#Open Fist Theatre Company

[thenerdsofcolor]

A Los Angeles Theatre Review: 'The Bauhaus Project, Part I & II'

When I was first informed that the world premiere of Open Fist Theatre Company‘s The Bauhaus Project would consist of two parts that would total a span of almost four hours, ambitious was the first word I had in mind, particularly for a 99 seat theatre company. After watching both parts on two different days, the conclusion is that in this immensely dense 2-part play, there lies one singular…

[sailtomarina]

Would you like to practice on me?

She caught him alone in the hallway standing in front of the ornate mirror. He postured and preened, muttering under his breath so softly she was tempted to disillusion herself and creep closer. Thankfully, she always kept a pair of Extendable Ears on hand, and so it was with absolutely zero qualms and strong curiosity she tuned in to what held the Malfoy heir’s attention.

“Would you do me the great honor of…no, no, too formal. I found myself inconveniently free and thought you’d like to join…now it sounds like I could care less. Are you free this weekend? I’d like to take you out…maybe? She’s so dense that she might think I’m only asking her as a friend…”

Good Godric, was he working up the nerve to ask her out on a date? Hermione knew they’d been circling one another for the better part of the past couple of months ever since Harry and Pansy had started dating, throwing their social groups together more often than not. They’d even made their peace far before that with a handful of exchanged owls. While she wasn’t the only single witch among their mutual friends, she and Draco somehow always gravitated towards one another almost seconds after entering the same room.

What started as competitive repartee over the application and creation of potions soon moved to all aspects of magical theory, eventually expanding to include literature, theatre, and even horticulture. Their intellectual fascination with one another preceded a form of friendship Hermione had never before experienced, which was exciting and terrifying at the same time. She wanted more of it, and of him.

Coiling up the Extendable Ears, she took a casual stance and sauntered into his view, restraining her giggle as he immediately straightened and turned to face her.

“Granger! Is everything alright?”

“I just needed to step out for a bit and couldn’t help but overhear you just now.”

He flushed an attractive shade of pink, and she decided to tease him a bit for it.

“Would you like to practice on me?”

“Practice…on you?”

“Your invitation to whichever lucky witch or wizard you’ve got your eye on.”

It was adorable really, the way his mouth hung open. Her intentional misunderstanding of the situation went completely unnoticed. She walked up to him, so close as to be nearly touching, and looked up through her eyelashes.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?”

“I…yes. Yes, I do.”

“Go on, then.” Could he see the way her lips kept trying to curl up at the edges? The delight she took in his discomfort?

“If you’re free this weekend, would you like to accompany me to dinner?”

She wanted to applaud him for getting the question out so smoothly in one go, even if he did look like he was about to pass out. Hermione decided to push him a bit more.

“I am free, and would be glad to join you. What’s the occasion? Who else will be there?”

He couldn’t help but shuffle at her additional questions. “No occasion, I mean, other than the pleasure of your company, and only your company. It would be just us.”

“Just…us?”

“Yes? As in…a date.”

She tilted her head in mock confusion, wrinkling her nose as she pretended to think over this revelation. Draco’s eyes never wavered from hers, though they were wide in their pleading. They crinkled at the corners with his smile when she finally nodded her assent.

“That sounds lovely.” Before he could reply, she jumped up to peck him on the cheek and continue her act. “Do it just like that with a bit more clarity at the start and you’ll be set!”

He stiffened at her advice, and she spun around as if to rejoin the others outside.

“Wait!”

Once more fully facing him, Hermione taunted him with an arched eyebrow and waited as asked. His fingers clenched repeatedly into fists at his side before he yanked them behind him. She couldn’t help but straighten her posture to match Draco the moment he took a deep breath and stood tall to do what they had both wanted for much longer than either of them would admit.

“It’s you, Hermione. Would you like to join me for dinner this weekend as my date?” His earlier nerves seemed a figment of her imagination with the way he closed the distance to stand once more just a hair’s breadth away, grey eyes boring into her own.

Hermione rewarded him with a triumphant smile, her light nearly blinding him with its brilliance. He could already imagine them there together, heads bent together in confidence, hands tugging at one another from one location to the next, kisses both stolen and shared openly. As if there was anyone else but her for him.

“I’d love to.”

WC 804

[maddiethecanadianassassin]

Jokes! Jokes! Jokes!

A Jacob Frye Drabble - dedicated to @ramshackledtrickster and inspired by their animation!

Tags: Implied relationship, features OC, dancing, party, at a pub, drinking.

Warnings: PG - no major earnings except for decapitating a stuffed dummy

//////

The pub was lively that late afternoon as Jacob Frye and his merry band of Rooks threw a little get together. The company was lovely, the food and drink refreshing, and the entertainment was a laugh. Literally.

One of the Rooks, a natural pianist was going at it on the instrument, his fingers seemed to dance on the keys. His buddies clapped and cheered him on as they each toasted their mugs, drinking and singing along to his tune.

Speaking of performance...

Madeline Shrike sat with the Rooks, a drink in hand as she glanced over to see Jacob practically waltz over to an open area of the pub floor. His Rooks applauded his arrival, hooting, hollering, even some banging their fists on the tables. Madeline reached for her glass, saving it so it wouldn't topple over from all the excitement.

It had been a few months now since Madeline had first joined Jacob Frye and his band of Rooks after first moving to London for a fresh start, a new life outside of the comforts of her family home in Scotland. She had never been on more fulfilling adventures in her life before setting foot in this city, and her heart swelled with pride over the good she had helped take part in to protect the city from the Blighters, especially protecting the young, innocent and unfortunately poor orphaned children forced into horrendous child labor.

She looked at Jacob, seeing his smile, the playful gleam in his eyes. After his last few missions the past couple of weeks, he needed tonight. A well deserved rest and respite. Well. . . maybe minus the rest for now. Definite respite.

Madeline glanced over to see Jacob dragging along a bean bag dummy. He effortlessly lifted it up, its arms flailing in the air as he made it bow in greeting and the Rooks laughed, followed by a cheer. Where Jacob found it, either in a trunk somewhere at her Theatre or buried somewhere in his train hideout, Madeline didn't know.

But if there was a stage prop missing when she'd go into work the next morning, she'd know who to speak to.

Madeline pressed her elbow onto the table, holding her head up with her hand as she rolled her eyes in a teasing manner at the gang leader. Jacob caught the glimmer in her eye, his own eyes dazzling to match his mischievous grin.

He cleared his throat, getting into position.

"The curtain rose, the scene was set They danced a murderous duet~"

His voice projected across the bar as he stepped up onto his stage, twirling around with the dummy before leading it into what looked like a waltz.

"And much deserving blood was let Up to!"

He dipped the dummy down as if he were seducing a woman with his moves before shooting back up right, his eyes going wide as he made a motion with his finger, slicing across his throat.

He tossed the dummy up before grabbing it by the back of its neck, showing it off to his audience.

"The scene wherein they disagreed On who should live and who should bleed?"

Jacob poked at the dummy with an accusing glare before pointing himself before tossing the dummy again, grabbing it by its shoulder and held it in front of his body to shield himself. His fingers wiggled in anticipation before activating his hidden blade, with a flick of his wrist, he sliced the head of the dummy clean off, stuffing falling everywhere on the floor.

That dashingly mischievous grin returned.

"And Maxwell Roth he then received A very bad review~"

The Rooks cheered at the performance, whistling and hollering. Madeline couldn't help it herself as she clapped along with them. Jacob glanced over towards her, taking his top hat in his hand and offering her a performative bow at the waist as the Rooks continued seeing the chorus. Madeline offered him a glimmering smile as she bowed her head in kind.

Jacob approached Madeline's table where Jacob's drink lay waiting for him. He gave her a smile as he reached for his mug and downed another gulp of his drinks. How he was able to drink this stuff like guzzling water, Madeline hadn't had the foggiest.

"You seem quiet," Jacob spoke up, leaning forward slightly to make sure his voice could be heard over the crowd.

"Just tired after a long day is all," Madeline shook her head before giving Jacob a reassuring expression. "I'm alright, Jacob, I'm content sitting on the sidelines and watching you and the Rooks celebrate. You've all earned it. Especially you,"

"Kind words, Miss Shrike," Jacob smiled as he crossed his arms over the table. "I'll admit I was a little nervous. Here I was thinking you'd be a more stern judge of my performance,"

My eyes glanced over to the now decapitated dummy, seeing a group of Rooks playing around with it. They looked like they were playing hot potato with it.

"You played your part flawlessly, Sir Frye," I grinned back at him.

Jacob rolled his eyes at the young woman, though there wasn't any sign of actual hurt in his eyes. "How many times have I asked you not to call me that?"

"It's a title! Why not use it?" She asked him honestly.

If I had been given the title of Dame by the Queen herself, I'd be absolutely beside myself. Madeline thought to herself.

"As my sweat sister has once said, there is a time and place for everything. I'm simply waiting for the right moment," Jacob chuckled softly before taking another sip of his drink.

"And what moment would that be?" Madeline asked curiously.

Jacob looked towards Madeline with an equally curious gaze, his lips twitching into a playful smirk as he pushed himself off from the table. "How about this?"

He walked around to her side, offering her another bow, more. . . posed actually, even for Jacob, "Madeline Shrike," He straightened, offering the Magician his hand. "How would you like to dance with a Sir tonight?"

Madeline's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink at Jacob's playful delivery. She smiled up at him as her petite hands glazed over his black gloved hand. "I'm not much of a dancer, but. . . just this once, Jacob Frye,"

"Just this once," Jacob repeated, nodding his head in agreement.

Jacob gently brought Madeline along to the open floor of the pub, his other arm around her waist. As the Rooks cheered and continued to sing the song, the pair started their dance.

"Jokes, Jokes, Jokes! Make ‘em laugh until they choke~"

Madeline followed Jacob's steps, his movements lively with the music as they danced and laughed together. Madeline couldn't remember laughing this much. She yelped suddenly when Jacob twirled out of his hold before spinning her back into his embrace, sidestepping as part of his chest pressed into Madeline's back.

He had a big grin on his face as he started singing along with the Rooks.

"Fairly slay ‘em in the aisles Maidens fair and Princes charming~"

Her cheeks darkened as Madeline gawked at the man, his mere teasing. Madeline rolled her eyes as Jacob gently spun her back around to face him, his arm finding its way back looping around her waist as they continued their merry dance.

Jacob had always been a tease. A mischievous, playful, devilish tease. But he was also brave, cunning. A man that Madeline was proud to work with and fight alongside to protect London from the Blighters. A great leader, and a good friend.

Although if she was being honest with herself. . .

"Thrills, Thrills, Thrills! Dashing feats and bloody spills And I guarantee You’ll never see The ending coming!"

Madeline miss-stepped and found herself falling back. She shut her eyes, anticipating hitting the harsh floor below. The music stopped, there was chatter among the Rooks, cooling down from the song as she opened her eyes slowly and found Jacob staring back, his face ever so close to her own. He had caught her before Madeline could hit the floor.

Perhaps. . . there was something more?

Jacob slowly pulled her back up right, his free hand moving away from cradling the back of her head. His other arm stayed at her waist as he spoke, "Shall I escort you home, Miss Shrike?"

[richardsphere]

Leverage Log: The Long Goodbye

So here we are, at the end of the line. Lets see how this story's original run ended. --- Oh we're stealing a cure for Sam's disease. And a picture of a Sam-aged child as well, give Nate the chance to fix his greatest failure. And just in case the audience didnt figure it out yet, Sophie spells it out to Hardison. --- Ok so the problem isnt the company, its the building they store stuff in being shared with FBI CIA and Interpol servers and everything is classified to high heaven. Also coms are being blocked.

Oh its the return of SuperAI, one of only 3 things they never defeated (alongside Sterling and the Supermarket chain as a whole). Sophie is going to book the theatre next door for her Macbeth play. Parker knows something is wrong when Nate doesnt go on a self-destructive rampage for this one.

Nate and Sophie kiss --- Back to the interrogation, we get a fake-out line (Nate is trying to convince his interrogater the con went South. or at least further South then it actually did)

Everything about this scene screams fake. And i mean both Nate and the Interrogator are lying. I've seen Nate fake enough hospitalbeds and interrogationrooms to know when one is being faked. ---

Nate reasuring Sophie that the play is part of the Con cause he knows its the secret to unlocking her powers.

They beat the steranko with the power of social engineering. --- Call back to the elevator clothing change in episode 1.

Hardison falls down the elevator. (remember, this is not what actually happened, this is the lie Nate is spinning to his interogator. Who disapointingly, isnt Sterling. Feels like he should be in the season finale) Cop carries a back-up around their knee and shoots Elliot (might have really shot him, but no way that standard cops carry shoeguns)

We're at the bridge and Parker Hardison and Elliot are dead in Flashback!Nate's memories.

Nate and sophie pull a Thelma and Louise and try the bridge-jump, car stalls on the bridge. --- Interrogation, Nate slams the table with his fists. Interrogator claims the identity of Hardison Parker and Elliot have been confirmed from the bodybags. (not like we havent faked a corpse ID before).

