#catch me with a red string board after graduation trying to finally make this all make sense so i can finally write this brainrot au

[theoriginalcrossjumper]

current mood: repeatedly banging my head into the wall because of animes that have Major Important Events happening over the span of decades before the "main story" even starts, but have NO ACTUAL OFFICIAL TIMELINE for when these Major Important Events ACTUALLY HAPPEN, forcing you to dive SO DEEP into reddit pages (and manga panels and anime screenshots and wiki pages and character data booklets) that you wind up with a master's degree in that anime JUST so you can piece together what MIGHT be a semi-viable timeline of historical events in the show that STILL has holes in it because the actual show decided "timeline? what timeline? we work on dramatic timing alone lol" was a reasonable organizational method.

if this seems very pointed and specific, it's BECAUSE IT IS.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: working a full time job + part time job tutoring english + applying for scholarships + still having free time left is a lot harder than i thought it would be. which is my way of saying this chapter should've been done a week ago lol.

i call this my goodbye chapter b/c goodbyes are made.

***

As Nesta brings the last of her things into the cabin, Azriel takes the last of his stuff out.

Standing beside Cassian, Nesta watches Azriel shut the trunk over the final box of his belongings. With all the extra stuff he stole from the cabin, it almost seemed like everything wouldn’t fit into his tiny car, but here he is. Ready to go.

He dusts off his leather jacket and approaches her and Cassian. “This is goodbye,” he says, coming to a stop before them.

Nesta once thought this would be the happiest day of her life, second to her wedding day. She should have predicted that her rightful joy would be extinguished by sentimentality.

Cassian claps Azriel on the shoulder, the two brothers having already said their goodbyes in private. Still, Nesta can see a little sorrow in Cassian’s eyes, as if he also got too used to having Az around all the time.

Azriel, the dick, reveals nothing through his eyes. Neither does Nesta.

The two of them look at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then he comes in to hug her. Nesta hugs him back, arms crossing around his broad back, but it has the same stiffness as two Barbie dolls being made to kiss each other.

When Azriel tries to pull away, Nesta clutches him to her with surprising strength. “I know about the picture,” she says lowly in his ear.

“Too late to take it back now.” She might feel him smile on top of her hair.

Nesta lets go of Azriel swiftly, having had enough physical contact with him to last a year. “Drive safe, so Elain can find you in one piece,” she orders.

Azriel grimaces at that, reminded of what waits for him in Velaris. Whatever Elain decides to give him, it’ll probably be deserved.

“I’ll get going then.” Az starts backing away, and Nesta hears Cassian sniffle. She looks toward her boyfriend in concern, but he circles his huge arms around her shoulders and pulls her back to his chest before she can catch him getting teary-eyed.

They watch Azriel get in his car and drive away. Nesta waves until the car disappears fully into the thickness of the surrounding trees, waves until her arms are too tired to keep going.

Once Az is gone, she turns in Cassian’s embrace and jumps up into his arms. Her legs hook around his hips and his hands fit themselves under her thighs. She smiles and tells him, “Let’s go home.”

Ten minutes later, they find themselves sitting in the silence of the kitchen. It’s the quiet of a house adjusting to a missing person, and Azriel’s absence is tangible.

Cassian is the first to break the silence. “Do you think he’s past city limits by now?” he asks as he stirs his coffee.

“No.” Nesta turns the page of her book, focused on reading. “Not if he stopped by Gwyn’s before leaving.”

She hears Cassian stop stirring. “What does that mean?” he says.

Nesta looks up at him and shrugs. “It means he probably wants to say goodbye to her.”

***

“One charge of assault, one for battery, and one huge lawsuit against my company,” Rhys reads aloud from the file in front of him.

Cassian waves a hand in dismissal. “Just make it go away like you always do.”

Rhysand’s near-violet eyes narrow with barely restrained rage. “Cassian. You shattered an employee’s hand.”

“Hey, O’Connell.” Cassian strolled up to him early last Monday morning. The underground parking lot was near empty at this hour, since most workers wouldn’t come in until nine. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

O’Connell looked up from getting his bag out of his car, clearly surprised to see Cassian willingly make small talk with him. “It was good,” he answered lightly. “You left Velaris early, though.”

“Yeah, about that.” Cassian came to a stop by O’Connell’s car and held out his hand, catching the car door before it could be shut. “I had to take my girlfriend home.”

O’Connell looked confused, but nodded along. “That’s nice. Can you—?” He gestured at the car door, indicating to Cassian to let go.

Cassian didn’t. “What hand did you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“When you touched her,” Cassian clarified. “What hand did you use when you touched her?”

O’Connell’s look of confusion morphed into one of contempt. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

“Nesta Archeron.” Cassian straightened up, hand tightening over the top of the car door. “Your old college friend.” Realization dawned across O’Connell’s face, but he still hadn’t answered Cassian’s question.

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll have to take my pick.” Cassian clicked his tongue in disappointment. “You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” He snatched up O’Connell’s left hand, and in a flash O’Connell was pressed up against the car, his hand pinned to the doorframe.

“Hey, wait, what are you—” O’Connell protested.

The sound of a car door slamming shut on a hand was louder than Cassian expected. It was the crunch of bones and muscle followed by immediate screaming.

“It could have been worse,” Cassian said flatly over O’Connell’s cries of pain. “It could have been your tongue, since you like talking shit so much.”

Cassian blinks out of the memory. “So what if I did?” he shrugs in response to Rhys.

“You are a member of my inner circle,” Rhysand fumes. “Keith O’Connell is a respected figure in our industry and a higher up from Vanserra and Co., and the head of our Milan outpost, but you saw fit to take out justice on him without asking me first.”

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“That is not up to you!” Rhysand jabs a finger at Cassian. “What will our shareholders think when they hear about this? What will the board members say?”

Cassian is starting to get irritated now. “They won’t find out, because you won’t tell them,” he says firmly. “We both know you’ve covered up worse things to fit your agenda, but it’s a problem if I don’t want a creepy bastard working under my jurisdiction?”

Having learned most of his business tricks from his father, Rhys is no perfectly clean CEO himself. He would’ve done far worse to O’Connell if it was Feyre in Nesta’s place, and he would have ended it all with a speech about how abusers and their sympathizers have no place at Night Court Inc.

The thought only inflames Cassian more; maybe he’s still riding off the anger of O’Connell making Nesta cry.

Tempering his feelings, he tells Rhys, “When you’re done shutting O’Connell up,” because Rhys would do it no matter how angry he pretended to be, “make sure Nesta never finds out about this.”

Rhys sits back in his chair, a bitter smirk pulling at his mouth. “Afraid she’ll be horrified of what a brute her sweet boyfriend is?”

