#and failed a level five roll 3 times in a row

[timothylawrence]

this is exactly how hala and raphael's first meeting goes

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Date #3

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 7.7k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: none, BUT THE FLUFF IS COMING DOWN FULL FORCE YA’LL

a/n: don’t forget, I taking your guys’ comments/reactions into account for this series, so please let me know what your thoughts are! of course, at the end we’ll really take a deeper look at all of the dates and what stood out the most, but I would love to hear from you about this one!! love you all, enjoy!

Date #3

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The more time has passed, the more you fully come to realize that if you have been that affected by two dates, you are in no way prepared for the five that remain.

Nope. Not one bit.

It was Thursday when Jungkook finally texted to check that you were free around eleven. Your heart leapt, finally. A date that you wouldn’t have to spend all day moping around waiting for.

So obviously, you were ready by 9. You know, just in case.

You’d been instructed to wear casual clothes, something that you rejoiced in. Donning your sweater with the word Harvard in thick blue letters spanning the front and a pair of skinny jeans, you felt right at home.

The boys never missed a chance to tease you about your Harvard sweatshirt, and for some reason they never believed your lie that you actually went there. Of course, that might be due to the fact that they were very much aware of your current schooling situation and it was most definitely not Harvard.

But hey...attending one of the top universities in South Korea wasn’t bad, either.

Currently you were perched on the end of your bed, partly due to the fact that if you went anywhere else you would most certainly just end up staring out the window at every car that passed by. Not wanting to look like a nosy neighbor, you’d confined yourself to your room to wait out the morning.

In the hours that pass, your thoughts are completely occupied by the two boys you shared the last couple of Saturdays with.

It would be a lie to say that you don’t replay the image of Taehyung standing in your doorway every night as you tried to sleep, his hair a fluffy mess and that cable knit sweater proving to be your doom.

Your thoughts were usually interrupted as you took your bracelet off and stared at it, imagining Hobi delicately placing each individual bead it it’s place. It’s when your hand burns with the memory of his gentle kiss on your palm that you finally set the bracelet down and let out a frustrated sigh.

Yeah...Jimin was wrong when he invited you to just think of these as nice, friendly dates.

He probably knew it, too.

“Ok,” you breathe out, closing your eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. “Just...enjoy it.”

Enjoy it you shall.

That’s the thing that carries you through the waiting, still just breathing in and out and mentally preparing yourself for all that awaits you today.

You get so carried away in your attempts to calm down that the knock on your front door comes before you realize how much time has passed. Taking one more steadying breath, you get up from your bed and amble down the hallway to the door.

Pausing for a moment, you realize that you truly have no idea who might be on the other side of that door. The thought makes you smile. You’ve always loved a good mystery.

Cracking open the door, you can’t help but smile as the figure before you has their back turned to you. At the sound of your quiet giggle, they turn around, eyes a little wide.

A nervous smile in place, Namjoon leans forward ever so slightly. Almost as though he’s being pulled in by your personal gravity. “Morning,” he says almost as an afterthought, his voice low.

“Good morning,” you respond, throwing the door open the rest of the way. “So you’re lucky number three?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

You busy yourself with grabbing your bag and double checking that you have everything. “What do they say?”

Namjoon shrugs, his nervous smile growing until it’s bordering on giddiness. “Third time’s a charm.”

Indeed.

Once you’ve ascertained that you have everything you’ll need (you made sure to replenish your mint stash earlier this week), you’re stepping out into the slightly brisk air and locking the door behind you.

The sound of keys jingling near your ear has you turning to face Namjoon, who wears an oversized, dark plaid shirt that’s open to reveal his black t-shirt beneath it. The picture of casual coolness, paired with his dark wash jeans and sneakers, the look is complete with the way his dimples poke out as he holds up the keys to your eye level.

“Guess who’s driving?” He teases in a sing-song voice, making you laugh as you swipe the keys from him. As the two of you descend the stairs toward the car, you tilt your head to the side.

“How did you get here?” Then, turning to him with wide eyes, “You didn’t drive yourself, right?”

He’s quick to shake his head, pointing out a car that’s turning around at the end of your street and slowly making its way back toward you two. “The guys dropped me off.”

The thought of Namjoon in a car with some of the boys and the rest trailing after them in a separate vehicle is endearing, while also hilarious. “All of them?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “Every last one of them.”

As the car draws nearer, you see the windows roll down and someone with familiar black, fluffy hair sticks their head out. Like a dog pile, another head hovers beside them.

Taehyung and Jimin.

Oh, and there’s Jungkook somehow managing to wiggle in between them.

“We apologize in advance, jagiya,” Jimin croons loudly with a teasing smirk. “At least try to enjoy yourself.”

You snort, clicking the button to unlock the car and laughing even harder when Hobi jumps at the sound of the horn. He sits in the passenger seat beside Jin, who drives. The two merely wave before mumbling something to each other that makes them laugh.

“Where’s Yoongi?” You ask, frowning as you do a head count and not finding him anywhere. In response, a pale hand coming from what must be the very back row of the car worms its way forward to the open window. You swear you can almost hear his disgruntled greeting, but it’s drowned out as Taehyung excitedly speaks up.

“Good luck trying to beat me, hyung,” he teases, shooting Namjoon a sweet smile that’s at odds with his teasing comment.

Namjoon just shrugs, utterly unphased as he follows you around the car and opens the drivers side with smooth precision. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

This encourages a round of ooh-ing that only serves to make you laugh even as you tuck away the momentary competitive side of Namjoon. Calm, calculated, and - if you’re reading that steely look in his eyes correctly - utterly in the zone.

Oh, you’re definitely enjoying this way more than you should.

“Drive safe!” The boys shout out amidst jeering comments directed toward Namjoon and his lack of driving abilities. With a final wave, they’re speeding off down the street. Once they’ve disappeared from sight, you notice the way Namjoon’s shoulders relax. He hurries over to the passenger side, hopping in and buckling up before fiddling with his phone.

“So...where to?” You ask, buckled up and ready to go. You tap the steering wheel excitedly, already feeling hyped up from the short interaction with everyone.

You miss seeing them all together. There’s a reason why you’re friends with the entire group.

“I put the address into the car,” Namjoon explains. “It should give you directions as we go.”

Arching a brow at him, you don’t shift into drive just yet. “So I’m driving us there, but I don’t get to know what the end location is?”

Smiling softly, Namjoon nods. “Exactly. You’re so smart, have I ever told you that?”

Scowling, you press the green button that appears on the screen and a warm female voice instructs you to drive to the stop sign and turn left.

You hum, pondering the slightly sarcastic question. “I’m not sure. But that’s definitely a sign that you should tell me more often.”

“I’ll make note of that.”

With a glance at the screen, you see the estimated driving time. “We’re leaving Seoul?”

From your peripheral, you notice Namjoon’s worried expression. “Is that alright? We can find something to do around here, it’s just-”

“No,” you rush to reassure him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.” It won’t be a particularly long drive, just over an hour, but you certainly weren’t expecting that.

Something tells you that there are plenty more surprises waiting for you today.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you slip into an easy conversation, Namjoon relating his latest experiences in his efforts to add something eye-catching to his studio.

“Like what?” You ask. “I love your studio the way it is.”

Namjoon looks over at you, smiling softly. “Really? I don’t know...I just feel like something’s missing.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for something today,” you promise, relaxing now that you’re on the freeway and in the flow of traffic. “Like, do you want something to hang up? Or something to go on your desk?”

He shrugs, taking a moment to roll his window down and close his eyes as it runs through his hair. “I already have a bunch of stuff on the wall, and if I put anything on my desk-”

“Right, you’ll spill on it.”

“Exactly.” You keep your eyes on the road, entirely missing the fond look he gives you.

“So basically, you don’t need anything.”

He huffs a sigh, rolling the window back up and sinking down into the seat. “No, I do, I just don’t know what.”

“Mmm.”

“Hey,” Namjoon cuts, giving you a dramatic glare. “Don’t mock me.”

Feigning innocence, you peek over at him. “I’m not!”

“Yah, just drive.”

“I am!”

Despite the bickering, you can’t fight the smile edging its way onto your features. A glance over at Namjoon shows that he’s having the same issue, his face turned away from you but failing to hide the silly grin he’s attempting to hide as his fingers curl at his lips. It’s a habit he’s had for as long as you’ve known him, one that often makes its way into many photos.

“Prepare to take exit 14,” the voice instructs, and you make your way over to the far lane, eyeing the looming sign that will announce what exit it’s for. Once the sign comes into view, you give Namjoon a puzzled look.

“We’re going to Anyang?”

It’s not that you have anything against the city, it’s just that...well, what is there in Anyang that isn’t in Seoul?

“See? Super intelligent.” It’s the only response you get from Namjoon, but it has you rolling your eyes in an effort to counter the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

In a couple of minutes you’re turning onto a relatively quiet street, only a few random people mulling about, enjoying their weekend. Namjoon points out an entrance to a parking lot that you would have completely missed due to its hidden nature. Once you’re parked and dwarfed between the buildings surrounding the little lot, you jump out of the car and make a show of stretching your legs.

Namjoon mimics you, a loud yet satisfying yawn coming from him. “Hey, are you hungry now or are you good to wait a little while?”

You pause, internally wondering. “I think I’m good for a while.”

“Great.” Rubbing his hands together, he comes to stand beside you. “Let’s go, then.”

You fall into step beside him. “Woah, you still haven’t told me where- oh.”

The two of you have rounded a corner and now stand in front of a nondescript building. Its sage green paint is chipping a bit, giving it a rustic feel that is only accentuated by the gold lettering above the door.

Wanderers & Travelers

However, it’s not the homey feel or the tasteful name that has you stopping in your tracks. It’s what you see inside, through the large windows.

Without a single word, you step forward as though in a daze. The little bell above the door chimes as you walk in, announcing your arrival. And, as though the entire thing couldn’t get better, the scent hits you.

The smell of old and new books, some leather bound and some hard backed, dives into your senses and leaves you whirling.

The walls in here are painted some shade of sky blue, complementing the deep wood shelves. It’s quiet in here, the only sound being that of shuffling feet.

If you blink, you’re afraid it might all vanish.

“Oh! You’re here!”

Turning to your left, you see a woman with flecks of white in her hair, smiling warmly at you and Namjoon. If you’re being completely, honest, you’d nearly forgotten that Namjoon was there.

The woman descends the final few steps of the creaky staircase, keeping a friendly distance as she nods at the two of you. “You were right,” she remarks to Namjoon. Then, to you with a teasing smirk, “You look like you’ve never seen a bookstore before.”

You sputter for the right words. “I- yeah, but this-”

“Is no ordinary bookstore,” Namjoon finishes for you, a hand at your elbow. You can’t help but lean into his touch, momentarily forgetting the rows and rows of shelves just a few steps away as Namjoon involuntarily steps a little closer.

“Ah, right. Well, first thing’s first: I’m Choi Min-jee. And this is my bookstore,” she gestures to the endless rows of bookshelves, and you wonder for a moment how all of these can fit in the building. It looks so much smaller from the outside.

Min-jee motions for you to follow her, and she leads the two of you to the nearest bookshelf. “These books range in languages and age, you never know what you might find. This shop has been in my family for five generations now - we’ve collected our fair share of books and other antique items.” With a little wink, she steps back. “Take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and the upstairs is open now.”

Namjoon perks up at this, looking over from where he’d pulled a book off the shelf. “Really? We’ll have to look up there!”

“Please do! I’m off to practice piano.” With that, she whisks away, leaving you to your own devices.

You stare after her in awe, mouth slightly ajar. It makes Namjoon chuckle quietly, he must know the feeling.

“I wanna be her when I grow up,” you whisper, earning a louder chuckle from the man.

“Same.” Namjoon heads deeper into the shelves, and you follow after him. He glances back at you over his shoulder. “This is my favorite place.”

“I take it you’re a regular?” You ask, eyes catching on a bright blue book with frayed binding. Pausing, you ease it from its spot. “Hm… ‘The Cottage by the Sea’.” You run my hand over the shiny inlay, a seashell glinting up at you. “Why do I feel like I just entered the world of ‘Little Women’?”

Namjoon snorts, wandering back over to you and gazing down at the book. He grabs the one that occupied the spot next to it on the shelf, the deep red absorbing in all the surrounding light. “You’re definitely Jo.”

“Really?” You ask, gently flipping through the first few pages and trying to find a publish date. “I always thought that I was more of an Amy.”

Namjoon looks appalled, tearing his eyes away from his book. “What? No. In what world are you Amy?”

“Hey! Don’t act like she’s a bad person,” You whine, bringing the book close to your chest. “She was just...trying to survive.”

Huffing loudly and obnoxiously, Namjoon heads over to the other aisle, peeking at you through the gaps in the shelf. “She got everything she ever wanted, without hardly having to ask for it. Are you telling me that you have everything you ever wanted?”

There’s a skylight above you, allowing the lazy afternoon sun to filter in and play with the lighter tones in Namjoon’s hair. He looks at you with his ferociously focused gaze, something that you had never squirmed under before but now find your cheeks burning as he doesn’t look away.

You sigh contentedly. “More or less. Look at me, I’m surrounded by books.”

Namjoon gets closer to the shelves, leaning down to be eye-level with you through the shelves. “So what’s missing?”

“Hmm?” You hum, getting a little lost as music starts up somewhere. You realize with a start that this must be what Min-jee meant by practicing piano, as the soft sound comes from somewhere hidden.

There’s a little smile on Namjoon’s face, just enough for a dimple to appear. “You said more or less. What are you missing still?”

Edging a little closer and nearly closing your eyes at the smell of leather, you’re tempted to reach through the shelf and poke at the little indent in his cheek. “Just your glasses, I think. I love it when you wear your glasses.”

The statement takes him by surprise, Namjoon’s dragon-like gaze dropping and a flush taking over his features before he steps back. “Hmph.” With that, he continues down the aisle, the red book still in his hands and the blue in yours. “I still think you would be Jo, though.”

“Why?”

The two of you match footsteps, languidly walking along the seemingly endless rows. You catch glimpses of him through the books, a soft dimpled smile on his face as he looks down at his feet. It’s enough to make your coy smile grow, and you clutch the book tighter to your chest.

Finally, Namjoon comes to a stop as another book catches his eye. You take the opportunity to round the corner and enter the aisle he stands in, feet carrying you closer to him. Just as you’re about to reach his side, he speaks.

“Jo is...well, for one, she’s a dreamer. And we both know you’ve got a lot of dreams in that head of yours.” He taps your forehead for emphasis, side-smile growing when you scowl. “But she’s a realistic dreamer. You’ve given up a lot for your dreams, but I believe that you’d leave it all behind if someone you loved was in need of you.”

You blink, unprepared for the genuine compliment.

“And,” Namjoon says breathily, sliding the book back into its place and turning on his heel to walk away. “You two share a tendency to be oblivious to others feelings for you.”

He keeps walking, leaving you to become a sputtering mess before launching yourself after him. “I- we what?!” You all but screech, wincing as you sound twice as loud in the empty shop. “I am not oblivious-”

With a triumphant smirk, Namjoon heads down a little slope that leads toward a sitting area. “Be honest with yourself. You wouldn’t have had any idea about the pact or anything if Jungkook hadn’t spilled it.”

“But that’s not my fault!” You defend, glaring defiantly at his back. “You guys had that under lock and key!”

Diving into another row, Namjoon looks contemplative. “Ok, that may be true. But tell me the truth: did you ever once suspect that...I don’t know, there might be something more going on? Even just once?”

You stand out in the main walkway still, frozen by his question. “Er…” Pausing to think, you squint down at the book still in your hands.

Of course there were moments that had your heart pumping a little faster and a blush rising to your cheeks. Movie nights always meant some form of cuddling, but you quickly just assumed that it was all part of the friendship. Good morning texts that made you sink back into your pillows with a lazy smile, or the little facts that one of the boys would remember about you always made you stop and wonder.

But you never actually entertained the idea. It all seemed too…

“Unrealistic,” you mumble aloud. When Namjoon looks at you quizzically, you walk down a few rows until something catches your eye. You delight in the fact that now he’s following you. “I guess I had little moments where I wondered, but it just seemed like wishful thinking.”

Stopping near the end of the row and looking up at the top shelf, you wiggle on your tip-toes trying to grab a book. Your fingers barely graze the spine of the book before a warm presence overshadows you and Namjoon’s fingers ghost over your own before tugging the brown book from its spot. Still pressed against your back, his light breathing makes the hair on the back of your neck tingle as he lowers the book into your waiting hands.

“Moments like this?” He whispers, hands coming to rest just above your hips.

Suddenly, you recall a moment from months before, when you’d been in a similar situation. The boys had invited you over for some breakfast on one of their rare morning’s off. You’d wanted some cereal, only to find the bowls on the very top shelf. Namjoon had come to your rescue, pulling the exact same move before awkwardly pausing and looking as though he’d wanted to say something. He hadn’t, and instead rushed out of the kitchen before you could even utter a ‘thank you’.

Turning around in his grasp, you can see that he wears a similar expression as before. This time, however, he looks determined to say whatever comes to mind.

With a quiet voice you whisper, “Who in their right mind puts bowls on the top shelf?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he throws his head back and laughs, the kind of laugh that sinks right into your bones. All you can do is watch him, feeling like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him. Perhaps it’s the first time you’ve ever allowed yourself to look freely.

“Ah, so you did notice,” he whispers back. “You acted like nothing happened, so I figured I was in the clear.”

With a roll of your eyes, you’re stepping out of his grasp and taking a look down at the new book in your hand. “With you, Mr. Kim, we’re never in the clear.”

He lets out a low hiss, but lets you walk away. Not like you realize he’s not following you anymore, you’re idly wandering around while thumbing through the mystery novel. It looks like it might be an original copy from one of your favorite authors. One that passed away in the 1950’s, but still stands out among the countless authors that have come after them.

You’ve made it down to the small sitting area, where a large fireplace is crackling.

“Huh,” you smile. As if this place couldn’t get any better. Plopping down on the couch, you let out a sigh at how the cushions sink and welcome you into their warm embrace. Setting the blue book off to the side, you open up the brown one and begin to read.

You’ve nearly completed the first chapter - knees tucked to your chest as you lean against the arm of the couch - when you hear footsteps approaching.

Expecting it to be Namjoon, you glance over your shoulder with a smile. It’s Min-jee, who returns the smile with a knowing look. You listen closely and realize that her piano practice must be over. Classical music plays over the speakers in the shop instead.

“Namjoon’s gone upstairs,” she explains, coming to adjust something in the fireplace. “He said something about finding an item for his studio.”

You close the book softly, stretching before sitting up straight. “What’s upstairs? More books?”

“No, we’ve expanded our antique selection, there’s an assortment of desks and chairs up there, among other things.”

Making an ‘o’ with your mouth, you get up. “This place is amazing, by the way.” You hold up the brown book with an excited expression. “I found this - I think it’s an original! How much is it?”

Min-jee makes her way over to you, smiling softly as she recognizes the book. “You’re a fan of this author too, huh? My grandad used to read these to me back before I had to start running the shop.” She offers you a fond look. “Oh, and Namjoon told me to put whatever you like on his tab. So don’t worry about it. Take the book.”

She must notice your shock, because she places a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezes it gently. “He also told me that you might be hesitant to get anything because of that. But honestly, get it. And ‘The Cottage by the Sea’. That’s one of my favorites, actually.” Min-jee nods at the blue book with its golden seashell.

“Ah, he knows me too well,” you sigh. “This might be silly to ask, but...do you think it’s alright? You know, to just get them?”

Min-jee, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t laugh at your question. Instead, she sees right through you, to the worry in your heart.  The last thing you want is to take advantage of any of the boys. “It would make him happy,” she responds, watching your reaction carefully. You immediately let out a sigh of relief, nodding and picking up the books.

“Alright,” you concede. “I’ll get them, then.”

“Great! I’ll take them up front and hold them for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s perfect.”

While she whisks away your books, you follow after her until you reach the staircase. She nods encouragingly, and you head up.

Clearing the stairs, it doesn’t take long to locate Namjoon. He’s standing in front of a large wardrobe, inspecting every inch of it. The sight makes you smile, enjoying the way he’s chewing on the inside of the cheek.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re getting for the studio,” you drawl, making your way toward him. He looks back at you, a wide smile interrupting his cheek chewing.

“I mean...no, but look at it!” He exclaims. “It’s beautiful, isn't it? Honestly, if I moved some things around, I could probably make it fit.”

You reach the wardrobe, marveling at the expert craftsmanship. “It’s gorgeous. But what would you even put in it? It’s not like you take all of your coats to the studio. And you want your trophies to be visible, don’t you?”

This thing must weigh a ton, the wood is thick and the hinges smooth. “Hmm...no, but I can think of something else I could hide away in here.” The way Namjoon glances over at you with a sly grin makes you stumble back, red rushing to your cheeks as you suddenly become preoccupied with a very old typewriter.

“What would that be?” You venture, running your fingers over the keyboard. You’re waiting for his answer, which you’re sure will be a single word - you. However, just as he’s opening his mouth and looking like he’s garnering the courage to say it, the creaky staircase announces someone’s arrival.

At first you think nothing of it, but Min-jee’s voice is loud. Loud enough that you know she’s trying to be heard.

“I told you, we don’t sell anything BTS related in this store.” She says, and you and Namjoon share a puzzled look.

A couple of voices respond, but one in particular stands out as she raises her voice. “I swear, I saw Kim Namjoon walking around in here just a few minutes ago!”

Their footsteps are growing closer, and you suddenly realize that this is Min-jee’s way of warning you two.

Rushing over to Namjoon’s side, you look around frantically. “Is there another way out?” You whisper. Clearly the staircase is blocked at the moment. When he shakes his head, you’re about ready to suggest causing a distraction but he suddenly gasps.

Quickly and quietly, he’s swinging open the wardrobe and nudging you inside, quickly following. You raise your eyebrows, mouth opening to ask him just how this is going to help anything, but he allows the door to swing shut and presses a hand against your mouth.

Back pressed against the back of the wardrobe and Namjoon looming over you, the two of you hardly dare to breathe as you strain to listen to what’s going on outside.

“I’m pretty sure I would know if he was in my shop,” Min-jee is saying, sounding much closer now. “And right now the upstairs is off-limits, so please-”

“Look, I know I must sound crazy, but I’m absolutely positive that I saw him in here. I was just outside and he went up the stairs! And now you expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

You keep your eyes trained on the thin opening where light is streaming in, trying to see what’s going on. Namjoon, however, shuffles a little closer, hand slipping from your mouth and staring down at you. He braces his hands on either side of your head, needing to bend over a little bit due to the small space.

“For the last time,” Min-jee defends, “the upstairs portion of this shop is closed. As you can tell, nobody is up here besides us. If you wish to continue this conversation, I would simply ask that we do it downstairs.”

You bite your lip, looking up at Namjoon and about to whisper something about how Min-jee deserves a raise. The words die on your tongue, however, when you finally catch sight of him.

Namjoon is slouching a bit, and you realize that his hands are on either side of your head. His hair is slightly mussed, from what you’re unsure. However, that’s not what has your breath catching in your throat.

He’s looking down at you in a way that suddenly makes you aware of just how small the wardrobe is, and has you mentally cursing yourself for coming up here in the first place. Namjoon is looking at you, looking at you in a way that you immediately recognize.

Like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to.

You watch the way his eyes follow the way your throat constricts as you swallow, the way they trace the slope of your nose and the dip above your lip.

The voices fade away as Namjoon’s fingers feather through your hair, light enough to make your heart melt. He does so slowly, eyes reading your own in order to see if he’s somehow crossed a line that he shouldn’t have.

You, however, are sick of all these dumb lines and boundaries that have been set. Somehow, Namjoon must see that, because he’s opening his mouth and whispering out what he’s been thinking this entire time.

“You,” he mumbles as he watches the strand of hair he tucks behind your ear. Almost as though to verify that this is real, that it’s actually happening. “I’d tuck you away in here, and nobody would find us.”

Breathing has become impossible at this point.

“No prying eyes, no invisible lines to make sure I don’t cross,” he’s tracing the line of your jaw now, and you don’t miss the slight tremor in his hand. “Would you like that as much as I would?”

His eyes land on yours, eyebrows coming together as he awaits your answer. You would smile if you could, but you find that you’ve turned to putty at his touch. Instead, you slowly nod before breathing out, “Yes.”

That’s when you realize that Namjoon is just as tired of rules as you are. Namjoon, the dedicated leader that always makes sure everything is in order. Namjoon, who constantly forgets things like his phone and wallet, but never forgets to say please and thank you.

Namjoon, who leans impossibly closer until you’re closing your eyes for fear of going cross-eyed. His breath fans across your nose, acting as your only warning before his lips find yours.

Light as a feather against your mouth, Namjoon kisses you.

As you sigh against his lips, you suddenly understand why kissing was prohibited. Because right now, all that you can think of - every breath, every heartbeat - it’s all saying the same thing.

Namjoon.

Just as your hands find their way to his chest and bunching up the fabric, he’s jumping back with a gasp and stumbling through the door of the wardrobe. You see his wide eyes, but you’re too busy standing there completely frozen and praying that nobody is up here still.

He looks around frantically, but looks at you with utter horror as the same voice as before pipes up from downstairs.

“See! I’m telling you that someone is up there-”

“Oh! Did you see that? I think I just saw him taking the emergency exit!” Min-jee retorts, and you can picture her frantically pointing out the window in an effort to distract the girls. “Hurry! He looked like he was running!”

The bell above the door chimes, excited voices fading as the group exits the shop. However, their timely exit does little to soothe the raging heartbeat pounding against your ribs.

“I- I’m not supposed to do that,” Namjoon reminds himself aloud. “Please, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re gone!” Min-jee calls out, poking her head up as she ascends the stairs. She spots you still standing in the wardrobe. “Oh, so that’s where you were hiding. Anyway, I’ve locked up the front, so we shouldn’t be having any more trouble with that.”

You can only offer her a weak smile, Namjoon still staring at you with that horrible, guilt-ridden expression, which you’re dying to erase.

“Thank you,” you say when Min-jee begins to notice the odd silence. “We’ll be down in a second, I think.”

Namjoon nods along, finally looking away to check the time. “Actually, we’ve got a reservation,” your stomach flips at the thought of sitting through an entire meal with his guilty apologies, “is there a way we can sneak out of here without being seen?”

Min-jee blinks, looking between the two of you but not saying anything. “Ok...um, yeah. The back alleyway should be clear, it’ll lead to the parking lot.”

Finally stepping out of the wardrobe, you look back at it with a glare.

“So much for Narnia,” you mumble, closing the door.

ˆˆˆˆ

Min-jee quickly places your books in a bag - Namjoon ends up getting the red one as well - and offers it to you with a smile. Automatically you reach out for it, but so does Namjoon. The second your hands meet you can’t help but jump, and the bag falls to the floor.

“Oh no,” you whimper out, feeling sorry for the old books. Before you can lean down to get them, Namjoon’s swooping them up and keeping a firm grip on the bag. He mumbles out a soft, “sorry” before following Min-jee toward the back exit.

The two of you thank her profusely for the day, and you promise that you’ll return soon. There’s no way you can leave a place like that alone for very long. Namjoon smiles for a moment, looking pleased that he picked a good place. However, once he catches your eye, he’s back to chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Slyly sneaking down down the alleyway, it’s quiet between the two of you. No matter how hard you pinch yourself, your thoughts keep zoning in on the way Namjoon’s lips felt on yours...the way he looked at you just before he leaned in...how perfect everything had been until he’d come to his senses-

You’ve made it to the car, and you click the unlock button, jumping back as it honks. Man, you’ve got to get out of your head.

Namjoon hurries to set the bag in the backseat before rushing to the driver’s side, opening the door up for you with significantly less flourish than before.

Knowing Namjoon, it’s eating him up alive. And there’s no way you’re about to let a kiss - something to celebrate, in your opinion - ruin the rest of this date.

Especially when it may very well be the only one you get.

“Namjoon,” you say, walking slowly toward him. His eyes jump up to yours, and you can already see that he’s hard at work trying to pretend like everything is fine.

“We’re going to be about an hour early for our reservation,” Namjoon admits, running a hand through his hair and immediately trying to fix it after. “I’m sorry for rushing you out of there, I wasn’t thinking straight. You can go back in, if you want. I’ll wait out here until you’re ready-”

“Namjoon.” He quits his rambling, red cheeks somehow turning redder as you stop before him. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

At this, he lets the door fall shut. “You...did?”

Wanting nothing more than to dispel the awkward tension, you laugh. “Of course I did! I’d be an idiot if I didn’t! So please...it’s nobody’s fault. So what, you broke a stupid rule-”

“And I’ve hurt the guys in the process of breaking that rule,” Namjoon explains, looking at you with clear, pained eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me regretting kissing you because- w-well, that’s not the point!” Leaning back against the car, you follow suit just as a large stormcloud blocks out the sun. It’s going to rain soon.

“Namjoon, you’ve all found ways to skirt around the rules in some way,” you confess, remember Hobi’s sweet hand kiss and Taehyung’s forehead kiss. “Sure, you actually broke the rule, but nobody is going to hate you for it. Nobody. Least of all me.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes as he lets out a long breath. “It’s just, we all agreed to give you enough space to make a clear decision if you felt like you wanted to make one at the end of all this,” he confesses, not seeing the way your eyes widen. Oh. “And I’ve completely screwed that up.”

Sighing, you squint as a fat raindrop lands on your nose. “Well, we’re on a date, aren’t we? People sometimes kiss- I mean, honestly, we could have done a lot worse-” Namjoon chokes on his spit at that. “But if you need something to blame, please don’t blame yourself. Because I love this date, and as far as I can tell, the kiss only made it better.”

He peeks one eye open at you. “Really?”

“Really.” You shrug. “And see? I really am Amy! I always get what I want!” You don’t add the fact that that wasn’t quite true with Hoseok or Taehyung. “If anything, blame the wardrobe. Wardrobes are wacky, anyways.”

Namjoon snorts, rolling his eyes. “Blame the wardrobe? Really?”

“Yeah! Sometimes they transport you to Narnia, sometimes they mess with your common sense,” you give him a pointed look, which he avoids. “So if the boys get all upset about it, just tell them it was the wardrobe. I’ll back you up on it.”

Finally, Namjoon laughs. Like, the annoying little hyena laugh that he hates but you secretly love. And when he looks back down at you and opens up the door, he doesn’t look so upset about it.

“Be honest, would you have rather gone to Narnia or been stuck in there with me?”

You feign annoyance. “Ugh, just get in the car.”

From the way your stomachs were rumbling and the rain was pouring, the two of you decided to bag the reservation. It was for some posh outdoor restaurant in Seoul that Namjoon pretended to be excited about.

Which is exactly how you ended up going through the McDonald’s drive thru and bringing it back to your place.

“Aren’t you on a diet or something?” You ask around your fries, eyes not leaving the television screen. The two of you had decided on Gone With the Wind, completely forgetting just how long it was.

Namjoon makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah, something like that. Today’s my cheat day, though.”

“Aw, you decided to spend your cheat day with me?” You tease. Namjoon rolls his eyes, finally deciding that maybe you really are Amy from Little Women. However, he can’t fight the feeling that he’s the Laurie to your Jo.

Not that he’ll be telling you that anytime soon. He’s certainly done enough today.

“More like our date happened to fall on my cheat day,” he bites back. “And I heard that they have really good cheesecake at that restaurant we bailed on.”

You hesitate before taking another bite of your food. “Should we have gone? They probably would’ve given us our food to go if we didn’t want to sit under the umbrellas. I feel bad, you made reservations and everything.”

Namjoon shrugs. “No, this is way better.” He holds up his McFlurry for emphasis. “They even had the cheesecake McFlurry back in season! Coincidence?”

“I think not!”

You both chuckle before falling back into the companionable silence you’d been in before. Over the course of the drive back to Seoul, you’d taken your time, stopping at a handful of little parks along the way. Namjoon had imitated the ducks before realizing how silly he looked, then hiding behind his hands for a solid five minutes before he could look you in the eyes again. Overall, it had been calm and relaxing.

As you watch Scarlett O’Hara flirting it up with different suitors on the screen, you can’t help but wonder if that’s you.

Sure, Gina told you back at the haunted house to just enjoy it. Chances are it was all just a phase, anyways. There was all of this romantic tension between you and the boys that would naturally fade away as their curiosity diminished after their dates.

At least, that’s what you assumed. However you’re quickly coming to realize that you’re a little out of depth here.

“You alright over there?” Namjoon asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You have your thinking face on.”

You blink. “I have a thinking face?”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You gonna tell me what’s got you so stressed?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly. “I’m just...thinking about the movie.” Not entirely a lie.

You know he won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it, but you take a little bit of enjoyment in the way his lip pouts out. “Alright, if you say so.”