She leaves him, she goes to verify Elliot definitly got shot but no way a tiny shoegun is gonna beat kevlar.

She thinks they entered through the elevator shaft (my guess: they didnt, elevator is their exit. The CCTV footage of elliot getting shot is a fake) and feigned a roof access with the balloon.

Their real goal is the data on the server as well, or at least its a side-goal. (not saying nate gave up on the cure, but the cloud itself?) Interrogator admits its not a hospital room, asks what told Nate. He goes full Sherlock.

Flashback shows Parker hacking into servers (cause of course). Turns out apparently she did break in through the elevatortunnel (i still say thats a getaway, must've been a third entrance im not thinking of.) Did i just notice a shot from within a vent during Sterlings entrance? Parker is watching. --- Wait is Nate stealing the 2008 financial crisis? Thats what they're stealing. The ultimate "and the adventure continues"storyhook.

"Justice or Order, and one day you're going to have to make that choice". 9/10, guess that Interogator isnt Nate's mark Jim is, he's priming him to betray Interpol.

Turns out this is the real reason they moved to Portland. Nate had Hardison track down the weakest link in the cloud so they could steal the cloud. They're stealing THE CLOUD, and making it look credible.

The lock is biometric. But its also a STERANKO, Parker and Hardison couldnt crack it, so they're tricking Jim into opening it to get to Parker who isnt in there. The rest of the team is alive and pretending to be Interpol. Jim just opened their doors. If the file only entered the server now that means they're stealing it now otherwise they'd have mistimed the entire heist (and they're too good at that) --- Thats a convincing fake Hardison... but Jim sees through it instantly.

Sophie didnt go on stage (of course she didnt), which means she was the one performing when Investigator went to the theatre. Nate was Shooty GunGuy. Parker entered as a detective (the ballon was real) I maintain the elevator is their exit.

Anyone reached by phone was Sophie, (im stupid for not realising that sooner) I was right (they faked a failed heist to get Jim to open the servers). I was also right about the tunnels being the exit not the entry. Interrogator thinks our heroes will escape in the audience, they're actually actors.

Jim isnt stupid, "now we're even, tell Sophie to drive carefully"

"actually, Justice is always easy". Simple line, 8.75/10 --- Nate is gonna propose.

"you have always had my back... Now, be on my side" great line. 10/10.

"Did you steal it?" "No... but I'll steal the first aniversary ring" Nate knows he's fucked up, (seriously Nate, you're better then this.)

And we get an answer to the "Sophie's real name" mystery. (Laura, except it isnt) --- And we're back to the Original Leverage Speech, given by Parker (affirming my suspicion that she was Nate's successor.)

--- Good season finale. Nate is alive, Leverage International is a thing? (i dont actually know what it means, but i think i'll see when we get to the reboot series) and the adventure continues.

Gonna get myself a little break for now. But will definitely go for the sequel series at some point in the (probably very near) future.

[panic-at-the-hydra-base]

So I saw fnaf… (no spoilers above the cut)

(First of all I’m not a movie reviewer or anyone special I just like to talk abt movies)

Okay I have like a lot to say and some worries about this movie. Let’s start with the good, as a fan the movie was so fun! It’s been in production hell for so long and I’m so glad it even got to see the light of day and that Scott got to be involved that all makes me thrilled. The Henson creature shop did a spectacular job and I hope people realize the balls it took to even go that route versus just cgi-ing all of it. Massive props to them and just ugh all of it was fantastic looking I could go on all day about the animatronics alone. Now I say “as a fan” because if I wasn’t a fnaf fan the movie wouldn’t be good. It just isn’t and I now totally understand and agree with the first critic reviews that came from people who have (assumingly) no knowledge of the game before hand and I agree with their low ratings. It just isn’t really a good movie🤷🏽‍♀️and that’s fine! Seriously if all it is is a kitty fan service movie where everyone had fun making it and watching it then who cares! Blumhouse made their money before it even premiered and honestly I’m not even worried about not getting another one because they know enough of us will be paying to see whatever else they do next- better or worse. I wouldn’t call it a good movie at all but was it fun? Hell yeah it was fun!

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

This is just me rambling because why not

I saw it Thursday opening night and my theatre was relatively quiet with some loud “harharharharhar”s before it started versus some theaters I’ve seen who are filled with ppl laughing aloud and doing other fun stuff (like fist fighting) so I wasn’t sure what to expect if it was gonna be the same vibe as like seeing a marvel movie opening night where people are verbally responsive. Idk just curious how other peoples theatre crowd experience was. The movie was really just okay as I said the part of me that’s a fan had fun but the part of me that loves movies was bored. The building a fort was kinda stupid but I understand why it was done for the plot entirely to show that Abby thinks they’re all friends okay but god it was just kinda dumb. The connecting via dreams was odd? I’m not sure how I feel about it because I’m trying to separate this movie from fnaf lore and treat it as a movie by its self but that’s really hard to do. Obviously I’m not saying everything has to/will be canon compliant but it’s still hard to have that knowledge and not compare it to the movie. I’ll have to give it another watch but it’s hard to hodge the movie alone by itself. Anyway- FOXY!!! God his feet were so silly looking I love him so much and they kept the humming/singing that he does? Loved that. Also was the animatronic they were trying to put Abby in at the end supposed to look like baby specifically? It was enough that I caught it but also not exact enough where I thought maybe they just picked a random doll like character idk I can’t remember who’s soul is in baby at the moment but whatever. That fuckass balloon boy made me unreasonably happy idk why like I saw spoilers and knew he was there but still laughed so hard when I actually saw him myself. Also loved the matpat cameo it was just enough and rolled very smoothly, good for him. I again do wanna give them credit for showing the bloody stuff considering the rating like the shadow of someone getting bit in half was good. I understand from a company standpoint of keeping it pg-13 so “kids” can go see it and give them more money but they did what they could and I thought it looked good! Vanessa was cool, kinda weird mike didn’t ask any questions earlier and also why did that bitch chuck mike’s pills into the water bitch that man has no money and you just wasted prescription sleeping pills? Gurl you you but okay whatever anyway- mike was cool nothing like crazy special to say about any of them honestly. I hope they use Matthew lillard more in the future, that’s purely me being a fan of his and nothing more honestly. He wasn’t in the movie much at all. Back to the dreams and stuff- having mike get injured in his dreams was also a bit idk…. Stupid? Like it just seemed idk pretty dumb I can’t fully explain what bothered me about it but it just didn’t seem to go with it all. I just gotta watch it again at some point because I’m very torn abt actually liking it or not. I do have a worry that people will not realize that the animatronics are actually puppets and complain about them being funny looking and moving slow. Puppets aren’t used as much anymore everything’s cgi and animated so I can totally see someone thinking it’s just badly created when it’s actual real people moving them and they’ll think poorly of it when they simply don’t know that it’s real! Again so happy that they chose that route to create them and not cgi it soooo greatful for that and I’m glad to see that’s still being used for movies. Overall very torn about this movie. Again I’m just rambling here and I’d love to think what others think abt it weather you saw it with prior knowledge or not.

[privilege-rpg]

JACQULINE BEISTE

☆ FULL NAME: Jacqueline “Jax” Vaughn Beiste ☆ GENDER: Ciswoman ☆ PRONOUNS: She/Her ☆ AGE: 38 (November 14th, 1986) ☆ TYPE: Half sibling; solo (open to twin) ☆ HOMETOWN: Chicago, Illinois ☆ JOB: Professor of Theatre Studies at PSU; Actor; Founder and Director of Broken Wing Theatre Company ☆ SCHOOL: PSU Alumni ☆ SEXUALITY: Lesbian ☆ FACECLAIM: Sophia Bush

ABOUT JACQUELINE

(tw mentions of child abuse and domestic violence, bullying, transphobia, suicide, suicide attempt, self-harm)

Above all else, Jax loves her dad. Sheldon is her hero, her knight in shining armour, her papa bear, and when life gets her down, she knows she can always go and see him and he’ll out her whole world to rights like he always has. The same cannot be said for the other half of her gene pool though, her sperm donor was the human embodiment of trash that had been left out on the highway and baked in the Milwaukee sun, and while Jax wasn’t usually the kind of person to wish death upon someone, she was really glad that Cooter Menkins was dead.

She doesn’t remember a lot of her parent’s tumultuous marriage being that she was very young when they were still married, but what she does remember is a lot of yelling, smashing of plates and glasses, and bruises on her dad. It was tense, and frightening, and Jax spent many nights hiding under her comforter wishing the yelling would stop. Her dad would always come in to see her though, and every night, no matter what Cooter had said or done, her dad would get up on the bed next to her, pull her into his arms, and read her a bedtime story until she fell asleep against him. Jax, even at four and five years old, wished that her parents would just split up, would stop yelling at each other all the time and just be happy. She didn’t like Cooter, even then. He always shouted at her for the smallest thing, locked her in her bedroom when her dad wasn’t home so he “didn’t have to deal with her”, and treated her dad appallingly. But still, her dad stayed with him for reasons Jax didn’t understand, right up until the day she knocked orange juice over the kitchen table during breakfast one morning.

Cooter backhanded her so hard across the face that six year old Jax fell out of her chair, too shocked to even cry as she looked up at him towering over her, screaming at her that she was “stupid” and “useless”. And then, as sudden as the slap, she watched transfixed as her father’s fist drove hard in Cooter’s face and knocked him out cold, his expression one of pure, white hot rage. Once Cooter hit the floor, her dad scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, telling her to pack some of her favourite toys and books into a bag while he packed some clothes, and they spent the next week living in a hotel room.

Her dad tried to make it an adventure, but Jax was still shaken by the events at breakfast, and to this day she still doesn’t drink OJ. However, her dad endeavoured to cheer her up and make the most of things, and by the time they returned home, Cooter nowhere to be seen, Jax was happy to just have her dad around from now on. She expressed an interest in learning the violin and the piano, so Sheldon got her a tutor for both, attended every recital, encouraged her every time she had a moment of doubt with an odd, nonsensical saying, a kiss to her forehead, and an affectionate Punkin’ to complete the magic spell it seemed to weave on her that made her feel stronger and braver than she actually was.

Jax was ten when her dad sat her down and told her that he wasn’t going to be “mom” anymore but “dad” instead, that the way he looked was going to change a lot but he was still the same person on the inside that he’d always been, and he still loved her just as much as he always had. Maybe she should have celebrated it more, but as it was Jax simply smiled at him, shrugged a little and said “Okay Dad. Can we have pizza for dinner?”, and Sheldon had simply laughed warmly, scooped her and her siblings into his arms and hugged them all tightly. To Jax, it wasn’t a big deal, “mom” or “dad”, she knew he always had her back, and that was the only thing that mattered to her.

What did bother her was the way that her classmates talked about her dad, the names they called him when he came to her recitals or to see her in school plays, and more than once Jax got in trouble for fighting with other kids when they went too far. Sheldon had sat her down when she received a two week suspension for punching a particularly vile jock in the face for the slurs he had used against both her dad and another classmate of colour and told her that this response to bullies had to stop. “You can’t solve anything with your fists Punkin’.” He sighed, “I know you’re defending me, but you’re just giving them what they want. Don’t be like Cooter, put your fists down, and use that big kind heart of yours instead.”

His words had landed hard, and Jax never raised her hands against anyone again, determined to prove that she was her father’s daughter and not her sperm donors. She still had quite the blazing temper, but Jax learned to control it and to ignore the jeers as best as she could. It helped that at age twelve she met and became instant friends with the new transfer student Angel. They were funny, and kind, and kind of a dork, but that was why Jax loved them, and suddenly, being the openly queer kid with the transgender dad wasn’t nearly as hard because Angel understood what it was like to be bullied and judged for being different too. When thirteen year old Jax heard about Cooter’s “untimely death”, she felt nothing, and while that bothered her a little bit it didn’t stop her “borrowing” her dad’s credit card to send Sue Sylvester a fruit basket (because even if it had been an accident she was still grateful knowing that her sperm donor couldn’t bother anyone ever again), to which Sheldon had tried to tell her off but was somewhat undermined by the gut busting fit of laughter he’d burst into before chastising her, and Jax was happy to simply agree to ask before using his credit card again.

Angel and Jax stayed close all through middle school and into high school, ignoring the circulating rumours about them dating (they weren’t, but Angel had been her first kiss during a production of Beauty and the Beast which had lead to more than a few sniggers from their classmates about how it was Beiste and the Beast), and spent pretty much every day together. They were both in orchestra, Jax with her violin and Angel with their flute, both into musical and regular theatre, both loved English, Drama and History. If there was such a thing as platonic soulmates, that would be Jax and Angel, she adored them. But high school was a whole other world, and the bullying that Jax and Angel faced got worse.