Cassian nearly snorts at the image of Nesta recoiling at a broken hand. She’d probably call him weak for not shoving O’Connell into a ravine. “No,” he answers tiredly. “It’s not violence that offends her, but if she finds out it was in her name… I don’t want to put that on her shoulders.” Which is a shame, because in any other situation Nesta would love to hear about the unfortunate circumstances that led to O’Connell quitting his job.

Rhys lets loose a long sigh. “Damn, you both scare me.” After a few moments, he asks, “Now what are we going to do about Milan?”

***

Life after moving in with Cassian passes by quickly, and before Nesta knows it, she’s completed her second year of law school.

As for the boys who were some of her first friends and drinking companions, back when Nesta barely knew the definition of a friend—today they complete their final year of law school.

Nesta fans herself with the pamphlet she was handed at the beginning of the graduation ceremony, trying to stop the harsh morning sun from melting the makeup off her face. The audience is packed like sardines onto one huge field, and the announcer on stage hasn’t even reached the last names that start with D. Eris, Justinian, and Isaac are all near the bottom of the alphabet.

“Do we really need to be here today?” Nesta murmurs to Emerie, squirming in her metal foldout chair.

Sitting at her right, Emerie throws her a scolding look. “Don’t be like that. We’re never going to see these guys again.”

Nesta sincerely doubts that, considering how none of the guys are moving more than a few hours away. But her uterus is raising hell right now, even though her new meds have put a stop to her periods. Paired with the ache in her back from these terrible chairs, she’s about to call it quits and go straight home.

“Nesta!”

She whips her head to the left, finding Elain striding through the row of chairs to reach the empty seat beside her.

Like watching the Red Sea part, everyone in the row pulls their feet back and makes themselves as small as possible so Elain can have a clear walkway.

Nesta moves the purse she used to save Elain’s seat aside, and Elain drops her butt onto the little foldout chair like it’s a throne.

“A little warm for an outdoor ceremony, don’t you think?” Elain fans her face.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here, you know,” Nesta says.

“Eris made me. I haven’t talked to him since I broke up with his brother, but I think he wants to look like he has a lot of friends here.”

“Yeah, that checks out,” Emerie mutters from Nesta’s other side.

Elain seems to take notice of Emerie for the first time, and her Southern charm turns on like a switch. “Oh my, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Elain introduces herself and Emerie does the same, smiling and nodding politely, and Nesta can’t even decide if she likes this crossover because she’s too busy massaging her aching abdomen.

A string of “Excuse me, sorry!”s go up in the row they’re sitting in, and a moment later a familiar face plops down on the chair to Emerie’s right.

Gwyn leans over Emerie and holds a bottle of Advil out to Nesta. “This is all I could find in my car, babe.”

Nesta releases a sigh of relief and snatches the bottle. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Elain’s gaze moves to the medicine, then to Gwyn. “You must be Gwyn.” She offers a smile. “I’m Nesta’s sister, Elain.”

Gwyn’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and Nesta realizes she should have warned Gwyn that Elain would be here.

Going off how Gwyn’s been acting the last few weeks, Nesta can only assume that she influenced Azriel’s final decision to move away, whether directly or indirectly. Nesta doesn’t even know much about what happened between the two of them during their weird sex deal, considering that she and Gwyn promised to never discuss such horrible things with each other.

All Nesta knows is that Azriel is Gwyn’s closest male friend, and close friends that have also slept together probably don’t want to bump into each other’s exes without warning.

“Are you here to see Eris graduate, too?” Elain asks.

Gwyn looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Who? Oh—no, I’m just here so we can drive to brunch together after.” Her voice gets quieter with each word, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nice to meet you,” she adds in a murmur, her face a furious shade of red. She quickly looks forward at the stage as if the graduation ceremony is the most fascinating thing ever.

Elain doesn’t note the odd behavior, instead refocusing on the Advil pills that Nesta pops into her mouth and swallows dry. “Are you still hurting?” Elain says, furrowing her thin brows. “I thought you got that problem fixed.”

Nesta tries not to snort as she accepts the bottle of water that Emerie wordlessly passes her. “You can’t ‘fix’ endometriosis, Elain. That’s not how it works.”

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to know that?”

Nesta slides unamused hooded eyes to her sister. Before she can retort anything, Emerie elbows her hard. “Look, it’s Isaac!”

She refocuses on the ceremony, cheering and clapping half-heartedly as Isaac takes the stage. It’s not that she doesn’t care about her study buddies; it’s just that she feels like shit right now.

Justinian follows suit a few minutes later, grinning and waving when he spies Emerie cheering for him. Gwyn is distracted on her phone through all of it.

The Advil has finally started to kick in when Nesta murmurs to Elain, “How is Azriel adjusting to being back in the city?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Elain answers innocently. “I haven’t seen much of him since he returned.”

“Just spill it,” Nesta says. “Azriel wouldn’t tell me anything, so I’m assuming he’s humiliated about it.”

Elain sighs, delicately pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “He came to me to talk. I heard him out, and then we went back to his apartment for coffee, and then I took my fabric scissors and cut out the crotch from all his pants.”

Nesta raises a brow. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

Nesta shrugs, turning back to face the stage. “It’s good enough. I could have done worse.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me, isn’t it?” Elain snips.

Nesta won’t say it, but she supposes she is a little happy for Elain. In fact, she thinks this might be the first time Elain has stood up for herself instead of letting Nesta handle it.

After the ceremony is over, Emerie goes off to congratulate Isaac and Justinian. Gwyn follows so she can get away from Elain, and Nesta, being sweaty and overstimulated and more than ready to leave, settles for waving her arms and grinning at the boys from across the field.

She’s about to say goodbye to Elain and make a beeline for the parking lot when she spots a head of shining red hair approaching her. No—make that two heads.

Eris looked unbearably snooty as he received his degree, likely smug with the fact that he has a comfortable job at a family friend’s corporate law firm lined up for him after he passes the Bar. Nesta admits that she’s a little disappointed in him: after all his talk of working hard and being the smartest person in the room, he ended up riding his father’s coattails to a disgustingly high salary. But maybe that is hard work for him, considering that there was such a ruckus in the Vanserra family when he chose to go into law instead of business.

As for Lucien… Well, Nesta really has no idea what the kid does, but she knows he looks good, better than the last time she saw him. An early summer tan makes him glow in comparison to his brother, while lean forearms are revealed under the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He looks comfortable in a way he wasn’t at Thanksgiving all those months ago.

Even with his ex standing just a few feet away.

“Elain,” Lucien greets her with a foxlike smile.

Elain rolls her eyes in response and turns to Eris. “Congratulations on graduating, hun. Now that we’re even, kindly delete my number from your phone and never call me again.”

Even? Nesta raises a brow, wondering what that could possibly mean.

“I take it this is goodbye?” Eris tells her.

“I’m already leaving,” Elain says sweetly. She blows a kiss at Eris, then Nesta. “Feel better soon,” she chirps at her, before striding away in her pastel pink heels.