Only a few more minutes pass before he speaks up again, sounding a little hesitant. “You know that this is a long movie…”

“Oh, should we end it here?” You ask, a little disappointed because you were just getting to one of your favorite parts. “You don’t need to feel like you have to stay-”

“No, not that. I’m gonna finish the movie. It’s just,” he wipes his fingers off on a spare napkin before scooting a little closer to you. “Long movies call for cuddling, don’t you think?”

You nearly choke on your saliva. “You- you, as in Kim Namjoon, want to cuddle? You’re into cuddling?”

He laughs, tugging on your arm until you give in and collapse against his side. You hope that your content sigh isn’t too noticeable when he drapes an arm around your shoulder. “It just depends sometimes. But yes, I am. At the appropriate times.”

“Ah, and long movies-”

“Are the epitome of the appropriate time,” he explains, lightly pinching your arm when you let out a wry laugh.

“Hey!” You cry out, only to be shushed by him.

“Shhh, I’m trying to watch this.”

You just can’t find it in you to be annoyed.

You’re asleep before the film is over, despite the fact that the sun barely went down. Something about having a full stomach and leaning your head on Namjoon’s shoulder just lulled you right to sleep.

You stir a little when Namjoon fidgets, pulling his phone out to call someone. His voice is deep and quiet, trying not to wake you.

“Hey, can you pick me up now?”

Despite your half-asleep state, you crack a smile. It’s quiet, but you can hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, I’m close to there right now. Be there in a couple minutes. You’re at her apartment, right?”

“Thanks. Yeah, she’s conked out on the couch.”

There’s a laugh ringing through the phone. “Cute. Make sure she rests up, she’ll need it for our date next week.”

Namjoon sighs, not quite annoyed but not exactly pleased, either. “Yah, just hurry over.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you think I should wake her up to say goodbye?”

“Your call. But I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna give her a kiss goodbye. If she’s that tired, I’d just let her sleep.”

Your cheeks involuntarily turn red, and you can only imagine the way Namjoon looks right now. It’s his silence that gives him away.

“Hyung...what-”

“Text me when you get here,” Namjoon says, and suddenly the call ends.

Oh, he’s in for it tonight.

Stretching and trying to look like you totally weren’t just eavesdropping, you crack open your eyes to see Namjoon looking down at you with an amused expression.

“I would tell you that you missed the ending, but something tells me you’ve seen it before,” he drawls.

You chuckle breathily, yawning as you stretch your arms over your head. “Yeah, a couple of times.”

“I’m about to head out,” Namjoon begins, back to chewing on the inside of his cheek. “But thank you for going out with me. I seriously...it was just the best.” He smiles softly, and you wish you could have a picture of it.

Instead, you opt for nuzzling back into his side. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one thanking you? It was great, Namjoon-ah. I’ll have to read that book you got some time.”

He hums, returning the sentiment. “Yeah, we’ll do a book swap.” His phone lights up, but before you can see who it’s from, he’s snatching it up and jumping up from the couch. “They’re here.”

It’s tempting to not resort to begging him to stay a little longer - if only for the sake of his warmth which is quickly fading as he retreats to the door. However, you only pad after him, stopping him before he reaches the door.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest. “Tell everyone I say hello.”

“I will.” And with a rush of cool air, he’s out the door.

Gone, leaving you to stare blankly and wonder what just happened today.

And worse yet, what’s yet to come.

main masterlist

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[shortracha]

rattled: a valentine’s day shake

a/n: sorta surprise! hehe i had so much fun writing this!! thank you @harrysgoldenbum​ for being my lovely beta and an all around gem! @soullikestyles​ , this is for you for loving these two as much as i do <3

summary: audrey gives harry his present early, and harry absolutely loses his mind (not really) 

warnings: cursing? a single spanish word? i think that’s about it. again, this is shmoopy fluff.

word count: 1.6k

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

If someone were to ask Audrey what her favorite item of clothing was, she would, without a doubt, tell them it’s her maternity sweats she found at TJ Maxx. They were $5, and a bit big when she bought them, but she’s never looked back. Harry’s bought her several pairs that are similar, but they don’t compare to that pair. 

This morning, she finds herself sprawled across the bed in her favorite pair of sweats. With a snack bowl in hand, she watches the baby kick at her. Harry and Audrey are sharing a quiet morning to themselves before Harry has to go attend to some major work details this afternoon. Should be back for dinner, but it’s just not the same. He leaves for a week tomorrow as well, so they’re trying to make the most of the little bit of time they have.  

The window is cracked, the birds are chirping, and the air smells wet like it just rained. To Audrey, it’s the perfect type of morning.

“Look at her, she’s so active this morning.” Not even born yet, she’s already left awestruck by her little girl who’s showing her parents that she’s here and kickin’. Quite literally. Audrey likes to think that it means her baby is already strong, she clings to that thought. But also, damn does it hurt. Not every kick, but her belly starts to feel sore in the mornings when the baby does her thing.

“Yeah, she’s beating you up pretty good today.” Harry’s response is almost instant. He looks up from his book and places a hand on Audrey’s belly, waiting to feel his baby girl kick again. When she does, he smiles and offers his babygirl a quick, “Good morning to you too, little peach.” And returns to his book. 

Audrey tosses a grape into the air and manages to catch it in her mouth on the first try. She throws her arms up in celebration, and Harry high-fives her without looking up from his book. He does chuckle to himself, but it’s unknown if he is amused from the book he is reading or the actions of his fiancée.

“But, can you do it three times in a row?” He carefully places a bookmark on his current page and closes the cover. He reaches across Audrey’s lap, attempts to grab a few grapes. She smacks his hand away and scolds him with a quick, “¡Déjalo! It’s mine!” before scooting the bowl further from him, almost to the edge of the bed. He rubs his hand and pouts.

“Um, ow!” He exclaims dramatically. 

Harry crawls over her, grabs a handful of grapes, just to bother her, and wiggles into a more upright seating position. Back to the headboard, he tosses two up and catches them both in his mouth one after the other.

Audrey rolls her eyes, “Showoff,” she mutters with disdain.  

“I’m a showoff? Do you really want to play this game?” He laughs, incredulous. 

“Whatever,” She waves him off. As weird as it may seem, it’s moments like these that Audrey enjoys the most. It's the little things for her. She tends to remember them more, compared to others. It’s not always easy, but the little moments she gets to spend feeling normal with her best friend are ones she’ll treasure forever. 

“Help me down? I gotta pee.”

Harry hops down from his side of the bed and walks around, grabbing her hands and holding her steady as she scoots her way off the bed.

She shuffles into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door as she beelines it for the toilet. 

“Uh, baby, could you close the door, maybe?” Harry’s question is more rhetorical in nature. He knows she’s not going to get back up to close the door. 

Since Audrey got pregnant, she’s become a lot less...private about a lot of things. She was never one to really care too much about the things some people would feel embarrassed about, but things took on a whole different level after she found out about the baby. 

“No, it’s fine.”

“But I can..hear everything.” He laughs on the last word, in disbelief at just how comfortable she seems to be around him. It’s a good thing, to be sure. She just shows it in odd ways.

A few minutes go by, Audrey does her business and begins her exit from the bathroom. 

“Hey, babe, would you mind if I gave you your present early?” Audrey calls out from the bathroom, but she’s not really looking for an answer. She’s already grabbed the small box from the linen closet on her way out and is approaching him, doing her best to hide it behind her back. Unfortunately, she fails.

“Well, I don’t have much choice, do I?” 

Harry’s not one to say no to presents, but they had agreed to wait until he got back from his trip. However, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited for the gift exchange.

“Don’t make it sound like it’s so terrible that you’re getting a gift, H.”

“‘M not ungrateful, if that’s what you’re implying.” He pretends to be offended, clutching his chest and an exaggerated gasp leaves his mouth. 

“It is.” He rolls his eyes at her response, Audrey just giggles. 

“Well, are you gonna give me my present, or am I meant to guess what it is first?”

She sets the box on the bed, lifts herself back onto it and slides next to him. Her nerves are bubbling, making her restless. Now, Audrey knows that Harry will be happy with whatever the gift is, but it still intimidates her, when it comes to giving a gift to her loved ones. But this particular gift has her feeling vulnerable and slightly uncertain.

“Here you go, sport.” 

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Harry demands. Instead of responding, she presses a gentle kiss to his cheek and taps the box. 

“Just open it,” he smiles and shifts to sit directly in front of him, eager to watch his reaction. 

“Okay, okay..” Harry trails off, losing his train of thought while he unties the bowtie on top of  the rectangular box. Setting the lid aside, he lifts a small leather photo album out of the box and Audrey’s heart begins to pound in her chest. 

“What’s this?” He asks with such a gentle voice, it’s barely above a whisper. He doesn’t wait for an answer, though, and opens the album to the first page of 12.

Inside, is a picture of Audrey sat on her knees in a black bra and panties, baby bump on full display. He sits there, carefully examining the photo, expression completely unreadable. Audrey has absolutely no idea how he feels. It’s terrifying. 

He takes the time to examine every photo He takes in every detail from each HD shot of Audrey in sexy position or another. Audrey’s favorite is a closeup shot of her chest, arm covering her nipples and her engagement ring sparkling to the camera. As he flips through the album, he keeps the same stoic expression. Each second seems to feel longer than the last. It drives Audrey crazy not knowing what Harry thinks of his gift.

Eventually, Harry reaches the last photo and the slightest hint of a smirk lifts from his lips and Audrey breathes a little easier. It’s a miracle she’s managed to stay quiet the whole time. It’s absolutely no small feat for her. 

“So...What do you think?” She’s meek, cheeks warming up in embarrassment. “Do you hate it?” Harry snaps the book closed and looks up to make eye contact with her. 

He offers her a sly smile, while he adjusts his pants. “Of course not!” His voice cracks ever so slightly, and Audrey lets out the most ridiculous laugh he’s ever heard. More a chortle than anything else. 

She catches on. 

“Which one do you like best?” She crawls beside him and takes the album from his hands.

“When did you do this?” 

“That’s not what I asked.” She browses the album herself, curious to see if she can guess which one it is. If she had to, it would be the black and white shot of her on the floor, knees skyward and back arched slightly, baby bump on full display again. “I did this not too long after we found out about Peach being a girl.” She recalls the time she left for the afternoon under the guise of a “girl’s day”. Harry never suspected a thing. 

“And you managed to keep a boudoir shoot secret? I’m impressed, baby.” He kisses her head in praise. “You know what, I think we should blow this one up. Do you have access to the digitals?” He points to the open page, the black and white floor shot, just as Audrey suspected. 

“A few of them, yeah. What exactly do you want that for, if you have the album?” She looks up at him, curious. 

“I want this one in the living room.”

“Absolutely not!” 

“C’mon, it would look so good!” He argues with her, tapping the page for emphasis. “You look so good!”

She feels her cheeks warm up again, beyond happy that he likes his gift. “You’re very sweet, but we’re not hanging anything up in the living room.”

“Why not? I should be able to show off how sexy you look!”

“Harry, I refuse to have a picture of me, nearly naked might I add, hanging in our living room.” Audrey crosses her arms and keeps a light scowl on her face. 

With some discussion, they finally manage to compromise; Audrey lets him hang up a canvas of the floor shot on the wall by the bed when he gets back from his trip. The album finds a home in the bathroom.

[wren-ravenheart]

I'll Keep Your Memory

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Childhood Memorabilia Relationships: Lambert/Jaskier Rating: T Content Warnings: Hints of child abuse, cursing, Summary: Modern Au Julian and Lambert have lived next door to each other as long as they can remember, and have been close friends for nearly as long. Lambert entrusts a box of his most prized possessions to his best friend, and spends more and more time with him and away from his own house. Before either can come to terms with what this means for them, tragedy strikes and both boys are left wondering if they'll ever see their friend again.