They had things thrown at them, food dumped on their heads, chewing stuck in their hair, it was awful and it showed no sign of letting up. Jax had been home sick when Angel had their clothes stolen from their locker while they were in the gym showers before being shoved outside of the locker room in nothing but a towel that was promptly ripped from them. She wonders even now if things would have been different if she hadn’t faked being sick to get out of gym that day, wonders if she could have changed the trajectory of things had she been there to protect them. But she wasn’t, and after that day Angel was different. They were quiet anyway, but now they were withdrawn and almost sullen, barely talking to even Jax, dropping out of clubs and the plans that they made, and nothing Jax said or did seemed to help make it any better.

The day that she found out Angel had taken their own life was perhaps the worst day of her own. Jax had been getting ready for school when Sheldon has come into her room, tears in his eyes and told her the news, holding Jax as she screamed and sobbed, as she demanded to see Angel, telling her dad that this was all just some awful mix up or mistake, that there was no way that Angel was gone, that they’d just leave her alone like this. But they were gone, and Jax suddenly had this hole inside of her, a piece of herself dead and buried with Angel. She hadn’t been the most mentally healthy before Angel died, on account of the relentless bullying, but after they were gone Jax spiralled into a very dark place. She hadn’t appreciated how much of the bullying Angel had shielded her from until they weren’t there to do it anymore, but it got far, far worse now that she was on her own.

Just shy of a year after Angel died, Jax attempted to take her own life at seventeen. School was unbearable without them, she was sick of being shoved around and having things thrown at her and being tripped and mocked in the hallways. Sick of all the girls calling her a pervert every time she so much as glanced in her direction, sick of all the boys trying to grope her as she passed, sick of the teachers not doing anything to stop it. Her younger brother was home from school too that day, and he was the one that found her on the bathroom floor, calling their dad who turned the car around and went straight back home only ten minutes into his journey. He rushed Jax to the hospital when he found them both on the bathroom, and thankfully the doctors and nurses saved her life.

When Jax woke up in the hospital, with her dad asleep in the chair next to her bed, realising that she was still here, she burst into tears. That woke Sheldon up, and as she choked out apologies between her sobs, he simply shushed her and climbed onto the bed next to her as he had done when she was young, pulled her gently into his arms, and told her through barely held back tears of his own that he loved her, she had nothing to be sorry for, and that they could fix this, they could fix anything as long as they were together. Jax cried herself to sleep in his arms that day, and many days after that.

But Sheldon stayed true to his word and stuck by Jax’s side like glue, made sure that she felt how much her family loved her, that her support system was there to catch her, and things began to change. He pulled her from her high school after a series of very strong words for the faculty that had failed his daughter and proceed to home school her himself for the remainder of her high school years, still graduating with a decent GPA in the end and grateful for all the time that Sheldon had taken to take care of her. He’d also made sure she went to therapy to deal with everything, and while still depressed and anxious a lot, Jax started to feel like herself again.

She still missed Angel terribly, and on her eighteenth birthday she went to a tattoo shop and got an angel wing tattooed on her heel in their memory, a piece of them to carry with her wherever she went. Jax also took a gap year after high school to focus on getting better rather than anything else, and while recovery is never linear and she had a few setbacks, Jax was ready to go to college a year later, opting for PSU to remain close to her family. At first, Jax was studying to become a doctor, but quickly found it to be incredibly difficult and boring, wanting to show her dad that it had been worth saving her life, despite being stressed and absolutely miserable.

Sheldon could see this and gently asked her if this was what she wanted to do, and after a bit more prompting, Jax confessed that she didn’t want to be a doctor, that she wanted to be an actor, wanted to study theatre and drama but that she didn’t want to disappoint him. Sheldon had once again simply hugged her, kissed her forehead, and said “Punkin’,  you can’t make a zebra be a sheep. I’m proud of you no matter what you do, so stop making yourself miserable to try and impress me.”

So Jax switched to a drama and theatre studies double major, and soon found her tribe of people. While none of them were Angel, she still loved her new friends and was beyond grateful that college was a far better experience than school had ever been. While at PSU, Jax did a few local theatre productions too, and found that her passion was for the stage and not the screen, but having no complaints about that. Musical or not, her feet and skills belonged to the theatre and she knew that Angel would’ve loved that. And while Jax loved California and being close to her family, she knew that the heart of the theatre scene lay on the other side of the country, so after graduating she decided to pick up and move to New York.

New York was difficult though. It was hard being that far away from her family and the people that supported her through everything, and harder still to break into to the theatre business. It caused Jax to relapse into self-harm after several months of living on her own, and one night things suddenly felt very scary so she called her dad. Sheldon stayed on the phone with her all night, asking her if she need him to fly over to her, but after their long talk Jax turned him down. She knew she had to learn to stand on her own two feet, and instead they compromised by Jax agreeing to call him every night for the next two weeks. Their nightly phone call became a little ritual that kept Jax grounded, and while the frequency dropped to every other night and then weekly, she was grateful to have that lifeline when she needed it.

Her theatre roles began to pick up, and while she never seemed to land that big breakout role, Jax enjoyed her roles in several Off Broadway productions, and even landed a few minor movie and tv roles as well. Eventually, she landed the starring role in a pilot that would have her playing a doctor (no the irony was not lost on her) that brought her back to LA, but while they shot almost a full season of episodes, the network elected not to pick up her show, and Jax found herself a little depressed again. She’d had enough of the fickle world of acting at this point, and decided to settle back home again, applying and getting the Professor of Theatre Studies job at PSU three years ago.

Jax loved being back home, and teaching gave her a new lease on life, grateful to be away from all the pressures of trying to land a new role. She still acts on occasion when the right job comes her way, but her energy is now poured into a different project instead, and that is the Broken Wing Theatre Company. Jax wanted to do something to honour Angel, has done for a long time but could never find the right way to do it, until one of her students mentioned something about wishing there had been a queer safe place when they were growing up to explore the theatrical arts before college, somewhere they could just be themselves. It clicked in place, that was the perfect way to keep their memory alive, and so she established Broken Wing as an LGBTQ+ Youth Theatre Group, completely free and run by volunteers that puts on three productions a year and runs an extensive summer programme too. She loves it, and she might be prouder of it than anything else she’s ever done in her life. She hopes Angel would be too.

Life is pretty good for Jax these days, with one niggling exception: her ex. You see, Jax has dated on and off her whole life, never really settling down with anyone for very long, too restless for that. But this ex was different, they’d dated for nearly two years, and despite the fact that their relationship had at times been rather toxic (never abusive, just a lot of misplaced jealously and a lack of communication mostly), Jax couldn’t seem to let them go completely. One phone call or chance meeting out and about, and she’d find herself in bed with them again, and no matter how many times she swore blind that this was the last time, it never was.

Still, her frustrating love life aside, Jax is thriving in the world for a change, accompanied by her fur babies Doug and Ollie, and very grateful that her dad turned around and came home that day over twenty years ago.

FAMILY BACKGROUND

Sheldon Beiste did not have an easy life growing up as a closeted transgender man in Milwaukee. He always felt like a misfit and wrong somehow, but that didn’t stop him working towards his life goals. After suffering a bad ACL injury in college, Sheldon’s dreams of (then) being the first female quarterback for the Green Bay Packers went up in smoke, but that didn’t deter him. Instead he changed his college major and became a football coach, starting with his home team of the Milwaukee Badgers and gradually building a reputation as a tough, no-nonsense kind of a coach. His success with the Badgers lead to more and more opportunities and eventually he coached the Chicago Bears to their 1986 Superbowl win. He settled as the Bears coach in Illinois for a little while and met his first husband, finding himself pregnant, deciding a little stability would be the right thing to do for his family.

After divorcing his first husband, Sheldon had a couple of other boyfriends but never really settled with another man, far more concerned with his children and their wellbeing than he was with his own romantic life. Being a dad was by far a greater achievement than any football tournament, and after two consecutive Superbowl wins with the 49ers in San Fransico, Sheldon retired from coaching to focus on his family instead. It was a few years later that Sheldon realised that all these weird and uncomfortable thoughts and feelings about his body weren’t normal insecurities that women had, and finally admitted to himself to that he was, in fact, a transgender man.

He didn’t care about anyone’s opinions on his gender other than his children, and thankfully they loved him just the same as “dad” as they had as “mom”. Sheldon did experience some initial backlash in terms of his career, but eventually landed himself a sports correspondent job on CNN. That involved into his own sports radio talk show The Beiste Is Loose, before eventually turning into a late night talk show host for The Late Late Show. He still talks about football as much as he can, but he enjoys sharing his homespun sayings with his guests and being “the friendliest face in late night television”.

[davidaugust]

Come see This Week This Week live from LA…it's the DNC in Chicago! Come see it tonight, a couple sketches I wrote (a Putin Transistor Device sketch and JD Vance Crashes the DNC sketch) and much much more. It's like the news but funny.

Tix at: https://openfisttheatre.my.salesforce-sites.com/ticket#/events/a0N2I000022tnQ0UAI '

[c-foster]

Is This Really Happening!?

Henry began to relax as time passed and the movie kept running normally. He even started to enjoy it—laughing at the funny parts and gasping at the plot twists. 

Then, all of the sudden, the unbelievable happened. The main character, Freya, stopped mid-sentence and looked directly into the audience.

“Hey, you, in the audience, you have to help us!” she said in a sharp tone.

Henry chuckled.

“Seriously, we need your help!” Freya repeated. 

“Where is this bit going?” Henry mumbled under his breath.

Frustrated, Freya crossed her arms and snapped, “This isn’t a bit Henry.”

The sound of his name echoed in Henry’s ears, and he froze in his seat. How did the movie company get his name? What the heck was going on? His mind raced.

Another character, Archer, ran into view. 

“Freya, you’re freaking the kid out! You should have started with a calmer, and more welcoming tone. You never take my advi—” Freya put her hand on Archer’s mouth.

“We don’t have time for any of that lovey-dovey nonsense.” She said in an annoyed tone. 

Archer squirmed and mumbled, trying to get Freya’s hand off of his mouth.

“Mmm, hand, hmm off mm mouth!” 

When Freya finally released him, Archer gasped for air. 

“What is your problem! You seriously need to get those anger issues in check”

Freya rolled her eyes, “Don’t be so sensitive Archer.”

“Um HELLO!! What is going on?” Henry screamed at the screen.

Freya and Archer fell silent and turned to look at Henry.

“Right. Sorry about that, Archer can be a bit… fussy” Freya said. 

“Hey!” Archer snapped back.

“I’m Freya, this is Archer, were the main characters of this movie. Before you ask, yes we are actually talking to you, and we desperately need your help” 

“What!?” I don’t—, this can’t be—…”

“He’s not calming down” Archer worriedly whispered to Freya. “Just let me try okay?”

 “Fine” Freya agreed reluctantly.

 “Hey, Henry, let’s try to calm down bud” Archer said softly. “You’re not crazy okay. We orchestrated this whole thing. We locked the doors, we made sure the theatre would be empty, and we turned off your phone. We did it because we need your help. Please hear us out.”

Henry closed his eyes, trying to recenter his thoughts.

While part of him wanted to run, another part was curious. So, he made a split-second decision. His eyes flew open.

“Okay” he said.

Archer pumped his fist in the air celebrating.

“Okay, listen closely” Freya said. “The film projectionist, Jake, has been keeping our movie on a loop, stopping it right before the ending and starting it over. It's torturing us. We need you to find a way to let our movie play until the end, then destroy it so we can finally be put to rest.” 

“Will you help us?” Archer said pleadingly.

Henry’s thoughts were in a frenzy. While he thought he might be going insane, at that moment, he decided to… just go with it! 

“I’ll do it” he said.

 “Thank you! We have to get back to the script now, or Jake might notice. We’re counting on you Henry” Freya said before resuming her line. 

While Henry remained still in his seat, his mind was racing as he started to think up his plan of attack. 