Very jealous of Elain getting to escape before she can, Nesta calls after her, “Hot date to catch?” She’s wearing the signature perfume she usually does when meeting with a man.

Elain tosses over her shoulder, “Something like that.” Her purse swings as she disappears around a corner to the parking lot.

Nesta watches her go with envy, and when she turns back she finds Eris already looking at her. Meanwhile, Lucien still has his eyes glued to the spot where Elain disappeared.

“You feel sick?” Eris asks her.

“No thank you, I have a boyfriend,” Nesta replies on instinct.

Eris scoffs once in indignation, then twice. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says with disbelief. “I can care about my friends, you know.”

“You want her,” Lucien mutters.

Nesta’s eyes snap to Lucien, who seems to be acknowledging her presence for the first time today. “And what do you want?” She tilts her head at him, intrigued at having a new playmate. He’s less predictable than Eris, at the very least.

Lucien looks at her and offers a sheepish smile. “Nothing you can give me.”

Eris rolls his eyes at the both of them, clearly regretting bringing his brother along with him. “I’m already bored of this conversation,” he laments. “I’m out; the D.A. is here and I want to say hi. Find me when you’re done, punk.” Eris bonks Lucien on the head with his rolled up diploma and starts walking away, only pausing to extend a mocking bow to Nesta. “We’re not over yet, Archeron,” he calls as he leaves.

Now it’s Nesta’s and Lucien’s turn to roll their eyes.

With only the two of them left, Nesta feels obliged to ask awkwardly, “So… how’ve you been?”

Lucien’s gaze slides to her. “I didn’t know you were Elain’s sister,” he says.

She huffs a laugh. “I didn’t know you were her ex at first, either. Does it matter?”

Lucien’s mouth turns down in thought, but he doesn’t answer her question. “I’m doing good,” he says in response to her former question instead. “I’ve been living the nomad life, traveling around with friends, roadtripping in a van.”

But would you come home for Elain? Nesta can’t help but wonder.

She didn’t know Lucien had dated Elain until after her first meeting with him, but even then it had been something of a throwaway detail. Elain dates lots of guys, and falls in love with even more of them. She seemed to barely remember Lucien’s name when Nesta first brought it up in front of her.

But for some inexplicable reason, Nesta genuinely likes Lucien. A part of her recognizes something similar in a part of him, and it makes her sad to imagine him being stuck on a girl who won’t think about him twice.

“Take my advice,” Nesta tells him bluntly, “and move on if you haven’t yet. Staring after Elain when she already broke up with you will get you nowhere.” Elain isn’t the type to ever look back, and she never falls for the same man twice.

Lucien just looks at Nesta with a blank face. “I broke up with her,” he says.

Nesta’s mouth falls open.

“And,” he adds, “I was staring at her ass.” He starts walking backwards to his brother, giving Nesta an innocent grin as he leaves. “It was nice meeting again. See you in another six months.”

Nesta is dumbfounded watching him go, not knowing what to do with this new knowledge. As far as she knows, no one has ever broken up with Elain except for Azriel—and that ended in Az losing all of his pants.

It only occurs to Nesta that she shouldn’t have let Lucien get away with that ass comment when Emerie and Gwyn suddenly appear at her side, each of them interlocking an arm with hers. “You feeling better?” Emerie inquires cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

Nesta nods slowly, forcefully putting Lucien Vanserra and his too-sly demeanor out of her mind. He isn’t her problem right now. Summer is already here with a vengeance, and she’ll only have so much free time with the people she loves most. So she chooses to focus only on them.

Tugging her friends closer and squeezing their arms, Nesta asks, “Where are we eating?”

***

a/n: this needs sooo much more editing lol i could have done a lot more with this chapter if i wasn’t constantly tired and pressed for free time. sorry y’all :/

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes@readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[wh6res]

taeil — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. soulmates are connected by a red string.

synopsis. taeil thinks the whole system is bullshit. he needs to take matters into his own hands.

warnings. tread cautiously. swearing, mentions of death, blood, mentions of kidnapping, violence, turning a 'lil dubcon near the end, severe stockholm syndrome, manipulation 

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life. 

thank you to. sexeh sam @yukwonghei, cutie charlie @dundun-baby, and baby rina @greenish-taro for beta-reading!

since he was a kid, he’s fantasized about meeting his soulmate. creating scenario after scenario of how he’d meet ‘the one’ as he had cheesily addressed and had absolutely freaked when he finally saw the red string tied around his right wrist on his 20th birthday—courtesy of the soulmate rules of the universe, where one will finally be able to see the string tied around their body once they’ve come of age. 

for years before he met that other soul who’s destined to be with him, taeil would stare at the red thread lying across the floor, disappearing under the gap of his door and out to the world unknown. he’d be so distracted, so aloof and in his own world as he anticipates the long-awaited day until his professor calls him out—“moon! do yourself a favor and stop daydreaming!”

until his friends snap him out of it—“thinking of them again? really?”

until his parents shake him out of his thoughts—“don’t worry, i bet they’ll love you!”

sometimes he just loved staring at the string, it was something so measly as a bunch of threads intricately woven together yet it held such a symbol in today’s world. call him lovesick or stupid but was it really wrong to feel excited? taeil’s even betting the person on the other side of this string is just as excited as he was, if not more. 

in the man’s eyes, the strings are a symbol of something more than love—it symbolized the person the universe has created especially for him and no one else. 

taeil can’t even imagine a world without these strings. how difficult it would be, to love and invest in someone who will only end up breaking your heart? no, the strings also meant reassurance. 

assurance that he won’t get hurt. 

an assurance of faithfulness. 

he had only been a wide-eyed fresh grad looking for some place to intern when it happened. like a scene right out of a cheesy romance movie—he felt the persistent tugs of the string before finally meeting his soulmate. well, using the word meet to describe the whole ordeal is a huge stretch because it was more of a holy shit, is that my soulmate? rather than a hi, i'm your soulmate, taeil!

he merely saw the back of her poised figure but taeil’s heart felt like it wanted to explode, his emotions a mess and feeling everything to the extremes. nervous. scared. anxiety. happiness. excitement—it was all coming at him like bullets. 

as taeil stared at her back, walking away, johnny kept shoving him forward, encouraging him to finally approach the person he’s been waiting for ever since that soulmate string appeared around his pinky. 

but he couldn’t—not because he was so anxious he’d accidentally vomit the 4-cheese whopper he had for lunch but due to the line of people trailing behind his soulmate like a bunch of baby ducks to their mom. the thought of coming up to his soulmate and introducing himself in front of all those people?

romantic, maybe, but taeil doesn’t have the stomach to do that. 

he remembers how much johnny had wolf whistled, unbelieving of the fact his friend managed to snag the possible heir to the company they’re attending an interview in as his soulmate. 