Cross-Posted to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31149023

Most of this is under a cut as I went Completely off the Rails with this little prompt, and this is 6k words of chaos. <3

~~~~~~~

In a small town, on a quiet street, in the middle of nowhere Redania, there lived two families who seemed completely innocuous to anyone passing by. Each family lived in a squat little cookie-cutter house with dark brick walls, a comfy front porch, and a well-maintained lawn. Each family consisted of a husband, a wife, and their only son. And there is where the similarities end, for while in one house there is love and laughter, the other holds darker secrets that would never come to light.

Julian had lived next to Lambert’s house for as long as he could remember. Their dads worked together up until recently, and the two boys were never far from each other. He considered Lamb his very best friend in the whole wide world, with his bright hazel eyes, lop-sided grin, and floppy black hair. And now, finally, at the tender age of Ten, Lambert apparently also considered him his very best friend as well.

“Julek, you have to promise me to keep these safe at all costs, okay?” Lambert had a serious look on his face as he handed him a shoebox full of his most important things. Julien took the box with trembling hands as he nodded.

“Of course. But… but why are you giving me these? You never let your trading cards out of your sight..”

Lambert shuffled back and sat on Julian’s bed with a sigh. He kept his eye on the box as the other boy turned to nestle it into a corner of his closet carefully. “Well, you know how my dad doesn’t work with your dad anymore?”

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, well he’s lookin around the house now for anything he can get his mitts on to sell. Some of those cards took me forever to find and I ain’t about to let him get anywhere near ‘em. So they’ll stay here with you…. Along with a few other bits.”

Julian popped his head up and looked over at Lambert in awe. “You mean…”

“Yeah. It’s in there. Don’t touch it.”

He shook his head so hard he wondered if he was gonna rattle something loose. “I promise. I’ll keep it all safe.”

Lambert cracked a small smile and patted the bed next to him in invitation. Julian hurried over and plopped down, pulling his legs up to cross in front of him. He nudged the other’s shoulder slightly in hopes of more of the story.

“Not much to tell, Jules. I just don’t… I don’t have a good feeling. He’s actin’ different and Momma is quieter lately. I haven’t heard ‘em fight, but then who knows why adults are the way they are.”

Julian nodded and leaned his head over on his best friend’s shoulder. Lambert ruffled his hair and stole a quick hug before shoving him over in the bed. Julian bounced off the mattress with a laugh.

“Enough sad crap! C’mon I wanna kick your ass in Mario kart.”

He was up and out the door before Julian could roll himself off the bed. “No fair! Cheater!” And raced after him with a shout.

They didn’t talk about the box again, and Lamb only asked to see it maybe four times over the next two years. Things got progressively worse at his house as his father failed to keep a steady job and took to drinking. He overheard his own parents whispering from time to time over the state of “that poor boy’s mother” when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

He kept a watchful eye over his best friend anytime the two were playing together, trying to see whatever his parents thought they saw. He only saw Lambert acting sillier and sillier as time crept on, and spending more and more time over with him. The night of his twelfth birthday, Lambert even spent the night. It was a turning point for him.

They woke the next morning in an octopus tangle of limbs, and he felt his little pre-teen heart stutter as he suddenly noticed the way Lambert’s hair brushed his forehead, and the way the lingering chub to his cheeks only enhanced his smile. Clearly, whatever his parents thought they were seeing was wrong. His best friend was fine! More than fine, really...

He took two entire painful weeks to come to terms with the sudden crush he had developed, and another month to think of a reasonable way to admit said crush to his very best friend without terrifying him away forever. He wrote five letters to Lambert in the hopes of figuring out what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. All five ended in crumbled heaps at the bottom of his trash can.

Finally, he could take it no longer and decided to just go pay him a visit and confess it all. Patience had never been his strong suit, and what self-respecting 7th Grader kept such important information to themselves anyways?

With a quick glance at Lambert’s special box for courage, Julian marched out his front door on his mission…

Only to be brought up short at the sight of four police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance blocking his street and covering the lawn of his best friend’s house in various uniformed people. The bouncing red and blue lights caused him to squint as he tried to make out what was going on. Before he could even take a step forwards to investigate, his father’s hand came down on his shoulder, holding him fast. He glanced up to see his father with a grim look on his face and  his mother a step behind, tears already shining in her eyes. Julian swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat as he gazed back towards Lambert’s house. His eyes burned as he tried not to cry. This wasn’t supposed to happen…and how was he ever going to confess now? Was this what his parents had been whispering about for months?

“Dad, what’s… what’s going on? Is Lambert okay?”

“I don’t know, son. I don’t know.” His voice was quiet and not at all reassuring, even as he tugged Julian into a loose hug.

His father was able to coax him back indoors with the promise of ice cream and Star Wars, but the flashing of the lights stayed with him. They would play over and over again whenever he closed his eyes. And they would haunt him again when he finally made it back outside in the late afternoon of the next day and all that greeted him was an empty street and police tape barricading off the house of his favorite person. And he knew he’d never get those lights out of his nightmares when the scene outside didn’t change, and his best friend never came back.

~13 years later~

Kaedwen was terribly muggy and sticky in late summer. The humidity made the air outside feel like it was nearly chewable, and Jaskier had to stop from time to time to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he hunted for the row his new flat was on.

Jaskier, formerly known as Julian, was enrolled in the Musical Theory graduate program at the University of Daevon, freshly turned 25, and was absolutely turned around in what he hoped was his neighborhood. He pulled a suitcase behind him and had a duffel bag hanging from his other shoulder, and looked to all the world at large to be a completely lost tourist. Four people had passed him and given him the stink eye as they went.

He took another glance at the paper his lodging information was on again and sighed heavily. This was not shaping up to be his day, or even his week.

“Lost, little puppy?”

Jaskier turned his head so fast he thought he heard something in his neck pop, bringing himself at eye level with a very tall and broad man with hair that looked like a snowdrift. He couldn’t help it, he gawked and wasn’t even subtle about it.

The man grinned at him, apparently well aware of the effect he had on strangers, and strode forward to take the paper from Jaskier’s hand without even asking. Jaskier spluttered a bit, straightening to bring himself to his full 6 foot height as the man frowned and hummed at the paper. He puffed his chest, brought up his hand, and prepared to begin a proper lecture on the rudeness of this strange man.

“Now see here - “

“You missed your flat. It’s six houses back on the left. The numbers can be a little weird around here, but if you double back you shouldn’t miss it.” The stranger pointed as he spoke, singling out the building in question as he handed back the paper. Jaskier took it with a squeaked out ‘Thank you’, completely deflating in equal parts confusion, gratitude, and little bit of attraction to this very headstrong person.

The stranger simply grinned and nodded to him. “Welcome to Daevon. You’ll love the food.” And with that odd non-sequitur, he strode away, leaving a mildly dazed Jaskier behind.

As he lifted the paper again to double check the address, he noticed the man had also managed to tuck the small menu of a local restaurant as he’d handed it over. The Wolf Den: Kaedweni Cuisine with a Redanian Twist . Huh. What were the odds of that? He missed the food around Novigrad… maybe this was something he should try out. He tucked the menu safely away in his duffel pocket and made his way into his new home.

~

Lambert carefully shifted the skillet he was using onto the burner and wiped his hands off as his brother strode into the kitchen with a grin on his face that meant he was up to something. He eyed him warily as Geralt dumped his latest grocery haul onto an empty prep table.

“What’re you smiling at?”

“It’s a lovely day.”

“Bullshit. My sweat is sweating. You look up to something…”

Geralt shrugged and began sorting through his haul. “Saw a cute guy today. University chap. Totally lost looking like a sad puppy. Slipped him a menu.”

Lambert let out a loud bark of laughter. “Ohhoh! You’re hopin he comes sniffin around here and you get to ooze your charm at him.”

Another shrug from his brother. “Maybe it’s just nice having more customers..”

“Mhmm. Customers. Right. Maybe I’ll sneak out to him first.” He turned to wiggle his eyebrows at Geralt and make a mildly crude gesture with his left hand. His brother just rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore him. With a shrug of his own, Lambert went back to work.

He’d been adopted by this family shortly before he turned 13 and they had literally saved his life. He wasn’t sure of where he would be if he hadn’t been taken in by his Foster father. Vesemir had already had Eskel and Geralt, both six and five years older than him respectively, and this restaurant near the University district. He’d been taught to cook, had an excellent head for the numbers side of the business, and had been able to incorporate some of his favorite dishes from his early childhood into the menu. Any other memories of his time in Redania he swiftly shoved down as far as he could. Was it healthy? Maybe not. But the less he thought of it, the less it hurt. And eating away his feelings was honestly his favorite thing.

A phone ringing about fifteen minutes later kicked him right out of his spiralling thoughts as he watched Eskel reach out and snag the receiver.

“Wolf Den, what can I get ya?”

Eskel mumbled, explained, and scratched out a delivery order before pushing it towards Lambert.

He picked it up and looked it over. Jaskier P. Weird name. With a shrug he tacked the order up next to his current and threw a thumbs up at Eskel. Lunch rush time.

~

Jaskier sat cross legged on his couch, gesturing at his friend Essi with a fork and talking around a mouth full of food. Three take out boxes sat open on his coffee table, all from The Wolf Den.

“I’m tellin’ you, Ess. Not only is this the best food within delivery distance of this place, but they’re staffed entirely by greek gods pretending to be men. One of them is clearly a mountain god, built like an entire apartment building with what must be the softest head of brown hair I have ever seen. One clearly lords over the snowy plains, white hair but he can’t be that much older than me and also looks like he could break me in two and I’d thank him.” Essie snorted and he waved the fork menacingly. “You mock, but I’m serious. And I also met what I think must be the owner, because he’s clearly an older gentleman, but yet again! Built like a tank and aging gracefully. I have yet to meet their other cook, but I will if it’s the last thing that I do! I want to marry this place.”

“That’s illegal in all territories, Jask. We aren’t that progressive yet.” The tremor in her voice as she tried not to laugh gave her away.

“Again with the mocking!”

“Well, I could hardly call myself your best friend if I didn’t put you in your place on occasion. Now am I going to help you unpack or are you going to blow all your time and grad money on more food?”

Jaskier huffed and shoved one more bite into his mouth before getting up and stomping off into his bedroom. Essi followed shortly trying to suppress her giggles. The kitchen was still a disaster of boxes, hence the take out, and the bedroom as well. All he had managed to get properly set out was his living room and working spaces, clearly the most important.

Three squat boxes sat at the end of the bed and the closet doors were propped open. Essi sat herself down on the corner of the bed and cracked open the box closest to her. She pulled out an impressive length of soft rope and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier.

He darted over and snatched the box away from her with a glare. “It says Private on the box, Ess! Open the other one!” He grumbled as he stomped away to shove the box wholesale into the closet to be promptly forgotten about. Essi just grinned at him in a way that made him sure she had done that on purpose.

“You’re a menace.”

With a raucous laugh, she settled back into the other box.

Two hours, and a bottle of wine, later and all that was left was a few items tucked away in the bottom of the last box. There were clothes hanging in his closet, proper bedsheets on his bed, and several photo frames on his walls. Essi pulled a very battered, barely holding together with duct tape, shoebox out and squinted at it.

“What in the name of 90s nostalgia is this monstrosity?”

Jaskier turned to see what she had and his face went through several rapid emotions before settling on the best poker face he could muster. He stepped forward and took the box gingerly from her, trying his best to ensure his voice came out steady.

“An old friend gave it to me for safe-keeping.” The words came out steady and he gave himself a mental high-five as he walked into the closet and set it carefully on a high shelf. As gently as he could, he shifted it back until it hit the wall and was safely tucked out of sight. Despite the ease with which he said it, Essi caught the emotion there. She stood up and crossed over to wrap her arms around his middle. He tried not to get choked up as he patted her arm in quiet thanks.

“It’s Lambert’s, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Jask, you were drunk off your gourd, sobbing into my lap… how could I forget?” She punctuated her last sentence with a soft headbutt between his shoulder blades. “You haven’t spoken of him since, but you were close.”

“Closest I have ever been to anyone besides you and my parents.” He reached back and scratched at her head until she let go and he was free to wander back over and flop on the bed. She followed and sat down beside him.

“I didn’t mean to drag down the mood.” Essi hummed while flipping his wisps of hair out of his face. “How about we go over to this little food joint you love so much for lunch tomorrow, in person, so you can shamelessly flirt in a more open fashion than by simply filling your bin with endless takeout boxes.“

That got a smile and a wink out of him. “You won’t regret this. The workers are nearly as delicious as the food.”

~

True to her word, Essi followed along behind Jaskier as they walked into the rather unassuming building that housed the “World Famous”, Jaskier’s words, Wolf Den. It was warm and cozy inside and much to her surprise and happiness was indeed entirely staffed with the most lovely specimens of the male variety.

A tall, handsome man with curling blonde hair and an interesting scar through his eyebrow was perched near the front and greeted them. He was scribbling away in a binder and motioned out towards the tables. “It’s open seating, so find a comfy spot and we will be by shortly for your drink orders.”

They found a corner table and settled in. There were a few other people scattered around, but it really seemed like a mellow afternoon. Essi settled in with her menu while Jaskier propped his chin in his hand and took in the surroundings. The greeter was talking briefly to a very tall and pale-haired woman with tattoos, piercings and a hip apron singling her out as likely their waitress. Sure enough, she sauntered over and smiled down at them. “Hey, welcome to the Wolf Den. What can I get you to start or drink?”

Jaskier grinned and rattled off his order and piped up on Essi’s behalf as well while she made googly eyes at the waitress and forgot how to use the common tongue. With a knowing smile, and a wink to Essi, the waitress sashayed away towards the kitchen.

“We’re coming here every day.”

Jaskier burst out laughing and put a hand to his belly as he chortled. Essi just glared at him, which only made the laughing worse, and by the time the waitress was back with their drinks he had dissolved into a teary-eyed hiccuping mess.

“You okay there, pal?” She asked sincerely and held out a handful of napkins to him. He took them gratefully and nodded.

“Yes.. yes.. I’m fine. Ahem. Just fine, thank you.” He managed to get out while smacking his chest to clear the last of his giggles and hiccups. With a final throat clear, he picked up the menu and tried his best to successfully order their lunch.

~

“What in the devil’s name was that noise?” Lambert tried to peer around Ciri as she loitered in front of the kitchen door holding an order ticket.

“Guy at table eight has a funny friend apparently. She nearly killed him with some kind of joke. I think it had to do with my ass.” She grinned as she said this, cocking her weight onto one hip and shaking the ticket back in her uncle’s face.

Lambert grabbed the ticket and bared his teeth, trying again to get around her. “If someone is harassing you, that ain’t funny! Let me at ‘em. I’ll show ‘em manners. Fuck their food. “

Ciri grabbed him by the shoulders and stood her ground. “Hey! Stop it! I was having a bit of a laugh myself. They were perfectly fine, I just thought the girl was gonna swallow her own tongue when I took their drink order. No harassment. Besides, she was kinda cute.” She ended with a pat to Lambert’s cheek and a smug smile. “Now make them lunch, or I’ll do it for you and you know how that will end.”

Lambert winced as he went back over to his stove. “With the freakin’ police department shuttin’ us down for health code violations and poisoning the customers, that’s how… Fine. Fine! But you just wait until you aren’t watchin’ me. I’ll show them not to ogle my niece.”

“Of course you will, you big softie.” She winked and swanned back out the door to the front of the house.

With a series of curses and grumbles, he sets to work. He was proud of his food. Maybe he’ll just serve it himself. See how that goes. Have a little word with the fairly odd couple out there. Yeah. He could do that just fine.

~

One moment, Jaskier is engaged in a spirited debate over the authenticity of a recent submission to the department by one Valdo Marx, the next he is all but forgetting to breathe as the last of the great Wolf Den Men saunters his way out of the kitchen and directly towards their table with their order. He’s tall, but whereas Geralt is Ethereal and Eskel is an entire Mountain, this man is more like the physical embodiment of a warm hug. He has dark black hair slicked back from his head, showing off what must be an early onset widows peak, and looks both muscular and comfy from every angle. His eyes are a warm amber, but a mildly menacing look across his face is pulling at a long scar across the left side of his face giving him just that hint of danger Jaskier is always such a sucker for.

He realizes he hasn’t closed his mouth yet. Something about this man is sucking away his entire ability to breathe correctly.

The man stops in front of their table and carefully sets out their plates. “Here ya go. I assume you’re in from the university, a nice couple like you. I hope my niece saw to you when you got here. She’s 19, the sweetheart, and the pride of this place. Family run. I’m sure you understand.” He gestured back towards the front door, where the waitress from earlier was talking with another pair of customers. There was something in his voice that was both fond, and mildly intimidating. Like he was aware of Essi’s eyes lingering earlier. There was something else in the accent that kicked Jaskier’s heart rate up and made him stare even harder.

He made a mildly choked noise as he finally closed his mouth and attempted speech again. It wasn’t very well done.

The man narrowed his eyes at him and the intensity of that gaze, more hazel now that he stares longer, once again stops all the words he might have been trying to say.

Geralt picked that fun and awkward moment to stroll into the building, look over, and promptly yell “Hey, Jaskier!”

The tense atmosphere screeched to a halt.

“What the hell, Geralt? This is Take Out Boy?”

Jaskier spluttered. “T-Take out boy?? What?”

Geralt just grinned and nodded. “You call at least once a week. We draw straws on who gets to deliver to you. You’re just so cute when you open the door and get flustered. Lamby here is salty he hadn’t met you yet. But he’s too good a cook to stick on delivery duty. I’m glad you came in for once.”

Jaskier tried to keep up with the font of words coming out of Geralt, but his brain had latched on to “Lamby” and refused to let it go. He spluttered some more, hoping a word or two had come out in there that might get one of these fine gentlemen to help explain what was going on.

“Aw come on, now. Don’t call me that in front of our best regular.”

“Why are you out here anyways, Lambert, I thought Ciri was working today.”

Jaskier’s brain fizzled out entirely. “Lamby… Lambert?” He muttered, mostly to himself, but also to the room at large.

“Well, yeah, she is. But she mentioned something about this table makin’ eyes at her and so I came over here to deliver their food and look menacing, I couldn’t help it. You know how I get.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at that and looked more closely at the tables occupants. Jaskier looked like he was having three existential crises at the same time and his female friend was as red as red could be.  “Ah. My apologies. Didn’t mean to be making a scene out here. Lamb, let’s talk in the back, okay?” His voice held it’s own hint of steel that didn’t bode well for someone.

But as Lambert nodded and turned to move, Jaskier finally got his brain functionality back enough to whip out his hand and grab hold of the closes part of Lambert he could… his apron. The other man halted suddenly and frowned down at the hand on his clothes.

“Lambert?”

He looked over at Jaskier and noticed how his eyes looked like the ocean, wide and blown out, and his entire face looked like he was a mix of happy and terrified and borderline about to pass out.

“Yeah?”

“From Redania?

He went still, and dropped all emotions from his face.

“Who wants to know?”

“Julian Pankratz.”

Now it was Lambert’s turn to suck in a breath and then promptly forget how to breathe again. He opened his mouth and all that came out was a bit of a choked off noise before he was ripping away from Jaskier’s hold and sprinting back into the kitchen. Jaskier was left with his hand still out and the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes.

Geralt looked back and forth between Jaskier and the still swinging kitchen door a couple of times before landing back on the other man and putting his hands on his hips. “What the hell was that?”

Jaskier tried to clear his throat and speak, but all that came out was a wounded groan. Essi reached over and covered his hands with her own.

“Jaskier is from Redania as well. Mentions on brief occasions his oldest and best friend from his childhood. His first crush. A man he still carries around a beat up old box of mementos for. A man named Lambert.” She spoke softly, not taking her eyes off her friend as she did.

Geralt sat down heavily in an empty chair. “So you… you knew him. Before?”

Jaskier nodded.

“Lambert won’t tell us what happened before he was adopted. The only things we know were that he was from Redania, he loved his mother’s cooking, and that he wanted to incorporate it into our menu. Other than that. He’s silent on anything else. I imagine that’s why he ran…”

Jaskier looked wounded. He had always wanted to know what had happened to his friend that night. But more than that, he just wanted to have his friend back at all. And to see him here, in a random restaurant in Kaedwen… well he was still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

Geralt nodded and stood up again. “I’ll go check on him. Can you… Can you stay? His shift ends in an hour anyways.”

With one more solemn nod from Jaskier, the other man stood and left. Essi ruffled his hair in affection before tucking into her own food. He just stared at his in a mix of shock and awe.

It was barely 40 minutes later, and only about half of his food eaten, that Lambert re-emerged from the kitchen and headed straight for their table. He stopped in front of it and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Jaskier watched him and tried to give him a tentative smile.

“Can we talk? Somewhere else?” He blurted.

Jaskier looked surprised but nodded and looked over towards Essi. She just waved her hand in dismissal.

“I can make my own way home. Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that she stood, nodded at Lambert and left the building. Jaskier stood up and pointed towards the door.

“My flat is a block over. We can talk there. I… there’s something I want to give you. And it’s private. I don’t have a roommate.”

Normally that would be grounds for a solidly flirtatious remark, but Lambert was still struggling with his own brain at the moment and simply nodded and followed after his old friend as they left and made the short walk.

Once the door to the flat was shut behind him, Lambert seemed to deflate a bit, the tension loosening some. “I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again.”

“Neither was I…” Jaskier agreed and walked towards his bedroom. Lambert followed and took a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. Looking around he saw photos of Jaskier with friends, with his parents, and with different instruments. Little snapshots of his life growing into what Lambert had to admit was a gorgeous and talented man.

The handsome man in question was rifling around in his closet, trying to pull something off a high self all while shaking his hair out of his eyes and mumbling to himself. He was about to ask if he needed help when the other made a little noise of triumph and bounded out and onto the bed with a very old box in hand. A box that was more duct tape than cardboard at this point.

“I never did more than patch it up when it threatened to fall apart. I never took out any of the contents, I didn't look or peek, and everything should still be in there just as you left it.” His voice had an excitedly breathless quality to it as he held out the box to him.

Lambert took it with shaking hands, little fragments of memory niggling at his mind as he lifted the lid with shaking hands. Inside, the bulk of his most cherished trading cards, his own copy of mario kart, and a letter and ring from his mother, cared for so diligently by another and protected like he had been unable to. He couldn’t form words. The emotions welled back up that he’d managed to push down so very hard since that awful night. The night she was killed. The night his whole world ended and then rearranged itself.

But here he was. Sitting on the edge of a bed that belonged to the first person he truly trusted besides his mother. He looked up to meet Jaskier’s eyes and was surprised to find his own vision blurring with unshed tears.

Jaskier made a hurt sort of tsking noise and launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Lambert and hugging him. He let himself cry then, for the first time in over a decade, and fall apart feeling bafflingly safe in the arms of someone he hadn’t seen in even longer than that.

Jaskier shifted them to let Lambert lay down on the bed after his sniffled had died down, and went to go get them water and snacks. He returned to see Lamb propped up against his headboard, the box in his lap and the lid firmly on it. He went and sat beside him, holding out a glass of water to him.

“I can’t believe you kept this.”

“Well my very best friend in the whole world entrusted it to me. I wasn’t about to break that promise. Especially not after…” Jaskier’s smile faded as he trailed off. Lambert took the water before he dropped it and sipped while he thought about what to say. What could he say? If he was honest, Jaskier had been the first inkling he had that he wasn’t going to be living in a little brick house with a picket fence and a wife. Those first early childhood crushes lingered in the memory. At this point he was better off sipping his water and waiting for the other to find his footing for him.

“I wrote you letters. For a time. I didn’t put them in that box, and I didn’t keep them for long, but I… I did it anyways. All the way until college.”

“I worked very hard not to think of my life before… I never did anything like that, Julek. I’m not worth you having kept this for me. I worked so hard to forget my time before.”

Jaskier took a risk and reached out, taking Lambert by the hand and squeezing it. “You were my best friend. In my more morose hours, I may cry at length about the tragedy that was never knowing what happened to you. I had been going to go over that night and tell you I had a crush on you, but you were gone. But you’re here and whole, and I have a chance to get to know my best friend all over again.”

Lambert squeezed back then snapped his head up. “What? You had a what?”

“Oh, ah… Welllll. Of course that’s what you would latch on to. Turns out little Julian was not very into girls. My very first crush was on my very male best friend.” He winked as he said this, trying to bury his nerves behind bravado. He hoped it was working.

Lambert stared at him and then started giggling, giggling!, like a child. “No fuckin’ way.”

Jaskier puffed himself up and glared in a very ineffective manner. “Yes, fuckin’ way.”

“I had a crush on you , nimrod. I just… didn’t want to say anything. You knew my… well my situation.”

Jaskier hummed and scooted up closer. “I did. Though it seems like your situation has changed mightily. I’d… well, I would like to get to know you again. We’ve both changed. Be nice to become friends again in this new life.” He smiled as he talked, and Lambert just shifted his hands to lace their fingers together and smile back.” Hell, keep holding my hand and looking at me that way and I’ll lose control over my mouth entirely and go so far as to ask you on an actual date.”

Lambert’s smile went lopsided as he tried to avoid breaking out into laughter again. He shifted closer. “Yeah, well your mouth is welcome to run off and do that. I’m off on Thursdays. Which is, oh! Would you look at that… is tomorrow.”

Jaskier laughed and leaned in before stopping himself. “Still sassy. Can I hug you again?”

Lambert took his free hand and set it on Jaskier’s neck to pull him in. “You can have more than a hug, Buttercup.”

Jaskier barely had time to huff a laugh at that before Lambert’s lips were on his and his whole world was finally righting itself. They sat there, clinging to each other, working hard to be as close to the other as possible. When Jaskier finally pulled away to suck in a deep breath, Lambert carded his fingers through his hair.

“So, how about that date, then?”

The laughter sparked by this quickly dissolved into a series of very light moans as Lambert kissed him again and rolled them both over.

They had 13 years to make up for, but more important than the past for them, was the promise the future held.

~End~

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand. 

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room. 

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him. 

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.” 

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium. 

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.” 

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?” 

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.” 

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one. 

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?” 

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected. 

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement. 

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

[captainficspace]

Game Night- Five’s Day

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy 

Characters: The Hargreeves Sibs

A/N: I think this is actually my favorite fic I’ve written for this week. I couldn’t wait to post it :) 

Movie night wasn’t the only “mandatory fun” the household had started keeping up with. Game night probably never would have happened in a million years if Vanya hadn’t suggested it and everyone wanted to let her have this one thing. Not that it had gone well, naturally. The initial concern would be that no one would care enough to show up, but the opposite ended up being true. No, everyone cared entirely too much when it came to game night. She had forgotten that everyone in the house was competitive as all hell, and so far there had been three game nights in a row that ended in someone flipping the board in frustration. It took serious begging to give it all one more try, and reluctantly, everyone agreed, if not out of the potential entertainment that would come from giving Klaus a Taboo buzzer.

Vanya had also thought things over, learning from the past nights. This had to be different. Everyone gave her looks of startled bewilderment when she came into the house that day, Klaus in tow, with a traffic cone, a 2x4, spray glitter, and a bulk bag of googly eyes.

“We’re making the game this time and it’s gonna be better than anything else you suggest, so don’t even start.” Klaus announced.

 It somehow ended up being so much worse. There were seven pages of hand-written rules and a haphazardly painted board studded with google eyes and plastic dinosaurs. They had all been trying to play for a solid half hour and not even Vanya could remember what the objective had been. Putting the finishing touches on the game had taken up a good part of the night, so midnight was slowly approaching when things started to get real.  

 “So clearly, the spacemen need to roll to enter the chaos volcano and trade for the ice crystal if you’re going restore the dinosaur kingdom.” Diego moved the plastic army man they had been using as pawns, approaching a cardboard volcano at the center of the board.

“We don’t have enough HP to enter the volcano realm, yet. Everyone still needs to collect the spells.”  Luther said, flipping back through the rules again for what seemed the thousandth time. None of it made sense. Vanya sank down in her seat ever so slightly. The goal was to make a game where everyone used their competitive-ass natures to work together for once, and she couldn’t even do that right. Five kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, silently begging for her to allow him to leave. If this didn’t turn around in fifteen minutes, she was throwing in the towel.

“How can we be spacemen and also wizards?” Allison asked, looking over Luther’s shoulder to see the rules for herself, trying to find the bizarre cast of characters they had to pick from when starting the game. Spacemen, necromancers, aliens, ghosts, something called Bananamen…was there even a mention of wizards here? Five, on the other hand, had not looked at the rules since beginning out of silent protest for being part of game night once again. He stared into space or at the bottom of his empty mug, waiting for everyone to give up so he could just go to bed.

Klaus had long stopped trying to explain the rules that he and Vanya had come up with and instead became distracted with how many of the little plastic eyes he could pick off the board and stick to his face.

 “Well, my character is a dinosaur and also a necromancer, so anything is possible.” Vanya added, trying to stay positive.

 “See, so she can resurrect us in the volcano realm.” Diego said.

“She can only be allowed three healing spells. Did you pay any attention to the lizard king?”  Allison asked.

“If Diego had used the action cards to fill out the sidequest-“ Vanya tried to balance between letting the others figure things out and outright telling them what to do out of growing frustration, and it wasn’t going well.

“Who has time for the sidequests?”

Five buried his face in his hands, slowly slumping down in his chair. No one could tell him he wasn’t being a good sport for just showing up.

“You’re just going to sit there as a level-two hermit and tell me, to my face, that I’m wrong?” Oh great. Diego was on his feet now, staring Luther down across the table. It was only a matter of time before the giant sheet of plywood they had used as a board was going to go flying.

 “I will look you dead in your face and say you have zero idea how the sidequest with the elf queen was supposed to get us to the volcano realm.” And now Luther was also standing, nearly hitting his head on the chandelier that hung over the table. A shadow fell over the board

“Hey, guys. Look. I’m an angel now.” Klaus interjected, drawing attention to his eye-covered face, “I’m using my holy damage by punching the volcano in the face until we get the ice crystal.” The two feuding brothers ignored him, still refusing to take a seat until the problem was solved.

“You shut your damn velociraptor mouth.” Diego growled.

From behind his hands, Five squeaked. Vanya looked closer and realized his shoulders were shaking. He wasn’t just playing up his exasperation for dramatic effect; he was giggling. The others turned as well, equally surprised.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Allison asked, “We hadn’t heard much at all from our level 3 firebreather.” Five shook his head, still covering his face. He was doing a progressively worse job at keeping himself quiet, and his laughter was beginning to break through, high-pitched and sweet.

 “He would always get like this when he stayed up too late.” Luther said, “Don’t you guys remember?” The memories slowly started to come back of them sneaking into each other’s rooms after lights-out to actually be kids for once. Five was always the first to succumb to the midnight giggles, curling up and hiding his face in a pillow to muffle the sound so he wouldn’t get them caught. It would spread like wildfire, and they would all end up giving into that magical hour of the night where everything became funny, cracking jokes and teasing each other and finally not taking anything too seriously. Either Five had never outgrown it, or it was just another perk of new form.

“He’s overtired. I guess he’s just loopy.” Allison said, grinning as she heard a muffled snort come from the giggling pile of sleep-deprived goo that was her brother. He put his head down on the table and buried his head in his arms, well-past being able to stop at this point.

“Instead of turning into a pumpkin at midnight he just turns into a gigglebox.” Klaus leaned over and squeezed his knee, “Come on, let me see your smiling face!” Five squealed, nearly falling out of his chair trying to squirm away. He still refused to lift his head and show that he was actually capable of laughing.

 “We need your firebreather wisdom, be a team player!” Diego added, coming over from behind and digging his hands into his ribcage.

A solid thud came from under the table, knocking over several pieces on the board from the force. Everyone sitting nearby said a silent word of thanks that Five ended up kicking the underside of the table and not anyone’s shins. Five kicked like a mule when he was tickled, especially in the scream-laughing stage Diego had him in as he wiggled his fingers in-between each bone.

“Oh, and now he’s taking down the bananamen army.” Luther said, throwing up his hands in mock-anger.

Five finally lifted his head, swatting his brothers away. His unrestrained cackling bounced off the walls, almost startling in its volume and intensity.

“E-Enough!” He squeaked out, sniffling. His face was bright red and streaked with tears. The brothers slowed down, but still didn’t stop completely, sneaking in pokes and squeezes to keep him giggling.

“His dimples hadn’t changed at all.” Klaus said, pinching his cheek and giving him one last tickle behind his knee. Five swatted him with one hand and muffled his laughter with the other, shoulders shaking. He couldn’t look Klaus in the face with those stupid googly eyes and Diego’s ‘ ”shut your velociraptor mouth” comment kept playing over and over in his head. The teasing and the tickling did nothing to help his attempts at pulling himself together. He pounded his fist on the table, the hand over his mouth doing little to suppress his giggle fit.

“Is it past someone’s bedtime?” Allison asked, doing everything in her power to be condescending.

“I h-HA-hate you!” He managed out at last. Everyone waited for him to blink away in a burst of angry eyebrows and swearing, but he stayed. He actually stayed. Vanya then considered every part of game night a success. No one had seen or heard Five laugh, really laugh, in forever. She had almost forgotten what it sounded like. Five himself probably forgot what it felt like, still shaking with leftover giggles from the tickle attack. He finally caught his breath, trying to scowl but failing.

“I hate you.” He repeated, wiping his eyes.

 “You hate how much I’m kicking this volcano’s ass.” Klaus said, “You wish you were a level 420 angel spaceman like me.”

“Now you’re just making things up!” Vanya said. The game was hopelessly out her hands at this point, but she was strangely at peace with it.

“We made up the entire game! If anything, I’m just creating the expansion pack as we speak.” Klaus defended, grabbing the rules out of Vanya’s hands and scribbling a new page of ideas.

 The game went on well into the night, with each twist and turn becoming more and more bizarre. Five’s uncommonly giddy mood was infectious, and everyone had to stick around to enjoy it while it lasted, even grabbing at his knees when he tried to shift back into his typically grouchy state. The ice crystal was never acquired, but Five ended up with the hiccups from laughing so much and so hard, so everyone thought the evening was worth it. As the game wrapped up, everyone left the room feeling somewhat lighter, relieved almost. They were going to have to start later more often.

[2018shawn]

fourth time lucky

Hi hunnieeeeeees!!!! Based on these asks, thank you all so much for requesting 🥰:

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Shawn Mendes x reader smut where they are trying to get pregnant and they are going at it like bunnies and then they reader is exhausted from everything and then they are pregnant in the end? Thanks!

Baby-making sex with Shawn

I saw this on someone else’s blog, but can you please do it as well, it’s about Brian complaining about how loud you and Shawn were the night before, you’re all on holiday somewhere

warnings: swearing, smut, unprotected sex (duh), drinking?? a long ass ride

a/n: 6.5k-ish of my not-up-to-standard writing!!! I think I'd like to carry on some dad!Shawn concepts so come to my ask box with any requests/suggestions 🥰🥰 ALSO I think I'm really bad at smut so let me know how you guys feel lol any feedback/likes/reblogs are very much appreciated 💓💓

The sounds of the boys fooling around in the pool, that was private to your shared villa, kept you company as you paced around your room. You laughed at yourself, having no idea why you felt nervous at holding what you did, it was just a pre-test kind of situation. The green carrier bag on your bed, filled with extra goodies from the shop (because was you even on holiday if you didn’t try every foreign chocolate bar), flapped around from the soft breeze drifting into your room from the open balcony door as you placed the test box on the bedside table. You placed the stick you’d just peed on, on top of the box which contained 9 other small test strips, the instructions (which luckily came in English too) next to it.

Shawn had spoken to you many times about starting a family, but you were the one who held back, which is what surprised you most. You had your entire life planned out with Shawn, the two rings on your wedding finger backing this up. It had even gone as far as having rows over the matter – Shawn’s anxiety eating away at him that you actually didn’t want a baby because of him and how different his lifestyle is; this was the complete wrong end of the stick. He was a busy guy, sure, but after five number one albums and countless tours, you knew he was genuinely serious about taking a break in order to start the family you’d both discussed so many times before.

