani risked adding, “Try to go easy on him.”

Jamie snorted, but nodded all the same. “You don’t have to come watch again, you know. Honestly. God knows I’m already plagued with this obsession of his, don’t need that on your plate any more than I do.”

“I want to,” Dani said, firmly enough that Jamie’s mouth snapped shut, blinking in surprise, “I had fun.”

“All right,” Jamie murmured, a slow warm smile brightened her face.

“Besides,” Dani continued, “What kind of friend would I be if I disappointed Mikey? If I let you go through that alone?”

“So I passed the test?”

Dani’s brow furrowed at the question. “The test?”

“We’re friends again?”

It was like something slammed into Dani’s chest, the way her breath escaped her. A thickness grew in Dani’s throat, her muscles twitching to move, and before she knew what she was doing, she was stepping closer, being pulled in like gravity until her arms were wrapping around Jamie’s tense shoulders and she was pressing her face against the soft flannel fabric of her shoulder. It was like a shock to her system, having Jamie in her arms again, like being jolted back to life.

“Of course we’re friends,” she murmured, nearly breathless, and after what felt like ages, Jamie’s arms wrapped around her, encompassing her waist and pulling her in close. Dani exhaled slowly, her breath unsteady as she felt Jamie’s shoulders relax, sinking into the hug with a sigh of her own. Distantly, Dani wondered if Jamie could hear Dani’s pounding heart. If she could feel the tremble in her hands as they pressed against Jamie’s firm back.

She closed her eyes and sank further into it, digging her hands into Jamie’s shirt and breathing her in. The smell of the earth and fresh laundry detergent hidden under Jamie’s preferred sandalwood cologne both comforting and familiar that Dani could’ve smiled into the crook of Jamie’s neck, if only it weren’t for the thickness of her throat. It twisted tight at her stomach until she finally lowered her arms, head ducked.

Jamie released her immediately, stepping away and clearing her throat. “Right,” she said gruffly, not meeting Dani’s eyes as she raked a hand through her hair, ruffling it up into an unruly mess.

Dani swallowed hard and smiled weakly at the flyaways she itched to smooth down. Instead, she met Jamie’s eyes and said, “I - um. I should go.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah,” she said, but when Dani reached to twist the lock open and pull open the door to march out, Jamie chuckled. “Where do you think you’re off to?”

Dani spun around to give her a confused frown. “To dinner at Judy’s?”

“And you were just gonna walk all the way across town?” When Dani merely blinked at her, Jamie laughed and began shoving her feet into her boots. “Haven’t you heard? There’s boogeymen about these parts. Can’t risk letting you get snatched on the street.” Just as she stepped out the door, she turned to shout back into the house. “Be back in a minute, don’t burn the house down.”

“No promises!” Dani heard Mikey call back immediately, like it was a thing they said often.

Dani grinned at the fond roll of Jamie’s eyes as she locked the front door, and the wide gesture towards her green truck, as if motioning towards a carriage and horse. “After you,” Jamie said.

The drive back was quiet save for the radio playing low on some rock station. Feeling brazen again, Dani turned the dial towards the same station Carson had set in her own car.

“No one said you could touch that,” Jamie said, mirth in her voice. Dani merely hummed in response with a satisfied impish grin, leaning back in her seat.

When Jamie finally pulled up to Dani’s childhood home, she set the truck in park and offered Dani a grin. “Well, thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for tea.”

Jamie grinned. “Next Sunday, then?”

Just as Dani began to nod, the door to the car parked in front of the O’Mara’s house swung open, and out stepped Eddie, as though he’d been waiting the entire time for Dani to return. Her stomach sank, heavy like lead. Even from this distance, Dani could see a puzzled frown shadow his face as he caught sight of Jamie’s truck.

Jamie exhaled slowly. “Best get on with it then, right? Say my hellos.”

“Sure,” Dani said distantly.

Pausing for a moment, Jamie snorted. “Think he’s still angry I accidentally set his homework on fire that one time?”