“lucky little asshole,” johnny muttered. 

taeil had been experiencing the post-effects of seeing his soulmate that he just weakly punched johnny’s arm for the heck of it. he probably didn’t even hear the name his younger friend had called him. taeil’s mind is clouding over, no thoughts in his head but the white polo shirt she wore, sleeves neatly rolled up, and the black pencil skirt hugging her legs and making her ass look so plump. 

focus. he needs to focus on the interview right now or else he won’t even have the chance to work here and officially meet her. everything the interviewer asked passed through his head like paper planes in a classroom, shamelessly asking the woman sitting before him to repeat the question, too busy reveling about how their soulmate story would be the cliché office-love. not that taeil minds, he’d love going to work together—

two weeks later, johnny receives an email of acceptance. taeil doesn’t.

the man nearly threw his laptop away out of sheer disbelief and anger. okay, sure, maybe he could’ve done better in the interview but he graduated with latin honors in college! and from a prestigious college at that. he shouldn’t even be applying as a mere intern with the skill set he had yet he went with it because he’d always dreamed of working there. 

and now knowing his soulmate is possibly someone who holds a high position in the company? everything just kept getting better and better for moon taeil. 

except for that fucking email—pft, or lack thereof. how can they not accept him when he’s more capable than johnny, anyway? for fuck’s sake! taeil doesn’t even ask that guy for rent and he’s so thick-skinned that he stayed up to this day and freeloaded off taeil’s food and shelter. 

the absolute unfairness of the situation makes taeil’s blood reach a fever point. he’s completely lossed it, leading him to spit “get the fuck out!” to the other male occupant in the apartment with eyes glaring and lips pulled into a nasty sneer. 

johnny’s never seen taeil this upset before and decided that he’d be better off abiding by the older man’s wishes instead of contradicting it. 

no. no. no. this can’t be happening. if taeil doesn’t work there, with her, all his sweet fantasies won’t come true and god forbid she ends up falling for another person in the company. 

anyone would be naturally drawn to taeil’s soulmate. in his eyes, she’s a goddess in the flesh. taeil doesn’t even need to see her face, from the few seconds he saw a glimpse of her, her presence and allure in itself is already eye-catching. the way her low ponytail swished from side to side as she walked, her back straight and head held high. 

taeil needs to see her again. maybe if she finds out he’s her soulmate she’ll put a good word in and he’ll get hired. 

yeah. yeah, that’s a good plan. 

“please get out of my office or i’ll call security.”

or not.

“no, wait. but i just said i’m your soulmate!” to further prove his point, he even raises up his pinky and sure enough the other end of the string is tied around hers. the incessant pull is there and if not for her sharp cold eyes anchoring him to the ground, taeil would’ve long been soaring high in cloud nine. 

“and i said i don’t care,” she snaps just as her fingers sneakily pressed a button in her phone. “i have a fiancé. the whole soulmate bullshit doesn’t apply to rich people. so for the fucking last time, get out of my office.”

“but—”

the double doors of the vice president’s office bounces off the walls when two burly guards barge in. dressed in a white long sleeves and those heavy tinted shades of glasses that taeil hates. the two men waste no time in hooking their arms underneath the smaller, frail man as he thrashes against their arms. 

“how can you not care about your soulmate?!” taeil can feel the beginning licks of the flames eating up his whole world as everything comes crashing down before his very eyes. “i’ve been—i’ve been waiting my whole life for you and this is how you treat me?!” 

he doesn’t know what hurts more, the scratch in his throat as he screamed with all his might or the stoic look written on her face as the guards haul him away. 

when johnny heard the news he’d never felt so sorry for his friend. rumors that initially circulated only between the executive board members had spread and trickled down to the common folk on the lower levels. johnny making it a mission to find out, had extracted himself from his usual cheery and extroverted self to blend in with the background. taeil has yet to talk to him after he got kicked out, so asking his friend—or ex-friend?—about what happened is out of the question. 

but like any other breed of rumor, the tale of their vice president’s soulmate barging in her office is ever changing through each mouth that tells the story. johnny doesn't know what to believe in. he’s been trying to put off a meeting with the older man ever since he started crashing in taeyong’s apartment instead. not that taeil himself even tried reaching out to johnny, anyway. 

so why should he, when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong?

but there’s a nagging voice at the back of johnny’s head. his conscience isn’t too loud but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there and it doesn’t need excessive volumes to be heard. all it takes is a second of distraction from the paperwork he does, attention straying from the task at hand, and his body will automatically be wracked with guilt. 

knowing how much taeil had waited for his soulmate to come to his life, knowing how taeil can readily give everything up for his soulmate without even meeting them yet… and now knowing taeil just got the worst ever rejection in his entire life?

johnny can’t possibly imagine the pain he’s going through. is he really going to choose now out of all times to be petty because taeil kicked him out when he didn’t even bother asking johnny for anything in return during his stay in the apartment?

so when taeil finally contacted him, the sketchyness of what he had asked for flew right over johnny’s head. rational thoughts flying out the window because taeil needs him, he should his friend after everything taeil did for him—

“hey, uhm… i need insider’s information, can you do that for me?”

you shook your head at the long story johnny told you. tuffs of your hair have escaped the intricate pigtails taeil has put your hair up in earlier before he left for work. he’s always hated having your hair messy, but at the moment you couldn’t find yourself to care. 

“i wouldn’t put it past taeil’s original soulmate…” you think aloud, mouth speaking before you can stop yourself as you stare disdainfully at the dulled string wrapped around your pinky—it lost its divine red glow after your captor had cut it off on the same day he whisked you away.

ironic, how easy it was to destroy something so important.

you backtracked, realizing the gravity of what you said before looking up at your captor’s friend. johnny doesn’t look all too impressed and he sighs at the pleading look in your eyes. please, don’t tell him.

“i guess you’re somewhat right…” he gives in, coursing his fingers through his hair. “taeil had been… very passionate on finding his soulmate. but i mean, come on, why’d you even marry someone who isn’t your soulmate? i don’t blame taeil for doing what he did to them.”

johnny ignores the way your breath hitches and your body halts all movement. “what—what did he do?”

“paid them a ‘lil visit after gathering enough resources from someone on the inside,” his face stoic, voice monotone. johnny doesn’t like talking about this one. “he studied their schedules, where they live, where they work, how they get to work, what time they sleep, what time they wake. then just one day…” 

he drags a finger across his neck.

“oh.” 

pathetically, it was all you can say. why did you even bother to ask, anyway? if taeil had been willing to exert force just to keep you in line, then he has the stomach for whatever gruesome deaths he subjected his soulmate and her fiancé to.

you nibble on your lip as you stare at the knot of thread lying on the floor. you don’t see the need to wear the collar wrapped around your neck when that knot is good enough a reminder that you’re now bound to taeil. that he’s fucked around with your destiny and decided he’ll have you out of all people. 

its hard to believe taeil once almost worshipped the soulmate bonds, not when all he’s ever done is look at it like it's the bane of his existence and calling it a curse to humanity.