You’d only gone to the shop in order to get more supplies for the group of you staying in the villa. The beer levels were running low, meaning the water levels were running low as they nursed their hangovers in the day, gulping beer again come night-time. You’d found yourself down the medicine aisle of the small store down the road, thinking aspirin and more sun cream would be essential for the rest of your stay in the extremely warm country. Bending down to look furthermore at extra bits, because you always thought it would be better to have too much than not enough, your eyes gazed over the selection of pregnancy tests before you noticed one row of a slightly different test – an ovulation test. A lump in your throat formed, and you felt something you’d never felt before. A want. A need.

A small, soaked volleyball came soaring through the open balcony door, landing just at your feet with a soft thud, bringing you back from your daydreaming. You heard one of the boys shout sorry, laughing to yourself at the playful behaviour of what you thought were mature 20-something-year olds. You bent down, picking up the wet ball, walking over to the balcony to check out the situation.

Looking down, there was Brain, Connor and Naill all flailing around in the pool below you whilst Connor’s girlfriend relaxed on one of the sun loungers, topping up her golden tan. Shawn, also in the water, was resting his arms on the surface around the pool, looking up and waiting for you to appear on the balcony. And when you did, he beamed, like he hadn’t seen you in years. “Whoever threw that should definitely keep their day job,” you laughed, throwing the ball back aiming in nowhere in particular. You never imagined that what you said could spark the beginning of world war 3; if you could actually play properly and yeah well if your fat fucking head wasn’t in the way being amongst the bickering as Shawn just continued to lovingly look up at you, rolling his eyes at the antics behind him. “Can I borrow you for a sec… from the… intense game you appear to have going on?” You asked, wagging your finger at the guys who were now trying to dunk each other underwater, neither of them not really paying attention to you or Shawn as he instantly nodded. Pushing the palms of his hands against the heated, concrete ground he raised from the water in what you could only describe as a bond girl/Baywatch aesthetic. The water trailing down his body, the sun instantly soaking up the moisture on him, was a sight you though could impregnant you alone.

You worked out your pH against the chart on the instructions as Shawn made his way up to the room, screwing your face up as you tried to familiarise yourself with this new technical language. Shawn’s head appeared around the door and you smiled in return, moving the stick and instructions that were in your hand to behind your back, trying your best to mask the evidence although knowing you failed. “What you got there?” He asked, sauntering in the room, droplets of water still trickling down the lines of his abs every so often as he continued to dry off naturally.

“Well, urm, yeah… nothing” You throat suddenly went dry, as you wondered whether you’d made a stupid impulsive decision to tell Shawn you wanted to try for a baby.

“Okay, I’ve always wanted one of those?” He joked, sitting himself on the end of the bed, not caring about dampening the sheets or messing up your specific bed making skills. He noticed your foot tapping, something you always did when you felt nervous, as he glanced over your features to try and gather some idea of what was going on. “You’re worrying me now.”

“You don’t need to worry,” you laughed, shaking your head as the expression on his face didn’t change. “I just… uh… think I wanna try get… y’no… pregnant”

Then his face changed. To a big shit-eating grin and a sparkle in his eyes. “You do?” He asked, just to make sure he had full confirmation and wasn’t hearing things. You nodded, a small mhmm escaping your lips before rambling on about seeing these stupid sticks near the pregnancy tests, even though you only went in for beer but ended up peeing on this stupid stick. “So… what does the stick say?” He said, holding out his hand for you to take. You did so, happily, the instructions in your hands getting crinkled between your hold on each other.

He pulled you close, your body stood in between his now opened legs, his hands travelling up your sundress, keeping you close by stroking the skin on the back of your thighs. You brought the stick out from behind your back, finally, looking at what it displayed one last time before speaking, “I’m ovulating, but only until tomorrow, we’ve missed the main chunk.”

He took both the instructions and stick, not seeming to care you’d just peed on the thing, before tossing them towards the direction of the bin, but missing dramatically. With one swift tug, you fell on top of him as he fell back onto the dreamy mattress, a squeal escaping your lips as you crashed down onto him. “SHAWN. You’re still wet” You laughed, trying with everything you had in you to push yourself back up off him.

His hold was strong enough that you couldn’t escape and as he flipped you both, so you were now under him, his legs in between yours in an attempt to keep them open, “and you’re about to be,” he smirked, resulting in you rolling your eyes at his boyish come back.

Strong hands were now exploring every inch of your body as his head dipped down, allowing your lips to come crashing together. His hunger was evident, little time spent being detached from your lips, as he loved on you with everything he had in him. His kisses moved down to your neck, groaning into your skin as you tugged at the damp curls atop of his head. “Are you sure?” you heard him mutter against your skin as he continued to kiss your sensitive spots.

“Only if you are” you breathed, tugging his hair that little bit harder so his lips parted from your skin and he looked up at you, the same sparkle in his eye still there. He nodded, reassuring you with few words that he’d have to be bat-shit crazy to not want to start a family with you. His head dipped back down, lips working back on your neck and chest whilst his fingers toyed the hem of your now slightly damp sundress. Underneath was nothing but a tiny red bikini, which he wasn’t overly keen on you wearing in front of his friends, but you argued about wanting the best tan with minimal tan lines. He pulled the flimsy dress material up your body until it bunched up around your neck, pulling away for a few short seconds in order to lift it and remove it completely. You took your bottom lip in-between your teeth as you felt the cold air-con air blast over your body, your nipples hardening at Shawn’s soft touch.

Shawn moved so he was upright, knelt on his knees in between you. You couldn’t help yourself as your fingers reached up, brushing over the defined lines of his abs, him tensing at your contact and cock twitching beneath his stupidly tight, yet somehow still baggy, swim shorts. Because two could play the game of tight garments, apparently. They were baggy enough to portray as a normal pair of trunks, but tight enough that he knew you could see the outline of one of your favourite features of his, as he lay on the sun lounger next to you, or walked around your sun lounger to go inside even though his sun lounger was closed to the villa doors.

His fingers were toying with the ties on the side of your briefs, not necessarily tugging too hard for the knot to come undone, the long pieces of string now straggling across the bed and your bare thigh. You breathed heavily as his fingers trailed across your skin to your needy centre, fingers slipping under the dampness of your briefs. A sharp intake of breath caused you to arch your back off the bed as his fingers came into contact with your swollen lips.

A thumb traced your entrance, until it stopped at your clit where it created a light pressure. Cries of need left your lips, until Shawn stopped them by connecting his lips back with yours. “We have to be quiet, they’re right outside” He spoke in-between kisses, you only nodding in return, realising you’d zoned out of the real world as you suddenly hear the boys scream into a loud cheer from down in the pool. The torturous tease of his thumb hovering over your clit soon turned into a trace of circles on your throbbing nub, two of his fingers slowly entering you completely as you adapted around him. “Fuck… you’re… so wet” He moaned into your neck, his fingers sliding in and out of you with ease from the juices he’d created.

You wanted to come back with some sarcastic comment like that’s what you wanted isn’t it but didn’t have much time to as his lips moved down, taking what he could manage of your breast into his mouth as his fingers continued to work wonders further down. The cold, wetness of his tongue felt good against the dry skin, your back arching as you pushed up to meet his touch as much as possible.

It didn’t take long before you were whimpering in his hands, telling him how much you needed him. It was as if all he needed was the invitation for him to tug at the waistband of his restrictive trunks until his throbbing length popped free, a whimper freeing from his own lips at the relief. He lined himself up with you, one hand trying to keep you still as it grasped at your waist, keeping his eyes connected with yours at all time.

This time felt different. You knew you were probably being stupid, and it was just like any other sex you’d have, but the concept of it possibly actually leading to becoming pregnant made you feel some type of way. For years you’d looked at Shawn, unknowingly to him, and wondered if your children would inherit his talent or his crazy curls or dazzling smile. As if he sensed your mind was on overdrive, he interlocked his hand with yours, pinning it next to your head as his chest came down to meet yours, whispering “I love you.”

“I’m just saying… I think we made a baby!” He beamed, right on your heels as you both made your way through the villa to re-join the rest of the group.

“Shawn, please don’t start getting all obsessive over it. It happens straight away for some people, takes years for others, just remember that okay?” You smiled, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. The sun hit you as you both walked out into the garden, feeling like a vampire as you squinted and groaned at the brightness.

“Oh she lives!” Connor shouted, the rest of the group turning around to look over in both of your direction.

“Did you go to the store back home, Y/N?” Niall joked, twirling the volleyball around of his pointer finger as if he was a basketball pro.

Brian couldn’t possible miss the opportunity to get involved with the jibing, “we even thought you may have run off with a sexy Spanish senor, we know Shawn can be a bit whiny sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes, a sarcastic har-har escaping your lips as you tip toed up, giving Shawn a gentle peck on the cheek. Like a group of teenagers, Shawn waltzed back over to the pool, putting his foot against Niall’s back, forcing him into the pool despite the fact he’d just completely dried off, apart from his legs which were dangling in.

Connor’s girlfriend tugged out one of her headphones as you sat on the lounger next to her, adjusting the backrest and stripping off your sundress – that you’d only just put back on – ready to take in the rest of the rays the sun had to offer. You were going about your business as normal, catching Connor’s girlfriend staring at you with a smug grin out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, Mila?” You raised your eyebrow, cocking your head as you gave her your full attention.

“You just had sex didn’t you?” She asked, spinning the wire of her headphones around her finger, only stopping when she smacked herself in the face with it for the third time.

You just laughed, “what makes you think that?”

“I dunno… you’re… glowing. Must’ve been really good though because there’s still something extra different this time” She shrugged.

The sun was still beaming as you awoke later on; you’d slept most of the day, only waking up when Shawn was applying more sun cream on your back. Fortunately so had the boys, which gave you some peace and quiet. Connor and Mila were squeezed onto one sun lounger, like big spoon/little spoon, whilst Niall and Brian were sprawled out on their own, soft snores escaping both of their lips. Your eyes began to flicker open, body stretching out of the light sleep. “So I’ve been thinking…” Shawn’s voice snapped your head round to your right, where his sun lounger was placed. He lay on his side, head resting on his hand with his elbow propped up on the bed.

“Jesus, hello to you too…” You rolled your eyes, a soft yawn escaping your lips even though you’d only just been sleeping.

“We should go upstairs, you know, while the kids are quiet” He pointed at the group the other side of you, and you watched them for a second, laughing at how Niall’s sunglasses were probably creating the world’s worst tan line right about now.

You stood up, taking him by surprise when you agreed, swaying your hips just that little bit extra as you walked inside.

Shawn was quick behind you up the stairs and you walked him backwards until he fell onto the bed as soon as you shut the door. He shuffled himself up to the head of the bed, eyeballing you as you kicked your flip flops off, not caring where in the room they ended up. You’d decided to leave your sundress down by your lounger during your swift decision, knowing it would be pointless in dressing in it again.

This time it was you straddling him, kissing down each section of his body as he writhed under you, hands firmly holding onto your hips. His hardening length was pressing into your thigh, “the sun actually does make you horny doesn’t it?” you laughed, remembering Shawn telling you once that it did, but you laughed it off as a stupid myth.

“Yup. And when that’s mixed with you… I’m a goner” He squirmed again, his hardness changing your laugh into a moan.

There was next to no foreplay; you lifted off him for a second, grabbing his member with your hand, lining your yet again aching core up with him. You both forgot about the quiet “rule”, hoping the guys would still be asleep, as you let out a loud moan simultaneously, your walls sinking down onto him and adapting to his size for the second time today. Sounds of satisfaction filled the room, hopefully not spilling over and out to the pool area, although that was the last thing on yours and Shawn’s mind. You found your rhythm, Shawn’s hands supporting your tactical ass as you hopped up and down. Flinging your head back in pleasure, Shawn helped you by thrusting, pulling your body down as his hips moved upwards, his breathing getting heavier with each plunge. “Fuck… I thought… I’m gonna…” He stringed out a set of words, all giving you the impression he was close to his climax. It spurred you on even more, your hips rocking down onto him a little more, pushing yourself closer to meet him.

His eyes were shut, lips apart, body trembling underneath you. That was all you needed to come to your own heightened senses, your body falling down, your chest meeting his own as you bit onto his shoulder to muffle your moans. You both lay there for a while, Shawn’s thumbs sketching patterns on the skin of your hips as he spoke into your hair, “okay, I think maybe that time we made one.”

You let out a large sigh, giving up all hope with your hair and dragging it back into a high pony as you observed yourself in the mirror. The heat did not agree with your hair. Neither did the chlorine. And probably neither did the fact you’d also just had sex for a third time. Something in you had clicked, wondering why it had taken you so long to want this; to need this. You weren’t sure how many times you and Shawn had been able to have sex in one day, your stamina usually quite low compared to his much higher drive.

Emerging from the bathroom, with a towel wrapped low around his hips, he sang along to some songs he’d been listening to in the shower. The energy was good throughout the villa, all six of you getting ready for a night in the local town with nothing but good drinks and good friends. “Do you think I should wear the leaf shirt…” Shawn started, looking at his two options of shirts hung on the wardrobe door, “orrrrr the stripe?”

He held both up alternatively, his lips pulled to one side and eyebrows raised as you tapped a make-up brush against your cheek, deciding on the life changing choice. “The stripe. I’m more likely to wanna get you into bed in that.” Throwing his head back, he laughed, not only at your bluntness, but the fact you actually wanted to get him into bed for the fourth time. If all holidays were like this, he’d take them more often. You noticed his smug features whilst he walked around the bed to stand behind you in the mirror, towering you due to sitting on the small stool. “You wanted a baby,” you shrugged innocently, continuing your light make up routine, knowing it would only sweat off as soon as you left the air-conned villa anyway.

“You’re cute,” he smiled, bending down and wrapping his arm around your waist, “and also incredibly horny from the heat.” You jabbed your elbow into his stomach as hard as you could, but evidently not hard enough as he just laughed off you attempt. He planted a small kiss on your cheek before returning to get ready, in the stripe shirt.

The night had gone well, the lot of you letting your hair down like you’d intended to. You couldn’t help, however, take slightly longer than normal to drink your drinks or sit quietly in the corner every so often just to see how much you’d miss this life; normal life. It made you feel content when you realised you didn’t actually mind, thus far, enjoying everyone else making fools out of themselves rather than you for once. Mila was soon bounding over, sipping the last of her drink and placing it on the table you were sat at, “you okay? You seem kinda… quiet.”

You nodded, placing your own full drink down on the table, “I just have a killer headache, I don’t think I drunk enough water today.” It wasn’t a total lie, you had a teeeeeny, tiny headache, but more so were tired from your unusually active day.

She seemed genuinely concerned, which made you feel bad for telling a little white lie, but you and Shawn were yet to discuss with anybody else your future plans, and you imagined it would stay that way. “You want me to head back to the villa with you?” You assured her you were fine, promising you’d be fine going on your own, “sooo, does that mean you’re gonna be drinking that or?” She asked when she was finally convinced you didn’t need to be walked home, pointing to your full beverage. You laughed, handing it to her before placing a small kiss on her cheek and telling her to enjoy the rest of her night and you’ll make breakfast for 10am.

You grabbed Shawn’s arm to grab his attention as he watched over Brian doing some of the weirdest ‘dancing’ you’d ever seen. He looked concerned as soon as he looked at you, instantly pulling you to the side so he could hear you a little better. “I’m gonna head back to the villa, I’m super tired and I’m just… kind of…”

He smiled warmly, “feeling maternal are we?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes for what felt like the 20thtime today. “I’ll just tell the boys and come with, 2 seconds.” And before you had chance to object, to tell him to stay and make the most of the night, he was dragging you out the door and in the direction of your holiday home, which luckily for the sake of your poor legs and slightly sore centre, wasn’t too far.

Shawn main priority was getting you to bed, and not in the suggestive way you’d think. He wanted nothing more than to make sure you were comfortable and rested, knowing you’d taken just about as much of him as you could today, or so he had thought.

He fiddled around with the air con unit, muttering to himself as he tried to figure out the electronics, happily smiling to himself when he’d set a suitable temperature. You pulled up the iPad, setting some stupid movie rolling in which you had no interest in actually watching, rather enjoying your boyfriend company. Crawling in behind you, his arm snaked around your waist and his lips peppered kisses across you shoulder, his breathe tickling you and leaving you wriggling under him. It was cute, loving, happy.

Around 30 minutes into the movie, which you and Shawn had spent the entire time talking through, you began to feel slightly more refreshed and reenergised. Your head was still perched on Shawn’s chest, and your own bare chest rested against his side, the thin and practically useless bed sheets were pulled up, covering up to your hips. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve quite ever seen someone do “the worm” like that.” You laughed, your fingers mocking the name of the dance move.

“He thinks it’s his signature move, let’s just let him have his moment.” Your continuous laugh was muffled into the skin on his chest as your fingers yet again sketched the outline of his abs continuously. You noticed how he twitched every so often, tensing as you got the parts close to the top of his waistband. Taking full advantage of your touch, crossed with his weakness of being tickled, you stopped tracing the upper parts of his defined features, concentrating solely on the parts that were making him squirm.

Your manicured nails, painted with vibrant holiday colours, alternated between lines of his muscles, and the scar situated just next to them. He hummed happily into your hair, “you’re gonna have to stop doing that,” he let out a shaky laugh, his hand wrapping around your wrist to stop your delicate movements.

Looking up at him with glazed eyes, your eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to look as innocent as you could. He instantly knew what you were up to, shaking his head, “baby, I want this I do… but you’re exhausted. When was the last time you turned down a night out?” What he was saying was right, you were the party animal of the group for so long, but you were sick of being that person. You wanted this family. And maybe the sun was getting to your head, and you knew you had all the time in the world to try for a baby, but it only felt right that you made up for lost time, considering you were only ovulating for approximately another 12 hours, possibly even less. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you smiled, moving your head back down to rest where it was previously, hand wriggling out of his grasp. He only specifically suggested you stopped doing the little ab-tickle, nothing else. So you continued, fingers toying with the waistband of his Calvin’s, letting them run underneath the slightest bit. You noticed how his chest was breathing deeper, his hand that was stroking your back coming to a halt on your waist where it grasped slightly. The changing matter was when you tugged the waistband up further than previous times, letting it snap against his skin when you let it go.

Before you could blink, he was on top of you, pinning your hand either side of your head and all you could do was smirk, successful in your not-so-secret mission. “I said stop.” Your smirk grew, welcoming back the Shawn you knew and loved oh so dearly. His Calvin’s weren’t hiding much, his length nudging into your centre, which was only covered by a pair of flimsy lace panties. His face was centimetres from yours, breath fanning onto your lips, “I’m not going to break my wife day one into baby making.” His sudden turn from demanding into caring only made your legs wrap around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass to pull him closer. You knew it wasn’t an appropriate time to argue with him, knowing his week spots would soon leave him coming undone and meeting your needy level.

He groaned as your material covered delicates touched, only spurring on the wetness between your legs, “Just…” you breathed, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his pillowy lips, “one more…” he reciprocated the action, “please?” You knew innocently asking for permission was his weak spot and got him feeling a certain type of way and mixed with the other teasing touches you’d put into play, he was crumbling on top of you.

Lost in the moment, a large clunk snapped both your heads to look towards the direction of your bedroom door, which was still shut like it had been since you’d got home. Both of you furrowed your eyebrows, before confirming it must just be the outdated air con unit kicking in outside your room.

As if it never happened, his lips trailed kisses down your body, paying particular attention to the area where you’d previously been teasing him. You squirmed underneath him, the stupid stubble on his chin brushing against the top of your throbbing core. His breath tickled you, much like your fingers had been doing him, the kisses quite possibly the most delicate they’d ever been, like he would break you if he pressed any harder. You whimpered, not caring about the volume of your voice as you knew the others were out having a good time in a completely different way to you two. His hands were still intertwined with yours by your head, restricting you from reaching down and running your fingers through his soft bed of curls.

Heading further down, his pulled your panties in-between his teeth, letting them drag down, letting to cool air of the room hit you furthermore. “You really do want this, huh?” He asked cockily, no chance for you to answer as he begin to lap up your taste, running his tongue up your slit in the most torturous slow movement. “Shawn...” you breathed, squeezing onto his hands tighter at the new mixture of wet sensations between your legs. He hummed into your folds, the vibrations twitching your hips to push up towards him. 

It felt like heaven and pleasure, all rolled into one, Your legs wrapped around his shoulder, your heels helplessly digging into his back even though you knew he couldn’t get any closer if her tried. He continued to hum into you, forcing whimpers and moans of your own to leave your lips, taking over the volume of the movie that was now playing to itself. 

His sudden departure from your soaking focussed area left you only begging for more, him name leaving your mouth a handful of times in a plea to return. His fingers untangled from yours by the side of your head, reaching down and taking each side of your panties that were bunched up at the top of your thighs. “These... need to go” He continued rolling them down until they twanged off either of your feet, uncaring where they ended up as he tossed them behind him, “much better.”

“Shawn, I need you, please.” You begged one last time, your hands finally free and reaching up for any part of him you could touch. He seemingly agreed, crawling up on his forearms to cover your body, ensuring he didn’t crush you in the process. His fingers came up to your face in an intimate moment, brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen from your ponytail as he pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose. Reaching in-between you both, he lined up his fully hardened length with you entrance, the reconnection of skin on skin bucking your hips upwards. He gave you no warning as he plunged into you, filling you whole with he first thrust, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as you let out your loudest moan yet. 

“Fuck” he spat, as his hips connected with yours, filling you deeply. His head rested in the crook of your neck, placing hard, passionate kisses and nipping the skin of your collar bone when he wasn’t concentrating on breathing. Your hand came up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, twirling the stray curls.

“Shawn, I'm not gonna last...” You whisper, your breathing deeper than you’d felt it all day. You thought you’d last longer, but seemed to be getting weaker with each touch he gave you. Continuing to squirm underneath him, he groaned at your twitchiness. 

He pulled out of you, no time for you complain as he grabbed one of your hips, flipping you onto your front with one swift motion of his strong arms. A playful squeal left your lips, your head turning back to look over your shoulder with a glistening smile. His other hand came to your other hip, guiding your ass further up into the air, your chest still pushed against the mattress, “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he almost whispered, a contrast from how loud you’d both been throughout the last 30 minutes. 

His hand smoothed over the curves of your peachy asset, before sliding down and tapping at each of you inner thighs in a suggestion for you to move your legs wider. Happily obliging, you did so, feeling him shift his weight behind you. Entering back into you, you reached up and clenched your fingers around the fabric of the pillow as he filled you again. The headboard smashed against the wall each time his hips came into contact with your ass, thrusting you forward with each passionate movement. His rhythm remained consistent, a light tap on your ass every now and again reminding you to keep screaming his name as you drifted off into a state of pure pleasure every so often. 

“I’m gonna...” You breathed, unable to finish your sentence as you screamed in pure delight, your hair falling and covering your face. Shawn snapped your head up, pulling it back with your tempting pony, watching you as you came undone below him.  His other hand reached round your front, his finger finding your clit and rubbing circles to accompany your raging climax. You couldn’t speak, only screams leaving your mouth for the moments of pleasure.

The sight of you was enough to build up his own orgasm, the snap of his hips against your ass and the headboard against the wall slowing as he thrusted through each shooting pleasure. You couldn’t concentrate as your name left his mouth amongst his moans, until he finally came to a halt, pulling out fo you and falling back onto the mattress with nothing put a post sex glow covering his body. You remained on your front, laying your head on the pillow as you turned to face him. Through heavy breathing, Shawn finally broken the minute long silence as you both basked in your euphoria “Okay we definitely made a mini us that time.”

You looked at the large clock hung on the wall above the stove, reading 9:54, as you heard footsteps and movement start to filter from upstairs. Shawn sat at the breakfast bar, sipping from his coffee cup as you wizzed around the kitchen, steam coming from the stove and oven as you prepared your best breakfast display yet. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?” He asked, feeling guilty you were running around like a headless chicken.

“Absolutely not, you burnt the beans last time you helped. Who even does that?” You laughed, blowing air out your mouth in an attempt to blow hair out of your vision. He shrugged, insisting it was definitely the pan’s fault because it was, like, 149 years old, not the fact he couldn’t cook.

“You know... one day it’s gonna be our kids coming running down the stairs,” he started, standing from his bar stool and placing his empty cup by the sink, “with their little school uniforms on,” your heart tugged are the thought, “and running into the kitchen because they’re fighting over who’ll be riding shotgun, but it’ll definitely be the boy because he’s such a mommy’s boy and the fact he’s the eldest.” You heart clenched. “And the girl will of course 100% be a daddy’s girl, which will leave you jealous because you’re normally the only girl who gets all my attention.”

He walked around to you, tugging at the towel in your hands until you fell into his frame. “Really been thinking about it, huh?” You smiled, reciprocating his hold, wrapping your arms over the top of his shoulders.

“After yesterday’s performance... how can I not?” He laughed as he bent down to kiss you, the butterfly feelings he gave you the first time you ever kissed still evident now.

“Jeez, don’t you guys ever stop?” You heard Brian’s voice as he entered the room, snapping you both from your loving moment before you continued to attend to breakfast duties. He was followed closely by Niall, Connor and Mila as the empty kitchen became suddenly overcrowded. You slapped Nialls hand away a few times as he tried to steal items of food from right under your nose, frowning like a little kid. Good practice, you thought to yourself, as you looked at Shawn across the room how appeared to be thinking the exact same.

“Don’t they ever stop what?” Connor asked, mid yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Going at it like rabbits, you should’ve heard them last night. I think shitting myself in the club would have been more enjoyable that listening to them two all night.” Brian confirmed, slumping himself onto one of the chair surrounding the dining table.

You and Shawn froze, giving each other a confused look as he continued to explain your sex life, even giving details of approximately how many times the headboard was thrown against the wall. “But... you were out with the guys?” You asked, promptly interrupting him when he got to the noise impressions, waving your spatula toward the foursome who sat around the table waiting for their fresh breakfast.

“He must’ve ate something bad, said he was gonna shit himself in the middle of the club and had to run back here” Connor butted in, resting his head in his hands as the hangover started to hit, but also laughing at his dumb friend who nearly had a very embarrassing accident during the night out. 

“ENOUGH. We’re about to eat” Mila scoulded, hitting her boyfriend across the arm as the rest of you screwed your face up in disgust. Connor shrugged, pouting his bottom lip as his head collapsed against the table in exhaust.

“Bro... why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were home?” Shawn asked, holding in hands out as he waited for a reaction.

“You were... busy!” Brain snorted, “I ain’t gonna be the one to rain on your parade. You were putting in a good shift, bro.”

Any annoyance Shawn had, didn’t show as he thanked his best friend with a swift high five, also rather proud of his performance, even more so considering it was the fourth round. He didn’t need to disclose that, of course, unless he wanted to go home a single, divorced man.

“More action that I’ve had in a while,” Niall randomly shrugged, filling his mug with coffee as they began to bicker amongst themselves who had sex the most, as if you and Shawn weren’t there.

Coming back over to help with the dishes, Shawn whispered in your ear, “are you sure you wanna have a kid?” He laughed, nodding back to the roudy group sat around waiting for their fuel.

“Bit late now isn’t it?” You raised your eyebrow, shoving a platter of bacon and sausage in one of his hands, and a plate of toast in the other.

He gasped, a little louder than necessary, causing the rest of the group to come to a deathly silence as he let out his word vomit, that resulted in another loud discussion from the heard of friends, “you think we made a baby too?!”

[tarhalindur]

2021 NFL Predictions

Man, as someone who occasionally spends too much time thinking about the NFL (football: the closest thing American sports have to a turn-based strategy game) and trying to predict how its season will go it occurs to me: why do all this work in my head and not write it up?  So, here goes nothing:

(Terminology note: “true talent” = estimate of how many games I would expect the team to win given average luck and schedule.  The categories are derived off the old 16-game schedule because that’s what I was drawing off of and I’ll need to see how the new schedule plays to calibrate the break points now: as it is, “Super Bowl contender”: true-talent 12-13 wins or better (in 16 games); “division contender”: 10-12 wins; “wild card contender": 7-10 wins, with 9-10 being “upper end” and 7-8 being “low end”; everyone below that is bad.)

- The AFC South got fucked by the scheduling gods (they drew the AFC East and NFC West, likely the two deepest divisions in the NFL), and I will be quite surprised if any team in it gets a wild card. (Let’s take an upper-case outcome and assume the second-place team in the division sweeps two terrible teams and splits with the division champ.  That’s five wins.  Assume the Jets are terrible too and that’s six.  And then... what?  Barring a Kliff implosion and/or the Rams rolling injuries to the stars on their stars-and-scrubs roster the worst team in the NFC West should be at least true-talent seven wins.  New England could be trash if Mac is bad or gets injured now that Hoyer is their best backup, but otherwise every non-Jets team in the AFC East is true-talent nine wins or better.  Cross-divisional?  Not likely unless the Colts implode due to injuries and Jacksonville does massively better than expected - they get the Bengals and Broncos, and the Falcons might also count depending on whether that team hits its fail states.  The AFC South would even have a hard time benefiting if both the Browns and Chargers implode, because the third place team last year is the one team basically guaranteed to be terrible in Houston.  A wild card isn’t impossible, but it needs a whole lot of dice rolls to go in a team’s favor either on the field or between games - which is by definition not likely.)

- The NFC North also gets an uphill climb to a wild card. They rolled the NFC West, the AFC North, and the new cross-conference against the AFC West, an absolutely brutal set.  Getting a wild card out of that probably needs at least 4-2 in the division (probably needs exactly one of CHI/MIN to implode, though sniping a game off Green Bay also works) and some good fortune either in games that should be close in true talent or in events elsewhere (the easy road involves at least two implosions in CLE/PIT/ARI).

- The AFC East probably gets a wild card.  They rolled the AFC South (likely 2-3 games where you’re heavily favored if you’re even a wild card contender) and the NFC South (admittedly not free, but NO and CAR are both probably winnable and while I’m high on the Falcons they have significant downside risk - there’s also the possibility that Father Time finally gets to the far side of his near-Brady experience), plus the Jets and the new cross-conference game against the NFC East.  Worlds where the AFC East doesn’t get a wild card probably involve both multiple implosions in the AFC North and West and at least one of Coach of the Year Robert Saleh and OROY Zach Wilson.

- The AFC West probably gets a wild card?  They rolled the other likely weak division in the NFC East, which goes a long way, and frankly there’s enough teams with implosion risk in the AFC North and West (CLE, DEN, maybe LAR, maybe PIT) that it’s probably going to happen to someone.

- The NFC East... they’re probably exporting a whole bunch of wins as well?  Not a guarantee, though, I could actually see them get a wild card if there’s enough implosions in either the NFC South or the AFC West.

- The AFC North might be the highest-variance division in football.  If they hit the high end they’re absolutely stacked, but there’s a real risk the Browns are fool’s gold (I think they were a true-talent 8-8 team last year that lucked into one of the easiest schedules in years, the question is how much they improved) and that Father Time gets The Older Rapist enough to knock the Steelers down to a true-talent 8 win team (have a hard time seeing them go further down with Mike Tomlin’s team-building, though admittedly they might underperform that given Tomlin’s occasional issues with not covering certain receivers and looking past bad teams on the road).  One thing’s for sure: I don’t think there’s enough wins for all of the AFC North, AFC West, and NFC North to get wild cars.

- The NFC South has one good team (barring Father Time finally getting Brady, one that should be decent (Payton isn’t a bad coach), and two that could be anywhere from wild-card contenders to outright collapses.  Note that with the Easts and Souths playing each other this year, there’s too many wins for both the NFC East and NFC South to whiff wild cards unless both divisions seriously export wins to the AFC (in which case the AFC North has an uphill climb and there’s a pretty good chance that the AFC East gets two wild cards and the other goes to the AFC West).

(Bonus under the cut: individual team thoughts!)

- Bills: Should be in the playoffs and are the division favorites, but slightly more downside than they’re getting credit for. The problems are twofold: what should have been the second most favorable schedule in the division (because the likely best teams in both the AFC North and NFC East did not finish first last year) is salted by the schedule gods taking away: they draw Pittsburgh in the season opener so are the single most likely team to face a full-strength The Older Rapist, and they draw Washington in September as well maximizing the chance that they get Fitzpatrick before he inevitably turns back into a pumpkin.  (Fitzpatrick playing out of his mind and beating the Bills mostly singlehandedly and getting Team fans’ hopes up before dashing them would be peak Fitzpatrick...)  More to the point, their early schedule is PIT, @MIA, WAS, HOU, @KC, @TEN; it’s not out of the question they start 2-4 or even 1-5 going into the bye if the stars really align against them, and at that point locker room morale becomes a factor.

- Dolphins: Wild card contender (true talent roughly 10 wins), could be more if Tua really develops or the Bills stumble. Good news: they dodge KC and instead get the Raiders in a quite winnable game, on top of the common AFC East schedule, and now they get the Giants (who I suspect are the worst team in the NFC East) as well. More good news: like, the worst Miami is doing against the Pats is a split, right?  Bad news: they face Baltimore.

- Patriots: With Cam gone and Hoyer (a second-tier backup at this point) the presumptive backup the Pats are suddenly one of the highest-variance teams in the league.  If Mac Jones is good immediately they’re a division contender, and if he’s even a competent game manager they’re another true-talent 10-win wild card contender given that run game and possibly that front seven as well. If he’s bad or gets injured, however, they now might very well wind up with a top 10 pick.  Which might actually be part of the point, on top of doing a vet a solid and avoiding any locker room issues?  In a weird sense Belichick is unconstrained by job security in a way no other NFL coach is; he doesn’t have unlimited job security... but he’s also nearly 70, and if the rebuild fails then by the time his seat would really be getting hot he’s probably considering retiring anyways.  So he’s playing with house money.  It’s not likely, but don’t be shocked if the Pats pull what Arizona did a few years back and draft a first-round QB two years in a row - it’s definitely an option if Mac is terrible.

- Jets: Not out of the question as a dark horse if Zach Wilson is good, I’ve been getting good vibes off of Saleh.  Problem is the combination of their division and injury issues; I’m not sure they have the roster to overcome that yet.

- Steelers: Basically covered above.  If Big Ben aka The Older Rapist is still above average they’re a wild card contender or even an outright division contender again; if Father Time gets him and they’re stuck with Mason Rudolph or Dwayne Haskins-level play at QB they probably still win a few games because Mike Tomlin is not a bad coach but they have an uphill climb.

- Baltimore: The one obvious division contender in the AFC North, given a very good quarterback and one of the five best coaches in the league.  Admittedly their OC is potentially a question mark, but they should get back to the playoffs.

- Cleveland: Actually hard to tell.  There’s two offsetting issues here.  First, as mentioned above their schedule was soft as fuck last year and that’s unlikely to still be the case. On the other hand, I think there’s a decent chance they take a step forward this year.  Ceiling is about where their record was last year barring a massive leap, floor is a 7-8 win team unless a bunch of other teams hit their upside at Cleveland’s expense.

- Bengals: Depends on how good and/or healthy Burrow is, but they probably finish last in the division regardless.  Low-end wild card contender if everything goes right?

- Titans: The one team in the AFC South that should actually be good.  Exactly how good depends on things like “did they overuse Derrick Henry last year?” and “is the defense any good at all?”, but the fail state here is a true-talent wild card contender in a likely soft division.

- Colts: Depends on two questions: can they get Wentz back to anything resembling 2018 form, and do they keep getting bit by the injury bug?  AFAICT the core roster is of the classic “quarterback away” type with good D and a decent running game (see also this year: Denver, Washington, possibly Carolina, Pats if Mac Jones doesn’t pan out).  The best case is that they can reclaim Wentz and the injury bug is done with them for the year, in which case they challenge TEN for the division.  Worst case Wentz is bad and/or injured and half their roster is on IR, in which case they get a top-10 pick and the AFC East and NFC West are even more likely to get wild cards than they were already.