Dani laughed at the memory, and shook her head. “We’re not in high school anymore. I think he got over that years ago.”

The look Jamie gave her was dubious. “I’m putting my life in your hands here,” she said, but when Dani ignored her plight, stepping out of the truck and taking a deep breath, she heard Jamie mutter, “Christ, here we go.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up when he caught sight of her, stepping forward to pull her in a hug but stopped short when he spotted who followed Dani out of the truck, his eyes wide. “Jamie,” he said, blinking, and chuckled breathlessly. “Wow. It’s been a while.”

As Jamie stepped towards them, Eddie held his hand out. Jamie shook it just once before returning hers to her side as Dani felt Eddie’s arm wrap around her waist to gently pull her in close.

“Ed,” Jamie said, wearing that same placid smile she wore for Judy at the bistro. Eddie pulled Dani a little closer, his mouth tightening. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” he said, “Mom and Carson mentioned you were back in town. Dad even said he caught you down at the hardware store the other day. Seems like you’ve caught up with just about everyone now.”

Jamie hummed with an affirmative nod. “All but Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”

At Jamie’s old nickname for the elder O’Mara twins, Dani bit back a snort. Even Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, they live out of town. Got families of their own now,” he explained, and fell silent, seemingly not knowing what else to say.

“Good to hear,” Jamie said in the ensuing silence, her eyes darting between Dani and Eddie, still wearing that same smile until it morphed into something unfamiliar. “And looks like congratulations are in order for you lot also. Well done.”

Dani’s stomach clenched anxiously, hands slowly balling into fists by her side as Eddie’s smile brightened, pulling her in closer by the waist. “Thanks. We appreciate that,” he said.

Jamie smirked. “Well, look at you both. North Liberty’s very own royal couple.”

Eddie chuckled, but Dani stiffened. She didn’t know how to respond to that, not with the way Jamie carefully eyed her, her gaze piercing. Dani decided to ignore it, to let her mouth pull into a small smile that strained her cheeks. “Jamie and I were just catching up over tea and lunch,” she explained to Eddie.

“Sounds nice,” Eddie said, “How’re things going for you now that you’re back?”

Jamie shrugged. “Nothing to complain at home about,” she said, “Got my job at the gardens, Mikey’s top of his class, and I’ve been officially offered an open invitation to dinner at your mum's whenever I find the time.”

Eddie blinked, his voice faintly strained when he said, “Oh, uh. You’re coming to dinner today?”

“Not today, I’m afraid,” Jamie said, and shot Dani a grin, “Promised the kid pizza tonight.”

“Well,” Eddie cleared his throat, gesturing towards Jamie with a polite smile. “We should let you get to it, then. Right, sweetheart?”

Hearing the term of endearment felt like being underwater, the words muffled and deformed in her ears. Her smile was just a second delayed, pulled taut as she glanced up at Eddie. “Right,” she said, exhaling slowly as she returned her gaze to Jamie, immediately catching her eyes.

Nodding, Jamie’s mouth pulled into a thin smile, the breeze whipping her hair and flannel. “Good to see you again,” she said.

“You too,” Eddie replied.

Jamie shot her one last look, smile softened and faint, taking a step back and starting to turn away. Just as Dani began to feel the tug of Eddie’s hand on her waist, she reached her hand out to grab Jamie’s.

“Hey,” Dani said, tugging Jamie to a stop who blinked in surprise as their eyes met. Dani opened her mouth to speak, but for what felt like an eternity nothing came out, until finally Dani said, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

The warm affection that bloomed in Jamie’s eyes nearly knocked Dani off her feet. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jamie murmured, squeezing her hand just once before easing it out of Dani’s with an easy grin, taking another step back, the wind ruffling her hair, and the golden light of the evening sun glowing on her skin as she turned away.

#thobm #the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani clayton/jamie #dani clayton #jamie taylor #roman writes #cfau #bring home a haunting

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