“do you know that you’re—”

“that i’m the 5th? yeah, i know. i saw all the knots on his string.” you defeatedly say, a vivid image of the knots spaced across his string like tophies. “taeil doesn’t like me staring at them, though.”

and you yourself didn’t like staring at them. you never thought something so small and insignificant can mean something so sinister. the knots on his string acting like a body counter. will he get sick of you one day and you’ll just be another knot on his string?

“you’re nothing like his soulmate—i’m not insulting you or anything, i’m just saying the truth. the past girls all had at least something in common with her but you… nothing. not even your hair shines like hers, and that’s even after taeil has taken good care of you.”

this doesn’t soothe you in any sense and before you can open your mouth to retort, the familiar beeping of the code getting punched into the keypad cuts you off. 

taeil stood in the entrance as he shrugged off his coat, his polo crinkled at some areas and pieces of his hair had escaped that slicked back hairstyle. 

“you’re home early…”

your blood runs cold when he doesn’t even offer you a glance, skipping you out and immediately addressing johnny. “i thought i told you to go home already after delivering the food.”

you admire the way johnny’s eyes roll. must be nice not to be so fucking terrified of the man. “yeah, but your current sweetheart here was lonely and practically begged me to stay.”

the sting of betrayal never grows familiar. 

“i never said anything—”

“you did, have you forgotten already?” you hate the show of lust clouding in johnny’s eyes as he stares you down. this can’t be happening right now. “have you forgotten how you even came unto me? whined like a bitch about how taeil doesn’t even fuck you hard enough and you had to fake orgasms all the time?”

“that’s not true!” your frustration manifests as tears. they sting your eyes as you look at taeil. “i never said anything—”

but you pale when you realize they’re not even listening to you, the two guys fist bumping in the foyer and exchanging a few words like “thanks for telling me,” and “no problem, bro,” were heard before taeil is heatedly storming up to you. 

you feel numb as you look over taeil’s shoulder at the little smirk johnny shoots at you. have fun, he mouths mockingly and then he’s out the door, extracting himself from the mess he created. 

when taeil wordlessly drags you across the hallway, you thought he’ll make a right turn and into the bedroom but imagine your surprise when he pulls you instead towards the bathroom. he wastes no time throwing you against the cold hard tiles as he tells you only one thing. 

“strip.”

“taeil…”

“you don’t want to be replaced.” it doesn’t take a genius to know taeil had hit the nail on the head. all your movements come to a halt, looking up at him with an unreadable look in your face. “that’s your fear, isn’t it? that if you die, if i kill you, i can just look for another girl and you’d be forgotten at the snap of a finger. i’m right, aren’t i?”

you gulp, his words stinging even if he didn’t mean for it to sting. or maybe he did. taeil takes a step closer to you, studying your appearance as he brings a hand up to caress your tear-stained face. 

spots in your clothes are wet due to the splashes of water on the tiles, and the clips in your hair that once looked neat and perfect are now hanging in disarray, falling off in some places. 

“i’m sorry,” you sob. “i’m sorry, john—johnny’s lying. you—you have to—to believe me. please don’t replace me… i’ll be good, i promise…”

truly, there’s no better motivator than fear. and there’s no better way to mess with someone’s head than using their weakness against them. 

“you say you’ll be good but i tell you to strip and you couldn’t even do that?” 

taeil could never imagine replacing you. he finds it stupid, whatever that brought in this fear of yours, but it doesn’t mean he won’t be extracting every little bit he can get out of this.

he can only stare in awe when you start wiggling your way out of your pretty pink clothes, eyes drinking every bit of your skin slowly being exposed to him as he reaches behind you to open the running water, slowly filling the bathtub.

“get in,” he instructs and you waste no time. 

as he sheds his own clothes, he can practically feel the want radiating off you. he knew johnny’s lying, but he humored his friend still. there’s no way you can fake the noises you always make. plus, taeil has seen one too many times the cum dribbling out of your cunt after he’s fucked you into oblivion. he scoffs. harder? then he’ll be breaking you in half already. 

taeil swats your hand away as it reaches for his cock and he hopes you don’t notice it twitching before you when you let out a cute whine. 

“you want it?”

you nod urgently, salavitating at the thought. taeil was more of a giver to his partners, it’s rare for him to take his pleasure first but you’re far from complaining. 

“oh, i don’t know…” he pouts, fisting himself in front of you before giving it a few testing pumps. he swallows the hiss threatening to spill from his lips, chuckling instead at the intense look in your eyes as it follows his hand movements. 

you were by far the most compliant girl he’s ever had, someone who’d rather stay than escape. his methods of forcing someone into submission worked extremely well with you. so really, how can he let go of his glorified little pet?

“you’re not lying to me, aren’t you? i got hurt, you know, with what johnny said… i guess i was doing something wrong.”

“no!” your reply is immediate. “no, that’s not true—”

hands wrap around your throat like a vice. “how about you prove it to me, love? tell me everything i want to hear.”

now, this is easy. you’ve practically memorized everything you need to tell him to boost his ego. it doesn’t even take much of an effort. 

“i love your cock so much that my body hurts. it hits all the right places inside of me and i will never even dream of wanting another man because they won’t be able to fuck me like you do.”

you feel giddy when he smiles that satisfied smile, your toes curling in anticipation as he leans in to give his obedient darling a kiss—

until he shoves your face down the water. 

it doesn’t take much effort to wrestle your limbs down and insert himself into you, groaning at the feeling of your lush and moist walls sucking him in. you’re always so damn wet when he fucks you, oh how much he loves it. loves how tighter your cunt wraps around him as you squirm and fight him to get to the surface of the half-filled tub.

it was only after a few deep thrusts did he relent and pull you up, the few hair clips in your hair floating in the water around as you gasp greedy amounts of air. one look at taeil’s face pulled in ecstasy is enough for you to know it was well worth it.

maybe being rejected by his soulmate was a blessing in disguise. maybe the disobedience of every girl he took before you had been deliberately well-planned. or else he’d never would’ve met you. 

taeil was right. all the soulmate and soulmark shit is utterly useless and stupid. because you are by no means his soulmate, but fuck he’ll never let you go.

not when your destiny is to lay there underneath him, taking whatever it is that he gave you like a good little whore. 

[giasonesdream]

The Art TA, Tae...

Hi, so I was inspired by this gifset created by @95z​

Such a simple yet effective post, because this is what I came up with:

Your university wasn’t an art school by any means. With an expansive campus run rampant with prospective business people and research scientists, the last thing on the majority’s mind was the history of your personal favourite painter, Carravagio.

Not that it mattered to you...since you weren’t an Art Major, yourself.