[ledenews]

Cloak & Dagger On the Air Presents Original Sin This Saturday

Two new radio plays are showcased in the troupe’s mid-season finale This Saturday, May 27, 2023, The Ohio Valley Cloak & Dagger Company presents Cloak & Dagger On the Air’s mid-season six finale at 4 p.m. at Top of West Virginia Convention & Visitors Bureau, located at 3539 Main Street in Weirton (across from Ferguson Tire Pros). Titled Cloak & Dagger On the Air: Original Sin III, the production will feature two original radio plays by executive producer and head writer Pete Fernbaugh. Act One will premiere the latest episode of the troupe’s interactive non-British British game show, Let's Solve a Meta Mystery! The mystery this go-around is titled "A Fistful of Outlaws," in which we journey back to the cowtown of Hellfire, where every myth and every legend you’ve ever known about the Old West comes alive, only to die at the end of a gun, a fist, or a carelessly hurled shot glass. “One Friday evening in the Six Feet Under Saloon, lawman Wild Wyatt Wheeler, guns drawn and eyes a-blazin’, crashes the debauchery to declare that Angus McMann, the Surly Scotsman and the Richest Man in These Here Parts, has been found dead on the outskirts of his property, his expansive ranch has been razed, and his fabled Ostrich Egg Gold Nugget has been purloined,” Fernbaugh said. “The studio audience, including three contestants who will join our troupe on stage, will have a chance to solve the mystery of Angus McMann's demise and win some prizes, all while immersing themselves in the absurdity and arcanity of this unique game-show experience.” Act Two’s drama is titled The Wayfaring Stranger. “Imagine a past filled with the most despicable acts a person could commit,” Fernbaugh said. “Imagine spending 15 years of a life sentence in prison, locked away for those acts, only to one day be released and given a second chance no one believes you deserve, including you yourself. Then, imagine having to face the world you wronged head-on, without the protection of those prison walls or the security of your sentence. What would you do? Where would you go? How would you respond to this undeserved freedom? And how would the people you wronged, whose lives you destroyed, respond to your undeserved freedom?” Such are Matthew Thomas's circumstances when we meet him in The Wayfaring Stranger. A score by classical pianist Roberta Fedoush will accompany the piece. The cast for both stories includes: Sheila Cavalette, Rob DeSantis, Bethany Fernbaugh, Pete Fernbaugh, Noah Hilton, Nancy Longo, Karissa Martin, Ralph Parissi, and John E. Reilly, with sound effects by the Holy Foley Molies. Admission to Cloak & Dagger On the Air: Original Sin III is free, although donations to help cover production costs are always appreciated. Light refreshments and water will be available. Doors open at 3:30 p.m. with live music by R.J. Gaudio, Troubadour, who will perform pop, rock, and folk music favorites. The program will also livestream from The Ohio Valley Cloak & Dagger Company Facebook page starting at 3:30 p.m. Top of WV CVB is located at 3539 Main Street in Weirton, W.Va. Ample parking is available behind the building, where there is also an entrance. Individuals with mobility impairments may more easily enter through the building’s front entrance. Cloak & Dagger On the Air is a monthly theatrical series from The Ohio Valley Cloak & Dagger Company that celebrates audio drama from all eras, particularly the fabled Golden Age of Radio. By reimagining classic radio dramas and literary works, along with original stories written and produced by independent writer and actor Pete Fernbaugh, Cloak & Dagger On the Air strives to give audiences an immersive experience that engages the theatre of their imagination in creating a fully realized storytelling adventure. The Cloak & Dagger On the Air podcast completes the experience by presenting these stories in the way they were meant to be seen: by the mind's eye. For more information and for updates on our live and recorded productions, please visit The Ohio Valley Cloak & Dagger Company's Facebook page. Read the full article

[seeinghcsts]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎THOMAS CUT HIS eyes sharply to the company reeve had apparently been keeping , the lingering members of the theatre board resuming pleasant chatter and mindless conversation as they dotted the hall behind the man tom's focus was meant to be on. thomas's fury was pushing against the back of his eyes, clouding his vision with black spots he tried to blink away, reeve's voice ringing in his ears like the toll of church bells. " they weren't braindead. they were actual fuckin' concerns , reeve, " thomas bit , brooklyn clinging to his tongue as his anger bordered on seething. " — you know what fuckin' doors you just opened ?? ones i thought we had all agreed to lock and leave behind ?? where the fuck is this sudden change of heart comin' from , huh ?? this desperate need to be the hero or some shit ?? "

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ the anger made sense in his head, but it felt foreign in his limbs ; like it wasn't supposed to be there. he was being made to feel like something was wrong with him because he thought , and believed , this to be a stupid idea. he thought reeve of all people had felt the same until all of this bullshit about a docuseries came about. glaring at the lingering fingers behind them, thomas reached forward, grasping the fabric of reeve's sleeve whilst the other hand found the handle to the auditorium door — practically dragging the other through them with him before he could get away. once the door latched, clicking behind them, thomas got closer — a metaphorical steam pluming from flaring nostrils as his jaw tightened.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎" like i'm stayin' home while all of you go out there to do who knows what. yeah fuckin' right, " he grit through his teeth. then, pointing an accusatory finger to the man's chest. his voice was kept to a harsh whisper, words grated like he had swallowed a fistful of glass. " you're talkin' about MY friendship with luke ?? ‏‏‎you want the whole world findin' out you beat the golden boy til he was bleedin' right before he vanished into the woods ?? if this is some fuckin' way of clearing your name , draggin' a film crew out to the mountains is NOT the way to do it , man." thomas wanted to reason with him; getting on the reeve's bad side was not what he was looking to do, but when every skeleton he had tucked away in the closet was at risk of being exposed ??

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎tom couldn't see through the anxiety, not clear enough to stop.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏" you're putting everyone at risk and being an arrogant prick about it. have you even thought about what could happen if people put together that WE were the ones on that camping trip last summer ?? we'd be fucked, reeve. i'm allowed to have some concerns about that. " ‏‏‎

reeve will never admit this, not even to himself, but there was a split second— a blink and you miss it moment— where the look in thomas' eyes and the tone in his voice made him want to wilt. it reminded him of every time he got a little too rowdy and luke would tell him to settle down, a look in his eyes that cut reeve to the quick. without fail, reeve would comply, mumbling out some lame, meek apology. like he was no better than a dog with its tail between its legs.

in that split second, thomas marching toward him as he piled out of the auditorium with the other theatre board members, reeve felt a flash of that same trained instinct : the one that told him to heel. to defer. to submit.

❝ what was i thinking ? ❞ it took everything in him not to explode on the other man, fingers flexing and unflexing at his side as he mentally counted backwards from 10, desperate to keep his head on in front of the other people still lingering in the hall — people reeve really wanted to keep a good impression with. ❝ i'm not the one who immediately started posting braindead things in a group thread. ❞ over thomas' shoulder, he caught a concerned glance from one of the other board members, and schooled his expression into one of cool, polite neutrality. ❝ if you don't like it, stay home. no one's asking you to come. ❞ staring thomas down, he refused to so much as blink, words only just louder than a whisper as he added, ❝ it's not like you really gave a shit about luke anyway. ❞

[imaginethoseguys]

Liquid Courage

Hi, I need to submit a seminar paper in 10 days so naturally I wrote this 3k+ fic for Itadori Yuji girl, bye

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x fem!S/O Word count: 3.3k Warnings: fluff, drinking, drunk confessions, slight angst, au motifs Summary: No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys who she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.

Yup, no way that was happening. a/n: Itadori's in his 20s (as well as s/o)

gif credit

It wasn’t Yuji who offered to spend the Friday night at a bar. He didn’t enjoy drinking that much, and there was some weird old movie at the local theatre that they could watch and make fun of together. But it was an unusual occasion, they were on a week-long mission, dealing with curse activity in Osaka, and, well, it was  her  who asked, so of course he agreed. He never went against her suggestions, he trusted her fully, maybe even too much. Possibly, it was her way with words. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say in situations where Yuji often found himself at loss for words. She was reliable and reassuring and had a certain kind of warmness to her.

Or, possibly, it was Yuji’s six-years-long crush on her that had him blushing and hyperventilating at anything she did, so opinions were divided on this one.

No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys with who she felt comfortable enough to be herself. Yup, no way that was happening.

“Oh, look, they have homemade plum wine!” her exclamation brought Yuji’s attention back to reality. “And it’s in pitchers too. Lucky!”

“You do remember you can’t hold your liquor, right?” he said, propping his face on his right hand while watching her mumble giddily “plum wine and soda, plum wine and soda.” She lowered the laminated menu sheet and leveled him with an annoyed gaze.

“I am a grown young woman who earns a living by exorcising curses, I’m pretty sure I can handle a glass or two,  Yuji .”

“Including that time when you threw up on Fushiguro mid-conversation?”

“That was graduation! And we did shots.”

“Yeah, it was also 7pm.”

“Enough of you, mister.” She threateningly pointed a finger at him and turned around to call the waiter. Receiving an acknowledging nod in return, she turned back. “Besides, if we’re talking about you, everyone is terrible at holding their liquor in comparison.”

“I’m just heavyweight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just a beast machine who suppressed the King of Curses and can run 50 meters in 3 seconds,” she shook her head at her own description, “no wonder you’re Special Grade. Why do you bother drinking at all? Pretty sure it does nothing to you.”

“I don’t do it on my own. I like the company.” He said timidly.

“Aw, see? This is why I love you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened unintentionally, but she didn’t look at him long enough to see it, her attention swiftly taken away by an approaching waiter. He assured himself he was better at controlling his feelings, but it was all falling apart now, like a bunch of lies, because he could feel his entire face and ears pulsate from heat. He stared at the way her lips moved, making the order.

as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend

“Yuji? Yuji!”

He snapped back, looking even more surprised.

“You wanted the Ginjo-Shu, right?”

His gaze lingered on her face, open and bright, with eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yeah.”

This is fine.

* * *

“Ah, see? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Yuji furrowed his eyes helplessly and took the glass from her hand. She tried to down her drink in one motion but missed and spilled it over herself. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure if it was her being lightweight or her not stopping in time.

“When did that even happen,” he mumbled to himself, “she was fine a minute ago.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she moaned in drunk annoyance, “because I  am  here.”

“So it seems,” Yuji smiled.

“And I may be many things, but there’s one thing that I am not, and it is deaf. Or stupid.”

“Yup, that’s two things though.”

She sighed loudly and leaned back on the wooden wall of their booth. They were surrounded by soft mixes of white noise: distant frying and sizzling from the kitchen, clinking of glasses, and giddy discussions of the upcoming weekend. They could almost feel like they belonged here, to the normal crowd of Osaka drinking their weekly stresses away, complaining about their bosses, bills, and personal dramas.

Is that what it’s like to be normal?  Both of them thought.

Yuji looked over at her and felt the heat returning to his cheeks. This drink spill felt too deliberate to be accidental. And her bra was very thin, and the bar’s AC was on and—

Yuji groaned and swiftly took his hoodie off, almost throwing it in her direction.

“Wear this, please.”

She didn’t really fight it and slowly put it over her head, beginning to crawl inside. She stopped somewhere in the middle and breathed in.

Ah, it smells so good. Smells like him.

She pressed the fabric into her face, taking in his scent. When did he manage to put on cologne? That’s just unfair.

“You okay in there? Are you stuck?” Yuji looked questionably at the wrinkly bundle that was now his hoodie with her somewhere inside.

“Listen, Yuji.”

“You’re just gonna talk to me like this, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft voice. “I know this isn’t how you would spend your night, but—I wanted to—you know. But in the end, I just—and—”

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug, and her head popped out of the hoodie, revealing Yuji’s face lightened by a warm smile.

“I told you, I like the company.”

There was a needle prick somewhere around her heart, and she pressed her lips together, taken by a sudden wave of sadness.

“Let’s get back, yeah?”

* * *

Their hotel wasn’t far from the bar, but due to her condition, the walk back took longer than usual. Summer was ending, the air was still warm, but there was a tingling coldness with each wind blow,  a careful reminder of the approaching grey sky and smell of wet concrete, covered by tired leaves.

The path to the hotel entrance was hidden among the sleeping quarters, illuminated by floor lights, and framed by tall bamboo sticks. Yuji walked first and was right in front of the automatic sliding doors when he stopped and turned around to check on her. Instead of right behind him, he saw her at the beginning of the entrance path with her head down.

“Hm? Are you okay? Wait, are you sick?? Then stay right there, if you wanna throw up, do it—um—” he swiftly looked around. Seeing a gardening pot near one of the doors across the street, he pointed at it. “Here, maybe in this pot? Wait, no, this is a nice neighborhood, imagine waking up and finding vomit in your plants… ah, maybe in this bamboo? I’m not sure if it’s real though… ah, but this hotel allows hosting of jujutsu sorcerers because the owner is a friend of someone from the higher-ups, and if we vomit here—"

“Yuji.”

“Oh, maybe vomit in my t-shirt? And I’ll carry it to the nearest dumpster? No, that’s a horrible idea. Are you sure you can’t hold it until we get to our room? Then—”

“I’m not sick, Yuji!” she said loudly, maybe even too much so. “Although all this vomit talk is grossing me out.”

Yuji raised his eyebrows. “Then what’s wrong? Wait, did drinking uncover your hidden phobia of hotels? I read that somewhere…”

She smiled sadly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He bared his teeth, clearly offended. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to be helpful! Jeez, if you can’t walk – just say so, I’ll carry you to our room.”

“I don’t want to go to our room!” she yelled again. Yuji’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

“Because then we go to sleep, come back to Tokyo and—I—” She squeezed the hem of his hoodie, “and I’ll never get another chance.”

There’s a short silence after her outburst. Yuji glanced over her hands that were clenched in fists and looked to the side.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our only chance to visit Osaka, we can always book a vacation and come back here.”

“Huh? Who cares about Osaka? It's—”

“I’m not very smart,” he interrupted her quietly, “so you’ll need to be straight with me, otherwise I won’t understand what you mean.” Then, his voice got even quieter. “Or I’ll start imagining things that aren’t real.”