- Texans: Obvious tire fire, and not just on the field at this point.  Problem is the tire fire includes both the new owner and his favorite exec, so they’re likely to remain a tire fire for a while...

- Jaguars: Probably depends on how good Trevor Lawrence is and how quickly, especially since I suspect Urban Meyer is at higher-than-usual risk of flaming out.  Best case they’re a true-talent 8 win team that might manage to take advantage of a soft-ish schedule to challenge for the seventh seed.  Otherwise look for them to export wins.

- Chiefs: Obvious Super Bowl contender is obvious, barring a Mahomes injury they’re the presumptive division favorite and near-locks for the playoffs.

- Raiders: I’m high on Carr (solid Tier 2 quarterback IMO, on par with someone like Tannehill and I’d take him over Kirk Cousins - and probably Baker Mayfield, too, though maybe not since Mayfield has less track record and thus higher upside).  I’m considerably less sold on Gruden, and have doubts about what he’s done to the roster.  Still should be a wild-card contender.

- Chargers: How much of last year’s late-season run was fool’s gold?  Not sure.  Could be all, could be none.  IIRC they replaced their head coach, so that hole is at least possibly filled.  Herbert is probably good, though I want another season of track record to be confident.  The real problem here is that they still seem to be connected to some Indian burial ground somewhere.  Upside is division contender, downside is 6 wins or so.

- Broncos: QB-away team in a bad division for it.  At least they get the NFC East, but I suspect they finish out of the playoffs again this year.

(Interlude: A general thing to note about the NFC is that due to two QB injuries and one QB retirement there is exactly one team that finished first place in their division last year that I expect to be the best true-talent team in their division this year.  Worse, due to the aforementioned injuries two teams I expect to be the best or at worst second-best in their divisions finished third and fourth in their divisions last year, respectively.  This is throwing a giant monkey wrench in the usual SOS-based scheduling balance.)

- Football Team: The Football Team has the kind of defense that’s a characteristic of the QB-away team.  There’s two differences between the Team and the usual suspect, however.  First, I’m not entirely sure how good their line and thus running game will be. Second, and more importantly, the usual QB-away team has a consistently mediocre medium-to-high floor, low-ceiling quarterback. The Football Team, by way of contrast, has Ryan Fitzpatrick, arguably the single highest-variance QB of the last two decades, a man who will absolutely win you games you should have lost… and lose you games you should have won.  Also, he’s in his upper 30s and thus at risk of Father Time coming for his NFL career.  So, the questions: how many games do you get Fitzmagic and how many do you get Fitztragic?  If the usual cycle applies, when exactly does he turn back into a pumpkin?  And is the division + the lower end of the NFC South soft enough that it doesn’t matter?

- Giants: Probably the worst team in their division, and my pick for the most likely second-worst team in the NFC.  I don’t like Daniel Jones, I don’t like most of the rest of the roster, and their coach is unimpressive.

- Cowboys: Remember those quarterback injuries I was talking about?  Right.  The ‘Boys are not without flaws – the defense is notoriously questionable (though by preseason reports they may actually have drafted a difference-maker of a linebacker this year) and Mike McCarthy may well be a downgrade compared to Jason Garrett.  But barring another injury (eyes Dak’s shoulder nervously) they have a QB (I’m a bit low on Dak relative to most people, but in this case “low” still means a Tier 2 quarterback roughly on par with Derek Carr), and they should have an offense.  Barring a Jalen Hurts breakout or Fitzpatrick rolling Fitzmagic for most of the year, with a healthy Dak this is at worst a wild-card contender in a weak division and thus the presumptive favorites for the division title.

- Eagles: Oof.  This team is hard to judge, mostly because AFAICT they’re a weird superposition of potentially very good and potentially complete trash (that’s also spelled “very high variance”).  The issues are twofold: they have a largely untested starting quarterback who was roughly average last year but might develop (the aforementioned Hurts), and they have quite a few very good but aging players on the roster.  Best case, Hurts plays like a Tier 2 or even Tier 1 quarterback, the rest of the roster holds, and they’re in contention for the division title and/or a wild card slot.  Worst case, Hurts is meh, the vets fall off or get injured… and then next year might be even worse because at that point you probably need a rebuilding year even if they hit this year’s draft picks.

- Packers: There’s risk here, mostly of the forms “simmering issues blow up the locker room” and “age and/or injury sap Aaron Rodgers and Jordan Love is meh or worse”.  But Aaron Rodgers is one of the five best quarterbacks in the NFL until proven otherwise, and both the coach and the rest of the roster are at least decent, so barring those the Packers should be at worst a division contender with Super Bowl aspirations ala the Ravens.

- Chicago: Uh.  Hmm.  I like the Fields pick, gut says he’s a pretty solid bet at a Tier 2 quarterback of some description barring catastrophic injury.  IIRC the D is still good.  But I do not like that O-line, and I do not like that schedule, and I’m not a big fan of Coach Nagy either.  In the NFC East or AFC South the Bears would have at least a decent chance at the playoffs.  Here?  Not so much. It’s not impossible the Bears do well, but I think a top-10 draft pick is more likely.

- Vikings: Hmm.  By true talent the Vikings are probably a wild-card contender in the same vein as the mid-2010s Bengals.  That’s not quite a good comparison, because I’ve got Zimmer as probably a top-10 coach and those Bengals lacked that.  But the rest fits: solid if aging roster (ala the later Dalton Bengals years), overpaid mediocre QB.  Yeah, I’m low on Cousins; IMO he’s a high-floor, low-ceiling type that gets overrated by analytics, the second coming of Matt Schaub.  He’s a solid choice if you want to win 10-12 games (maybe 13 now) and have a shot at the conference championships, but I’ll be very surprised if he ever wins a Super Bowl as a starter. The problem for the Vikes is that they’re in the NFC North and therefore their schedule sucks balls.

- Lions: They’re rebuilding and their schedule is one of the roughest in the NFL.  They might surprise someone early before the lack of talent really shows, IIRC I’ve heard about that happening once before with a Dan Campbell team, but this team is playing for a top-5 draft pick and they’re probably going to get it.

- Saints: Actually really hard for me to tell, mostly because I can’t tell how good the non-QB parts of the roster are this year relative to last.  They’ve lost a HoF quarterback, and while Jameis has seasoning and a possible QB whisperer now I suspect his ceiling is still a high variance high ceiling, low floor type in the Fitzpatrick mold (absolute peak might be Eli mk. II).  Payton is one of the better coaches in the NFL but finished 8-8 with Brees for multiple years.  That said, the Saints’ roster last year was better than it was in those years, especially on defense.  Question: is that still the same this year?  Don’t know; the Saints took non-Brees losses, but I’m not sure how much.  Peak is a true-talent wild card team if Jameis is above average and the rest of the roster is good; fail state is probably 6-7 wins by true talent.

- Buccaneers: Let’s be real, this boils down to a single question, the same one we’ve all been asking for over half a decade now: “is this the year Father Time finally comes for Tom Brady?”.  At this point I’ll believe it when I see it.  And even if yes they’re probably still a playoff team, because the rest of the Buccs roster is still the best in the division and the schedule gods once again blessed Tom Brady’s team with a weak slate of foes – the entire rest of the NFC South has issues, they get the NFC East, and by finishing second-place in the division last year the Buccs get Chicago, the Rams, and now the Colts as their SOS-dependent opponents.  The AFC East with the probable exception of the Jets will be tough (but even there the Buccs luck out – they rolled New England early, and even without a possible Mac Jones adjustment period even if he’s good the first month for the Belichick-era Patriots has often been an adjustment period as the team figures out what’s working and what isn’t) and the Rams should be as well (here the schedule gods frown, the Buccs rolled the Rams early – a lot of the Rams’ downside is injury-related volatility, drawing them early minimizes the chance of this happening prior to this game), but even then the Buccs don’t look severely disfavored in any game and everything else looks very winnable and would even if Brady declines to 2015!Peyton.

- Panthers: I’m not going to lie, I actually rather like the Darnold gamble in a vacuum.  If you’re betting on anyone in the NFL to pull another Tannehill he’s the one, because I’ve gotten the same vibe off him that I got off Tannehill on the Dolphins: possible tier-2 QB held back by coaching (and the same coach, no less).  The problem is, I think he might be better off as a backup behind a mediocre starter for a little while to regain confidence the same way Tannehill was, and instead he’s getting thrown straight into the fire again.  (Also, Fields was available, and Mac Jones too though I’m not sure the Panthers would have been a good place for him to develop.)  The rest of the roster is another QB-away team with a likely very solid defense, Christian McCaffrey, and IIRC an O-line that is at least decent.

- Falcons: Possible sleeper team.  The Falcons have one major advantage that people keep forgetting about: barring a major breakout from one of Jameis and The Darnold, they have at worst the second-best QB in the division, potentially even the best if Father Time gets Brady but not Ryan.  And that’s not damning with faint praise; at his peak I had him as the best Tier 2 quarterback and roughly sixth-best in the NFL overall, that MVP year was not a fluke. He’s just been saddled with bad coaching and bad rosters and been unable to overcome that, which I can’t blame him for given all those 8-8 years for the Brees/Payton Saints in the mid-2010s.  Good news: Dan Quinn is gone, and the schedule this year is soft (49ers game aside).  As I noted above there’s probably a wild card sloshing around for the NFC South and NFC East, and I would not be surprised in the slightest if the Falcons got it.

- Seahawks: … We know the book on the Seahawks by now, right? Top-5 quarterback in the NFL (and of the three I would take over Russ on the field itself, two are old enough for Father Time to be a real concern and the last is testing exactly how bad off-field issues have to be to make a Tier 1 quarterback unemployable in the NFL), average roster otherwise, coach who is average at worst.  That’s been a true-talent division contender for the last half-decade, and barring injury or locker room issues blowing up I see no reason why that would change this year.

- Rams: High variance, for a very specific reason.  The roster, as constructed, is a wild-card contender, or possibly more if Stafford really goes off.  The problem is that due to spending first-round draft picks like candy and not getting enough out of the later rounds to make up for it, this is (as noted above) very much a stars-and-scrubs roster.  And the thing about a stars-and-scrubs roster is that it’s vulnerable in a way that a roster with more depth isn’t; if a star gets injured, your team is facing a massive drop-off in performance.

- Cardinals: Honestly, unless Kliff hits one of his downsides (can’t adjust now that defenses figured out last year’s offense and/or loses the locker room) then by true talent this is probably a low-end wild-card contender at worst (~8 wins).  The problem is, in the NFC West that makes you the worst true-talent team in the division…

- 49ers: So, let’s just point out the obvious: last year was a case study in just how badly a possible true-talent Super Bowl contender has to get injured in order to get a top-10 pick. Admittedly part of that is that Jimmy G. sure seems to merit the injury-prone label at this point, which is why the 49ers traded up for another QB, but the rest of it is just extremely bad luck and that’s unlikely to persist year-to-year.  This is probably the best team in the NFC West, which is saying something.  (Unfortunately for them, Shanahan is in the Reid/Tomlin bucket and his weaknesses as a game coach make an actual Superb Owl an uphill climb.)

Bonus: Thoughts on the new QB class!

Trevor Lawrence: There’s obvious sample size issues, but quarterback prospects that highly rated haven’t busted in at least 30-40 years (Luck, Peyton, and Elway were all stars).  He’s probably gonna be good.

Zach Wilson: Man, I was all ready to write The Other Wilson off as another LOLJets bust after the draft and then he played well in preseason and Saleh actually looks like the first competent coach the Jets have hired in a while (which may still not help him keep his job because the AFC East is now nuts).  We’ll see if that holds during the regular season; among other things he has the misfortune of playing Belichick in week 2.

Trey Lance: So far looks to be talented as fuck and also raw as fuck.  Shanahan seems to be pretty good at developing quarterbacks?

Justin Fields: I’ve gotten future Tier 2 quarterback vibes off him ever since he was drafted; the problem is he’s on the Bears, with questionable coaching and at least this year what looks like a terrible O-line as well.  Possible next Stafford here?

Mac Jones: People don’t understand the probability curve here – the risk with Mac isn’t the ceiling, it’s the very good but not great outcomes.  He got a first-round draft grade despite  physical limitations, and he’s almost certainly not just being carried by his school – possibly even the opposite given the talent argument and Bama QBs’ track records.  To me, that says he’s a one-tool player whose tool is the mental tool.  And of all the QB tools that is by far the most important.  So, the question: does that tool play in the NFL?  If no, he’s probably a third-tier quarterback at best.  If yes?  Well, in that case there’s a very real chance he’s a Hall of Famer.

[wishonastar7]

Timely Fate4

Starting the Paid Service(3)

There were different reactions once the dokkaebi disappeared. Some tried to get off the train, then there were the ones who frantically tried to call the police. Yoo Sangah belonged to the latter group.

"T-the police aren't picking up! What should I do...what do I do..."

"Yoo Sangah-ssi," I said, putting Gilyoung down and taking my headphones back but keeping his line of sight away from all the gore surrounding us. "Calm down." She gave me a pitiful look, tears welling up in her eyes as she stuttered.

"Yoo Sangah-ssi," Dokja said, hands on her shoulder. "Remember the game that the development team made? Have you ever played it? A game where the entire world was destroyed and, in the end, only a few people survives."

"H-huh? W-what are you say..."

"Think about it in this way, we are in a game right now."

Yoo Sangah silently licked her lips, her trembling calming down. "Game..."

"Yes, a game. It's a game, so don't hesitate to do the things that Ha-Neul and I tell you to do, ok?"

"O-ok. What should I do, now?"

"Just stay still." He straightened his back, a sigh of relief escaping his lips before he closed his eyes and opened them back up. He looked around.

[Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World]

The descriptions that had once existed only in a novel now unfurled themselves before his eyes.

[The dokkaebi stretched out its antenna.]

[The bodies scattered like trash in the carriage.]

[The bloodied office worker trembled.]

[An old lady groaning in her seat.]

It was like Neo in the Matrix. Observing, questioning, and then eventually accepting it. It felt odd to be able to accept such a crazy thing like this as reality, but it was our reality now.

"Come on everybody! We should all calm down. Let's all start breathing calmly." Someone stepped forward exactly five minutes after the dokkaebi had disappeared. "Are you calm yet? Everyone, please stop what you're doing and pay attention to me."

The ones that had been crying as well as those who had been frantically making calls, stopped. Once everyone's attention was gathered to him, he spoke once more. "As you know, in the event of a national disaster, small disturbances can cause large human casualties. That is why I will now take control of the current situation."

"Wait, who are you?"

"A national disaster situation? What are you saying?"

Some people belatedly recovered and strongly resisted the word 'control'. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"I am currently an Army lieutenant serving in the 6502 unit. I just received a message from my unit." People gathered around his phone to read the message.

I on the other hand stayed behind with the others. It was a national disaster situation, people were bound to be afraid. The things that happened next would only let their fear grow stronger,

Army Lieutenant Lee Hyunsung.

He was one of the main supporting 'characters' for 'Ways of Survival'.

[Steel Sword Lee Hyunsung]

"Soldier-nim! What is happening?"

"I have been trying to contact my unit, but.."

"Blue house! What is the Blue House doing? Please contact the president quickly!"

"I apologize. I'm just an ordinary soldier so I don't have a hotline for the Blue House."

"Then why are you taking control?"

"For the safety of the citizens."

It was at this moment that I realized the description the novel had given the man wasn't incorrect. Rather, it was extremely accurate. He was upright and attentive. He cared for his country and the people in it. He was a good man.

"The Prime Minister is making a speech! It is a level one disaster!" Everyone turned on their smartphones at the person's cry.

To my fellow citizens, unidentified terrorists are currently in an unspecified number of areas, including Seoul.

'These terrorists will have all of Seoul playing in their palms just for entertainment.' I thought, the idea suddenly startling me. I wasn't listening to the speech, rather I was looking through my bookbag.

"Ah-ha!" I muttered out, pulling Lee Gilyoung closer to me. "Here," I handed him a blue fanny pack and then took out two boxes of matches and put them inside the fanny pack. I took out a few lighters and placed them in, a small pocket knife, a spare taser, and batteries.

"I always carry extras with me. These are for you. Keep the taser at hand at all times. The knife will only be for desperate situations. Press this button to activate it. No, don't press it now! Later." I gave a small sigh as I ruffled his head. "Use these to protect yourself when I can't. The fanny pack is waterproof and so Is everything else but I put everything in a Ziploc bag in case of water somehow getting in. Make sure that the matches never get wet. I wrapped them in a layer of plastic wrap before putting them in the small Ziploc but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

I helped him strap it over a shoulder and under the other one before zipping my bag back up and picking him back up. He gave me a look before snuggling up to my neck. I looked over at Kim Dokja and Yoo Sangah to see they were looking at me with contemplative looks.

"Y-you carry that around with you...all the time?" Yoo Sangah finally got out.

I looked at them before responding. "And more." They shivered as I purposely deepened my voice. I picked up the cricket Gilyoung had dropped and put it in the box and into my bag with the others.

"But where is the President? Why is the Prime Minister making the speech?" The commotion continued. I took a chocolate granola bar and a juice box out of my pockets and handed them to Gilyoung. I loved spoiling him.

"The president has already been hit." Someone responded.

"What! Really?"

"I'm not sure. A Naver comment-"

"Naver! Then it's false!"

Of course, it wasn't.

"Uwaaaack! What?" People dropped their phones as gunshots were heard. It came from their smartphones. Chiiiiick, there was a loud sound and blood filled the screen. Everyone held their breaths as they realized what had just happened.

"P-Prime Minister." His blood filled the screen. The Prime Minister had died in real-time. His head had exploded. The next thing that appeared on the screen was a dokkaebi.

[Everyone, I already told you. This isn't a game like 'terrorism'.]

[Do you still not understand? This won't do. This isn't a game.]

It sounded so ominous though his tone was relaxed.

[According to the data, the people of this country are good at games. So why don't I try raising the difficulty?]

Beep. A huge timer appeared in the air. At the same time, it started decreasing.

[The remaining time has been decreased by ten minutes.]

[Ten minutes are remaining.]

[If the first killing doesn't occur within the next five minutes, all lives in that compartment will be wiped out.]

The words of the dokkaebi drastically changed the situation to a point that Lee Hyunsung couldn't fix it.

"T-There is a murder back there!" Someone shouted, directing everyone's attention to the bloody scene taking place in carriage 3907. The murderer's complexion was white.

[All types of access to the compartment will be restricted until the scenario is complete.]

"W-what?"

Once again. The voice of the dokkaebi rang out through we couldn't see where he was. [Haha, some places are quite fun while others have yet to start. Alright, I'll give you some special service. Let me show you what will happen if the first killing fails to occur in the next five minutes.]

A giant screen appeared out of nowhere.

A boy bit his fingernails as he muttered. "Is that the school uniform of Daepong?"

Beep, beep, beep- an ominous beeping sound was heard.

Then the high school girls began to scream.

[The given time has run out.]

[Paid settlement will now begin.]

Once the announcement ended, the head of the girls sitting in the front row exploded. One by one, again and again, the heads of the girls exploded until one girl managed to strangle the girl next to her until she slowly ran out of breath and collapsed.

In the end, she was the only one remaining.

[#Bay23515 channel. Daepong Girls' High School, Year two Class B Survivor: Lee Jihye]

The figure of the girl on the screen disappeared. Then the dokkaebi asked, how is it? Interesting?]

The dokkaebi spoke with a smile. Everyone started looking at each other nervously, others turned vicious. Slowly people started spreading out, getting farther and farther away from the others. The only ones who remained in the same area were Lee Hyunsung, Kim Dokja, Yoo Sangah, Lee Gilyoung and me.

I could see Dokja panicking. A flicker of realization passed through his eyes and I felt like smacking myself. He had gotten a PDF from the author but didn't realize that it was the entire novel. And he was still waiting for him to appear.

Yoo Jonghyuk.

My best friend for over ten years.

And the protagonist of 'Three Ways to Survive in A Ruined World.'

(1540)

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 2 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART 2

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Harry and Eggsy try to discover who this new players is, how they were at the right place and the right time, and what they know about kingsman. A marksman of that caliber isn't someone to take lightly.

------

Bloody hell. Harry's hand was still stinging with heated pain from having his key fob, of all bloody things, shot out of hand. His knee was out of sorts from dropping, face down, to the pavement. Hearing gunshots ring out from, not one, but two different directions did not improve his mood or his state of mind.  Continuing to roll as he hit the ground, he switched to his side so he could draw his weapon. But first, he turned toward the direction of the original fire. That was the shooter who caught his interest. A marksman with the precision to shoot a key fob from that distance, within centimetres of his hand without (well without significant) injury was someone not to underestimate. He could make a shot like that. He had plenty of times at the Kingsman shooting range. But that was aiming at a non-moving target in a controlled environment, under the best of circumstances. The only other time he fired a shot that exacting was in Cambodia. While wrestling a certain Agent Whiskey for control of a firearm, he was able to free Eggsy from a lasso looped around his neck by shooting clean through the rope. He assumed landing that shot was 1/4 luck, 1/4 technique and 1/2 his sheer force of will.

Very few marksman possessed the natural talent, training and skill to land that shot. Even less in London proper and he was almost certain that all of those individuals even close to that level, were under Kingsman’s employ.

Under the cover of shadows and partially hidden by a gate column, he spotted the shooter. At the same time, the shooter spotted him and they made split second eye contact. Obviously, the shooter did not want to be witnessed judging from the displeased look that he had noted. But rather than ducking out of view, they kept their stance, provided cover fire until the area was cleared and the threat was gone. And then, without a moments hesitation, the person holstered their weapon and turned abruptly in the opposite direction and began to walk off with long, measured steps. He and Eggsy dusted themselves, gestured to the other, nodded and made off in opposite directions in the attempt to cut the person off at the path. As he smoothed down his suit and adjusted his cuffs, he was quite certain that he was never going to enjoy a peaceful evening again.

——

She didn’t waste valuable seconds checking her phone, grateful that she took the extra time to map her locations in her head. Quickly referring to her orientation, she saw three viable options. Directly in front of her was the Royal Academy. Though it was vast and beautiful and filled with courtyards and eaves, arches, doorways, ideal to drop a tail, it was also closed and quiet. There was no crowd to get lost in. A single person moving in that space would surely be noticed.

She weighed her two other options against each other. Both were about equal in distance. No more than a 10 min walk in either direction. To her right was Mayfair. Situated in the heart of the city, it was one of the most expensive and exclusive areas of London with swanky five-star hotels, shops, restaurants, bars and pubs. Bond Street was sure to be packed with people enjoying the nightlife. Perhaps in another lifetime she could enjoy an evening out in such a place. Not at the moment.

On the plus side, the streets were more random, intersecting at odd places, without the usual grid format. That gave her more exit options. They would less likely follow the same path. Downside, as much as she would enjoy an elegant evening out, she was not appropriately attired. Of course, there would be the usual strong of tourists and visitors that would be similarly inappropriately attired. Even though she would blend in with part of the crowd, she didn’t want to stand out in anyway. Plus, if she needed to tuck into a shop or a restaurant, she wanted to blend with the locals and not the tourists. And she wasn’t going to do that with her nondescript outfit.  Or, she would find herself in a situation where someone would ask to take her jacket. She would have to politely refuse because of her shoulder holster and her gun. They would insist. Then it would become an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved. Awkward and uncomfortable would be hard NOT to notice.

A ten minute walk to her left would drop her in ever trendy Soho. A little louder, a little more rowdy and relaxed, Soho was more happy hour than cocktail hour. The way there would have more traffic, both car and pedestrian, but it was also more direct and brightly lit. More importantly, she would be able to blend with the locals, not just the tourists. Maybe even slip into a pub or bar for the glass of wine she so desperately could use. There would be more viable places to manuever, evade, and find cover. More opportunity to lose a tail. And less likely for a messy confrontation.

Though she didn’t stick around long enough, she was fairly certain that the two men were following her.  She kept in mind that they were trained with the same skills and likely had the same natural talent and instincts as she did. Part of her plan was to move slightly against instinct, find the ideal move and then, proceed with something slightly different. But they had to be thinking the same thing.

Shit. The shooters might still be in the area. Depending on whether or not they had backup, if this was an isolated threat on a personal level or if was on an organisational level, she couldn’t be sure that the coast was clear in that direction. When in doubt, take precaution. There were too many unknowns, too many unanswered questions and her preference was to get away without further contact. Since she couldn’t do it clean, she wanted to avoid any additional messiness.

Typical, she thought, making her way through the last of the shoppers and the first of the evening revellers. At the moment she was making progress and feeling more in control of her circumstances, some prick with a gun comes in and has to spray bullets over all the blocks that she spent the last month building. With care and precision, she arranged and rearranged, stacking and re-stacking, until she had created a platform where she could make her move. All her variables were in place. She calculated the possible outcomes and was so close to having a plan. There was some satisfaction, knowing that she had put an equal damper on their scheme, but when success of their plan meant the death of two people, and her plans would only work if those two people were alive, It didn’t leave her much of a choice.

Evasion was as much about mindset as it was movement. She took a mental pause, reset her outlook. Plans only fail if you allowed them to fail.  Plans change and hers just did. Focus on clearing out first and then she could regroup and consider her options. If she let her frustrations distract her, she would end up missing details and she had not come this far to make bad decisions. Even in the smallest circumstances, she learned how to turn off emotions, cutting off thoughts and inconvenient emotions. Unfortunately, it was usually the thoughts about the situation she was in, that caused troubling emotions, such as her frustration at the turn of events. But if she walled off those thoughts for the time being, she would be more likely to operate with logic and clarity.

To her advantage, she had a head start, she knew the situation she was dealing with, two known variables on her tail, one unknown threat that could possibly be armed and still in the area. Likely, all three of them knew the area so there was no upper hand in that case. Two would be on foot, probably split to cover more area. It was to her disadvantage that there were two of them, but would be easier to confront them individually if it came to that.

She assumed that they also saw her as a threat. Regardless whether or not her actions had saved their lives, she was still an unknown, an armed and dangerous, one at that. She had to expect hostility, possibly aggression if confronted. It was a situation she would prefer to avoid.

Her steps were light and relaxed. She paced herself neither too fast, nor too slow. Rushing would call attention. She avoided looking around overtly, but she used her periphery to scan the people and places around her. On the plus side, two handsome men in Saville Row bespoke would definitely turn heads. Especially the tall one, who stood inches over the average person. They couldn’t take off their suit coats either. Not with their own weapons and shoulder holsters.

She took a quick left off the main road. A few blocks over and then she could make another turn toward Soho and break up the straight line she was currently traveling. Maybe stop in Central for a quick diversion. Stay on the move. Be aware of her surroundings. Those were her two priorities. Casually checking her 360 along the way by using any reflections she saw, footsteps, noises she heard, neck stretching every few steps to check blind spots. And for a little while, she did just fine.

That is, until she found herself caught in a standing rear choke hold. Fuck.

———

Wherever the hell this person had materialised from, Harry thought, these were not the customs of a novice agent. From weaponry, tactics and evasion, their actions were one hundred percent on point. They should be only a suggestion in the wind by now. The single reason he was able to catch them unaware was because of new Kingsman tech. Just developed, airborne nano GPS trackers. Designed to mark a large group of targets from a distance, they were tiny particles, almost invisible by the naked eye. Programmed to navigate toward the wavelengths of infrared radiation emitted by the human body, specifically at the signature of 12 micron.  Best for outdoor use, or in large open spaces, these capsules were broken and released into the air where the prevailing wind would transport the nano GPS transmitters and attach to the nearest known radiation signature. The tracking range could vary depending on the windspeed, air density and how many capsules were released. They were handy to track large crowd movement, not typically used to track a single person. But it was all he had on hand. Since the street was empty at the time, they had a good chance that some GPS attached. Using the process of elimination to rule out unintentional attachments, they could isolated the movement they were looking for. They were looking for someone who moved like a spy.

This person, whoever they were, made all of the decisions that he would have and then added some surprise evasion tactics that he wouldn’t have thought of. They surely would have gotten away if not for the trackers. It wasn’t absolutely necessary that they locate the person. But they were an unknown entity. He wasn’t sure if they were an adversary, an ally, or a neutral player. Neutral players were not known for being experts at tradecraft. That left adversary or ally. With the events of the past two years and the most recent destruction of Kingsman by the Golden Circle, unanswered questions usually returned on their own, carrying an unfavourable answer.  Granted, the person saved their lives, but they already knew too much of Kingsman. Knew of threats of which Kingsman was not aware. So when chance invited him to make a move, to quietly sneak behind the person at the last second, he took it.

——

This is not why I spent four weeks planning, she fumed silently. Her mood was grim. Of course it would be at this exact moment that she registered the slightest contact from behind, like a passing breeze brushing against her. But she knew displaced air when she felt it.  Based on her position, facing forward, added to the position he was in, directly behind her, also facing forward, that would have to equal a rear standing choke hold. Instantly, she countered, dropping her chin to her chest like it belonged there, denying him the chance to press his forearm against the front of her neck. A chokehold had two purposes, either to crush the windpipe, resulting in death. Not the outcome she was looking for. Or, to cut off blood to the brain via the carotid artery, leaving her unconscious. Which wasn’t much of a consolation prize. Either way, she had just about 12 seconds to act. Since both options were less than desirable, she shielded her throat as best she could and waited for the window were she could counter like a small, but fierce animal.

The strength of his grip said that he wasn’t going for either option, but told her he using the hold as a restraint. So, she had that going for her, she thought darkly. Yet, he still had the capacity to follow through on either option. There was no give to his grip. Twisting out of the hold was not an option without more leeway. Not one to be held in a vulnerable position, her goal was to escape. Several ways presented themselves, few of which incorporated an unrestrained elbow or kick to the groin. Her aim was not to incapacitate, regardless of how satisfying that may be, but to extricate herself.

Based on sheer size and strength, she was highly disadvantaged. But, as a woman in the field, only relying on your strength, you’d get beaten every time. Women didn’t have to fight harder. They had to fight smarter. Not only did she have to use her size and weight to her advantage, she had to use his size and strength against him. With the obvious discrepancy in height, not that she was short. Five foot nine made her taller than average, but at 6’ 2”, he was also taller than average. Her best option? Leverage. Literally.  Use him as lever. It was the move where he would be at a disadvantage and she would have the clear advantage. There was some consolation to be found, knowing they were also expert spies, but not enough to spare herself the embarrassment of being caught. Summoning her nerve, one deep inhalation, she thought, and she would be ready.

He smells nice.

The thought landed without warning. It didn’t merely land. It hit her. It hit her hard and with feeling. Her concentration stuttered. It was the scent of wood, leather, spices and a hint of something warm, rich and slightly sweet, like a velvety dark chocolate. And then there was a breath of something unexpected. A note she couldn’t identify. It was him, she realised. That was his smell. It was a good smell. A masculine smell. She was suddenly aware of his wool suit against her chin. She noticed the pinstripes against a navy as dark as the sky. The crisp white of his French shirt cuffs and the gold of his cufflinks that held them in place.

Her senses were wide open. They always were on hyperdrive when she was out in the field. That was expected. She relied on them to send her signs that she didn’t have the time to look for. But now, they were receiving all the wrong signals and sending all the wrong messages. Intensely. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of his hand. His large, wide palm was warm on the back of her neck.  By pressing her neck forward and down, it was this hand that locked the chokehold in place.

What the hell? she thought. She felt the strength of his forearms underneath her own palms. Her hands were gripping him so tightly she could feel the cords of muscle through his sleeve. Suddenly, her body became all too aware of his own. The sensation of him, the entire length of his body against hers, awakened her own. He wasn’t just standing behind her, he was bearing the whole of his body into hers. Thus, she was counter balancing with equal force. Generating heat and pressure between them.  Realising how close, how intimate, how physical, literally, their contact was at that moment, overwhelmed her reason, her logic, her objectivity. And most of all, she was aware of the man behind her. Not as a target, or a mark, or a tail or a problem to be solved. It was him. It was Harry Hart.

He must have sensed a slight shift in her energy because once that random, startling thought struck home, she didn’t dare move until she knew where it was heading and what she was going to do with it. She probably stopped breathing. Maybe that’s what he noticed because all of a sudden she felt dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe he was holding her a little tighter than she thought. He must have noticed a change because just as suddenly, his grip loosed by a fraction, not enough to escape, but enough to jar her back to the present. He was confusing her and she was angry at being confused.

She was on pause and someone had just hit the reset button. Instantly, she made her next move and she went into action fully committed. There was no hesitation in a move like this. To her advantage, their height difference meant that he had to lean down slightly to get his forearm around her neck, which shifted his center of gravity slightly forward. With his tight grip, she pushed against it, creating the energy of opposing forces to gain momentum. With her neck guarded by her chin, she quickly dropped down to one knee, gripped tightly onto his wrists and forearms, leaned back into him to get the tiniest bit of additional momentum, and then bent forward as sharply as she could from her waist, throwing the full force of her weight into the move and tucking in as tight as possible. Sure enough, with his weight already off center, using her body as a fulcrum, a pivot point, and using his height as a lever, she forced him to tumble over her head.

Normally, after a move such as this, that put her at a tactically advantageous position, she would either evade or go in for an attack move and neutralise the threat. This was not the way she wanted to introduce herself to these two men, but it looked like fate wasn’t giving her any options. She was not prepared for this situation. She didn’t have claim over the next move.  It could be either of theirs. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she cursed herself for not having a hair tie, of all things. She paused for a moment. Her cap got knocked off during her manoeuvre. Wonderful, all these identifiers, now facial features, and the damn hair. She should handover her passport and smartphone and just get it over with. How did this evening turn so sideways?

She took a mental pause. Footsteps. His colleague. Who didn’t know what he was walking into. She quite certain it did not look like afternoon tea.

When she heard the brushing noise of a weapon being pulled out of its holster she went back on high alert. They had most definitely past the “direct contact” portion of the evening. As much as she did not want to do them harm, she was more than willing to talk, she equally, did not want to be on the interrogation end of a gun. She had another split second to decide her course of action. Two was much more complicated.

All three of them knew the rules of weaponry in the field and in engagement. Never pull a gun in a circumstance you’re not willing to use it. Never aim at a target you’re not willing to shoot. It wouldn’t have been her first choice, but when she had a lethal weapon aimed in her direction, it left her with few options.

She never had an opportunity to use it before, but it was ideal for this circumstance and what she had planned. She palmed her carbonfiber graphene tactical knife, short, less than 5”in length, from its discreet sleeve at her hip.  It’s description stated, “A device for specific close quarters combat manoeuvres in very focused special circumstance scenarios with high impact.” This circumstance would fall under that category, she thought.

The upper hand was all she needed to gain, to have a moment where they would be forced to listen to her. Grace, eloquence… She tossed those out the proverbial window. Her words would have the hardest strike. The most impact. Not her knife, not her gun, not any weapon. Now was not the time for finesse.  Once again, she had to turn shitty odds in her favours before the man she just flipped could reorient himself.  She wanted to be sorry that it had come to this, but she was just making her counter move. It didn’t matter if it was personal or not. This part, at least for her, was the business aspect of her work. Similar to negotiating a deal, but using weapons and lives as bargaining points.

The knife firmly in her grip, she raised the blade and held its lethal edge against his carotid artery with enough pressure to be VERY uncomfortable, and almost, but not break skin. He was smart and followed the direction guided by pressure of her blade hand and rose with her to a standing position. She stood behind him, angled slightly toward one side. He knew that any counter move on his part, which there were many he could take, and in this case his strength and mass would be at his advantage. She was in a very vulnerable physical position and he could take her down easily. If it weren’t for the knife at the side of his neck. The blade was very small, very light and most of all, it was very, very sharp and designed for close, personal combat.  Easy to handle, low pressure point. Which meant, whether or not his move disabled her he would, no doubt, be pulling away with nothing less than a very serious neck wound.

“Stop.” she called out firmly. “Gun down on the ground.”

The man who was under her knife, indicated, Do what she says.

He placed his gun on the ground and stood with his hands in the air.

She knew he was weighing his options, just as she did her own.

Her voice was clear and just loud enough so he could hear her where he stood.