But you hang with that crowd, somehow drawn to the open and relaxed spirits of those that spent their lectures with paint brushes in their aprons, or calloused fingertips from strumming the strings of some orchestral instrument. In summation, despite your academic plan leading you down the path of Foreign Communications, you always somehow found yourself in the Art Building during your spare time.

It was a rather cozy building, stacked with the same warm tone bricks used to make the goliaths just across the street, on the main campus. If the Science building wasn’t on it’s own separate street, as well, you could’ve sworn the School Board held some vendetta towards Art Majors.

So the trek is comfortable, jay-walking in the middle of the day as the streets are normally empty during this time of the day. Your friends are scattered throughout the small building. The halls are narrow and cozy, almost makes you feel like you’ve walked into a new world of secrets and mystery. Paintings, portraits, and mixed media line the cement walls.

Despite knowing that there are people in the rooms evidently from the various noises that come muffled from the wooden doors, it’s always so quiet and empty when you’re there. It’s a rarity to share the hall with another human, and it’s normally a treat when you do.

Like today. The both of you are walking from opposite ends of the hall, coming closer.

He doesn’t have a face you recognize, but some primal part of your brain wishes you did. Chocolate copper tresses veil his forehead, slipping under the thick framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He’s adorned in black trousers that seem to fit his waist perfectly, but with suspenders that contrast the simple...ridiculously obvious shirt fitting to his shoulders. You can’t stop the grin that pulls at your lips upon reading the painter’s name written clearly on the maroon fabric: Van Gogh. 

The stranger is in the midst of rolling out his neck, his shoulder twitching up to adjust the leather strap of his messenger bag going across his body. When he seems satisfied with stretching his neck, his gaze falls to yours. It’s so sudden, you don’t have time to look away, to try and pretend like you hadn’t been checking him out just a second before. 

In order to save your dignity, you go for a smile, something you hope comes across as friendly and kind. But his gaze is piercing, even beyond the lenses of his glasses that catch the reflection of the light hanging above, you can see it. Brown eyes boring into yours, almost like a challenge, daring you to keep his stare or look away.

Maybe later on you’ll curse yourself, kick at your own ass for not wanting to be confrontational or even the slightest bit rebellious. For now, however, you drop your eyes to the floor, just as your paths cross. Christ, where had your confidence gone?

What’s more, that primal part of your brain doesn’t think, only reacts. Curious as to see the stranger from behind, you turn your head back, and there it is again: that stare, that stone gaze catching yours. This time, though, it’s coupled with a smirk, one side of his lips turned up into a smile. Of course, you only notice that you were caught in the act, and you snap your head back immediately, quickening your pace to get to the end of the hall as soon as possible.

With the Art Department being so small and intimate, it’s not hard to learn about the stranger, the man that has somehow made a name for himself with his eccentric fashion, someone who was able to stand out even to the Art Students literally is that even possible?

He’s a mid-level Art History Teacher’s Assistant named Kim Taehyung. Thankfully, one of your friends has a class that he assists, and he’s quite talkative in class. From what your friend has told you, he likes to converse with the students before class, try to read the room’s mood levels before the professor joins them. Your friend doesn’t remember if he’s in Graduate School working to be a professor himself or to open up an Art Gallery. Seems like two completely different career ventures-

“You’re not from here.”

The voice snatches you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. One of your friends is in his Music Theory lecture in the lower level of the building. It’s probably the creepiest, most eerie section of the building, and mainly your biggest piece of evidence that the Art Students get the short end of the stick.

Your stare had been a mile long into the wall opposite of you as you leaned against the cold, hard surface. And the last time you were aware of your surroundings, you’d been alone.

So to hear someone else talking-

“Oh my go-” you exclaim, quickly lowering your voice. You don’t want to disturb the lecture going on just on the other side of the wall. You finally follow the direction in which the voice had came, low and smooth enough to wrap around some inner part of yourself.

Speak his name, and he shall appear.

Standing to your side is the aforementioned Kim Taehyung, the TA you’d passed in the hallway just a couple days ago. Your heart is still pounding in your rib cage, but now it’s unclear as to what the cause of that is. 

He laughs, holding out his hands in front of him, like a sign of not being a threat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You give yourself a moment to calm down, taking the time to give a quick once-over the outfit for today. Students in the Fashion Department must have a field-day with how he styles clothing. Again, he’s wearing simple black pants, maybe a little less fitted than the pair he wore the other day. Today’s eclectic shirt is a button down with geometric shapes of all sizes, staying in the colour story of red, white, and gray. Again, simple, but bold.

“Um...what?” You ask on an exhale.

“I said ‘you’re not from here’,” Taehyung reiterates. “I’m pretty good at remembering faces of the staff and students that normally frequent this building. You’re a new one.”

You hum in agreement. “Right. No, my friends...I’m waiting on a friend that’s in this lecture. Most of my friends are Art Majors.”

Taehyung nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, what major are you, then?”

It’s an easy conversation to have, especially on campus. Everyone wants to know what plan someone else has, especially if they have no idea what they’re working towards themselves. So you explain your major, your plan to work in foreign affairs for some big company.

“...or, atleast, that’s the goal,” you finish.

“Is that the dream, too?”

It takes a minute for the question to process. Even as it does, you still respond with a furrow of your brow in confusion.

The TA leans his shoulder against the wall, loosening his posture, and you have the desire to mirror his relaxed state.

“Well, what I mean is...you say that it’s your goal, but is that career move what you dream of doing?”

Being in your last year of university, this was already a talk you have had to have with yourself. When you slaved away over your French Oral Presentation, or going through the motions of General Accounting, you knew what you would have rather been doing with your time. Ledgers was far from it.

What makes you hesitate, though, is whether or not you should express this honesty to a virtual stranger. Attractive or not, were you willing to open up about something you’ve already lamented over?

Sighing, you sink into the wall. “Not even close.” His expression is patient, waiting for you to explain. “If I didn’t crave financial security, I’d spend my days and nights here, working on creative writing projects...maybe diving so deep into the world of Gentileschi that I could transport back in time to when she thrived. But alas...I graduate this Spring.”

When Taehyung nods, he looks thoughtful, mulling over your words. Much to your surprise, his silence doesn’t feel awkward, but you do have questions of your own.

“What about you? I heard you’re...either trying to open an Art Gallery or become a full time professor. Which is it?”

With a tilt of his head, a laugh threatens to stumble past his pursed lips. “Did you ask about me?”

At your slip-up, your mouth hangs open as you try to stumble for a response. You hadn’t even thought about that, about how it would sound for him to know you were already trying to figure out who he was after one encounter.

“Oh...I, uh...well- okay, yeah, you.” You breathe a nervous laugh. “Your shirt had caught my attention, and you-”

“I caught your attention,” guesses a rather smarmy Taehyung. He seems to find some entertainment in your slight panic, which actually helps to calm your nerves. When you finally settle, he continues. “I wanna do both, actually. Even when I graduate, I know there’s still more I can learn. Why not get paid while I continue the journey, right? Plus, I’d need to grow a savings so I could start off with some backing-”

“Man, you’d fit right in with the Business Department. Especially the Accounting Students. They go nuts for financial plans and forecasts.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing wrong with having a plan in place. Just as much as there’s nothing wrong with not having a plan.”