“Yuji, I—” she tried to speak fast, because she felt a betraying lump in her throat, “I never wanted to drag you into a bar. There was this old movie at the local theatre that we could have watched, but I—If I didn’t drink, I would have never gotten the strength to say the things that I’ve been meaning to say for a long-long time. And this trip felt like a perfect opportunity, and you’re right, I’m a lightweight and I overdid it, and I was so close to saying it, but I thought—I cherish you so, so much , Yuji, it hurts me to even think about it. I tried to tell you before, after graduation, but you distanced yourself from me that night, so I figured it was a bad idea. I still think it is, but I—Yuji, I—”

Yuji shortened the distance between them with a desperately fast sprint and grabbed her with both of his hands, squeezing her so tight that she could barely talk anymore, her face pressed into his chest. He was silent for a bit.

“I distanced myself from you during the graduation night because you looked so vulnerable. I thought you were doing things you would regret the next day, so I didn’t want to take advantage. Because when you’re like this with me, I,” his hands trembled, “It’s so hard for me not to be selfish.”

“Wait, Yuji,” she tried to move away from him, but no matter how hard she pushed, she would never win Yuji in a battle of strength. “Please, let me finish.”

“No,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “When you say that this is not the way I would spend my night… You can invite me to dumpster dive or read books about molecular physics in a public library, or lick poles in winter, and I’ll choose it over anything else. When I found out we would go on this mission together, I was so happy. I can be doing the grossest, most stupid, and pointless things, but if I’m with you – it would be the best way to spend all the time I have. I hate being alone, and it's all I ever felt for so many years of life. But when I met you—when I’m with you – I feel so warm. You make me forget about the bad stuff. When you’re next to me, I—I feel wanted. So please,” his hands weakened his grab on her frame, letting her lean back and catch a glimpse of his face. “Please, don’t give me false hopes.”

Their breaths were hot and shaky as they looked each other in the eyes, hypnotised by each other’s presence. She cautiously moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Yuji swallowed thickly, he had to stop himself, but her hand was soft and warm, and the number of times he dreamt about this exact moment didn’t let him move an inch of his body. She raised herself on her tiptoes and leaned to his lips. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so close to his that—

“Ghh, stop,” Yuji groaned and pressed his forehead to hers in agony.

“Why?” She asked breathlessly, “you don’t want this?”

“ No ! I mean, yes. God, I want this so much my head could explode, b-but,” he leaned back slightly, revealing his glowing red face, from the neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re drunk, and we’re tired and I,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I want this to be right. If you wake up tomorrow and don’t remember any of this, I—”

“Stop talking,” she moaned and pulled him back by the fabric of his t-shirt, crushing her lips into his, arms then moving up to snake around his neck. Yuji had to resist. He had to, but when she touched him like this, the taste of plum on her lips, and when her—

“Mhm,” Yuji groaned hopelessly, feeling her tongue explore the insides of his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he felt like his heart could stop. Suddenly, he was so putty in her hands, he would do anything for her to keep touching and kissing him like this. No, for her to do anything she wanted with him. He would make a pact with a curse and sell his soul to stay like this a little longer, or to never feel the need to breathe again, so her lips can remain sealed with his forever. Still desperate for air, however, he forced himself to pull away, a shining string of saliva stretching between their lips.

She breathed in, preparing to talk. “I—”

“No, please, don’t say it.” He pressed their foreheads together again, breathing heavily. “Allow me to be selfish. I—I want you to say it tomorrow, in the morning. So that—”

“—It’s real?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled bashfully, looking into her eyes. He could see himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes. They were bright and kind, and they looked at him the way he never thought would ever happen. He never thought he would be close enough to her to have the chance of examining just how deep and gentle they are.

Yuji moved a hair strand away from her face. “C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

He lifted her in one motion and pressed firmly to his chest. She could hear the rapid pounding in his chest, and it made her heart race after it. Pressing her ear closer, she could almost hear his thoughts. She didn't really need to hear them, she got the general idea from how uneven were his breaths and how his fingers trembled around her form.

While they waited for the elevator inside, she looked at him.

“Can I keep kissing you?”

His face heated up for a hundredth time this night, as he diverted his gaze nervously. She could feel his hands now squeezing her a little tighter.

“Y-yeah. I would like that.”

* * *

Yuji did not know that pain can bring such an amount of happiness with it. There were two single beds in their room, but they ended up sharing one of them together, which resulted in soreness and numbness in different parts of Yuji’s body. His back ached from arching it so that he didn't fall, and he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore because he went to bed while hugging her. Not that he was complaining though. He could go to sleep on hot coals for all he cared if that meant she would lie on top of him. Feeling her body next to his sent vibrations down his spine. Suddenly, he heard her groan, and his heart fastened its pace.

Nanami Kento was right when he said that getting old is manifested in small things. One of them was getting morning sickness and headaches from any amount of drinking, moderate or otherwise. She hid her face in both of her palms and turned to the side, trying to hide from the morning sun. Sliding the palms down to her chest, she was met with Yuji’s glowing but anxious face: his hair was a mess, and there was a big imprint on his right cheek from the pillow wrinkles. She smiled softly, reaching out to fix one of his hair strands.

“Hi,” she rasped.

“Hi,” he responded, sounding relieved.

“Remind me to never drink again,” she said, turning on her back tiredly. “I lose years of my life from each hangover.”

“I mean, it’s exactly what I’m doing each time, but the strategy doesn’t seem to be working.” He chuckled, slowly getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring you an aspirin.”

Her eyes traced his features radiating in the morning sun as he made his way to the coffee table across the room. He had plenty of scars across his back and more on the chest. None of Jujutsu High students got anything close to normal school life, but Yuji certainly took the cake. And to remain so gratuitously giving and caring all while dealing with so much burden and pressure—her heart sank from just the thought.

She sat up as Yuji sat in front of her on the side of the bed, giving her a glass of fizzling water. She smiled in gratification and brought it to her lips.

“By the way, can you tell me what we ended up doing yesterday? I don’t remember shit,” she said nonchalantly before starting to gulp down the medicine.

The look on Yuji’s face filled with terror and chagrin; he felt his fingertips grow colder as he grasped the bedsheets beneath his hands. He lowered his gaze in silence, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Meanwhile, she downed the glass and put it on her nightstand. Looking back at him, she lifted the corners of her lips.

“Kidding.”

He let out a questioning yell and grabbed a pillow, aiming a blow. “You’re so mean! Never  ever  do that shit again!”

He threw the pillow into her face, and she laughed, grabbing his hand, and pulling him on top of her. Yuji positioned his hands on both sides of her head and felt the familiar heat run up his neck to his cheeks, nose, and ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She lifted her hands and palmed his face, looking deep into his amber eyes. Yuji swallowed thickly, both of his palms twitching uncontrollably.

“Yuji.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I love you.”

The warmness from her hands went deep beyond his face. He felt her arms reach out gently into his chest and cradle his heart, calming its frantic heartbeat and holding it with such care that it sent lumps to his throat. He fought back the quivering of his lips as her thumb stroked across the scar right beneath his eye.

“I love you so  so much,” she murmured fondly, squinting from her growing smile. Yuji lowered his body closer to hers and hid his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind.

“If you don’t stop, I might die.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t… feel this happy.”

She closed her eyes contently and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, dumbass.”

She played with his messy hairs, breathing in his scent.

“But if you don’t reciprocate, I might die as well.”

Yuji rose sharply on his hands and leaned forward, crushing his lips into hers for a quick second.

“I love you,” he said loudly after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” he kept repeating after kissing her over and over again. “I lov—” She interrupted him mid-sentence and took initiative, thrusting into his lips and parting them with a twirl of her tongue. He moaned and gave in, moving his head to the side.

Please, don’t leave me

I’m with you until the world collapses

[tenthgrove]

Yandere Gelato accidentally slapping darling in the middle of a heated argument. This set back all the progress they have made and even Sorbet is extremely upset with Gelato.

A Great Step Back

Sorbet and Gelato x Reader (GN), Yandere, SFW

(A/N: I've agreed with zyette to tone this request down a little so that instead of darling getting slapped, Gelato just threatens to harm them. Hence, there is no actual physical abuse in this imagine, but there is a cw for threatened abuse.)

All things considered, your existence as Sorbet and Gelato's caged darling had actually been going well for a couple of weeks. That's not to say you were in any way happy being forced to live with the murderers who stole you from your home, but let's just say your heart caught a break from its constant racing at least... most hours of the day. The point is, you were beginning to get the impression that if Sorbet or Gelato had any intention of doing you harm, they would have started by now.

Whether you realised it at the time or not, this is exactly what the couple were aiming for. They wanted you to feel safe in the knowledge that as long as you didn't try to flee or fight them, you had absolutely nothing to fear in their company. They hoped, that this would be the first step towards you finally growing to love them the way they loved you. Then, perhaps you might be happy. That's all they wanted really.

And so, they did what they could to gradually, gradually bring you out of your shell. Sorbet would come down late at night to lie next to you as you watched your little TV. Documentaries are his favourite; there's a quiet intelligence to that man you were slowly coming to appreciate as he spoke to you. You were struggling a little more to relax around Gelato, his wild temperament always keeping you unnerved, but at some point you stopped pulling back in fear every time he ushered you upstairs to watch him cook. You even laughed at some of his jokes.

All-in-all, they were very optimistic, both of them. Now you could relax around both of them and not be constantly looking for a way out, maybe it was time to begin the conversation about letting you leave the basement more often, maybe even during the night... Then Gelato had to go fuck it up.

Sorbet was out for the day- there was a hit that needed doing. For him or Gelato to kill without the other nearby is near unheard of, but it was a very safe mission and to go together would mean chaining you up alone for the whole day. After how good you were being, that hardly seemed fair. A nice, comfortable day lounging about the house with Gelato sounded like the perfect reward for you, and could be just what you needed to solidify your newfound trust of your more unnerving new husband. Even someone as risk-aware as Sorbet didn't foresee how anything could go wrong with that.

Trouble started when you walked out of the sitting room to grab a drink from the kitchen. Gelato did say you could do this, but seeing you get up and go out of sight still rubbed him the wrong way. He followed you into the kitchen, catching you in surprise as your first moment of privacy outside the basement or bathroom in weeks was rudely interrupted. You jolted so badly you dropped your drink, glass shattering everywhere. As Gelato offered to clean it up you snapped at him, chastising him for always acting so creepy and clingy around you.

At first, Gelato tried to stay calm, reiterating he just doesn't like having you out of sight, but- not being as afraid of him as you used to- you refused to back down, pushing him further on just how far you'd had it with him. Without even really meaning to, you were soon spilling out every little thing you despised about Gelato and his bastard of a husband. What? Did he really think you had stopped hating them just because you realised that spending every second of the day fighting was getting you nowhere? They kidnapped you! They treat you like a pet! Of course you despise them!

Now, it was always the agreement you could run your mouth as much as you wanted as long as you didn't get physical, which so far, you have not. That said, Gelato can only stand so much of your slander, especially when you're insulting his darling Sorbet as well. As each one of his attempts to reason with you fails, he becomes angrier and angrier. You can see this too as his brows fall and his fists clench, but you've gone far enough as it is. As much as your reasonable self curses you for it, you don't back down.

When Gelato snaps he does it all at once, lurching forward and forcing you up against the cabinets. You yelp as a hand slams next to your face, Gelato leaning in close and asking if you've forgotten who it is you're dealing with. Together with Sorbet he's killed enough people to fill a theatre hall, and even if you are immune from that fate as their beloved little spouse doesn't mean they can't make you wish you were never born if you're really so desperate to get hurt.

You only seem to shrink further against the wall as Gelato's threats become more and more descriptive. Finally, as Gelato grabs your chin and asks what you have to say to all of it, you let out a pained, terrified yelp and fall to your knees. Gelato steps back in shock, realising what he's done. He looks down at you, crying and mumbling incoherent pleas for him not to hurt you. Gelato leaves the room, shutting you in the kitchen (where there's no other exit) and collapsing onto the sofa. He knows after fucking up that badly, he won't be able to fix things himself. He needs Sorbet.

Sorbet gets home thankfully a short time later and Gelato explains what happened. They find you exactly where you were last, curled up on the floor of the kitchen, still muttering to yourself fearfully as though in some kind of terror-induced stupor. Gelato feels his heart drop as you scramble back at the sight of him. He stands back as Sorbet scoops you into his arms and carries you to the familiar comfort of your bed down in the basement. He does say sorry though.

For the rest of the day, Sorbet tends to you alone. He asks for your side of the story so he knows exactly how angry he needs to be with Gelato. He promises they would always love you no matter what and you don't need to be scared of them. Gelato lost his temper and he was wrong. He'll make sure it doesn't happen again. After that, Sorbet goes up to Gelato and asks him to honestly, truly tell him if there was any chance of him raising a hand to you. Gelato insists that as out of line as he was, he's certain he wouldn't have hit you even if you did keep up the argument. He might have been angry, but he never would have hurt you. You're just to sweet to him.

You don't see Gelato again for another day. You start to wonder if he's still angry with you, even though Sorbet says he just needs some time to think about what he's done. Then, late in the evening, you see him, looking more frightened than you are as he stands in the half-open doorway of your room. Sorbet ushers him in, taking your hand gently and promising it's alright. Gelato kneels in front of you, touching your face as though you were made of the most delicate material in the world.