Seriously, like this was what she needed. Did they really have to go through all this fuss?  Spies could be exhausting.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She kept her voice conversational. Of no consequence or concern and certainly not threatening.

“Do you have enough time to disarm me and get help for your friend, Harry, before he bleeds out?”

She felt the slightest flinch when he heard the sound of his name. Not Arthur or Galahad. His given name.

“You’re quite fast, Eggsy, but not that fast.”

Now Eggsy’s turn as his eyes narrowed both suspicious and surprised. Not Galahad. Not even Gary, but Eggsy.

Ok, making progress, she thought. She had just shown her first card. She knew exactly who they were. Not just their code names. Their real ones.

To drive her point home.  “Just the tiniest amount of pressure on his carotid artery, thats all I need. 68 seconds until he loses consciousness. My knife, which you probably can’t see from where you are standing, but he can certainly feel,” she nodded her head toward Harry, “is designed to pierce fast and deep. If I had a regular blade, he might come out clean, but not with this one. Please, sincerely, think twice, for his sake, about making any sudden movements.”

Good. Neither of them made an attempt to move. Not even a twinge. She continued. She didn’t know how long the odds would be in her favour. At this point, she was playing fast and loose. Something she rarely did and she was not used to. One of her biggest strengths was her ability to prepare. This was not a scenario that she had imagined.

“I know either of you could disable me, but not without me doing a fair amount of damage first.”

It wouldn’t be her first choice to do harm, but she was in no mood for additional fuckery and she wanted to make it abundantly clear that, though she was no match for them in terms of brute strength, she had plenty of ways to dominate a fight using strategy. She wasn’t stronger, but she could be smarter. She wasn’t above shedding blood to prove that she was not to be underestimated.

“I didn’t start this fight, but I’m more than happy to finish it.”

She added, “You see how well trained I am. You should be asking yourself why i haven’t killed him, or either of you, already.”

Did they really have to be so obstinate? Obstreperous. Truculent?  They should have been asking themselves that question after she took the first shot. They could very easily be dead right now if it were not for her.  She needed to prove to them she was not a threat to their lives. Against all of her training, she laid her second card down.

 “And ask yourself,” she repeated. “perhaps why, then, I would let him go.”

Very carefully, very slowly, and very deliberately, she softened the pressure against his neck until the blade was no longer making contact. She continued to draw it far away from him, far enough to clear so not to do any damage, before she began to lower it. She took a few steps back, hands up, the knife still visible in her right, but with a carry hold, not an active grip.

Imagine her surprise when Harry turned on her, twisted her wrist until she had to drop the knife. Not without force. She resisted the split second she saw what was happening. She knew in this case, she didn’t have an immediate out, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him. Rather than conserving her energy, she fought him and fought him with force, until she saw his face grimace with the effort.

Good, she thought.

She made some pretty satisfying contact before he was able to push her all the way back against the red brick warehouse. The wall gave her less room to maneuver. She landed one last, very satisfying kick to his shin. It wasn’t a fancy move. There was no technique involved. She just put all her grit behind that single kick and the connection she made was very gratifying, despite her situation. She hoped it left huge bruise to remember her by. It was obviously painful and hurt him enough that he shoved her away fairly hard. The back of her head knocked into the bricks with a force that she wouldn’t have considered gentlemanly.

Well, she did have a knife to his carotid just a few moments ago, she countered. She supposed turn about was fair play. This time, he was able to get his forearm across her throat and braced his right wrist with the circle of his left hand. Standing arm bar hold. She had no counter this time, seeing since Eggsy had his gun again and it being much harder to escape a bullet than a choke hold. So, that move did not have the impact that she thought it would.

She knew they had to have this conversation, but she was pissed. At them, but she admitted, begrudgingly, that she was mostly pissed at herself for letting her guard down. To be fair, they really had no idea who she was. And until they did, she would remain a threat. But she still had one more card. She was just waiting for the chance to use it.

——

What the bloody fuck had just happened? Harry Hart was not one to get caught off guard. But he was miffed that it happened this evening. Not only once, but three bloody times, and he had just quite enough of whatever fuckery was happening around him. First, the key fob, then the chokehold, then the bloody knife. Well, my dear, he thought, two can play this game. He wasn’t above fighting dirty. Sometimes the situation insisted on it. It seemed as if this was one of those times.

As soon as she let down her guard sufficiently enough for him to act, he twisted her arm, forcing her to drop the knife. But she wasn’t making things easier for him, or for herself, for that matter. Even though he clearly had the upper hand, she fought him the entire time. She, too, apparently wasn’t above a little dirty dealing when she landed a kick to his shin. A very hard, directed kick, not meant to disable, not in an attempt to escape, a kick just purely meant to cause him pain. A bit more than cheeky. He finally pushed her, maybe just a tad harder than he anticipated, until her head knocked back and hit the warehouse wall behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eggsy had taken the opportunity to retrieve his gun and provide cover. Her eyes quickly darted in the same direction, confirmed the same thing that he saw and then stared at him furiously. Whether the fury was directed toward him or to her change in circumstance, most likely both, he could not be certain.

Making sure his arm bar would prevent any further roughhousing, Harry spoke, adopting almost the same conversational tone as she had. She wasn’t sure if he was matching her tone to respect her or mock her. This time she felt free to show as much aggression as she felt like. There was no consequence at this point. She tossed her damn hair out of her face.

——

As she flipped her hair to the side, Harry, by instinct, began to document her features so, if needed, he could provide a detailed description of her should it ever become necessary. Tall, 5’ 8 1/2 - 9. Slim build, but athletic, lean muscular rather than simply thin. Age was hard to determine, she looked both very young, but her eyes, they were both wise and melancholy. A look that only came with time and experience. Her eyes seemed to say that they had already seen too much. She was anywhere from mid twenties to mid thirties. He noticed that her eyes were grey. Grey, and they had a slight almond shape to them. Tilted just enough to give her an air of mystery. Dark lashes, dark hair and much of it. Long. Wavy. It was shiny and looked very soft. Dusky fair skin with just an undertone of warm olive. Cheeks pink, with displeasure, he thought, or embarrassment, certainly not because she was flattered by the attention. Her mouth was small and delicate, her lips pressed together in a firm line. Also pink. She was quite becoming. Beautiful even. He tried to determine her ethnicity, but found himself unable to place her exotic, yet subtle, delicate features.

Harry caught himself.  He wasn’t just documenting her features. It wasn’t bloody like him.These were not the most appropriate thoughts for the moment.

She noticed him noticing her. She didn’t know what he was noticing, so she grew even more frustrated. She obviously didn’t care about keeping her expressions to herself any longer. It was quite loud and clear what she was thinking. It was written all over her face.

He came back to his words. In his calm, deep voice, he asked her three simple questions.

“Who are you? Who do you work for, and why did you shoot at us?”

A firm set to her jaw and with equal composure, she answered his questions without hesitation, but in her own order.

“I” she emphasised, “didn’t shoot at you.” she added under her breath, “I was aiming for your key fob.”

“I work for no one.” She halted, her eyes pulling their full attention to hers.

She laid down her last card.

“My name is Gwendolyn Mycroft.” she took a meaningful pause. “My father saved your lives.”

Glancing between the two of them, she saw that, as she intended, she had hit home. She added.

‘So, I suggest you release me, and let us go to a place where we can discuss this in a more civilised manner.”

She saw that both of the men were in a state of shock. She could understand. The evening hadn’t gone the way she expected either. She waited for a response that was something other than a blank stare.

“Do you like scotch?” Eggsy asked.

Well, that was a good of a start as any.

-----

If you made it this far, Thanks for reading!! Comments, questions, likes are always appreciated. Always feel free to reblog.

[junhyukiscute]

to all the boys i’ve loved before (mcnd x reader)

100 followers special! thank you so much!

author note: thank you guys for 100+ followers!! i didn’t know how to express my gratitude so hopefully this ot5 mcnd x reader will help??? also this doesn’t fully follow the movie at all <333

my letters are my most secret possessions. i write them when i have a crush so intense, i don’t know what else to do. there are 5 total.

minjae, the star of my school’s football team and partner in english,

sungmin, the class clown who shows me magic tricks whenever i’m sad,

huijun, the shy nerd who helped me study for history when i was failing,

junhyuk, the artist who asked me to become a model for him,

and seongjun, but he’s my older sister’s boyfriend.

nobody knows about my crushes. no one except for me. until one fateful day.

“hey sis! you’re welcome,” your older brother, wooseok said.

“what do you mean?” you questioned while you ate your cereal.

“your letters, i sent them out,” he replied.

“WHAT?!” you slammed your hands on the table as you stood up, “wooseok, how did you even find those?!”

he grinned, “i was snooping through your closet to borrow some clothes and a box fell on me. i decided that since i’m such an amazing brother, i would send all those letters that were in the box to the guys you addressed. five guys, huh.”

“wooseok- those, those weren’t supposed to be sent out?! what’s wrong with you?” you cried out before grabbing your backpack to run to school. great, today was just not going to be your day, huh.

“good luck, lil sis,” wooseok cackled. you really were related to the devil. you prayed that you wouldn’t see any of the guys today.

your first period was pe, thank god. you shared the class with none of the boys. you were just walking around the track with your friend who was chattering very excitedly about this new rookie group’s comeback song called “spring”.

“hey (y/n), can i um, talk to you?” said a low voice. you widened your eyes as you turned around to see junhyuk in his tennis uniform. what was even worse was when you saw your mint green envelope in his right hand. oh great, you forgot that he was apart of the tennis team, who had practices during first period. your friend stopped talking and gasped as she pieced the situation together before wiggling her eyebrows at you and started to jog away. great. you were about to jog off with her but junhyuk grabbed your wrist before you could. “i read the letter last night and i was kinda shocked. did.. did you really mean it?” he asked with desperate eyes. his grip on your wrist tightened almost desperately as he grabbed your other free one with his, “please be honest with me and don’t give me any false hope.”

you gulped as your face turned red. “false hope..? junhyuk, i don’t understand..”

he sighed before looking at you again, “meet me at the tennis courts after school today. this isn’t finished,” he hesitantly let go of your wrists before waving to you with the letter in his hand, “see you later, (y/n).”

after the traumatic morning you had, it was second period. you walked slowly to class as it dawned upon you. great, you though, i have huijun in it. as you walked into the class, you avoided eye contact with everyone in class and waited for the teacher. the minutes felt like hours, but once your teacher came in, you let out the breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding in.

“okay class, take out the books in your desk and open to page 401,” your teacher yawned. you grabbed the book from the little space you had under your desk and a folded lined piece of paper fell out on your lap. “for (y/n)” it said in near handwriting. out of curiosity you opened it and it read with neat handwriting: hey (y/n), i received your letter. i didn’t know that you thought of me like that.. i feel the same. can we meet up at the top media cafe later to talk about this? love, huijun

“ahem, (y/n), is history that interesting?” the teacher crossed their arms. you got out of your shock from huijun’s small confession before shoving the paper in your backpack.

“uh- no, um i mean yes?” you meekly replied. the class laughed as the teacher shook their head before returning to the lesson. you snuck a glance at huijun who was writing diligently before looking up and waving slightly at you. you sighed before pulling out a pencil and paper.

it was passing period now and you were walking to your locker when you saw seongjun leaning against it while holding a brown paper envelope. nope, not today, you thought before turning the other way.

he caught sight of you before yelling, “(y/n), wait! i need to talk you!” you widened your eyes before running off to your next period: english. not a lot of people were there yet so you just sat at your desk and huffed. this day seemed to weird to be true. you buried your head in your arms. you weren’t even halfway done with the day yet you were ambushed by more than half of the boys already. deep in your thoughts, you jumped when you heard the chair next to you screech. minjae, you thought. you panicked because, well, he was going to be next to you this whole period. you pretended to snore so you wouldn’t have to talk to him until the teacher came. a few moments later you felt a jacket drape over you. the warmth it had was too inviting and then you actually fell asleep. 

the bell had rung, signaling for fourth period. “(y/n), wake up, you’ll be late for your next period,” minjae gently shook you. you lifted your head up drowsily and saw a few books standing up to prevent you from being seen by the teacher. oh, he took cover for you so that you could survive the whole period napping.

“hmmm...?” you rubbed your eyes to get a better look at minjae smiling softly at you.

“hurry up, (y/n), you slept through the entire third period. i covered for you because you seemed really tired. i’ll walk you to fourth period.” without thinking much, you grabbed your backpack and nodded.

“thanks for covering me, minjae,” you yawned as you guys walked to your next class. 

“yeah, no problem. i wanted to ask you about something though,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “so i got a letter earlier? did my smile actually brighten up your week?”

you inwardly cringed at the memory of writing such a sappy love letter to him, “haha, what letter?? it couldn’t possibly be the- oh” you stopped as minjae held up a pink envelope with a cherry pattern on it. you blinked a few times in disbelief as he carried it with him this entire time.

“this letter. i can’t believe that you’d write something like this, it’s kinda cute. i always knew you were a good writer,” he grinned as he waved the letter around.

“don’t just wave it around like that, give me it!” you said as you tried taking it away. it was unsuccessful as he lifted the letter up and away from you. he put it in his pocket.

“you’re not even gonna let me finish what i was saying?” he smirked. you guys reached your classroom and as you were about to walk in, minjae hugged you from the back and whispered in your ear, “come to the football game tonight, i’ll save you a front row seat,” before letting you go. your eyes widened at the sudden affection before looking around. great, now you see the minjae fangirls glaring at you. you shuddered at the ice cold tension that was in the classroom before making your way to your seat. 

it was only until the bell had rung when sungmin had ran into class. “safe!” he yelled out with a salute as you heard a teacher yell “detention!”. the classroom was filled with light giggles at his energy. you made eye contact with him and his smile slightly faltered before smiling again at his friends. ouch, you thought. you rolled your eyes before pulling out the materials for this class.

once fourth period was over, it was lunch. you sighed in relief to finally be able to eat your problems away. as you exited out of the classroom, a hand grabbed your shoulder. you let out a small shriek before whipping your head to see sungmin, with a small grin on his face.

“can we talk?”

you nervously laughed, “look, if this is about the letter, you can just forget about it.”

“well.. what if i don’t want to forget about it? (y/n), these are your feelings. you can’t just hide them forever or throw them away like it’s nothing,” he said, his grin never faltering. wow, where did the happy jokester go? you rarely ever see him being so serious, so this was probably really important to him. 

you cracked a small smile, “listen, sungmin. those feelings were hidden for a long time, it could’ve been forever if you never had been given the letter. i appreciate the words but i... really need to go now, i’ll see you,” you said as you walked away. 

“check your blazer’s pocket!” he yelled from across the hallway. you stopped and looked back, but sungmin was already gone from your sight. you found a paper sticking out of your pocket. that silly boy, he probably put it in when you weren’t looking. when you took it out, you saw a ticket to the school’s dance showcase after school at 5 pm with a post-it note saying “i hope to see you there <3 i’ll perform a song just for you”. you shook your head before putting it in your binder. 

once you entered the cafeteria, you got your lunch tray and walked outside to sit under one of the school’s trees. once you plopped down onto the cool grass, you sighed and leaned against the tree’s bark. you cursed wooseok for sending the letters and cursed at your horrible luck when you saw seongjun walking towards you. 

you were too tired to leave the relaxing shade so you just sighed as he stood in front of you. 

“(y/n)...” he started.

“before you say anything, that letter was a mistake. i know it was wrong to write a letter to my sister’s boyfriend. i don’t like you anymore,” you said a bit too quickly.

he crouched down to your level before letting out a smile small, “i broke up with your sister after i read your letter.” 

your eyes widened and you sat straight up, “you did WHAT?!” you shrieked, “h-how could you?! my sister really loved you! oh my god, seongjun! what the hell..?”

he ruffled your hair like he would always do when he visited you, “i know you wrote more letters. your older brother told me.” oh my god, you felt like such a horrible person. the guilt you had for liking him, the fact that you had probably ruined all these friendships you had, it all weighed down on you and you found yourself crying.

“i’m sorry.. i never meant for any of this to happen.. if only i didn’t write those letters..” you choked out.

he shook his head before gently pulling you towards him so that you could cry in his chest, “it’s okay, (nickname), you can’t control who you like. it’s none of your fault for liking someone, or should i say some people?” he joked. you punched his stomach lightly as he laughed out loud.

“not funny, seongjun,” you mumbled, “you know, i don’t know why i had liked you in the beginning.”

“well, for starters,” he said as he pulled out the letter from his pocket, “you said that i had a personality that was just so warm and inviting and-” you punched him one more time, a bit harder, as you sniffled, “okay, okay, i get it. who were the other people you wrote to? i think i’m the only one who knew of multiple being sent out, so you’re good.”

“.... minjaesungminhuijunandjunhyuk,” you mumbled.

for some reason, seongjun caught all of that and widened his eyes, “really?”

you sniffed and nodded, “yeah but can we go back to why you broke up with my sister so suddenly...”

he sighed, “man, you’ve always been really persistent, haven’t you?” he thinks for a bit but the lunch bell rings and cuts him off once he opened his mouth to speak.

“you’re kidding me!” you cried.

he stands up and gives you a hand to take. once you take it and grab your backpack, he ruffles your hair one last time, “if you want to hear the rest, then wait for me after school. i’ll walk you home and explain all of it, okay? see you (y/n).” the next actions shocks you as he mumbles “don’t hate me for this” and he kisses the top of your forehead before walking off. you blushed at the sudden contact before shaking your head and walking back into the school building.

fifth period had gone by quickly, and the last period was a self study period. you doodled on your notebook as you pondered over your choices. huijun had always helped you out whenever you needed help or was called out by the evil teacher. junhyuk was the shy boy who asked you to model for him because he found you pretty, and had gotten closer to you during the process. minjae was like a childhood friend you’ve known forever because you guys had always gotten along and always had each others backs. bic was like a breath of fresh air; he’d always cheer you up whenever you had a bad test score, there was never dull moments with him. lastly, there was seongjun, your older sister’s boyfriend, who had always treated you so well and listened to your problems while never criticizing you for your mistakes. 

you never imagined this happening to you, let alone, even have your feelings being reciprocated. you giggled a bit, you sounded like some main character in a wattpad fanfiction. you tapped back into reality as you thought about it. if you choose one, you would ditch the four others who would be patiently waiting for your answers. actions really do have consequences, you thought bitterly. your stomach dropped as you heard the last bell ring.

who do you choose to go to?

song minjae

bang junhyuk

[anomitafics]

When The Heart Beats || [3]

WHEN THE HEART BEATS || Levi Ackerman x Reader CHAPTER III

"Captain!" Sairam shouted as the woman stood on her horse and flew towards the Titan's neck slashing it with ease.

A maximum of five 15 meter class titans had surrounded the whole squad making it no room for retreating without a fight.

Another Blue signal flared above the skies signalling immediate retreat.

"You all! Retreat!" the woman shouted as she slashed another titan now making an opening for a safe route for the squad.

"But Captain!" one of her Cadets shouted as a black flare near them shot to the sky signalling an abnormal ahead.

"Just listen to me! Retreat! That's an order!" shouting in the top of her lungs she spiraled to the Titan's neck now killing three in a row.

"Let's go!" shouted Jodji, second in command, yet Sairam stood in place, watching their captain battle in awe.

"Sairam what are you doing?! Let's go!" one of the cadets shouted.

Sairam was one of the least proficient in the whole squad yet their captain never complained about it, always saving his ass from danger and now was his chance to show her how capable he is.

"Let's fight along side her! Jodji!" he shouted making the male focus his eyes on him, he was about to speak but was then grabbed by a Titan crushing his bones in the process.

"JODJI!!" everyone shouted in unison making their leader's eyes widen amidst her battle with a titan.

Leaving it alone, (Y/N) flew to her squad only spotting yet another bloodbath as a Titan took ahold of her last member. Seeing who it was she knew, Sairam wouldn't be able to fight for himself.

She heard the gigantic steps of the titan she failed to kill behind her and all the horses except for hers had already ran in berserk, she also haf only one pair of blades left.

Making up her mind she shouted, "Sairam take my horse and run!" slashing the hands of the titan and making herself hook to it as if bait.

"RUN!" she shouted, he couldn't do anything but to look at his captain about to get eaten by two titans, stuck on his place he let his tears fall. He was so useless, if it wasn't for him--! He thought it was the end when he heard yet another shout.

"She told you to fucking take her horse and run! Then do it!" slicing the Titan's neck, Erwin's voice boomed. Making the soldier scramble to his feet to take the horse.

"She never blamed anything to me since then, she took all the blame to herself and would slap Captain Erwin if he dared to lecture me." giving out a melancholy laugh, Sairam remembered how shocked he was when the certain [c] haired female had slapped the hell out of the Captain.

"She did that?!" Isabel exclaimed.

Laughing, Sairam asked, "Which one? She sacrificing herself or her slapping Captain Erwin?"

"Both!" A wide eyed Isabel answered.

"Well you got your answer Levi, no need to worry." Farlan muttered, the blonde knew why Levi was acting like this, he knew Levi didn't trust them enough and wanted a leader who can protect them when he can't.

Levi just stared hard at Farlan, face with an unreadable expression, the latter only to stare back harder.

The sound of fists colliding with the wooden table ended the two men's quiet battle for dominance.

"So please don't ever show such disrespect, she never deserved any and she never will."

So the woman was close enough to slap Erwin? And to be able to even do that without getting punished was plenty enough proof of how capable this woman is. A prideful ambitious man such as him would never let any lowlife do such deed, he must've respected this (Y/N) so much.

And she seems to not even look down at them unlike the others, Levi remembered the disgusting looks everyone were giving them but he never saw those in her eyes, not even once.

Slowly, Levi had come to trust her judgement and capabilities, he just hopes that she wouldn't let him down any time soon.

"What's this talk about disrespect I'm hearing? Sairam! I didn't thought you'd get so deep! I was only gone for 5 minutes!" (Y/N)'s rants were able to pull Levi out of his train of thoughts, he never failed to notice the nice aroma of tea filling the room.

"I'm sorry Captain! I got carried away!" Sairam stood saluting. Laughing, (Y/N) shook her head disapprovingly as the male took his sit once again.

Placing the tray of tea and pastries, the woman whispered to the three as Sairam was in the other side cannot hear.

"Make sure you don't end up like him saluting all the time, though I even doubt you will." she whispered teasingly, however, their focus weren't directed to her.

"These food..." Farlan murmured staring at the pastries with almost stars in his eyes.

"It smells so nice!" Isabel exclaimed smelling the nice fragrance of cakes and cookies mixed with tea.

"It looks damn expensive. Where'd you stole it from huh Captain?" Levi snarkly commented aware of the shocked stares the four were giving him.

The 'Captain' didn't sound as insulting as before though it still had something else yet it was more bearable than the last.

Smiling, (Y/N) reminded herself to thank Sairam on whatever beating he did to the stoic man who was now eyeing everything on the tray.

Levi wasn't all that heartless as she thought, you just had to make him trust you for even just a little and he won't be skinning you alive in his mind anymore. The man had trust issues!

The young woman then begun distributing the fancy teacups to the gentlemen in front her.

For her to be letting them, the filthy underground thugs, drink in such fancy expensive kitchenware left the trio in utter awe.

Looking at one another, Isabel was smiling the biggest, Farlan having a small grin while Levi had a contented look on his face.

"It's not much, I was only able to buy Black Tea from the market today." the woman murmured as she placed three smaller cups in front of them.

"But I was able to buy some additives! You can try anything with it! Milk, Honey, sugar or maybe you'll want it plain just enjoy yourselves tonight!" the woman excitedly exclaimed.

"Aren't these really expensive in the market today?" Farlan questioned.

"Yeah! It might even cost much more than our lives!" Isabel exclaimed as (Y/N) flicked her forehead for this.

"Don't say that! Those nasty merchants might think so but they won't be able to do anything with honey and milk if the titans were to appear in front of them. " the woman lectured.

"Yeah! The Titans wouldn't pick eating sugar and honey than humans right?" Isabel exclaimed now understanding her words better which earned an approving smile from her captain.

Looking at Levi she asked "How's that Levi-bro?! I'm quite clever aren't I!" making Levi mentally roll his eyes.

"You're as dense as usaual." he plainly said making Isabel huff in disappointment.

"Levi... bro?" Sairam who had been silent asked in confusion.

"Yeah! Levi is the coolest big bro there is! You should see him fight!" Isabel bragged.

"He fights like common thug." sairam commented making Isabel stand from her seat and point a daring finger at the charcoal haired male.

"Let's see who'll win when you spar with Levi-bro!" she shouted making Sairam also stand from his seat to meet her level.

"Sairam that's enough." "Isabel that's enough." Levi and (Y/N) said in unison making both of them sit with a huff.

"We should be enjoying ourselves. And it was wrong of you to call someone's fighting skills like that, apologize Sairam." the black haired female lectured once again.

"I apologize." the male said looking them both in the eye to let them see his sincerity.

"Damn right you are!" Isabel exclaimed making Sairam clench his fists in self control.

"You both bicker like children... It's annoying me." Levi commented this time making Isabel face him.

She once again opened her mouth to yell something about her not being a child when (Y/N) shoved a piece of cookie inside her mouth.

"Good isn't it? Now now let's all calm down, shall we? Take Farlan here as an example." she said patting Farlan's blonde locks in the process making the latter slightly blush at the matter.

Once again (Y/N) started serving them with everything on the tray lastly placing a neatly folded napkin on the trio's front.

Levi noticed that Sairam didn't receive a napkin, confused he also looked over to the [c] haired woman's front only to find no napkin as such.

"Why don't you two have napkins?" Isabel voiced out Levi's confusion.

"I received mine a long time ago." Sairam said shortly while (Y/N) just smiled.

Not one to ask stupid questions, Levi decided to take a closer look on the napkin unfolding it only to see his name embroidered.

Levi

This left him once again in awe.

'Ah... So this was what that hard headed dog of her was barking about'

This was why allot had wished to be placed in her squad.

"Wow! That's my name! Isabel! It says Isabel! Look Levi-bro!" Isabel exclaimed as she wiggled it in front Levi's face.

Farlan run his thumb across his embroidered name, smiling faintly, this was the first time someone had given them anything and the that possibility that she herself made it--

"You did this yourself Captain?" he asked.

"Well, it's the least I could do for all of you. It's been a hobby of mine as well." she answered biting into one of the well baked cookies.

It made his heart warm towards her in an instant, much to the blonde's utter frustration he was never one to trust instantly.

"Well don't wait for the tea to get cold!" the young woman said urging them to get to enjoy the tea, yet the three were still hesitant, especially that onyx-haired one.

Picking up her spoon she dipped it in each of their cups and placed it in her lips.

Confused, the three of them watch as the woman removed it to speak.

"No poison! Don't worry!" she said laughing, making the three more at ease.

Levi was quite satisfied with how he held the arm of the elegant teacup, it was his first time and though he wouldn't say it, he had always dreamt of having a refined lifestyle but he knew the underground wasn't a place for dreams like that.

Sipping the tea, Levi couldn't help but show how pleased he was with the taste, instantly downing the whole cup.

(Y/N) saw this and was happy of how she was able to make these three experience these kinds of luxuries that one won't be able to imagine in their past home.

"I am aware of what horrible place you three had come from." (Y/N) started, gazing down on her cup of tea as it swirled following the direction of the spoon.

"...and I'm also aware of how the three of you are treated in such low manner because of it, it makes me sick." looking up at them, she had the most earnest look in her eyes.

"So as long you're in my squad... staring tomorrow, nobody would ever look at you in such insulting filthy manner." she promised.

This woman... she never failed to leave him in awe.

Maybe being placed under her command wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

END OF CHAPTER III ANOMIFICS

When The Heart Beats Masterlist   <----------CHAPTERS HERE!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part 11; epilogue)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

It’s finally done!!!!!!!!!!!

Word count: 11,867

TW: Survivor guilt, victim blaming

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

Epilogue

  “Do you ever see something you can’t explain? I’m not talking about some strange lights in the sky or Jesus’s face on a tortilla. I’m talking about something that’s not supposed to happen. Like in reality.”

Mulaney tilted his head at the retired coach across the table from him. She was dressed maturely and her hair was neatly combed, leaving no evidence of any trauma retained from the massacre she lived through. Her eyes were calculating and narrowed like a defensive lioness’ as she studied the detective and then his partner for the third time during that interview. She was as sharp-tongued as Katherine Howard before she was switched to a different investigator.

  “Like a miracle?” Mulaney asked.

Catalina de Aragon shook her head. “Something else.” She said. She fell silent for a moment, gears in her head visibly turning, then spoke up again, “Do you think you can’t explain what happened on prom night is because what happened wasn’t natural?”

Mulaney raised his eyebrows, which seemed to offend Catalina. She leaned forward against the table and set her jaw.

  “Two weeks ago, I saw a steel desk move across the floor without anyone touching it.” She told him. “Five inches. I measured. Joan Seymour was in the room when it happened.”

  “Two hundred and thirty-four people died, and you’re trying to sell me on some Weekly World News headlines?” Mulaney said.

Anger flashed in Catalina’s eyes and, for a moment, she looked like she wanted to leap across the table and jam her thumbs into Mulaney’s eyes.

  “I don’t need you to tell me how many people died,” She growled. “Half of them were kids I saw every day.”

  “I am truly sorry for your loss, Miss Aragon. I am.” Mulaney said. “But--what exactly are you implying here?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m just giving you the facts. I might as well tell you it was poltergeists.”

  “But you don’t believe that?”

  “No.”

  “You think it was Joan Seymour?”

  “Yes. I do.”

Mulaney studied her, looking her up and down, but the ex-coach didn’t appear to be lying. She believed what she said, despite how absurd it was.

  “What exactly did you see on prom night?” He asked.

  “I was hanging from an air vent pissing my pants, trying not to get electrocuted.” Catalina spat bluntly. “I didn’t see anything.”

------

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

------

Aragon saw Katherine Howard on the way out of the police department. They were both leaving their interrogations at the same time and stopped like deer in headlights to gawk at each other for a long moment. Then, Katherine ducked her head, almost in an apologetic, truce-like gesture and walked to her car.

It was always strange to see students outside of school, but it was even stranger now that Aragon had quit.

Holbein understood when Aragon emailed him saying she was going to resign, although she doesn’t think it was entirely for the reasons he assumed. The decision wasn’t so much for her own mental health, even though it has taken quite a beating since the Black Prom, but more on the “this is what’s right” and “I can’t go on in this profession” aspect.

Hundreds of children died under her watch. She was only able to get out thirteen. She felt like she failed as a teacher.

Most of them deserved to die, she knew they did, but the fact that so many lives were lost with her there acting as their chaperone, guardian, protector ate away at her mind. 

She would rather kill herself than ever teach again.

Aragon walked to her car and just sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, for several minutes. She looked up at the sky, which was grey and rumbling like a fire breathing dragon. It would rain soon. Even Mother Nature herself was trying to wash away the tragedy.

Aragon still remembered the first time she saw Joan Seymour. 

At the beginning of the year, two years ago, it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. Several of her teacher friends told her good luck when she told them about how she got the “strange little religious girl” in her class, and she thought she really needed it. At the time, she hadn’t actually ever met Joan or even seen her for that matter, but from the rumors she heard, the girl brought trouble wherever she went. She thought that year was going to be a hellfest of religious warbling and being told she was a sinner. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.

Joan Seymour was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. She was everything Aragon wasn’t expecting and so much more. She could see so much light in her, beneath all the walls she had put up around herself, so much room to be loved.

Aragon wondered what happened to that light.

She remembered when the maternal instincts hidden inside of her first flared up. It was November of her first year with Joan Seymour. The gym class was a mix between all grade levels, with Year 10’s like Joan and Year 12’s like Anne Boleyn and Year 11’s like Bessie Blount, and--

And there was a scream.

Now, Catalina de Aragon had heard screaming before. In Year 13 of high school, she vividly remembers watching a school rugby game and one of the players from the other team, she believed they were the Pumas if her memory was correct, broke his arm so savagely it almost looked like it was on backwards. He had dropped to the ground in a blur of black and maroon, bellowing in agony, and at the time Aragon had thought that it was the worst sound she would ever hear in her entire life.

And then she heard the ricochet of a cry rattle from the girl’s locker room, so loud that she could hear it from outside in the gym, and the first place spot for “Worst Noise She’s Ever Heard” was quickly snatched away from the football player.

He had screamed. But not like this.

This scream was piercing, bloodcurdling, and memory-haunting, and it only got worse when Aragon charged into the locker room, leaving a gaggle of wide-eyed students already dressed out behind in startled shock. 

Opening the door and passing through the doorway was like coming out of water in the midst of a war- the scream suddenly became ten times louder and much more ear-splitting. She actually had to clamp her hands over her ears and stop her forward stride to shudder in pain at the intensity of the noise that made her feel like she was going deaf. What could very possibly be 140 to 150 decibels of volume jammed its way directly into her eardrums, stabbing over and over and over again until a ringing was sent jangling through her skull like the aftermath of an explosion.

To be in the same room as such an outburst of agony, so close to the cause of deafening distress, was so much more bone-chilling than listening to it from stadium bleachers.

Aragon staggered forward, pulling her hands away from her ears and crossing the corridor threshold into the open space of lockers. There, her current class was huddled in a group of abstract horror around one row, eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of sockets and shaking in abject pant-pissing fear. Aragon wasn’t quite sure who looked more terrified: them, Caroline Casey holding a can of pepper spray, or Joan Seymour frenzying around with her hands over her face, screeching.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?” Aragon roared over the commotion, and everyone except Joan whirled around to face her with ogling bug eyes. They apparently hadn’t heard her come in over the noise. Joan keened again, a loud, drawn-out sound like the cry of a crow being gutted alive.

  “Sh-she--” One girl tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat when she glanced back at Joan writhing, slamming into the lockers, and scratching desperately at her face.

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” Aragon demanded.

  “I--got startled.” Caroline choked out.

  “Is that PEPPER SPRAY?!” Aragon shouted.

Caroline looked down at the canister in her hand as if it were an active bomb and suddenly appeared very sick. She doesn’t answer- she can’t. She’s shocked into silence.

  “WHY do you even HAVE IT at SCHOOL?!” Aragon bellowed. Her eyes are wide now, too, as she put the pieces together.

  “I’m sorry!” Helen said.

Joan wailed tumultuously. She dropped to the ground, screaming helplessly at the ceiling and squirming like she was trying to wriggle out of her own skin. Her hands are still fervently clawing at her eyes as if she were trying to scoop them out of their sockets, and there’s spots of red mixed in with the translucent sheen of pepper spray spattered across her pale face. Aragon quickly pushed Caroline aside, practically throwing the other girls out of the way to get to the panicking student rolling on the floor.

  “Joan! Joan!” Aragon called over the screaming. Joan doesn’t appear to hear her- she just continued to caterwaul and claw like a burning black cat. “Johanna Seymour!” Not even that got through to her, and if it did, it only made her even more distressed. “Joan!!”

Aragon finally grabbed the girl by the wrists and yanked her hands away. Without the spindly fingers itching incessantly, she could see her reddened face, gashed skin, and eyes filled with blood.

  “Oh my god,” Someone from behind, Susanne Young, maybe, muttered.

  “IT HURTS!!” Joan’s screams have finally morphed into words, and Aragon isn’t sure which was worse because the screams may have been nightmare-inducing, but the words were like a punch to the stomach with a spiked iron gauntlet. They come out hoarse and high pitched, vowels stretched out in whines and keens of pain, and Aragon’s heart clenched tightly in her chest when they reach her ears. “IT HURTS!! IT BURNS!!!!”

Joan writhed beneath Aragon, flailing her arms in the grip that holds them. Her moon silver eyes are upturned in their puckered sockets, saturating in blood, and the whites weren’t even white anymore, rather an awful crimson color with throbbing scarlet veins lacing through them like smoldering snakes. The shredded, bloody eyelids soon slam shut and remain shut, swelling so badly that Joan was temporarily blinded, and that makes her panic even harder.

  “It burns! It burns! IT BURNS!!!” Joan screeched. Her voice became garbled after her final cry and she dissolved into body-breaking coughs that manage to rock Aragon’s own frame from where she’s crouched over her.

  “What do we do?!” Another girl, Silvia Lewis, yawped. She flinched backwards in fright into the arm-locked duo of Katy Yu and Eliza Carroll when Aragon whipped her head around to her, dark brown eyes flashing like jagged ebony stalactites in flickering firelight.

  “NOW you care?” Aragon snarled, loading her voice with as much venom as possible. “Now you care about her? When she’s been fucking pepper sprayed?”

All the girls flinch this time. It’s obvious that they’ve never been cussed at by a teacher before, and it gives Aragon just a tiny swell of pleasure. But then Joan sobbed audibly again and it’s replaced with seething rage.

  “It- it was an accident!” Amy Harding tried to defend. “R-really! Caroline didn’t know!”

  “Oh really?” Aragon said. “I’m sure spraying a kid with fucking pepper spray, which shouldn’t even be brought to school, by the way, is really easy to do om accident!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne Boleyn clench her jaw and she rounded on her. “Do you have something you want to say, Boleyn?”