His words, for some reason you couldn’t even explain to yourself, gave you reassurance and solidarity. Your future had been set since the moment you stepped foot onto the university’s campus. And though you would have nights where you longed to stray from the path laid out, you kept on course. And with only months left of your undergraduate schooling, the finish line was just over the horizon, already pooling into view. 

But everyone knows that with finishing one race, you only start another. Not a race, no. A marathon. A marathon that the man to your side was giving you comforting words would go well even if the lines in front of you blur or obstacles come.

Again, the silence is nice, filled with words not spoken but ease and welcome vibrations.

The lecture room door opens, and the noises from inside spill out into the small corridor. Jeongguk will be out soon.

“Welp.” You straighten up, pushing away from the wall. “It was nice to meet you, Taehyung. A rather interesting first conversation.”

“Wow, you know my name! And I never even learned yours.”

Right. You tell him your name, listen as he tries it out on his own tongue. It shouldn’t sound as intimidating as it does, given that he’d already seemingly jumped head-first with the deeper topics of discussion. 

“First conversation?”

“Huh?”

“You said it was an interesting first conversation. Does that mean you’d want to have a second? Maybe even a third?”

He feigns a scandalous look that makes you giggle. “Hell, we might even have a fourth.” He gasps deeply.

He nods towards the lecture hall. “Well...now you know where I am on Friday’s at this time of the day. The joys of only having one lecture hall in the building.”

You roll your eyes, your disdain seeping through. “Ugh, that’s so ridiculous. This building really should be a lot bigger.”

“Won’t argue with you, but what are the odds that we would’ve run into each other if that was the case?”

It’s a sweet sentiment that doesn’t match the wink he sends your way.

The hallway is busy now as the current of bodies flow. Taehyung starts walking toward the classroom. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Give me time to guess which Gentileschi painting is your favourite.”

With a grin, you nod, giving a small wave as he enters the classroom.

When Jeongguk finds you, you both make your way through the building. He’s already going into a ramble about his final project for his film class. You both have a habit of sliding your fingertips against the walls, tapping along the heavy surface.

Taehyung was right about that. You still believe the Art Department could have more, be more, but there’s a charm in how small it is...intimate.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Tiffany Green and the Monster at the End of the Hall

Genre: supernatural thriller/monster story, wlw

Rating: M for monster-related violence

Words: 12.8k

Summary: Tiffany Green has watched too many scooby doo episodes and now she’s trying find the local monster at the motel her mother works.

Too bad there’s a rival monster hunter in the area.

Patreon ⭐ Ko-Fi ⭐ WordPress ⭐ Twitter

warning: for serious injury, blood, and fatalities

--

Tiffany Green sat crossed-legged with a transistor radio in her lap and the bud of one headphone in her ear, she stuck her tongue out a little bit and squinted into the dark.

The space was cramped, four walls on all sides brushing against her, barely fitting all of her knees and elbows- which her aunt joked was 70% of her to begin with. The carpet underneath was thick as sin and smelled of must and the death of the 1980s, a mini-ironing board was pushed to the side on her right.

She wore a large brown bomber jacket that’s sleeves pooled around her wrists and made her neck sweat. Her lank blonde hair fell down past her shoulders, which she tucked it into her jacket to keep it back, though her fringe bangs in turn fell into her eyes more than a couple times anyway.

She had long limbs, knobby elbows, and an almost sickly pallor that her father called ‘the antithesis of California darling.’ Her eyes were a flat grey that sometimes shifted into being a proper blue.

She wore stark white shorts and a peach tank-top with spaghetti straps that teacher’s traditionally didn’t appreciate. She had notably ‘attentive’ large ears with three different earrings in each, a sun, a moon, and several stars attached by thin silver chains. She hummed as she worked.

“And she’s a maniac, maniac, on the floor.” She sang softly to herself and hunched over the buttons of the old radio. The speakers droned from one station to the next.

“--It’s going to be another scorcher-”

“-you’ll have to bury your head in the sand to ignore this ne--”

‘--I wanted you so bad, before I you came into my life I-”

“--a dan--”

“--up--”

“--as--” Tiffany shook the radio in midair and crunched herself up in a ball around it, “just one good signal,” she pinched her lips together, “come to mama.” She kept turning the knob until the radio went completely silent, channel 98.3, a sudden, inexplicable hush erupted from the other end. She paused, heart tumbling down her throat and eyes going wide. She ripped her earbud out and stuffed into her pocket, she leaned forward.

Her knuckles bleached as she held the radio harder and stuck her face up to the dials. “Hello…?”

Static warbled through the signal, a sudden buzz that sizzled through the air and made the hairs on her arm stand on end, her mouth fell open. “Tell me what you want.” She whispered.

The static increased, like it was singing. Tiffany shook her radio, “Tell me why you’re doing this.”

The static crooned into a soft hum, she held her breath, waiting for something. The silence stretched.

“Oh. No.” A voice huffed, “Tiffany!”

Tiffany jumped violently as another voice called out.

“Tiffany,” banging came from the other side of the door, “young lady!”

Tiffany flattened against the wall as light came flooding in from the entrance, she hissed at the intrusion, “noooo!” She cried with a sharp soprano.

A scowling face loomed over her, blocking the door, her mom put her hands on her hips and frowned deeply. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.”

Her mom was a medium-sized woman with wide hips and curly brown hair that was tied back by a thick white handkerchief. She wore practical shoes, practical jeans, a blue t-shirt reading ‘Anne’s’ on the front, and a single simple necklace with a ruby in the center.

Her face was wide and expressive, she had matching ears to Tiffany’s- though they were slightly less adorned.

Tiffany glowered up at her and held the radio up to her ear, she closed her eyes and waited for the static again. “Ugh!” She cried loudly, “mom, do you realize you just interrupted the find of the century?” Her mom groaned and held her head, “out, out, we need this room cleaned an hour ago.” Tiffany tucked her loose bangs behind her ear and sat up straight, “why? Nobodies here.” Her mom wagged a finger in the air, “if you’d like me out of a job and no dinner on the table then this room is cleaned by 12pm.” She gave her a sharp glance, “no hiding in the hotel closets and listening to music.” Her mom ushered to her feet and Tiffany huffed.

“I wasn’t listening to music, I was-” “Looking for aliens,” her mom sighed deeply. “Tiffany. Please, honey. I love you. But you have to come out.” Tiffany could have broken into a guffawing-laugh at that, but instead settled for a deep groan .

“It’s a monster mom. M. O. N. S- I mean, you get the point. Not an alien.”