He asks if you're willing to forgive him.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I hope everyone's had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies!! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” 

“You seem a little agitated, if you don’t mind my saying so.” You did mind her saying so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be irritated with Mrs. Lloyd. She was Uncle Cornelius’ housekeeper, had known you since you were very young, and was familiar with your moods. “I’m not particularly looking forward to this evening,” You excused. Mrs. Lloyd glanced at you in the mirror as she adjusted the off-the-shoulder sleeves of your royal blue evening gown. “Could it have anything to do with the fact that Lord Dawson will be in attendance?” She asked. “Among other things,” You replied stiffly. She hummed, lifting her hands to smooth over your hair. “Shall I tuck a flower into the braid? I got a lovely bunch of gardenias at the market this morning,” Mrs. Lloyd offered. She didn’t wait for your answer before she headed for the door. “Why gardenias?” You asked, turning to look at her. “They symbolize purity and gentleness,” She told you. You grimaced. “Are there any flowers that symbolize resentment?” You asked. Mrs. Lloyd frowned. “Petunias. But I didn’t buy any of those.”

-- “It’s the last thing this country needs, reform,” Mycroft had been prattling on for nearly twenty minutes now. Most of the men’s voices uttered murmurs of agreement, though you noted Sherlock’s was absent. You glanced in his direction to find him eyeing the man that had been seated across from you. Lord Fredrick Adelbert Dawson did cut a fine figure, you couldn’t deny it. With a sharp, pointed jaw, dusty blonde hair, hawk-sharp steel blue eyes, and an aquiline nose, he tended to draw the eye of many a young lady. He had even drawn yours when you’d first met him. And then you’d had a conversation with him and any interest you’d had faded quickly. You lowered your eyes to your plate as you saw Sherlock’s gaze flit to you.

“Come now, gentlemen, I do believe we’re boring our companions,” Cornelius chuckled, casting looks around the table, “Perhaps Mr. Holmes could tell us about the case he’s currently working on?” You felt yourself grow tense as everyone’s attention shifted to Sherlock. If he was rattled by this sudden spotlight, he didn’t show it. His face retained its usual mild expression; the only noticeable change was a now quirked brow in Cornelius’ direction. “What is it you’d like to know?” He asked. “Whatever it is you can tell us,” Cornelius pressed. “I’m not sure there’s much Sherlock can say about this one at present,” Mycroft’s voice was tight as he reached for his glass of wine. You watched him take a rather long sip before he lowered the glass to the table. The hand that had been holding it rested on the cloth, balled into a fist. “Is it because it’s confidential, or is it simply dreadfully boring?” Lord Dawson asked. You cast Sherlock a glance, watched him tip his head and narrow his eyes at the question. Oh dear. “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” “The truth?” Dawson repeated, brows raised in amusement, “What excitement can one find in the truth?” “About as much excitement as you find at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Is it still under the management of Madame Vestris?” “Sherlock,” Mycroft hurried to hiss from the other end of the table. But the damage had been done. You watched as the blood drained from Dawson’s face. The comment had landed with the other gentlemen at the table, and, unfortunately, with you. Uncle Cornelius, in one of his more intoxicated states, had once made mention of ‘the pretty ladies he’d been in the company of’ at the Theatre Royal. You weren’t naïve; you knew that they were ladies of the night. You reached for your glass of wine, avoiding the eyes of both Sherlock and Lord Dawson as they looked to you for a reaction.   “I quite loved H.M.S. Pinafore!” Cornelius piped up in the hopes of breaking the tension. -- After dinner, the ladies had adjourned to the sitting room for a glass of wine and some conversation; the men had remained in the dining room for brandy and cigars. You had only been able to stand the chatter for a few minutes before you excused yourself. You stepped out into the garden, sighing into the night air and allowing your shoulders to sag just a little. Dinner had been no less than a disaster. Even after Cornelius had moved the conversation on, there had been glares and harsh words veiled as polite conversation between Sherlock and Dawson. You had hated it; you knew that this would be awful, but you couldn’t have fathomed it would be nearly this bad. “Are you cold?” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Sherlock held his hands up in apology as you brought your hand up to your chest, feeling your heart pound. “No,” You lied, the word harsh in your irritation. If he knew you were lying, he didn’t call you on it. Sherlock turned, beginning to wander around the garden in silence. You rubbed your hands over your arms, trying to warm them as he was looking elsewhere. As you saw him turn back toward you, you quickly lowered your hands, clasping them in front of you. “What are you doing out here?” You asked. “I wanted some air,” Sherlock excused. “There’s plenty of air inside.” “And you?” Sherlock asked, “What drew you out?” “... It was too warm in the sitting room,” You fibbed. Sherlock hummed, clearly unconvinced before he began to wander the garden again. “Did they teach you to lie at finishing school?” He had meant it to be a joke, but you nodded and said, “In a way.” His brow furrowed. “Explain,” He requested. You looked down at your hands, considering. “Well... You’re taught to comport yourself according to the rules of society. How to sit, how to eat, how to smile, how to speak, how to laugh. And you’re taught to act that way regardless of however you may truly be, or however you may feel. You learn to become someone else, for the sake of society...Though everyone tells you that it’s for your own sake.” When you looked at Sherlock, you found him watching you closely. ��...Promise me you’ll find Enola before Mycroft does,” You pleaded softly. His mouth turned down in irritation. “I’m doing everything I can, dove,” Sherlock swore. “If you were doing everything, you wouldn’t be taking breaks to ruin dinner parties,” You retorted. Sherlock grunted, turning away from you. “Your Lord Dawson is quite the character,” He commented. The butterflies in your stomach began to swirl about in an uneasy flurry. “How so?” You asked. “Well, he’s quite blunt, firm in his opinions. He seems to be under the impression that you’re meek, soft...Though maybe that was the fault of the gardenia,” he glanced back at you. You let out an irritated huff, reaching up and yanking the flower that Mrs. Lloyd had put in your hair out, tossing it on the stone bench near you. You glowered at the sight of Sherlock’s amused smile. “I’m sure Mycroft will be quite cross with you for what you said to Fredrick,” You commented. “Fredrick?” Sherlock repeated, stopping in his place, a thread of incredulity in his tone. You arched a challenging brow, silently daring him to comment on the name further. Rather than press, Sherlock said, “I’m sure Mycroft is already taking the pains to smooth things over. You’re familiar with Dawson, do you think he’s amenable?” “Your brother has a reputation for being persistent to the point of ruthlessness. I’m sure his success is imminent.” “I wasn’t asking you about my brother,” Sherlock pointed out. He tucked his hands behind his back, regarding you. “...Could you be happy with him?” The question took you aback, but your answer was prepared - it was the same thing you’d been telling yourself for months: “My family would stop worrying about my future. It would be a weight off of their mind, and therefore mine.” “That isn’t an answer.” “Yes it is,” You argued. Sherlock considered this. “I disagree,” He finally said, “Let me ask again.” He began to cross the garden toward you in slow, steady steps as he spoke, “Would you be happy, being Lady Dawson? Attending opening day at Ascot? Wearing the latest fashions? Having your name in the papers whenever your husband takes up another of his several affairs?” Your stomach churned uneasily, heart pounding as Sherlock stared you down. “Stop it,” You mumbled. “Bearing two, three little lords or ladies? Shipping them off to school--” “Stop it!” You snapped more loudly. Sherlock went still at that, close enough for you to see the flicker of shock in his eyes. You shook your head a little bit, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to quell the tears that had begun to prickle, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you looked at him again. “You’re just as bad as Mycroft sometimes, you know? Prodding me to see how quickly you can get a rise out of me like I’m some experiment and not a person. It’s cruel.” Then you saw it again - the flash of hurt that had crossed Sherlock’s face back at Ferndell. But it didn’t disappear this time. Instead it settled, twisting his handsome features as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You did it when we were young, too. Maybe it was fair then, maybe I was just this irritating noise-making thing that you wanted away from you. But we’re not children anymore,” You reprimanded him, “And what I may have to do to maintain my family’s social standing is none of your concern, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock looked at you then, eyes skating over your face before he met your gaze. “Your eyes are red,” He said. Irritation shot through you. “I’m not a case, Sherlock,” You sneered before you turned away, intending to leave. Sherlock’s hand caught hold of yours, stilling you. “Let go,” You hissed. “Dove.” His tone was beseeching, gentle. You didn’t trust it. “Let go of me,” You demanded. He did, and you strode away, leaving him alone in the night. -- “Are you alright? ... My dear, you’re shaking,” Mrs. Lloyd gripped you by the shoulders, steering you back into the study. “I-- It was colder than I anticipated,” You excused. You allowed yourself to be steered into a chair by the fire, folded into a blanket, the others fussing about you catching your death. No one noticed the gardenia missing from your hair. No one noticed the white petals peeking out from the pocket of Sherlock’s jacket as he bid Cornelius a good night. -- “Breakfast is on the table. And there’s been a delivery for you - it’s in your study,” Your mother informed you. You thanked her quietly before turning back to your vanity to finish pinning up your hair. You were glad to be home. Your last two days in London had been entirely uneventful. You’d met with your father’s other investor (with minimal condescension; the gentleman had actually been somewhat pleasant) and dropped in on your aunt one more time before traveling home. You hadn’t heard from Dawson, which was a relief. You’d heard nothing from Sherlock. That should’ve been a relief, but it was, in fact, agonizing. You told yourself it was because it meant that you had no news of Enola, but you knew that it was more than that. You couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you may’ve said or done if you’d turned back to him when he’d wanted you to. You hadn’t sought him out despite this curiosity, either in person or by post; he had a case to work on. Besides, you didn’t know what you’d say to him even if you did see him. You two seemed to turn to bickering when left to your own devices. Your curiosity about the delivery won out over your hunger, and you went into your study. There was a beautiful white satin glass vase sitting on your desk filled with purple hyacinths. You knew what those flowers meant well enough - you’d sent them to your Aunt Mary the last time you’d failed to send her a formal thank you note for a dinner party you’d attended at her home. Purple hyacinths were for apologies. You stepped closer to them warily, gently fingering the petals. Your eyes fell to the envelope beside the vase, and your stomach gave a little flip. Sherlock’s handwriting hadn’t changed after all this time; his penmanship had always had a crisp, almost tight quality to it. You picked the envelope up, pulling the note out. Please forgive me, dove.                                    -S.H. At the very bottom of the note was an address for Miss Harrison’s Finishing School. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24​ ; @awkward-walking-potato​ ; @madalore​ ; @alexa-lightwood-blog​ ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood​ ; @runawayolives​ ; @parkerismybaby​

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 2

The next day.

After finishing his work at the mansion, Bond headed to Whitechapel’s Leman Street, where Maya and her company normally held their rehearsals. [1]

Walking down the noisy street was not just Bond, but also three other employees of the Moriarty household. One of them was Fred Porlock.

“It would’ve been fine if only you came along, Fred…… But thanks for joining us anyway, you two.”

Bond directed that to Jack Renfield and Sebastian Moran, who were walking a little behind him.

As Fred was a master of disguise, Bond had asked him to contribute his opinion on the performance too when Jack and Moran decided to tag along. Now the four of them were on their way to the rehearsal — with Louis’ permission of course.

Jack roared with laughter.

“No, you don’t have to thank me. I’ve watched my fair share of theatre, so I thought I could help them out, even if it’s from an amateur’s perspective,” said the old butler, nodding as he reminisced about those good old days.

“You’re probably just after the young girls from the theatre company, aren’t you old man?” Moran said, half in disgust. “Bond said this Maya chairwoman is a dashing lady in her own right, so I came along to feast my eyes on—— Ow, that hurt!”

Jack had clapped Moran on the head, as a warning to not shoot his mouth off.

“The only one here chasing women is you. Really, you didn’t even finish your chores properly before coming here.”

“I did my part just fine. For once, I’m not skipping out on work.”

“Rubbish — I did a check before we left and found some cigarette butts in the hallway. Don’t you dare annoy Louis any further.”

“……W-Well, the more the merrier, right?”

“…………”

Listening to their usual argument at the back of the group, Bond smiled wryly, while Fred was silent.

Finally, they had reached their destination. Waiting in front of the theatre was Maya, and her little sister Mae.

“Mister Bond!”

“Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday.”

Mae waved her arms up and down in excitement, while Bond greeted them with a smile.

“S—sorry. Normally, she would play with the other children near our place, but today she insisted on coming with me…… By the way, um, who might these, d—dignified gentlemen be?”

“Ah, they work at the same household as me. The short one here is Fred. The somewhat scary-looking one is Moran. And this dandy old gentleman is Mr Jack. If you’re alright with it, I thought you could use their input as well.”

As Bond introduced them, the three men also greeted their host. But Maya seemed a little perplexed.

“……Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here in a big group,” Bond admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“No, no.” Maya hurriedly waved her hands. “I—I’m really grateful to be able to, hear valuable feedback from, so many people. For now, let’s not stand here to talk, please come in……”

Maya guided them into the theatre, stooped in a self-abasing posture. Her faltering voice was much as the same as from their previous encounter, but today, nerves seemed to have crept in as well.