Anne opened her mouth as if to snark, took one look at Joan’s bloody, burned face, and realized this was not something her father could fix with his lawyer status. Even if she told him that Joan had snapped at her, he would have to agree that being pepper sprayed for it was much, much worse. She grit her teeth and looked away.

  “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” Joan wept. Aragon looked back down at her and felt a sharp stab of guilt when she realized how much time she had wasted scolding the other girls when she should have been treating Joan.

  “It’s okay, Joan,” She told her softly, smoothing down the barbs and thorns in her voice until it’s more like warm honey or silken velvet. “It’s okay… You’re going to be okay.”

Joan’s lolling head froze in its process of sweeping back and forth across the scuffed locker room tile. Her brow twitched and her eyelids flutter like she was trying to open them but can’t, and only bloody tears are able to squeeze their way out of the scrunched up sockets. She ‘looked’ in the direction of Aragon’s voice, lips quivering.

  “M-Miss Aragon?” She whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes, it’s me, Joan. It’s just me.” Aragon moved to hold both wrists in one hand and used the other to brush Joan’s cheek tenderly--which was instantly the wrong thing to do because she grazed over a spatter of pepper spray and tiny burning teeth latched onto her fingers and began eating away at her flesh. She bit back a hiss of discomfort to avoid stressing out Joan even more. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  “It hurts,” Joan sobbed. Her eyes screwed shut even tighter, like she thought that it may help block out the pain. “I-it hurts, Miss Aragon. M-make it stop!”

  “I will, Joan, don’t worry,” Aragon assured her. “Just take deep breaths for me. Can you do that? Deep breaths, sweetheart.” She swiveled her head around to the group of quavering onlookers. Caroline backed up behind Lidia Peterson and Penny Spencer when her glaring eyes skim by, still white-knuckling the canister of pepper spray. “Bessie.”

Bessie Blount jolted, but raised her head in an obedient, listening way.

  “Make yourself useful and get a bottle of water and a rag from the showers. Wet it.” Aragon ordered.

Bessie nodded, but didn’t dare speak up. She scurried off, clipping her shoulder on one of the lockers and tottering sideways for a moment before regaining her balance and continuing with her task. Aragon can hear her tinker with the padlock of her locker in another row, open the door, pull something out, and then hurry into the bathroom area without fully closing the door. She stopped listening after hearing the running water of a sink to glower at the rest of the girls.

  “Get to class.” She said coldly.

The girls exchanged glances. They seem surprised that they hadn’t been struck dead or something (although Aragon really, REALLY wanted to do so). Then, they disperse without another warning, with Caroline hightailing it out the door first. Bessie returned shortly after with a folded, pulpy paper towel that drips water on the floor and a water bottle. She looked down at Joan as she passed them over and Aragon saw that she was genuinely concerned.

  “Is she...going to be okay?” She asked.

Aragon was conflicted- she wanted to say yes to make them all feel better, but she really didn’t know. Joan had rubbed her eyes viciously enough to smear the pepper spray further into her sockets and the open cuts she carved into her skin was probably exposed to any lingering residue, too, which would only deepen her anguish. But she didn’t want to say no either because that would just induce panic, so instead she just said, “I’ll take care of her.”

Bessie seemed to catch her avoidance of the question by the pinch at her brow and frown on her lips, but she just nodded instead of pointing it out, much to Aragon’s relief.

  “Okay,” She said. She cast one more glance at Joan, who appeared to be trying to figure out where she was, then turned around, gathered her belongings, and walked out.

  “Okay, Joan,” Aragon looked down at her student. “I’m going to pour some water over your eyes, okay? Just keep breathing for me. You’re doing so good.”

Joan whimpered. She jolted when the contents of the water bottle were poured over her face, crying out in shock and pain, and a light bulb overhead shattered in millions of burgeoning pieces. Aragon jumped and looked up at it, then back down at Joan, who was now panting and wheezing heavily.

  “H-hurts to b-b--reathe,” She uttered.

  “Oh, Joan…” Aragon murmured. She carefully wiped away the pepper spray residue on Joan’s face with the paper towel, finding that the girl’s skin was suddenly very cold. Her breathing wasn’t normal anymore. She can feel her heartbeat thump heavily beneath her flesh; it’s too fast for even someone in the midst of a panic attack. 

Something was sizzling in Joan Seymour’s skin, and it wasn’t just the pepper spray.

There’s a clamor from the front of the locker room- Aragon’s next period class started to bustle inside to change out before their minimal time limit was up. Aragon jumped up, causing Joan to whimper in distress at the loss of her presence, and stormed to the entrance corridor. The girls inside stopped, easily picking up that she was on edge, and took a small step back in near-perfect synchronization.

  “You don’t have to change out today.” Aragon said hurriedly. “Or do anything. Just sit in the gym and do whatever. As long as you don’t kill each other or set something on fire, I really don’t care what you do.”

The girls blink and exchange looks.

  “Everything okay?” One asked.

  “Fine.” Aragon said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. Her posture nearly faltered and crumbled when she heard Joan whimper again. “Go on. Out!”

The girls obeyed, quickly exiting in a flurry of binders and backpacks. Once they’re all gone, Aragon hurried back to Joan, who was trying to get up. She yelped and flinched so badly she knocked herself back over when Aragon touched her shoulder, and another light in the first aisle of lockers popped and fizzed out.

  “It’s just me, Joan.” Aragon said. “It’s Miss Aragon.”

  “Miss Aragon,” Joan repeated to herself in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

  “That’s right,” Aragon nodded, although she knew Joan couldn’t see it. “Joan, I’m going to help you stand up and we’re going to walk over to the showers, okay? The water bottle isn’t working as well as I had hoped. Running water will help flush out your eyes better.” She gently touched Joan’s face and she ‘looked’ up at her. “It’ll make it hurt less.”

Joan nodded. She grit her teeth as she’s helped to her feet, staggering, but staying upright. A jewel of blood welled up from a scratch dividing her left eyebrow in two and lazily made its way down her face. She twitched when it tickled her skin and she reached up to swipe it away, but Aragon snatched her hand before she could make contact. Joan jumped and instantly tried to jerk away.

  “Don’t touch your face.” Aragon scolded lightly. “It’ll only make the burning worse.”

Joan swallowed thickly, but didn’t say anything. She just nodded silently and obeyed.

The short walk to the bathroom and shower area was much clumsier than it should have been, with Joan stumbling over her ankles and hitting every outcrop of lockers, even with Aragon guiding her. Lack of sight was numbing her senses and making it hard to listen. Aragon didn’t ever get mad at her, though; blindness, even temporary blindness, would make her a complete nervous, bumbling wreck, too.

  “M-Miss Aragon?” Joan croaked as Aragon cranked the nozzle to a middle-row shower. She turned her head in the direction of the sound of spraying water.

  “Yes?” Aragon gently touched her shoulder to let her know she was there. “I’m right here, honey.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joan whispered.

Aragon’s heart sunk into her stomach. Oh, Joan, please please don’t--

  “I-I didn’t mean to.”

A wave of guilt slammed into Aragon, alongside a rumbling riptide of pure rage that roiled through her insides like a storm at sea. She clenched her teeth until she thought they may shatter and wished that she had exacted punishment on all those girls, especially Caroline, instead of sending them to their next class to deal with them later.

  “I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time much more choked up. Her skin was frigid cold. “M-Miss Aragon?” She reached up a blind hand and lightly touched Aragon’s, which she must have forgotten was on her shoulder. She grabbed it in a way that sent shockwaves of desperation up Aragon’s arm. “I’m sorry…”

  “Don’t apologize, Joan.” Aragon said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”

  “Okay,” Joan said, but Aragon knew she didn’t believe it. She lowered her voice and rasped out, “It really, really hurts…”

  “Come on,” Aragon lowered Joan to her knees and tilted her into the warm rain of water shooting from the showerhead. She lifted her chin so the spray would directly hit her face. “There we go... Good girl.”

Joan took a deep breath, spitting out water. Streams ran red when they touched her numerous cuts and the blood oozing from her tightly shut eyes turned into puffing clouds of crimson along her cheeks, but at least everything was getting flushed out. 

Aragon risked getting wet when she reached over and began to rub soothing circles against Joan’s back. She swore the girl arched her spine into her touch, exhaling a soft sigh of relief--or maybe contentment. She wasn’t quite sure, but at least it wasn’t a sad or angry sigh, although Joan had every reason to be sad and/or angry.

  “It felt like a hot knife.”

Joan’s rough, husky voice jarred Aragon out of her thoughts. Silence had descended upon the two of them for about five minutes, the only sound being the hiss of the overhead faucet and the low creak of pipes. Aragon blinked a haze of black spots out of her vision; her hand was still on Joan’s back, no longer rubbing, but the fingers were still grazing up and down tenderly, with the thumb gliding in soothing strokes.

  “Or a fire poker. Like the ones you use for fireplaces.” 

  “What?” Aragon said.

Joan craned her neck to look at her, and her eyes were open. They were reddish-blue-silver jewels in a nest full of restless red snakes. Trails of water cascading over her face cause the dozens of cuts around the sockets to glow in hues of neon pink and burning scarlet. She tilted her head at Aragon.

  “When I got sprayed,” She specified. “And you know what I thought when it happened?”

  “What?” Aragon said again, this time with dread pooled in the pit of her stomach like a dark oil spill.

  “‘Thank God,’” Joan said. A small, weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she looked down at her hands, where bits of her flesh still clung beneath her nails. “I wasn’t angry. Or upset. It did hurt, though. Really badly. But after everything--after everything I’ve been through--” Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she turned her head back to Aragon. “It felt good to not have to see.”

Aragon was silent. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror.

How could a child think like that? How could they be treated so poorly that they have to think like that?

  “I’ve never been blinded before,” Joan went on, musing her words like she didn’t realize how traumatic they were. She lifted a hand and gently touched one eye, as if she were reminding herself that it was still there. “It was--scary. Really scary. I’m--used to darkness, but--that was different. It wasn’t black, but really, really bright. So bright my head started to hurt--still hurts--and there were these flashes of color and it all mixed together into this big mess. But still-” She shifted on her knees, sloshing water around her. “I thought that not seeing anymore would make things better. Somehow. Maybe then I would be pathetic enough for people to leave me alone.” Her eyes gleam; Joan is crying. “But it wouldn’t end up being like that, would it? I’m never granted such mercy.” She flicked the water around her bitterly, then had to scrunch her eyes shut again when the pain registered again.

  “Were you--” Joan cocked her head in the direction of Aragon’s head to let her know that she was listening. Aragon’s hand on her back clenched a fistful of soggy pale yellow sweater. “Are you happy?”

  “Now?”

  “Ever.”

Joan ‘looked’ up at the ceiling like she was deep in thought, and Aragon already had her answer.

Fury bubbled in Aragon’s stomach, while pity and grief squeezed her heart to the point of nearly bursting apart. It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair for a child to have to live like this.

Joan had tipped her head down and apparently stopped thinking by the time Aragon was finished stewing in anger and conflict. And that’s when Aragon realized that Joan didn’t look even a little angry or conflicted. Or upset or sorrowful or anguished or vengeful.

She just looked tired.

Not just tried, though- Jaded.

  “How are your eyes?” Aragon asked.

Joan gently touched one. “They still burn. Badly. But not as bad as before.”

  “Yeah, they’re probably going to hurt for awhile.” Aragon frowned. She cupped Joan’s cheeks, which felt so hollow and sunken beneath her fingers, and she cradled her head. “Can you open your eyes, honey? So I can see them?”

Joan struggled, but managed to pry open her eyelids and keep them open for Aragon to inspect. They were bloodshot and definitely looked like they were hurting, but at least they weren’t bleeding anymore. Aragon gently stroked her thumb across her cheekbone.

  “Maybe I’m not happy,” Joan blurted.

The memory cut out abruptly, any other voices of remnant fading away, and Aragon finally accepted that Joan was right. She wasn’t happy, and Aragon began to worry if she ever really was in her entire life.

Aragon leaned back in her seat and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She sniffled, but willed herself not to cry. She just--

She tried so hard to help that poor child. She didn’t want to believe that Joan was really as broken as she seemed, that she still had a chance of recovering, but she finally came to terms that not everyone can be saved. Joan was too far gone for Aragon to pull her out of the blackhole she was stuck in. But maybe if she had just tried a little harder, if she checked on her more often, if she did something sooner-- Maybe things wouldn’t be the way they were now.

Maybe Joan would still be here.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Joan, several of her teacher friends, and hundreds of her students were dead, and nothing was going to bring them back.

Aragon sighed and finally buckled her seatbelt and got to driving. She had to get to her house to start packing. She was going back home to Spain, to her family, and find a job there. Perhaps the memories of the Black Prom will be less crushing when she was so far away from the site of the massacre, but she doubted it. Trauma never died.

------

Water.

Water was what the air in and around this part of the city smelled like the most.

It was in the deep, earthen musk of the damp soil that lay beneath the lush, dew-soaked grass.

It was in the marshy fumes, sometimes sulfurous, sometimes sickly-sweet, of the patches of hidden swamp that lay in wait for unsuspecting feet.

It was in the carpets of fallen leaves that hid hollows between the tree roots, where pools could collect and play host to all things that crawled or squirmed through the wet.

It was in the very forest itself, coating wet leaves and bleeding from the dark, pulpy wood of the gnarled, old trees.

There was nothing dry about this place.

Fog, ghostly-grey and creeping on silent feet, drifted in low wisps over the crumbled and cold earth, painting the normally-stark outlines of the trees so pale that they faded into the sky rather than stood boldly against it. The mist had dissipated somewhat since anyone had last passed through this particular stretch of rarely-visited meadow, but not by much. Hours, though, or perhaps a day before, it had been as oppressive and thick as cold clam chowder.

Now it was slowly thinning out, listlessly lacking the eerie, almost lifelike malevolence with which it had pressed in upon the very soul before. There was a certain…uncertainty about the way it was hovering now, no longer pouring into every little hollow and alcove like milk over cereal. It was just there.

There, in a sort of in-between way. Lingering.

All was still, and--save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain--all was silent as well.

Except for herself, of course.

It was movement in the stillness that preceded the first disruption of the tranquility of the forest; the silk-thin web of drifting mist that hung in the air like lace slowly began to slide forward, rolling away from her feet like a translucent white carpet, perhaps in front of some ghostly noble attending an afterlife celebration in their name. Right from the Black Prom, her movement through this strange, still world, which her life had become, had felt alien and out of place, but it had never felt that way more than right now.

With each footstep, a narrow patch of soggy grass pressed down and sent a miniature pool of moisture bubbling up around the edges of her boots and in through invisible gaps in the leather, oozing into her already-saturated socks and settling in icy little pools in the dips where her toes went, setting the blisters on the skin alight with fresh pain. If her feet hadn’t already been numb from the wet and cold, she might have cared more. But everything from her toes to her feet and the soaked leather that clung stiffly to them was in no shape to feel anything but the dull warning sting of oncoming pins and needles.

Besides, Bessie had other things on her mind right now.

Like how it was said that the school was being shut down for an undetermined amount of time to repair what had been charred.

Like how she heard that Miss Aragon had quit and wouldn’t be teaching ever again.

Like how lifting her feet from the indents they made in the muddy undergrowth kept on getting harder and harder to do. Her legs felt heavier with each step and the little grassy pools made squelchy noises of protest, sucking hungrily at her feet each time they left the earth. Behind her in the grass, there was a long trail of tiny shoe-shaped lakes, like murky little grey-green cousins of the ones she would see when she would take trips out to the bay.

Like what had happened just three weeks before.

There was a clank-CLONK and a gentle patter as droplets of condensation came raining down from where they’d collected on the bars of the cemetery gate. There was no real latch, so she just pushed it open. There had been one once, but it had rusted away under the perpetual wet.

…Or maybe it hadn’t.

The gate’s movement ground to a halt after a mere few inches, hindered by tufts of almost-oily grass which had been allowed to grow out of control around the edges of the compound for what had probably been years. They snagged on the metal almost as though they were alive, gripping its frame with the sort of desperation one normally only saw from a particularly needy child clinging to its mother’s arm while she was on her way to work.

A half-hearted hiss of frustration escaped her as the gate’s creaking cut off. She clenched sore and swollen fingers around the wet bars, feeling flakes of rust and ancient, now-colorless paint crumble away and stick to her fingertips, which the condensation in the air had turned pruny and pale pink, like anemic raisins. When further shoving only yielded that rubbery, elastic sound that wet wild grass sometimes got, she let out a puff of air and gave up for the moment, leaning in to rest her forehead against the cool metal as she slouched, peering through the bars at the army of tombstones lined up within. She was so close to relief and salvation and maybe even a little bit of closure, and a damn hunk of metal was standing in her way.

Bessie tried one more time, desperation straining through her pulls, but she gave up when the flowers in her hands were nearly crumpled in her attempt. She would have to go around through the front, much to her dismay.

Nothing was worse than visiting a cemetery on a rainy, gloomy day. That was why she had been trying to get in through a backdoor in the first place; she didn’t want to pound her abysmally low mental health further into the ground by being seen by people when she entered, even though it was a perfectly normal thing to do. A lot of people were going to the cemetery lately, anyway. But never had she thought she would be one of the mourners.

The gatekeeper looked almost suspicious when she shambled up to the wide gothic front gate, and she didn’t really blame him. She didn’t have an umbrella, she was whiteknuckling a handful of flowers like her life depended on it, and her shoes were covered in so much mud that it looked like she had just been dredged out of a mudslide. But, then again, most people who visit a cemetery in the rain must all take on such an appearance in some way, so he shook off the expression on his face and asked for the plot number of the grave being visited. Bessie told him, he checked to make sure she was telling the truth and not just trying to get in to grave rob or something, and then opened the gate. Bessie thanked him and stepped inside the cemetery.

And, like that, all the strength was drained out of her body. It was the same sensation she felt when she was crawling through the air vents to escape the school, a coagulated sense of shell-shock that was like having the flu. After the night of the Black Prom, small physical tasks that she would have normally have found easy took everything out of her, like how taking a simple step forward was right now.

Though it’s steadily getting better, or so she likes to tell herself, the ordeal has scarred her. In a close community like this, there’s no escaping it. The tragedy hit all of Oxford hard. A lot of the kids who died were well-liked in the city, it didn’t matter if they picked on some poor religious outcast. They still--died.

God...

Bessie will never survive it if she can’t find a way to put the Black Prom deaths in the past where they belong. It would be devastating if she sank any further into the pit this disaster has left behind. It’s not like she was embraced by the student body of Kingston High as much as Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard in the first place, but she, like the other thirteen survivors (counting Miss Aragon) had gone from being someone who was just there like everyone else, living a day-to-day life to a full-blown pariah. Nobody said recovering from being one of just a few survivors of a large massacre would be easy, but at this point she’s just hoping that it’s even possible.

Strange, how she can live her entire life in one place and take it for granted just to have it turn on her so completely. The shops, the woods, the school, the park, her house, Main Street--these places that she grew up in haven’t changed on the outside, but now they all just feel so empty when they’re missing two hundred and thirty-four teenage bodies mulling around them.

The loss is visceral, as if something vital was ripped out of her body when they died and the wound was still fresh. If she’s feeling this way, it must be unimaginable for the families.

Bessie began to walk down the stone pavement that was clean of any weeds that may grow in between the rocks, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. There were only a few people in the cemetery, all with fitting black umbrellas, as if the dark color was a mandatory dress code for grave-visiting. Most of them didn’t look up at her as she passed by, but one glanced over and seemed to recognize her as one of the survivors of the Black Prom. The woman’s nose wrinkled and she snapped her head back down, blinking back a furious wave of tears.

Bessie had never thought she would be a survivor of a massacre, but she definitely never expected the contrasting reactions to such from other people. Most are sympathetic and are gentle with her, as if they may think the slightest thing would shatter her into pieces, while others are insanely curious and want to know everything they can, usually reigniting poorly put down trauma in the process. And then there’s those who just hated her guts. Because they were jealous. Jealous that she got out alive and not their son or daughter, sister or brother, best friend or boyfriend or girlfriend. They didn’t think it was fair, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Bessie to be treated this way. But, in a way, she felt the same way they felt, wondering why she of all people had to live and not somebody much more important.

Her knees felt weak by the time she almost reached her destination and she thought she may black out before she even got there, but then she noticed something that made her sober up instantly from her daze.

The Seymour tombstone.

It was upright, like most of the tombstones in the cemetery, stretched out to fit two names, and was a plain grey color. There was a black cross etched at the top and had no flowers surrounding the base, unlike all the other graves.

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

That was what was written upon the granite. It seemed even the creator of the stone knew about the Seymour family’s damnation.

Someone was standing in front of the tombstone. Bessie blinked her eyes rapidly, as if she thought she were seeing a ghost, then slowly walked up beside the person.

A long silence descended upon the two of them, neither speaking or acknowledging the other’s presence. Glancing over, Bessie could see tassels of short reddish-brown-blonde hair around the black umbrella they were holding over their head at an angle.

  “Did you know her?” The stranger asked. Their voice, tinged with what Bessie believed was a Danish accent, cut through the mist and fog and rain, taking Bessie by surprise.

  “Yeah.” Bessie replied. “We went to school together.”

The stranger nodded slowly, not looking at Bessie. Their gaze was fixed on the tombstone with intense curiosity.

  “Did you?”

They shook their head. “Not personally. By word of mouth.” They said. “Kind of hard to not know Oxford’s resident psycho.” They chuckled harshly.

Bessie grimaced. A tidal wave of guilt came crashing down on her when Joan was referred to in such a way. It reminded her of all that she had done to the girl and all that she had said. And for what? Clout? Attention from the popular kids? An excuse not to hate herself because as long as she puts someone else down then she won’t be the most pathetic piece of garbage in the school? A reason to forget, even if it was just for a few hours at a time, that she was her mother’s unwanted aborted afterbirth gratuitously carved out of an abyss of awful red placenta, shaped into a human being with too bleached hair and too much of a passion to be accepted and too many feelings?

No reason could justify what she’s done.

What did it cost to be kind? 

  “Yeah,” Bessie muttered, and her tongue felt like it was made of lead. She had to get to her destination now.

But first--she snapped off one of the flowers in her bouquet and placed it on Joan Seymour’s side of the grave. Curious hazel eyes followed her momentarily as she staggered away.

She walked and walked, slower and slower as she got closer to her destination: she doesn’t want to be there alone, she doesn’t want to accept that it happened, and that there was no one waking her up and telling her that it’s all a nightmare. But she’s there and, for a moment, her breath gets caught in her throat, a bundle of emotions that are finally finding their strength to come up and be heard.

She doesn’t want to be there.

But then, finally, she was.

It was a kerbed headstone, upright with a bed of marble stretching out for flowers and other offerings to the dead, which was already loaded with various flowers and a few small trinkets. The tomb was ebony black and embedded with tiny flecks of silver quartz that looked like sparkling stars in a clear night sky. Carved out in gold lettering, the bearer of the tomb was written out:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

ANNA VON CLEVES

SEPTEMBER 22, 2002

MAY 28th, 2020

A wonderful Daughter, Sister, and Friend

It was hard to divide up her grief, when Bessie had so many people to mourn--her peers, her teachers, her friends most of all, even Joan in a way. 

But losing Anna, though...most days, that was the worst of all.

  “Hey, Anna,” She said, and her voice broke almost instantly. The tears came fast, pricking like hot needles in her eyes and cascading down over her cheeks before she could even try to blink them away. “I brought you some things.”

She brandished the red flowers to the tombstone, as if Anna were actually perched on top of it, smiling at her and looking excited over the gift.

  “They’re gladioluses.” Bessie told the tomb. “They--they symbolize strength.” She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively set the flowers on the rim of the black marble bed. Her fingers fumbled together for a moment, then began pulling something else out.

  “I also brought you this,” She said. “I know--I know you always liked it. You would always touch it because it was soft when you would come over, so I--I thought you would want it.”

She set a tan dog stuffed animal with big floppy ears on the front of the marble bed. She realized her hands were shaking when she pulled her arms back and swallowed hard again.

  “I--” The words caught in her throat. She scratched at her neck with one finger, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking--about dyeing my hair red. In memory of you. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.” She paused, took a breath, then went on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “I’m probably gonna look really silly though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence fell upon the girl and the grave. The stuffed dog’s fur was starting to grow damp and dark from the drizzling mist. Bessie kept her eyes closed for a long moment, praying to a god she didn’t even really believe in. Her hands were clasped tight and she brought them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in a blade. She would plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her friend back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Anna would have done if it had been Bessie that had been stabbed and burned in that gym instead.

But she wasn't as strong as Anna.

Bessie didn’t really realize exactly how loud she was crying until her shaking breath hitched so high it sounded like a squeak. She blinked through the haze of tears and scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow did not stop. 

A little brown bird landed on a grave nearby and fluffed out its wet wings. A grazing deer on the other side of the tall black fence was munching contently on some wild flowers, not at all concerned about or aware of the grief going on just a few yards away. Some type of bug was buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind. The person at the Seymour tombstone finally turned and walked out of the cemetery.

Looking around at this all, Bessie was shocked by how the world kept running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by the foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze was trying to offer a comfort that seemed to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there was a reason for what has happened; her mind was still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

  “Why?” She wondered but there was only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

  “Why?”

She had wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images on a stage, blood and a pipe and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, she can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still felt like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There was regret in her body language. There was a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened. Or, maybe if she hadn’t done anything at all in the first place.

Bessie wished she could go back in time. She wished there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her friendship, her best friend was--is still--the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let it slip away in fear of what the world would have said if she had confessed how she truly felt. Her image was everything and, yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Anna’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there was a way for her to save just a few lives.

Their lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wanted to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there was no one around to watch her. But she felt like a hypocrite, she felt like she didn't have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent Anna’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

  “I’m sorry.”

She knew it’s too late.

She knew that it’s useless because Anna’s not there to hear that word.

Maybe she’s listening, like Miss Aragon had said to her during Anna’s funeral. Maybe she’s been watching her down from heaven, because that’s where she is now, along with all her other friends who perished in the fires, those tortured souls hidden behind a smile and an endless laugh. She remembered it. She remembered how Maria’s sweet voice always went directly to her heart and pulled strings that never hurt. She remembered how Maggie’s laugh made her feel better, especially those days when the world was so set on destroying her balance and sanity. She remembered how Anna’s face would light up when she walked into Mr. Stephens’s class every morning, bright eyes that shone like daily stars. But, most of all, she was addicted to Anna’s voice, Anna’s laugh, Anna’s smile and eyes. She craved Anna’s everything in ways that were so deep and powerful that, after a while, she stopped asking herself what magic they held. So she turned to Anna, she made Anna laugh over and over again because she was selfish, she was in pain and only that laugh, that smile, that voice, those eyes could save her from the deepest and darkest waves.

Regrets don’t leave Bessie, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her ignorance. 

It’s her fault. 

She kept telling herself it as if this admission of truth could absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she promised but it was always so easy to forget about it: there wasn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the friend group it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her family, her relationships, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was Anna. Anna’s comforting words, gentle touch, light hearted jokes to make her smile--the way they would just…be there and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bessie do the same for her? Or for any of her friends?

Why didn’t Bessie come out and defend Maria when all those voices wanted a piece of her soul? Why didn’t Bessie come out and be there for Maggie, not only when those cracks in her voice were so out for everyone to hear and judge? Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that those voices weren’t true?

Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that she was the purest soul she’s ever met?

  “I’m sorry.”

Bessie was sorry. She could have done more. She could have told them more. She could have told her.

She should have known better.

Bessie should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might be needing a hero herself and she was too afraid or too busy to be up to the task.

She depended on Anna and now she’s lost.

Alone.

Bessie heard a whimper and realized it’s herself. She hiccuped and struggled to breathe for a moment. With visibly shaking hands, she fished her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it. The lock screen was her and Anna at a dog shelter they had been helping out at seven months ago. 

She opened up her messaging app, smearing water across the screen in the process, and found Anna’s contact. The name was, “Anna Banana”.

Bessie: I know it’s too late, but...I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

Bessie: Don’t worry about replying.

------

George wasn’t as sad as everyone thought he was. And he understood why he should be and why they assumed such, Anne was his big sister, but Anne had also done awful things that even he couldn’t feel sorry for her bloody fate.

On the night of the Black Prom, after the horrid blood dump, he and Jane escaped by going after Anne and Cathy with Anna. After losing sight of his sister and her girlfriend, Anna said she was going to go back inside to get Joan, and that was the last time he ever saw his friend. Anna’s death messed him up more than Anne’s did.

Mother fell to the floor, screaming and crying, when the officer arrived to tell the family the news. Father became very pale white and stopped breathing for a moment. When Mary was called at college, she was silent for a long time and then stammered when she spoke. George just wore a solemn expression on his face and shook his head. He was the first to see the body, since his parents weren’t up to it, and he sighed at the mutilation in the ambulance, then told the officers what his sister had done.

The funeral was difficult. Anne had to be sewn back together, but it still didn’t look like her in the casket. The corpse seemed more like a pasty wax replica of the sister he thought he knew.

His mind has been running wild since then. So many thoughts whirled through his head. He wondered if he could have prevented what had happened, although he was doubtful. It wasn’t his fault, no matter what his brain tried to tell him. He didn’t kill the pigs, he didn’t fill the buckets, he didn’t pull the string.

It wasn’t his fault.

But still. Emotions have risen into a fever pitch. The dreary, grey weather definitely didn’t help, either. He had to get out of the house, away from Anne’s lingering presence in his home life, so he drove out to the closest beach he could access, parked on the bay, and just watched the storm for hours.

The beach reminded him of better times. Back when things weren’t as messed up as they were. Back when Anne hadn’t been such a monster.

One of his fondest memories was of when he was eleven, Anne was twelve, and Mary was thirteen. They were playing at a sparkling beach while their parents watched from underneath a rainbow umbrella, and he specifically remembered Mary meticulously digging a hole on the shoreline. 

  “OI!!” His oldest sister had roared from inside the giant crater. “Get you big galumphing feet out of here!”

The offender, George, peered down at her from where he was perched precariously on the edge. “I don’t even know what that word means!” he had said. “But I’ll show you what galumphing REALLY looks like!”

Anne’s head popped out from the hole at the same time as George had jumped into it. The three of them fell into a tangled tizzy, grunting and gibbering and giggling loudly like sparring puppies in a playpen. They had begun to wrestle, getting absolutely covered in wet sand.

George smiled fondly at the memory. Those were the good days. It’s a shame, he thinks, how much things have changed since then.

He sighed and turned on the windshield wipers, then leaned back into his seat, thinking.

Joan was dead, too, apparently, and that was another person he was more distraught over than his own sister. That poor girl. He really liked her and was looking forward to hanging out with her more often. Too bad it’ll never ever happen.

After that, he couldn’t get Joan out of his head, so he tried to find some closure by visiting her grave. 

There was a single flower upon the mound of dirt, and George didn’t think the man standing before the tomb was the one who put it there.

  “Oh-- Sorry.” George said, backing away when the man looked at him. “I was just--”

The man looked him up and down, then made a motion with his head, signaling for George to come beside him. George did.

The man was huge, with tufts of blonde hair and a big bristly beard. He wasn’t using an umbrella, but didn’t really look like he cared that he was getting wet. He studied the tombstone intently.

  “You know them?” He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

  “I knew Joan.” George answered honestly. “We hung out at prom together. I like to think that we were friends, even in the short amount of time we knew each other.” He shifted, bowing his head. “I hope she knew that.”

The man nodded with a rumbling humming noise.

  “Did you know them?” George asked.

The man looked at George, and his eyes were a startlingly bright blue.

  “In a way,” He said.

------

The smell of the ocean is salty, wet, and overpowering. After everything that had happened in the past three weeks, Katherine was convinced that this was what freedom smelled like.

After Mulaney couldn’t get anything “useful” out of her, she was switched to a new detective, Victoria Green, who was at least willing to listen to reason and rationalized her story much more than her male counterpart did. But still, all the questions and constant repetition was hellish and definitely not the birthday gift she was wishing for when she recently turned nineteen. Not that it would be easy to celebrate with such matters on her hands.

Katherine stepped out of her car fully, breathing in the fresh ocean air. Seagulls were squawking loudly from a distance, and the splashing of the waves alongside the gentle rocking of the ferry created a soothing lull that sedated the stress in her mind.

She weaved around other cars waiting to arrive at mainland Europe and walked onto the deck. Distant city lights were mere winking twinkles in the distance, and the ocean seemed like an endless roiling black abyss of tranquility. The sky was spread wide open and ran free from horizon to horizon.

After everything, it was nice to get away from it all, even for just a few hours. Even if it was just one ferry ride and a single short drive around, then back to interrogation the next day. It loosened so much tension in her body that had seemed to have her snared in a vicious bear trap.

Only a few people were on the deck, most deciding to stay in their cars, sheltered from the misty weather. There was a woman smoking on a bench, a kid gazing out at the ocean, two young children haphazardly jumping up and down to try and see any dolphins by the guard rail, and a man taking a few pictures of the city in the distance. Katherine walked over to the railing to look at the water and took in another deep breath to ease her lungs.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Murmured the person to Katherine’s left. They were staring up at the sky with a wistful expression, starlight shimmering against their deep, rich brown eyes.

  “It is.” Katherine agreed, nodding.

  “Have you ever been on a ferry before? Because I haven’t.” The person asked, initiating small talk of sorts. It was refreshing for Katherine, so much better than the interrogation questions from the detectives and the concerned statements her family are always giving her now. 

  “A few times,” Katherine answered. “When my family would take trips, we would usually just ride the ferry or take the Eurotunnel because it’s cheaper than flying.” She chuckled lightly.

  “If I may--” Said the person, “Where did you go? Like, on your trips?”

  “France, Germany, Poland, Belarus, Norway, even Iceland! Of course, we had to fly there, though. Don’t think a ferry would go that far.” She actually managed a real laugh, despite the comment not being that funny. 

  “Wow,” The person said, looking starstruck. They swept their brown-red bangs out of their eyes, adjusting circular gold glasses on their freckled nose. “That sounds like so much fun.”

  “It was,” Katherine smiled at the memories. 

She looked back at the ocean stretched all around her. The water below was roiling, waves crashing and clapping loudly against the ferry. Something in the sea seemed agitated, Katherine could feel it. Like even nature itself knew something terrible had happened.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” She whispered. 

That was something Katherine kept telling herself over and over again, and she knew it was true, no matter how scared she was, no matter what any news station said. She just had to remember that, even if nobody else did.

  “It wasn’t all your fault.” She said again, this time a little louder. The ocean noises and the boat blocked out most noises from listening ears, not that anyone seemed to care what she was saying.

Joan looked at her, peering out through silver eyes that were muted by dark brown contacts, but didn’t say anything. She turned her head forward again, touching and fixing her fake glasses in a nervous tick of sorts. Anxiety was written all over her face.