“She has a sort of shadow about her, but that has its own charm. Like the transient beauty of a young widow, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty, for sure, but not really my type. More like the kind of woman who complicates things when you break up with her.”

“Um, sorry you two, but if you could just keep your voices down,” chided Bond, as Jack and Moran whispered about the chairwoman behind her back.

Right after the entrance was a cramped space. The box seats above them looked hastily constructed; in truth, the interior decorations made it seem more appropriate to call this place a playhouse, rather than a proper theatre.

But their guide had only praise. “The manager here is, a really nice person; whenever we say we want to practise, he’s always happy to lend it to us. There are performances held at night, so we can only use it during the day.”

“He trusts you, doesn’t he.”

Hearing her speak with such sincere gratitude, Bond was quietly impressed by her character. Perhaps her dark aura easily invited misunderstanding, but she was definitely genuine at heart.

“Speaking of which, Miss Maya, you said that you’re the director for this performance, but surely someone else is responsible for the sets and the arrangements at the other theatre during this time?”

“Another member is in charge of the sets, but the negotiations and the like, w—were handled by me. Even so, the manager of the larger theatre — a nobleman — had actually approached us to be the opening act for another company, and I just accepted his invitation.”

“Still, isn’t it great to be invited to perform on a bigger stage, even if it’s just as an opening act?”

“Yes; for people like us — a theatre company from the slums, we don’t have many chances to show the world what we can do, so everyone’s doing their very best.”

Saying that, Maya secretly clenched her fists. Surely the one working the hardest was none other than Maya herself.

There was no audience in the stalls, and on the stage were a number of men and women — likely the company members themselves — doing light warm-ups and vocal exercises. A few of the children he’d met yesterday were also frolicking about on stage.

One exceptionally tall man on the stage had noticed Bond and the others enter the hall, and spoke up.

“Oh, is that the rumoured theatre master?”

Moran whistled at this unusually grand title.

“Theatre master, eh. A fitting name considering your experience, Bond.”

“Fufu, I’m honoured.”

Bond accepted it with his innate courage and composure. Then, he went onto the stage with Maya, while the other three sat in the stalls at the far end, so as to not stand out and interfere with the rehearsal.

The company members each stopped what they were doing and lined up in wait.

“Everyone, this is Mr Bond, who will be watching our performance today,” introduced Maya.

Right then and there, her voice had become clearer and stronger. A little taken aback by the sudden change in her attitude, Bond took a quick look around the room.

“Hello to you all. I’m looking forward to what you have for me today,” he said solemnly, as he bowed.

“We’ll do our best!” The company members bowed their heads in unison.

From their greeting, Bond could feel the the quality of their bearing, and the strength of their cohesion. Not only that, the tension he himself once felt when he stood on stage came rushing back in waves.

He switched his frame of mind from that of a special agent, to that of an actor, and looked over Maya and her company with an earnest gaze.

“Well then, without further ado, please show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes!”

Even though his instructions had been given with no introductory remarks, they asked no unnecessary questions, and jumped straight into preparation. Even though they had only put up plays in cheap theatres, Maya’s company already displayed the high level of professionalism they had developed.

“Miss Maya, what’s the programme for today?” Bond asked, as he moved to the row of seats right in front of the stage.

Maya was also directing Mae and the other children to sit down. “We’re starting with ‘The Red Shoes’, followed by ‘The Little Mermaid’, and lastly, ‘The Little Match Girl’.”

“Hmm, fairytales, I see.”

The unexpected subject matter piqued his interest.

In a time when Shakespeare was all the rage, to perform children’s literature in a proper theatre, and a serious scripted play at that — now this was a bold move.

But as someone who liked to do things unconventionally, that was precisely why their play intrigued Bond. Yesterday’s playful rendition of “The Little Match Girl” was probably inspired by it as well.

Then, the tall man who noticed Bond earlier spoke up.

“Ain’t it interesting? Maya always makes sure to write plays that even us poor dumb folk understand. Today’s script is also entirely her work,” he said cheerfully.

“Weren’t you in charge of creating the play too? You should be able to write at least one decent line of dialogue.”

At the man’s self-satisfied tone, a woman beside him sighed. But he ignored her pointed comment and carried on.

“There were a bunch of people who’d always thought ‘Hamlet’ and ‘Macbeth’ and the like were plain boring; but after Maya broke them down into something easier to follow, they’ve gotten hooked onto Shakespeare.”

“Being able to interpret works in a way that everyone can understand…… A wonderful talent indeed.”

But if you were to put on a proper production of Shakespeare in an unregulated theatre like this, you would be caught by the censors. To avoid that, incorporating music and the like into their productions was a brilliant adaptation on their part.

Bond had said that last part out loud, and the man thanked him for his words of praise. The members of the company had shown their admiration for Maya, but the woman herself took in a deep breath, as if to hide her embarrassment.

In other words, in order to put on a play that everyone could follow, the answer she'd arrived at was “fairytales”. Although it may be the best choice given the short length of the opening act……

“I’m sitting next to Mister Bond!”

“Hey, no fair!”

Bond had been absorbed in thought about the contents of the play. Nearby, the children were scrambling for the best spots. Having won the seat to the left of Bond, Mae asked him a question.

“Mister Bond, do you like ‘fairy tales’?”

That pulled him out of his thought process for a moment, and Mae smiled.

“Yeah. I read them when I was a child.”

“I like them too, because Maya and the rest always read them in a fun way—”

“Me too!” The other children raised their hands and shouted. Reading stories aloud while acting out the roles was indeed a theatrical way of reading to children.

However, Mae immediately pouted in frustration.

“But I really hate that story.”

“……Why is that?”

“The little girl always looks so sad. I tried asking Maya to give it a happy ending, but she just said that we have to ‘respect the intent of the story’ and didn’t listen.”

Her words helped Bond discern the true nature of the incongruity he'd felt.

As Mae had said, all three stories had their protagonists fall into unfortunate circumstances and perish. It was true that many fairytales were cruel, but there were others with happy endings too. Was there some hidden intent behind these choices?

As Bond pondered the new question that surfaced in his mind, Mae leaned in towards him.

“Mister Bond, do you also think it’s important, what Maya said? No matter how sad a story is, can’t we make it happy on our own?”

She asked that question with clear eyes. Bond thought for a few seconds, before responding.

“It’s true that it’s important to understand the intention of the original story. If you change its contents haphazardly, the fans of the story would be upset. I think your sister is the type who would take that very seriously.”

Mae glanced down in disappointment at his level-headed answer, but Bond continued.

“However, if we were all afraid of criticism, then nothing new would ever be made. If you have something you really want to tell others, then I think it’s possible to add a new interpretation to a story. After all, one form of respect is to show the world how you would’ve done it.”

“……Oh I see!”

Mae brightened up, and Bond smiled. Her question was one that had always, and would continue to vex all interpreters of stories. But at the very least, he didn’t want to make a decision on which way was right.

Just as their conversation had come to an end, it seemed the preparations for the performance were now complete.

“Without further ado, let us begin.”

Standing on a platform, Maya gave a bow, and with that the curtain rose.

Footnotes:

[1] Leman Street is a little to the north-east of the Tower of London and St. Katharine Docks, and within walking distance of both.

T/N: Is this chapter some meta-level commentary on the series itself?! omg

[jae-daddy]

Red Rose (3)

Jaebum Mafia Series

one / two / three /  four / five  masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader  genre: mafia, angst, romance, mature plot: im jaebum was your first love in university, but then he disappeared. and now he’s back, and he is a mafia leader? a/n: okay so I got a little carried away, and what about it? lmao jk. hope y’all like it. it’ll get better from next chapter <333 not edited at all

The first time you met Jaebum was on the first day of orientation. Your friend had ditched you last minute, and you didn't know anyone else. You stood off to the side, on the edge of the group wishing to hideaway.

You wondered if you could just go away unnoticed. You probably could, but you were scared to be called, and you also didn’t know what you would do if you walked away. You didn’t come to the city much, and all the streets looked the same. All walking away would have achieved would be endless wandering through the city streets, trying to find some sort of familiarity.

You sighed, checking the time and seeing only twenty minutes had passed.

“Hey, can I sit here?” You looked up to find a dark-haired boy smiling at you as he pointed to the seat occupied with your bag. Your cheeks flushed once you realised you had been staring for a minute too long.

“No. I mean, yes, go for it,” you mumbled, before biting your lip at how awkward you were as you removed your bag.

“I’m Im Jaebum, by the way,” he smiled sitting next to you. You gave him a shy smile back, your fingers a fidgeting mess in your lap.

“Y/n,” you replied softly.

“Are you doing a STEM degree too?” He asked you shook your head before replying, letting him carry you into a friendly conversation. He spent the whole day with you after you told him your friend couldn’t make it.

However, you didn’t get his number, and no matter how much you searched on social media, you couldn’t find him. But then by fate or destiny, you met him again. You were outside the lecture theatre waiting for the class inside to walk out when you felt a presence beside you.

“We meet again,” he smiled at you, and your heart skipped a beat. “Hello, y/n.”

“Let me out of here!” You banged against the door, your fist hurting from the heavy beating against the hard wooden door. “Please!”

You didn’t get a reply. No matter how much you yelled, knocked or kicked against the door, you didn't get a reply.

“Please,” you breathed placing your head against the door. You closed your eyes tight as you pushed back the tears of frustration.

You tried not thinking about what had happened a few hours ago. You didn't want to think about the deafening silence after the gunshot. You didn’t want to remember the red that pooled beneath him, how his limps fell to the floor as the man you had killed slowly bled out.

You had killed someone.

You needed to get out of here.

But you couldn’t. You had woken up in this huge room that belonged to some sort of king. It was magnificent, yet modern and contemporary. It’s how you’d imagine penthouse rooms to be that cost more than your monthly wages. But you knew this wasn’t a penthouse.

The silence, this peaceful, skin-biting silence didn’t exist in the city you lived in. No police sirens were going off every few minutes, no honks, no loud suspicious noises, no screams or yells. There was nothing, absolute quietness, and you were losing your mind.

“Let me out!” You pulled at the door once again, before kicking it once again. You stumbled over to the bed, bringing your knees to your chest as you hid your face into your body.

You wouldn’t cry, you told yourself. You will not cry, not now.

And then, like a miracle, the door swung open and in walked in a familiar boy.

“You,” you breathed, remembering him. He was the card-bearer of the group whenever they walked into the diner. He would be the first to tell of the boys and talk to you as if their behaviour was his responsibility.

“We haven’t been introduced,” he adjusted his black jacket, as he placed a tray of food on the table in front of the empty fireplace. He gestured to the food, raising an eyebrow at you in invitation. “I am Park Jinyoung.”

“I’m y/n,” you replied, not moving from your place, your knees still tucked into your chest. “What am I doing here?”

“How about I explain that while you get some food in your tummy?” He gave you a reassuring smile, as stepped to the side and settled on a chair, gesturing the other to you.

You grudgingly got up and sat in front of him. Jinyoung didn’t say anything, his gaze on you and the food, waiting for you to start eating. You slowly took a small bite of the French toast, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, y/n,” Jinyoung softened as he watched you chew your food. “It should be us who should be thanking you for saving our maknae.”

“Oh right,” you placed the bread down, you didn't care to use cutlery, not when you felt so raw and savage. “How is the boy?”

“The boy,” Jinyoung snorted, “is fine. It’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.”

You nodded, taking it all in.

“So this isn’t new to you? You use guns and hurt people all the time?”

“Only the bad guys,” Jinyoung smiled, offering you a cup of hot chocolate. You took it off his hands and took a small sip.

You welcomed the warmth it spread in your empty tummy, “How do you decide who is good and who is not?”

Jinyoung smirked at that, as he took a sip from his own cup filled with dark coffee, “Sometimes things are cosmically bad. A moral code isn’t required to know and punish those evils.”

“Violence is violence.” You countered.

“Not when it’s to stop a greater evil.”

“There will always be a greater evil,” you held his intrigued gaze, “how do you know when to stop before you become the greatest yourself?”

Jinyoung smiled at that placing his cup down, and just shrugged, “I don’t know.”

You watched him for a few more seconds, before glancing at the open doors.

“How long have I been here?” You asked, meeting his beady eyes.

“You’ve been unconscious for two hours, and then have been sleeping since then, according to our doctor,” Jinyoung replied, smiling as your cheeks began heating up. “It’s been a day. Don’t you sleep?”

“I do. I just...” You trailed off not answering the question. Your leg started shaking anxiously as your mind began to race. “Can I go home?”

“Yes, of course,” Jinyoung replied offended. “We weren't kidnapping you.”

“It seemed like it with the locked doors, and not letting me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Jinyoung laughed a bit, his lips slightly pouting. “We weren’t home, so we didn’t realise you had woken up. And the guys who remained back ended up occupied, that’s on us. Sorry.”

You just nodded. This didn’t seem that bad of a situation, it didn’t seem like these guys would hurt you or wanted to hurt you.

And then you remembered him.

“Jaebum,” you spoke, making Jinyoung’s wide eyes meet yours in surprise. “Where is he? Can I meet him?”

“You know JB?”

You nodded in reply. Your body on edge with nerves with anticipation, as Jinyoung walked out to get Jaebum. Your fingers nervously fidgeting on your lap, your lips turning raw between your lips, and your leg furiously moving up and down.

You didn’t know if you were truly ready to meet him again. You didn’t know how you would act or what you would say. You had seen him at the diner once, and that was it.

That was all you had of him in the past few years. Just those few moments in your small diner avoiding him and his melting warm brown eyes. You didn’t know what to expect, or how he would act.

But in all this mess, he was the only one you could count on. The only one you knew, the only to help you settle your shaking heart and speeding mind.

You heard his footsteps before he walked in and the doors closed. You spun in your seat to see the boy who comforted you in a room full of strangers, standing there staring at you.

“Jaebum,” you breathed raising up from your seat. You didn’t know if you would ever say that name out loud to him ever again. You had said it so many times before, in so many different ways to him.

You whispered it into his ear, you had moaned it, screamed it and warned it. You never got tired of saying his name, you never got tired of him. Before the name could even begin to lose its magic he had disappeared, but now he was here once again.

He stood there. His dark hair a troubled mess, as if his fingers had spent the past hours running through them endlessly. His white button shirt clinging onto his solid muscles, showing his toned abs and strong arms. The first two buttons of his shirt left open, showing soft skin, the bottom of his shirt untucked messily. He looked like a mess, he looked beautiful,

“Jaebum,” you whispered, tears sparkling in your eyes as you gave him a small smile. Jaebum continued to stare at you, but it didn't falter your racing heart. “How are you?”

Jaebum didn’t reply for a long minute. He continued to stare at you, taking you in slowly. His dark gaze swept over you, drinking you in carefully. But he didn’t smile, his tense shoulders didn’t relax. His hands remained tight by his side, as his jaw remained locked.

“I am as good as someone can be when dealing with a meddlesome waitress shooting the right hand of a mafia company could,” he replied coldly.

Your brows furrowed at that. There was no hint of a smile, no warmth, nothing.

You stumbled over your words, as you gulped and took a step towards him, “Is he okay, Jae?

“He isn’t dead, right?”

Jaebum rolled his eyes, annoyed before sighing, “No, unluckily not.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you say it was trouble that I shot him? How is it unlucky that he didn’t die?” You asked confused, your lips falling into a soft pout. You didn’t like the cold line Jaebum’s lips were drawn into.

“Well, he deserved to die,” Jaebum sighed, finally moving from where he stood. He walked away from you towards the windows looking out over the garden, and forest beyond. “The trouble is now we have a liability.”

“I am the liability?” You asked, watching his back flex as he placed his hands on ledge leaning against it.

He didn’t turn back to you, he looked over his shoulder. His voice tired, irritated as he breathed, “I don’t see any other waitress in this room.”

Your brows furrowed, your lips frowning and you were sure you looked like a ridiculous little kid about to throw a tantrum, but you didn't care.

Before you could speak, the door opened and in walked Jinyoung.

“JB, Derek is on call,” he spoke in Jaebum’s direction. Jaebum just nodded, sighing heavily before he began walking towards the door. You stood there struck by shock at how he was acting.

Was he really going to be like this?

You had just almost murdered someone, ended up in this strange mansion place, near kidnapped, and all he had to say was that you are a nosy waitress who was nothing but a liability.

No hello, or thank you, or how have you been? or I’m sorry for disappearing all those years ago, but surprise! I am now part of this shady bullshit.

Like hell.

“Jaebum!” You called out into the hallway, he stopped a few steps away from disappearing around the corner.

He didn’t reply, he just stood still staring ahead of him. Jinyoung turned to look back at you with raised brows and then gawked between Jaebum and you.

“I am just a nosy waitress?” You snickered, as you strutted towards him. “I am no one else?”

You stopped behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and twisting him to meet your enraged eyes. “Is that all I am?”

Jaebum smirked back, his eyes so dark and empty, your heart sank, “Are you meant to be anything else?”

“You don’t remember me?” You snorted, your eyes burning with threatening tears. You hated the crack in your voice, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter what emotions you showed or spoke with, it didn’t take away from what you saying. “You don’t remember me at all? You don’t know me? So what you’re saying is that you never went to a carnival and missed all the targets with the gun game, and then treasured a panda keychain I had won you?”

You could see Jinyoung close his eyes to stop himself from laughing.

Jaebum, on the other hand, was not amused or pleased. He took a step forward, making you tilt your head to meet his furious eyes darkening with every passing second.

“You are no one.” Jaebum spat each word, soaking in every word as it pierced your heart.

You looked away from him and took a step back.

“I want to go home,” was all you said looking at his chest.

Jaebum turned, giving Jinyoung a nod before disappearing around the corner.

Jinyoung bit his lip, and you could feel the questions bubbling inside him.

“Shoot,” you muttered as you followed behind him.

“Did he choose the panda keychain?”

“I could have gotten him the giant teddy, but that's what he wanted,” you shrugged, and Jinyoung chuckled.

_______________

You lifted your curtain to find the car remain outside your apartment. The two men in the vehicle reclined, settling as they pulled out snacks and began their little campout.

You sighed, and moved towards the bathroom, stripping the dirty and sticky uniform of your body. You turned the shower on and stared at your reflection, waiting for the water to heat up.

You took in your face, your hair, your lips and your eyes, and wondered how much of it had really changed since you last saw Jaebum. You looked exactly the same; those who knew you would never forget you. Especially, not someone who had spent endless extraordinary moments with you as Jaebum had.

You were exactly the same. Your eyes just a bit more tired, a few lines starting on your face. You didn’t look like a girl anymore, you knew that. The person in the reflection was a woman, a ghost of the past, but still recognisable.

Once the mirror fogged up with steam, you walked into the hot water and let it wash over you.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t say or do anything.

You turned off the shower, dried yourself and walked into your bed.

You covered yourself in your blankets up to your neck and stared at the wall.

“Didn’t recognise me, my ass,” you whispered, and then finally you let go of the tears.

Luckily, you didn’t have work for the past two days. You had spent one day passed out at Jaebum’s mansion, and the other mopping around in your room. You had spent it watching romcoms, and binge-eating every form of sweet and chocolate in your kitchen.

But reality had caught up, and you were now going back to work at the diner. Your gaze drifted to where the car had remained religiously the past day and found the empty parking spot.

You shook your head and brought your purse closer to you as you walked towards the bus stop. You would normally walk to work, but today you were exhausted.

You felt so drained mentally, that your body actually hurt physically.

You didn’t know what happened next though. You were looking through your purse searching for your bus card at the bus stop, when the next moment, a hand tightly gripped your wrist pulling you forward.

The edge of the van slammed against your shin, making you cry in pain. Your wrist was already burning from the tight grip, while your other hand clawed at the hairy hand, that painfully pulled you into the white van.

“No. Stop.” You pleaded, trying to throw yourself back out into the street and out of the van.

A sharp slap against your cheek made your neck almost snap, as someone pulled your hair, and yanked you inside.

“Shut up bitch.” A man with angry eyebrows warned, your cheeks prickling from the pain. He took your hands and tied your wrists behind you, and duck-tapped your lips.

You let him. You fell back, knowing and waiting.

There were four men.

They threw you into a room and didn't even bother to lock it as they walked out. You stayed quiet and listened.

Finally, after what felt like two hours, two of them went out to get some food. The other one went to take a lap around the building, leaving only one.

One was better than four.

You reached along the edge of your skirt, finding the small flat-blade you always kept tucked away there. Everyone had laughed at you and called you insane when you told them you had been doing this to all your outfits, but jokes on them.

You opened your mouth, darting your tongue out to lick away the adhesive of the duck-tap. You carefully cut the zip-tie, biting back the hiss as the sharp edges painfully dug into your skin. You snapped it free, pulling the duck-tap away, before getting up and stretching.

One guy. You could take one guy.

You looked around the room and found a wooden chair.

You rolled your eyes at how stupid they were. The first thing they should've done was tie you to the chairs, but these idiots underestimated you.

You opened the door slightly, searching for the remaining lad. You found him sitting on a chair facing away from your door. He laughed at whatever he was watching on his phone, and you quietly crept out.

You decided against the chair, picking up a rod on the way instead. The guy must have sensed you, as he began turning around, but before he could, you slammed the rod against the head.

You watched as he knocked out, and began walking towards the area you hoped was the exit.

You were almost out when another figure appeared in front of you.

You sighed, clutching the rod tighter in your hand before raising an eyebrow at him.

“Come and get me, shit-head,” you smirked.

“You’re dead, you fucking bitch,” he growled as he charged towards you. You dodged him as he swung a fist at you. You didn’t have strength, but you had speed, you quickly smashed the rod at the back of his knees, making him fall. You instantly landed another blow on the back of his head.

Once he stopped moving you began running out again.

You didn’t know how long it would be before the others returned, or if any others were loitering outside. You didn't let go of the rod and checked every corner before making a turn.

You could see the parking lot, you were almost out.

You began racing towards the door when a bang echoed from behind you. Terrified, you turned back to find the first guy standing there with a gun pointed at you, “Going somewhere, bitch?”

You cursed yourself, as you tried running faster. You should’ve checked for guns, how stupid could you possibly be.

“I’d stop there if I was you,” he chuckled, enjoying the game. However, despite his warning words and the gun in his hand. He didn't chase after you or shoot at you freely. You guessed his lack of speed to be a result of his bleeding forehead thanks to you. But the missing gunshots, however, were a mystery. Nevertheless, you welcomed the stroke of luck or his foolishness with gratitude.

You were almost at the door when two figures appeared in front of you.

“Really, Ron?” The red-haired one grunted at the man behind you. “Couldn't even take care of a little girl like her?”

Three against one, odds outweigh you by a lot, but you were not going down without a fight.

You continued racing towards them and swung the rod straight onto their face. You land it straight onto the red haired’s face but were too slow for the other.

The other kicked your stomach, making you fall to the floor. The rod slipped out of your hands and fell a few feet away from you. You tried reaching for it, but before you could, your scalp burned in pain as he yanked you up by your hair. His hands folded into your long locks, as he held you still before striking your face with the back of his hand.

Your cheeks throbbed in pain, and you tasted the warm metallic tang of blood on your lips and cheek.

“Asshole,” you cursed before thrashing around. It didn't achieve anything but another slap, making you fall onto the floor and hit your forehead against the cracked tiles. You winced glancing up, to find your rod just a few inches away from your hand. You quickly grabbed it as he dragged you back up.

You crushed it against his head, making him fall to the ground. You heard gunshots resound from the other side of the room. You instantly hit him one more time, swinging the rod, at the other guy coming towards you. He lunges backwards giving you enough time to pull out the gun from the guy crying in pain, holding his nose and mouth.

You pointed the gun to the leg, swiftly shooting his leg, making him cry out in pain. And then turn to the other, who surrenders instantly.

He gets on his knees, holding up his hands.

“Throw out your gun, now.” You ordered, and he did it immediately. You picked it up quickly, before turning to the other guy. His head still bleeding, and his gun still pointed at you.

“I know you can’t shoot me,” you told him, you were just bluffing but hoped it was correct. You shot towards him, missing his feet by a few centimetres. “But I can shoot you. Take out your magazine and throw it over here.”

You shoot one more time, this time higher. He grudgingly fell onto his knees and did as you said.

You picked up his bullets, putting it into your pants, along with the other gun. “If you’re going to chase after me, count to two hundred before you start. It’s the least chivalrous thing you could do.”

You raced onto the deserted road. The moon low and the world surrounded in darkness. You continued running, despite your cramping legs, and burning throat and lungs.

You knew the men would be arriving any second now.

And then, like a miracle, you saw headlights. You threw yourself in the middle of the road. Your arms flailing like crazy; tears, sweat and blood mixing together as you cried for them to stop.

“Please stop!” You cried, and then thinking maybe you should’ve hidden the gun to seem more friendly and less serial killer. “Please! Please!”

It slowed as it neared you, and you carefully made your way towards the driver’s side.

“Please help me,” you cried, your words rushed and breaking. “I was kidnapped, and I somehow escaped, but they’re chasing me- please- just- please just give me a ride just a few distances away from here. I- please.”

The windows rolled down, and you were met with distant eyes blazing with icy fire.

“Get in.” He said coldly.

“Jae.”

[davidaugust]

I've a sketch in tomorrow's (8-8-2024) This Week This Week unspooling the story of RFK Jr. and the Bear. The show is like the news, but funny.

Come to Open Fist Theatre in Los Angeles and see my sketch and more with this fine (2nd image) people on stage.

Tix at link on Open Fist's profile and: https://openfisttheatre.my.salesforce-sites.com/ticket#/events/a0N2I000022tnQ0UAI