  “I’m sorry you can’t stay in England,” Katherine said for what felt like the hundredth time. Joan told her she didn’t have to apologize the first time, but she was still so sorry. Being smuggled out of the one place she knew--it must have been so scary for Joan. And Katherine being the mastermind behind the scheme didn’t give her much peace of mind. “It’s just--” She went on, “People thinking you’re dead is sort of contingent on nobody seeing you alive.”

Katherine took it as a miracle that Joan was even alive. After the girl had gone limp in her arms, she thought all was lost, that it was over, but then the bleeding abruptly stopped and Joan’s heartbeat continued to flutter, weak, but there. Katherine then wasted no time getting her into her car and driving her to her house. Her oldest sister was a vet, so she snatched her pair of keys to the local animal hospital and broke in for the necessary supplies.

In her car, she cleaned, disinfected, stapled, and sutured Joan’s wounds with no anesthesia to the best of her ability. It was a messy and uncomfortable process for the both of them, with Katherine being confined to the cramped space of her vehicle for the amature sewing treatment and Joan getting sharp things put into her skin without any drugs to make her numb. Katherine had debated using some, but didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally killing Joan with dog sedatives when she was already barely clinging to life.

After Joan was treated, Katherine housed her in an old storage garage her family rarely ever went to, filling it with blankets and lanterns, food and water, fans and extra pairs of clothes. She knew it must have been scary and awful and painful lonely for Joan, but she had nowhere else to hide her until she got a plan, so that was where the girl stayed for three weeks. Katherine visited every day, always checking up on her little stowaway when she got the time, but it soon became apparent that neither could live like this. So that’s when Katherine created the plan to get Joan out of England.

  “Where will I go?” Joan asked in a tiny voice. There was fear in her eyes; she didn’t want to be alone anymore, but they had no choice.

  “I don’t know.” Katherine admitted, biting her lip. “Somewhere where they don’t know you.”

Joan nodded sadly and looked back down at the water. Katherine knew she wasn’t going to last long on her own.

  “I can take you as far as Paris,” Katherine said. “But then I have to come back.” She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered.

Katherine quirked a tiny smile. “Come on,” She said. “Rest in the car. You’re going to need energy.”

Joan nodded and they both walked back to the car. Joan fell asleep rather quickly, leaning her head against the window and drifting off, but it wasn’t long before she suddenly jerked awake with a gasp, sweating and breathing heavily.

  “Are you okay?” Katherine asked worriedly, glancing away from the road they were back to driving on.

Joan turned her head very slowly, fearfully, as if she were expecting someone else, something horrifying, to be sitting in the driver’s seat. She swallowed thickly.

  “Do you need me to pull over?”

  “No,” Joan whispered, her voice sounding strangled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face with a sluggish hand, then ripped off the red-brown wig she was having to wear. Locks of white-blonde hair instantly came tumbling free down her back and shoulders. 

  “Do you wanna talk about it?” Katherine offered.

Joan actually choked a tight laugh. “It’s dumb,” She said. “I just--had dream. About Miss Aragon.”

Katherine looked at her curiously. “Really?”

  “Mhm,” Joan nodded. “We were--we were close.” She wrung her hands together like a nervous baby pangolin trying to muster up the courage to ask for food at a friend’s house. “But--in the dream she--she said that she loved me like her very own daughter.” She finally managed to say, the words wobbling out of her mouth like someone shaking them out of a bottle. “She said...she said that she was gonna--she was gonna adopt me.”

Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest suddenly felt as tight as a noose. The kind of pain that happened when you swallowed too much water at once, and it stretched and gouged all the way down through your chest like a burrowing worm.

She closed her hand tighter around the steering wheel because there was nothing else she could think of to do--like maybe if she squeezed that semi-pliable ring of rubber and cloth as hard as she could, some of the tightness and pain would bleed out of her chest. It was the only way she could bear to keep watching the young girl in the passenger’s seat beside her.

At long last, a few tears dribbled down from Joan’s contact-covered eyes and over her cheeks (which had been growing redder and redder with the effort of holding them back). She had lost the battle with her mouth, allowing the tenuous trembling to become a yank at the corners, pulling her lips into a long, fishlike downwards curve. Her voice was beginning to skip like a broken record.

  “She was g--she was g-gonna adopt me…”

Katherine felt her own eyes burn and she turned to the windshield, which the rain had blurred into a muted grey painting.

Beside her, Joan spluttered and hiccuped and coughed, her chest hitching as she tried valiantly to keep speaking. But the oncoming sobs chopped her words up like vegetables under an inexperienced hand's paring knife.

  “So... S-so she t-t-took me home with h-her and m-m-made me feel so s-s-special. She l-l-let me d-do things my Mama never allowed. But n-now Miss Aragon was my Mama and I was happy. For o-one in my miserable life, I was happy!”

Katherine’s hand raised upwards to cover her mouth with more force than was necessary, sending creeping threads of pain up the bridge of her nose. Her eyes had shut tight for a moment--she realized that the rain was not what was blurring her view out the windshield.

Joan was crying openly now, her face crinkled, puffy and red, glistening with tears. Her fingers were clenched tightly on either side of her, white-knuckled. There were tracks in the velvet from where her fingernails had scraped into fists. The gasping had trailed off, but in exchange, it had taken with it any semblance of composure.

  “I was happy, Katherine.”

Katherine bluntly jabbed her thumb into the lid of her tender eye and her own tears erupted at last--they had just been waiting for an excuse to fall.

Joan, too, was spluttering even harder, fighting with every last bit of strength to keep from succumbing to the deep, chest-born sobs that were welling up and shaking her tiny body.

  “She said she loved me. ME. N-not one of the other kids, she loved me. S-she was the o-only one who did. S-she... She was gonna adopt me…”

Katherine sniffled, swiftly wiping her eyes. Joan watched her with a deeply saddened expression, then looked out at the road ahead.

  “And then--everything went wrong. Miss Aragon was dead and her blood was all over me and it was my fault.”

  “She’s alive, Joan.” Katherine said, surprised at how steady her voice was. “I promise. She’s okay.”

  “I know, but--” Joan shook her head, whimpering softly. The PTSD from the events of the prom set in fast for her, not that Katherine was really surprised. “Thank you.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you.” Joan said again. “For letting me tell you that. It--it felt good. To get it out.”

Katherine smiled slightly. “I’m glad.” She reached over and gently took Joan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Joan nodded.

  “We can pick up some more clothes for you,” Katherine said, trying to switch to a more stable topic. “So you won’t have to wear the same thing all the time.”

  “Clothes are good. Will I have a map?”

  “I have one in the glove compartment.”

  “But don’t you need it?”

  “No, don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be okay without it.”

  “...I’ll make a map for myself.”

  “Heh, all right. We can get some paper and pens, too.”

  “Walkie-talkies. We should have those, too!”

  “I’m. not sure about that.”

  “Don't you want to stay in touch?”

  “Of course.”

  “So are you gonna buy walkie-talkies?”

  “...Maybe.”

And they both laughed. For some reason, it made things feel better. Just for a little while. Even if the walkie-talkies were just a false sense of hope, because Katherine feared she wouldn’t see Joan Seymour ever again after tonight.

[ebullientbun]

Don’t Be  A Deuce Bag

Starring: tennis!Jin x Reader Genre: mildest angst if any, fluff, friends-to-lovers!au Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: someone gets hit in the balls, slight swearing, lots of tennis jargon A/N: this is originally for the Sports!AU August prompt by @btsboulangerie, but I had a feeling that I won’t be able to finish it in time yeet

Summary: You and Jin are doubles partners, though you dream of being more than that. But doubles partners communicate, and Jin has been giving you the silent treatment. You need to get to the bottom of it. 

The general public would always see tennis as some sort of elite sport, a hobby that rich people enjoy  in their free time if they weren’t on a golf course. But they never consider the level of strategy, technique, and effort that goes into playing a match in competitive tennis, thinking that it’s just for players needlessly grunting as they hit the ball or dramatically falling into a split running towards a fast ball. But you found it to be more than that.

You found a home with the people with you on the tennis court. You’ve made your first friends in high school with these people, driving to and fro from away matches to all day tournaments. You’ve spent countless hours at dawn or late at night practicing drills with each other. 

And you’ve discovered your love to be on the court. You first joined the team not expecting much, already knowing that you’ll be accepted onto the team since they were in constant need of female members, but you genuinely created a unique bond with each and every single one of them. 

Not too long after your singles match, you plop down on the bleachers next to your best friend, Sooyoung. Snatching your fourth fruit snack packet from your tennis bag, you begin fueling yourself with sugar as you watch the other ongoing matches. You brighten, nudging Sooyoung on the shoulder. “Oh my god, look at Taehyung over there, third court”. 

She turns, squealing excitedly. “He’s wearing a headband! Ugh, he’s so hot.” She leans forward to read the scoreboard, squinting. “He’s losing against Jimin, though.”

You hum. “Somehow, being frustrated is low-key making him hotter.” You watch as he wipes his forehead with a towel before tossing it on the bench; you sigh longingly. “I’d let him eat my ass like a cupcake anytime.” Sooyoung giggles at your comment, playfully shoving you in embarrassment. 

“Can you not talk about our opponent like that? You’re rooting for the wrong team,” a voice sounds from behind you. 

Kim Seokjin. Your doubles partner since you’ve joined the team and made you fall in love with the game. Instead of going through the motions, you felt a combination of excitement and anxiety during every match with him because he’s made it something to build yourself for.

You whip your head around, glaring at doubles partner. “Mind your own business, Jin. It’s legal to thirst.”

He rolls his eyes, before paying his attention back to the match on the first court. 

Your relationship with Seokjin was nothing short of incessant bickering. You first got to know each other when you were filling up the team’s water jug as a newbie, and upon struggling to hold it up as it got heavier, he had come to the rescue to help out. Your coach saw the both of you as an opportunity for a mixed doubles team, since none of the other members wanted to be part of it and you both were getting along well.  You both gave it a shot - having a position from the coach is better than being benched.

He easily gets on your nerves. He’s a gentleman, yet has a hankering of complaining. When you aim a ball too far and it lands out, suddenly he’s a know it all and tries to correct you for it. But when he makes a mistake, suddenly it’s the wind’s fault! You have to admit, he did help you with your form when you struggled with your backhand stroke back then.

All of that is tolerable when you consider the amount of synergy the both of you have on the court together. While you’re known for dominating at the net, Seokjin was known for keeping long rallies at the baseline. Was he garbage at the net? Sure. But you’ve been mixed doubles partners for the past couple years and have figured out a routine that worked. Playing with a different partner never interested you when you both knew each other’s playing styles so well. 

That, and you had a small crush on him. Only a teeny one.

You offer him one of your fruit snacks, and he happily plucks one from the pouch. “Which court are we playing on soon?”

Seokjin nods towards the other section of courts, “Court 7, after Jeon’s finished playing.”

“We have a good advantage then, he’ll be too tired after the singles match to have enough energy for our match right after,” you comment. 

Seokjin scoffs, “As if. He’s a powerhouse; he’ll just chug a Gatorade and go back at it again.” 

“Who’s his partner again?”

“Yerim, I think.”

You groan. “No way, I hate that bitch! I just played her in singles and she slices every other ball.”

Seokjin hums pensively, “At least we have that advantage of how she plays.”

You nod, crumpling up your now empty fruit snack pouch and tossing it into the trash can. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

.             

Things were not fine. 

As Seokjin predicted, Jungkook was a monster and did not resist holding back slamming the ball towards you every time. It’s a dirty tactic to aim solely for the female opponent, but luckily for you and your partner, you were more fearless to his fastballs. 

What you did not expect was cheating. 

Your match is on the third set, both sides tiring out with a close score. Seokjin and you are in the lead 4-3. Currently, Jungkook is serving to Seokjin, while you are positioned near the net. Seokjin had been rallying cross-court with Jungkook for a while, but the angles were too wide for either of you or Yerim to poach from the net. With quick strategy, Seokjin abruptly rallies the ball straight, into a wide open area that Yerim, expecting another diagonal rally, fails to block. You figure it’s a clean win on the point, but Yerim holds up her pointer finger in the air.

“Out.”

...What?

Both you and Seokjin freeze. Mid high five too. You snap your head towards her. 

“...That was in the line.” You walk closer to her at the net. 

“No,” she argues, “it was close but it landed outside the double lines.” She crosses her arms and walks over to the area near where the ball landed and points with her racket at a spot out of bounds.

Oh, hell no. She didn’t even see where the ball landed, she isn’t even facing towards it. 

You gape in disbelief, turning towards Jungkook. “Are you sure?” 

Jungkook bites his lip, looking from you and Seokjin to his partner, before replying, “Yes.”

The audacity. You could feel the steam coming out of your ears. You are this close to childishly throwing a tantrum and asking for a referee, but you stop upon feeling a firm grasp on your shoulder.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” Seokjin mutters, glaring at them for good measure. “We are not going to stoop to their level if this is how they want to play.”

“This is the third time she’s called one of our ‘in’ balls ‘out’, and we’re just gonna sit here and let that happen? Your ball was obviously within the line,” you hiss. You want to smack that snooty look off her face.

Seokjin furrows his eyebrows, frustrated as well - most of the balls Yerim called were his. “Play fair and stay calm. We don’t want to make rash mistakes and slam the next few points into the net.”

You take in a deep inhale, before huffing. Offering your doubles partner a stiff high five, you get back into position for the next point.

Jungkook serves the ball to you, noticing how you rally back but don’t approach the net immediately as you usually would. He subtly starts closing towards the net, but you internally smirk - he was going to drop a short ball on your side. 

As expected, he slices the next rally directly down the middle of the court, Seokjin frantically trying to poach the ball but missing. But you’re ready.

“Mine!” You rush towards the net, and with all of the pent up anger inside of you, you slam a forehand ball straight at Jeon Jungkook’s crotch. 

Without enough time to react, Jungkook fails to block the fast ball and crumples to the ground. “Oh fuck!”

Yerim gasps, running to him and hollering for a time out. Jungkook, in all of his beautiful and wincing glory, lays in a fetal position in the middle of the court.

You turn your body away from them so they don’t see, but more importantly so Seokjin can see you. “For you, Jin,” you wink at him with a smug smile on your face. 

Seokjin, who had mild concern for the poor boy, stares at you in bewilderment. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Then, he bursts into a chuckle and offers you a low fist bump. “That's my girl.” 

If you had known any better, you would think that his eyes were twinkling in the slightest bit. Your heart, in addition to the adrenaline, flip flops excitedly at the endearment. 

.

In the end, you both still lost.

It wasn’t too surprising, but you both still had hope that by hurting Jungkook to his friend downstairs, you would have an advantage by winning only two more games. But, no. It appears that it just fueled the rage monster that unleashed within Jeon Jungkook and you lost three games in a row. Nonetheless, you and Seokjin took it in stride, already accepting upon walking onto the court that a loss wouldn’t be too bad as long as both of you did your best. Seokjin seemed just fine when you both walked off the court after the match to report to your coach. 

.

However, now, Seokjin is a brat to you. 

It’s a regular practice day, and instead of doing warm up laps around the courts with you like he normally does, he elects to chat next to Irene instead. 

Ok, sure. Whatever. Not like you were obligated to warm up together, you suppose. You slow the pace of your lunges until Sooyoung catches up with you, falling into pace with her. 

Sooyoung, despite heaving from trying to pick up the pace with the rest of the team, cocks her head in your direction. “Oh? Why aren’t you with Seokjin?”

You shrug, sparing a glance in his direction before sighing. “I don’t know, maybe he had something to talk about with Irene.”

Sooyoung frowns, nudging you on the shoulder with her elbow. “Then don’t pout, it’s probably nothing.”

You’re about to respond when your coach blows his whistle, indicating to everyone to warm up with a partner for half court rallies. You turn and begin to walk towards Seokjin, but you pause once you see him completely ignore you and beeline straight for your team captain, Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok’s eyes widen in surprise when Seokjin approaches him, nodding carefully while briefly holding eye contact with you as Seokjin speaks with him.

“Uh,” You turn back around, grabbing Sooyoung by the wrist, “can you practice with me today?”

Sooyoung furrows her eyebrows, frowning further upon seeing your doubles partner head towards a court with Hoseok to practice. “Sure.”

As if that wasn’t weird enough, he was in a mood during the practice games as well. He didn’t even acknowledge you when you sought him out, only following you on the court as you played against your teammates. You tsk when he brushes past you to place his water bottle on the benches. 

If he wasn’t going to talk to you, you’re just going to act like nothing is happening. 

But that was becoming increasingly difficult. He wouldn’t talk strategy with you, much less offer you a high five between points, and it was messing up your flow in the game. You missed more of your serves than usual, even your second serves. Seokjin would look increasingly annoyed whenever you miss a ball, and you’re already hanging on a tight leash. 

Seokjin is getting ready to serve for the next game, and he calls your name before passing you an extra ball to hold. You try to decline, but he’s already thrown it your way. 

“Jin, can you just roll this ball to the corner?”

“Just keep it in your pockets like earlier?”

“In my pock- I don’t have pockets, Jin!” You yell back, throwing the ball back at him. “Female uniforms don’t have pockets.”

Seokjin squinted. “If you don’t have pockets, how are you holding the extra ball?”

You scoff, “We are not as blessed to have long pockets like you guys, so we stick it in our underwear!” You gleam upon seeing his face go from irritable to mortified. “That’s right, the tennis balls you’re touching? Probably has female sweat from being lodged between our hip and our underwear all the time. But guess what!” You don’t even give him time to respond. “I forgot to wear decent underwear, and unfortunately, a g-string does not hold the ball in place, so I’m having a bit of a hard time running around with a ball sliding down my shorts!”

Your teammate across the court clears his throat. “Uh… can we continue the game?” 

You hold a finger in the air, “Yeah, one sec.” You turn back to Seokjin, feeling more angry as you look at him. “And if we did have pockets, they wouldn’t even hold the ball properly. So don’t you dare complain to me about not wanting to hold the extra ball for you while you serve, you privileged asshole! I don’t know why you’re cranky today, but either talk to me about it or don’t take it out on me!”

You huff, turning back around and standing in position at the net, swallowing in awkwardness at your argument with your doubles partner. Regardless, your other teammates also slowly get back into position and the game continues with a tense atmosphere.

.

You catch Hoseok at the end of practice trying to lock the courts while juggling the box of tennis balls in his other arm. “Hey, Cap! Let me help.” You jog up to him, grabbing the box from him as he finishes locking up.

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “Thanks. I could’ve set it down but for some reason I was making it harder on myself.”

“All good, see you tomorrow at practice!” You hand him back the box and prepare to head for the girls’ locker room when you feel a tug on your shoulder.

“Actually,” Hoseok starts, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Seokjin.”

You bristle, “And what about him?”

Hoseok looks at you pointedly, “don’t give me that look. You know as my duty as team captain I have to keep you all in check, but I’ve been getting a couple of comments from some teammates that you’ve both been fighting a lot lately.” You want to interrupt but Hoseok stops you with a glare. “I know it’s none of my business to enter into people’s affairs, but this is making some of the members uncomfortable, hell, I’m uncomfortable because I don’t like practicing with Jin. That lobbying bastard.”

You chuckle, knowing how much people aren’t used to rallying with him like you’ve been for the past few years. 

Hoseok smiles, “Just talk it out with him. Please. You can probably catch him since he’s just gone to the locker room. I don’t want to have to seek you out again, but I will if I have to.”

You jokingly salute at him, making your way to the locker room again. This time in a bit of a hurry. “Aye aye, captain.”

.

You pace quickly up the stairs to the locker room, hoping that Seokjin hadn’t gone home already. Just as you reach the top, you catch him leaving the boys’ locker room at the end of the hall. “Jin! Wait up!” You perk up once he stops in his tracks, jogging faster towards him. “Hey,” you pant slightly, “can we talk?”

Seokjin quirks his mouth to the side, thinking pensively for a moment before nodding. 

You fall into step with Seokjin, trailing beside him as the both of you walk towards the exit. It was silent for the first few minutes, but those minutes were killing you. “Okay, I’m not gonna beat around the bush, why were you ignoring me today?”

Seokjin scoffs, unsurprised by your frankness. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“You’re not-oh don’t be a fucking liar now,” you hiss. “You didn’t do the warm-ups with me and you were being especially crabby during practice.”

“If anything, you’re the one that’s being crabby.” 

You gasp, “you have the nerve. You know what I’m talking about.”

Seokjin groans, readjusting the tennis bag strap on his shoulder. “Look, I can make buddies with other people on the team, too, y’know?” 

“This was different,” you whine. “What did I do wrong?”

Seokjin stops in place, forcing you to halt and stare at him. “Do you consider me as a friend?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately.

“But… only as a friend?”

Your heartbeat stops briefly. “Wh… what do you mean?”

Seokjin stands there, un-answering but intensely holding your gaze. You want to avert your eyes elsewhere, feeling too overwhelmed by his stare and the possible meanings behind his words. You nearly combust on the spot when he slowly raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You sputter, “D-Do you…?”

Seokjin smiles sadly, placing his hand back in his pocket. “I guess you could say I was jealous earlier.” Upon seeing you frown in confusion, he continues, “Before the other school left the other day, I saw Taehyung exchange numbers with you. And you… you seemed pretty into him. It was a bit frustrating to see.”

Your mouth was left gaping, opening and closing like a fish. He was jealous? So that meant, he likes you? Or does he not like your fraternizing with the enemy?

Seokjin sighs at your silence, turning to begin walking again. 

You’re stuck in place, trying to absorb this new information. But wait, he’s gone out the door. You haul ass to chase after him. 

“Wait!” You holler at him, even though he didn’t gain that much distance from him. “Stop!”

Seokjin groans loudly, “What do you want from me?” 

You catch up to him once again, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “You like me?”

Seokjin shakes his head, and you think you might cry on the spot for somehow misunderstanding him. “I can’t believe I have to confirm with you when it is so obvious.” He leans forward to flick you on the forehead. You whine, clasping sadly at your unnoticeable wound. “Yes, dummy. I like you, and I was so sure you felt the same way, but I guess I’m wrong.”

“EH??” You’re feeling a lot of emotions all over again, but on the bright side, you’re glad that the main one is happiness. 

Seokjin scratches the back of his head, unsure if your reaction to this new revelation is good or bad. “Well, Hoseok told me that maybe you just exchanged numbers as friends, so I chilled out.” He starts to fiddle with the zipper on his shirt. “But then I overheard you talking to Irene about him outside the locker rooms. I asked her earlier if you were like, serious with him or something. And she just laughed in my face.” He pouts at that.

You almost laugh, almost. “I do, though. Like you, I mean. I exchanged numbers just to do it, but I didn’t have any real feelings towards Taehyung. At least not like the ones I have for you…” It feels weird to say out loud, and you feel like your heart is pounding way too hard in your chest. You aren’t even looking at Seokjin at this point, but aimlessly staring at trees. 

You yelp as you’re harshly tugged forward, darting your eyes to the hands that grasped yours and then to the owner, who has a beaming smile on his face.

“Come on,” Seokjin chuckles, pulling you to the direction of his car in the parking lot. 

“Where are we going?”

“Our first date. I know you have nothing better to do.”

You almost kick him in the shin for that. Almost means you attempted, but his long legs maneuver too fast for you to keep up. Seokjin laughs boisterously, dodging your attacks.

Although fake-upset at him, you smile along with him, intertwining your fingers together.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, February 18, 2021

Climate Change Means Trouble for Power Grids (NYT) Huge winter storms plunged large parts of the central and southern United States into an energy crisis this week, with frigid blasts of Arctic weather crippling electric grids and leaving millions of Americans without power amid dangerously cold temperatures. The grid failures were most severe in Texas, where more than four million people woke up Tuesday morning to rolling blackouts. Separate regional grids in the Southwest and Midwest also faced serious strain. As of Tuesday afternoon, at least 23 people nationwide had died in the storm or its aftermath. Analysts have begun to identify key factors behind the grid failures in Texas. Record-breaking cold weather spurred residents to crank up their electric heaters and pushed power demand beyond the worst-case scenarios that grid operators had planned for. At the same time, a large fraction of the state’s gas-fired power plants were knocked offline amid icy conditions, with some plants suffering fuel shortages as natural gas demand spiked. Many of Texas’ wind turbines also froze and stopped working. The crisis sounded an alarm for power systems throughout the country. Electric grids can be engineered to handle a wide range of severe conditions—as long as grid operators can reliably predict the dangers ahead. But as climate change accelerates, many electric grids will face extreme weather events that go far beyond the historical conditions those systems were designed for, putting them at risk of catastrophic failure.

‘A complete bungle’: Texas’ energy pride goes out with cold (AP) Anger over Texas’ power grid failing in the face of a record winter freeze mounted Tuesday as millions of residents in the energy capital of the U.S. remained shivering with no assurances that their electricity and heat—out for 36 hours or longer in many homes—would return soon or stay on once it finally does. “I know people are angry and frustrated,” said Houston Mayor Sylvester Turner, who woke up to more than 1 million people still without power in his city. “So am I.” In all, between 2 and 3 million customers in Texas still had no power nearly two full days after historic snowfall and single-digit temperatures created a surge in demand for electricity to warm up homes unaccustomed to such extreme lows, buckling the state’s power grid and causing widespread blackouts. More bad weather, including freezing rain, began arriving Tuesday night. Making matters worse, expectations that the outages would be a shared sacrifice by the state’s 30 million residents quickly gave way to a cold reality, as pockets in some of America’s largest cities, including San Antonio, Dallas and Austin, were left to shoulder the lasting brunt of a catastrophic power failure, and in subfreezing conditions that Texas’ grid operators had known was coming.

Military recruitment (Foreign Policy) A meager job market has given military recruitment a boost around the world, the Wall Street Journal reports. In Canada, applications to join the armed services surged 37 percent over the last nine months of 2020 compared to the previous year. Australia reported a 9.9 percent annual increase in applications. The United Kingdom met its military recruitment targets for the first time in seven years and in the United States, 92 percent of eligible personnel re-enlisted, compared to just 83 percent the previous year.

Volunteer paramedics patrol streets of Venezuela’s capital (AP) Venezuela’s deepening crisis has gutted emergency ambulance services, so a group of volunteer paramedics has stepped into the void to offer life-saving help on the tough streets of Caracas. Calling themselves Angels of the Road, the volunteer corps relies on donated medical supplies and funding from international organizations. Despite receiving no paychecks, its roughly 40 paramedics are ready at a moment’s notice to jump onto motorcycles and fire up their single ambulance and race into the streets. Jonathan Quantip, 44, said he and co-founder Zuly Rodiz launched the project two years ago after watching their native Venezuela precipitously decline over years of political and social crisis. “We Venezuelans have to solve our own country’s problems,” Quantip said. “We have to use the skills we’re each good at.” The group works on a shoestring budget with nothing left over for wages, so each paramedic relies on another source of income. Some donate their off-time after working in hospitals and firehouses. Others flip burgers in fast-food restaurants.

‘We are like captives’: life in Britain’s quarantine hotels (Reuters) Mohamed Noor faces 10 days in COVID-19 quarantine in a hotel room near London’s Heathrow Airport after falling foul of new border controls because of a flight delay. “I don’t have a book. I don’t have a Koran. I don’t have nothing here,” Noor, a 55-year-old Muslim, said by phone after his arrival on Monday, a day later than planned, landed him with a 1,750-pound ($2,400) bill. In another hotel nearby, 61-year-old Sole, who declined to give her surname, said she realised too late that the new rules would kick in before she returned from visiting friends in Chile. “We are like captives in these rooms,” she said. Britain says the measures, effective since Monday, are needed to protect its COVID-19 vaccination programme and guard against new coronavirus variants. People returning from any of 33 “high-risk” countries where travel to Britain is banned must pay 1,750 pounds for a 10-day quarantine hotel package. After being taken by bus to government-contracted hotels, they must spend most of the time in their rooms and have meals delivered to their door.

Toothless travel restrictions (Foreign Policy) Irish holidaymakers have suddenly shown a keen interest in dental hygiene as they attempt to shirk strict lockdown measures to escape the bleak North Atlantic winter. Traveling for “essential medical, health or dental services” is allowed under Ireland’s coronavirus restrictions, leading to a surge in dental surgery appointments in Spain’s Canary Islands. Roberta Beccaris, a receptionist at a dental surgeon’s office on the island of Tenerife, reported taking multiple calls from prospective Irish clients, who have demanded e-mail confirmations of the bookings. Police can issue fines to rule-breaking travelers of roughly $600, although they are powerless to stop those with proof of a medical appointment. “Obviously as they are not turning up, we now understand it is just an excuse for a holiday,” she told RTÉ radio.

Spain betting on vaccine passports to revive summer tourism (Reuters) Spain hopes the introduction of vaccination passports combined with pre-travel COVID-19 testing will allow British tourists to return to Spanish destinations this summer, a tourism ministry source told Reuters on Tuesday. The government has no plans to introduce quarantines on foreign visitors, and was also counting on a wider agreement to be hammered out between Europe and Britain to remove restrictions on non-essential travel, the official added. Over 2020, as global travel was dramatically curtailed by the coronavirus pandemic, foreign tourism to Spain—one of the world’s most visited countries—fell 80% to just 19 million visitors, a level not seen since 1969.

China steps up online controls with new rule for bloggers (AP) Ma Xiaolin frequently wrote about current affairs on one of China’s leading microblogging sites, where he has 2 million followers. But recently, he said in a post, the Weibo site called and asked him not to post original content on topics ranging from politics to economic and military issues. “As an international affairs researcher and a columnist, it looks like I can only go the route of entertainment, food and beverage now,” the international relations professor wrote on Jan. 31. Ma, who often posted on developments in the Mideast, is one of many popular influencers working within the constraints of China’s heavily censored web who is finding that their space to speak is shrinking even further with the latest policy changes and a clean-up campaign run by the country’s powerful censors. Beginning next week, the Cyberspace Administration of China will require bloggers and influencers to have a government-approved credential before they can publish on a wide range of subjects. Some fear that only state media and official propaganda accounts will get permission. The latest move is in line with ever more restrictive regulations under President Xi Jinping that constrict an already narrow space for discourse. The Chinese leader has made “digital sovereignty” a central concept of his rule, under which authorities have set limits and increased control of the digital realm.

Japan’s ruling party wants more women at meetings—unless they talk (Reuters) After a sexism row sparked by Tokyo Olympics chief’s saying women talked too much at meetings, Japan’s ruling party wants women at key meetings—but only if they don’t talk. The ruling Liberal Democratic Party has proposed a new plan that allows five female lawmakers to join the party’s key meetings as observers. Toshihiro Nikai, the party’s 82-year-old secretary general, said on Tuesday that he heard criticism that the party’s board is male-dominated, but added that the board members are elected. But it is important for the party’s female members to “look” at the party’s decision-making process, he said. Those female observers can’t speak during the meetings, but can submit opinions separately to the secretariat office, the daily newspaper Nikkei reported. Requiring female observers at meetings to remain quiet has drawn criticism that the party is out of touch.

Big protests across Myanmar as UN expert fears violence (AP) Demonstrators in Myanmar gathered Wednesday in their largest numbers so far to protest the military’s seizure of power, as a U.N. human rights expert warned that troops being brought to Yangon and elsewhere could signal the prospect for major violence. U.N. rapporteur Tom Andrews said he was alarmed by reports of soldiers being transported into Yangon, the biggest city. “In the past, such troop movements preceded killings, disappearances, and detentions on a mass scale,” he said in a statement issued late Tuesday by the U.N. Human Rights office in Geneva. “I am terrified that given the confluence of these two developments­—planned mass protests and troops converging—we could be on the precipice of the military committing even greater crimes against the people of Myanmar.” Wednesday’s turnout in Yangon appeared to be one of the biggest so far in the city. Protesters have adopted a tactic of blocking off streets from security forces by parking vehicles in groups with their hoods up and the excuse of having engine trouble.

Anti-Chinese Sentiment in Myanmar (Foreign Policy) Widespread protests against the Feb. 1 military coup in Myanmar have taken on an increasingly anti-Chinese tone, with rallies held outside the Chinese Embassy in Yangon, Myanmar and calls growing for boycotts of Chinese goods and services. Misinformation is spreading, including rumors that Chinese soldiers have infiltrated Myanmar and that Chinese software will be used to set up a Great Firewall. On balance, it seems unlikely that China supported the coup, especially given its relatively good relationship with the National League for Democracy. Anti-Chinese sentiment has a long history in Myanmar, both on the national level and at the local level, due to conflicts among ethnic Chinese communities and others. Chinese investment projects have been major flash points, especially the Myitsone Dam, which was suspended in 2011 following the move toward democracy. Locals have decried the environmental impacts and forced relocations associated with such projects, while Beijing has been keen to get them restarted. There is also growing anti-Chinese feeling across Southeast Asia. Many young people see parallels between the 2019 Hong Kong protests and their own resistance against local authoritarianism. China’s tactless authoritarianism and resentment toward outsiders contributes to that solidarity, but the main driver is the willingness of local autocrats and the uber-rich to suck up to China for their own ends. That can mean, as in Myanmar’s case, that China is blamed even when it hasn’t actually done much.

Sidelining MBS (Foreign Policy) The United States will downgrade its engagement with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman as part of the Biden administration’s drive to “recalibrate” relations with the kingdom, White House press secretary Jen Psaki said on Tuesday. President Joe Biden will instead conduct diplomacy through Saudi King Salman bin Abdulaziz, dealing a blow to the crown prince’s standing in Washington.

Gunmen kidnap at least 20 boys from Nigerian boarding school (Washington Post) Gunmen stormed a north-central Nigerian boarding school early Wednesday, kidnapping at least 20 teenage boys, the local governor said—the second mass abduction of children to shake the country in three months. The attackers raided the Government Science Secondary School in the town of Kagara before sunrise and dragged the classmates into the dense woods. Three teachers and 12 family members also vanished into the night, Abubakar Sani Bello, the governor of Niger state, said on television. Schools in the region have been shuttered. Helicopters hovered over the treetops as security forces continued their search and, by midmorning, authorities were still counting the missing.

[lovingalexlots]

Fictional Rec Friday (v.6): Evil Overlord, Inc.

So this is a week late cause stupid me thought “Hey, why not reread this entirely and make notes for it’s FRF” two days before it was due to post... it’s 137k and I was about to go on a family trip/vacation for the whole weekend.... 

I’m bad at making decisions XD

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Title: Evil Overlord, Inc. 

Author:  Footloose (idk if they even have a tumblr​), mushroomtale ( @mushroomtale​)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Tags:  Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, evil overlord, BAMF Merlin, BAMF Arthur, Slow Build

Ships: Merlin/Arthur and a bit of  Leon/Morgana

Words: 137,922  (147,261 if you include the bonus features/extras)

Chapters: 5

Published: 8-24-2017

Summary:

Merlin is a recent graduate with a double doctorate in metaphysics and physics. Arthur is a low-level paper pusher with a desk in the sub-basement of MI5. They live in a world with ridiculous laws and restrictions against anyone who might be supernatural in any way, shape, or design.

Merlin has huge debts looming over this head, a few quid left in his bank account, and no job prospects. Arthur is pushing thirty, in a dead-end job with no chances of promotion to fieldwork agent, and is thoroughly bored with his life.

One ill-advised Craigslist advert, five pushy mates, one nosy all-knowing sister, and a hacked email account later, Merlin and Arthur take the world by storm.

(Or, more precisely, they take over the world.)

___________________

If you like “Modern supernatural stuffs are common to the general public” tropes, then you’ll LOVE this! (Also see: Arthur in glasses and Nerdy Merlin)

Amazing Writing featuring: humor that will have you dying (I’d almost woken up family members while reading Footloose’s work at ungodly hours of the morning XD), Emotional moments that will make you weep, A+ Sass master comebacks, and Descriptions that make it feel as if you’re there!

Another bonus is that side characters get a front row and people of this are all so well written.. I mean...  

Will. 

Period. 

Just... 

Will being there. I love Merlin’s sassy BFF Will in fanfictions. He should’ve gotten more time in the show, fite me

And no one can forget our resident baby-faced Druid, Mordred!  A chill, best bud Druid Mordred gives me life, cause that boy had so much potential and Merlin fucked it up cause he’s bad at making decisions (I still love my lil chaotic sorcerer/manservant tho)

*gets shoved out of the way by a handsome yet scruffy man*

*man winks at camera*

*blonde gentleman drags scruff guy away but scruff still manages a flirty goodbye wiggly fingered wave*

Ah yes, let’s not forget our suave lil play boy Gwaine, whom I love to bits <3 His back and forth with Arthur never fails to leave me rolling XD

Ugh, and not just the side characters are well done, but Merlin and Arthur themselves!! The story is told in switching POV between Merlin and Arthur and it’s so freaking on point it makes me weep

AND AND if well written characters aren’t enough, there’s A++ realistic and interesting world building... just... yes thank you please go on

If excellent writing hasn’t pulled you in yet, may I point you to the art that mushroom has yet again hit a four-run out of the park with yet again. 

I mean... these are are just two of them, but they appear throughout the chapters: 

For more art and for Mushroom’s fanmix, check THIS OUT which is all part of the story’s SERIES which includes a really good timestamp for everything and the website design that Mushroom made for EOI’s website UwU

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Sadly, I don’t have any merch for this story, but I do have some for Despite Everything, the Stars by mushroom and polomonkey (another amazing writer up there with footloose) and is planned to also get it’s own FRF posting in the future!