“It’s not going to have to deal with an angry mom if it doesn’t get a move on.” Tiffany promptly scuffled out the closet, eyes down, “the owners will thank me when we aren’t considered the most haunted motel on route 78.”

Her mom tutted again, “we aren’t haunted.” She paused as she reached for the sheets to clean and launder, “we’re just… unlucky.” Tiffany sighed deeply, “I’m going to go try to commune in another room.” “No closets.” She called after her, “and no bothering Mr. Thomas.” “I hear you,” she waved her hand in the air as she stalked off. “I can’t believe that girl is almost 20.” She could hear her mom muttering as she started busily folding and scrubbing and getting down to business.

Anne’s Roadside Motel was a two-story building with around 120 rooms in 30,000 square feet, the place had two owners- neither of which were Anne. It had mattresses people checked for bedbugs and small televisions from the early 00s in place.

The motel had a staff of around 25 people, all of which Mr. Thomas liked to keep a personal relationship with, Rowing was not a big town. It’s main source of income was the highway and the highway was trying it’s best ‘not to become a low-way’ as Mrs. Rodriguez joked.

South Dakota hadn’t bothered to fix roads up in this part of nowhere in a while, it wasn’t close enough to the oil fields and was just south enough of ‘who gives a fuck.’

Tiffany hadn’t been back to this town in 2 years, instead living with her dad in Northern Cali in order to graduate from a ‘good high school.’ Tiffany took the 10 hour car-trip after throwing her cap and had been sitting in closets with a radio since.

Anne’s Roadside Motel didn’t have an Anne in it, but it had a brother and sister that installed a pool 2 years ago and discretely set up rat-traps to really spruce up the place. That was until the rumors started going around, the ones in the newspapers and murmured on the TV screen. Anne’s was having a string of ‘bad luck.’

It looked normal enough, with green flooring and yellow wallpaper, a muted yellow, the type of yellow that bridged on giving you a headache but didn’t quite get there. It smelled like chlorine and wheat, but there were worse smells out there.

The lights were low-hanging and mirrors were from the 90s, the tables were all wooden and the pictures were of random rolling purple mountains that was somewhere definitely not South Dakota.

Breakfast was at 7 every morning and Tiffany got there usually at 7:30 to snag the ‘better bagels’ and some burnt coffee. The other staff liked her, but maybe that’s just what she told herself.

And maybe it’s because she was the only one allowed to talk them about the incidents. Anne’s Roadside Motel was two-stories and 120 rooms.

Tiffany Green planned to visit every single one, and maybe prevent anyone else from dying here.

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

Tiffany was sitting in a swivel chair, making lazy little circles in place and balancing a pencil between her fingertips. She tapped her white sneakers in the air as she splaid out sideways. A woman in a busy red suit jacket and slightly too-tight matching skirt sat next to her in a smaller swivel chair. They lounged just out of sight behind a long linoleum desk with a little bell on it. Tiffany kept her eyes trained on her, trying to catch her eye.

“So,” Tiffany finally said and jerked her head toward the plump middle-aged woman beside her, “last Saturday.” Mrs. Candice Marx gave her a bemused look, “you want more?” Tiffany turned completed toward her, “as much as you remember.” Mrs. Marx, no relation to Karl, looked left and then right before leaning toward her, maybelline bright lipstick puckering, “you know Mr. Thomas isn’t too keen on us gabbing about it.” Tiffany sprouted a slow smile. “I won’t tell ‘em if you don’t.” She sat up straight and a jabbed a pencil in Mrs. Marx’s general direction, “someone has to stop this trouble.” Her blue eyes light up, Mrs. Marx read a lot of detective novels. She bent down, “It’s not all that much to go off of.” Her plush red lips are making a perfect ‘o.’

Tiffany gave her a thumbs up and grabbed her pencil a little more firmly, putting it down to paper. “Whatever you have, whenever you’re ready.”

She cleared her throat, “Well, okay, if you’re interested.”

“I am.” She nodded firmly, trying to edge her on. Mrs. Marx touched her blonde bob, primping it, as if she was being interviewed for local day time TV, “Danny was staying at Elsa’s so I agreed to do the nighter, it was Saturday, last Saturday. Ms. Thomas is having us do the late reception for real you know. She’s a real… well, she’s a real go-getter. Going to improve the stains in the reception hall next she said.” “Uh-huh,” Tiffany focused on scribbling nothing very meticulously.

Mrs. Marx tilted her head to the side, “I was just resting my eyes for a moment-” “When?” Tiffany started really writing.

“Oh, I’d say around 2am? Maybe a little sooner.” She snorted, “We weren’t gettin’ any calls, except from crackpots asking about setting up seances here. You know Mr. Thomas won’t have any of that- he’s not into that type of money Clyde says.”

Tiffany tried to keep her expression blank, “What happened next?” She twisted her mouth, “well, no phone calls. I was sittin’ right here, I don’t know really what it was, some sorta noise-” “What type of noise?” Tiffany sat completely upright. “A buzzing?” Mrs. Marx scrunched her nose up, “no, maybe, it was sorta… crunchy? I was drifted off, all I remember next is just waking up, don’t really know why. One moment I was lying in the chair, and the next I was upright and lookin’ at the lobby.” Tiffany leaned forward, “What did you see?” Mrs. Marx bent down very low, her caked-on mascara almost close enough to brush her, “That’s just the thing.” She breathed, “everything. It was bright, too bright, you know? All the lights turned on.” Tiffany nodded fastidiously, “What did you do?” “Well,” Mrs. Marx flattened her skirt out, “I thought of high-tailin’ it out of there, don’t want to end up like poor Mr. Koviak.” “Yes, absolutely,” Tiffany was jotting quickly: noise, lights, waking up.

“There was this real… feel to it too. Like something cold, or like a headache, right before the pain part.” “K,” Tiffany furrowed her brow: headache?

“The lights were all on, even the ones that are motion activated,” Mrs. Marx’s eyes were wide, “but only in the left hallway.” She pointed, “Right over there.” “What did you do?” Tiffany adrenaline flooded her, “What did you see?” “Well what was there to do? I-” A bell dinged. Tiffany gripped her pencil so hard she’s afraid it might break in two, light footsteps approached.

“Excuse me,” A rich voice called out. “Are there any rooms for tonight?” Mrs. Marx and Tiffany turned toward the lobby in unison, Mrs. Marx immediately burst into a practiced smile. “Of course!” She pushed her rolling chair toward the desk and sat up straight. “What can we do you for?” The customer was a young woman with long brown hair, it had a sleek shine to it but was choppy and uneven in parts, as if someone just hacked at it a couple times. She had high cheekbones, an oval face, and lightly browned skin- native probably, from one of the local tribes.

Her eyes were dark half-moons and her lips were turned down in a grimace, she seemed a little taller than Tiffany. She was wearing a green shirt that reminded her of the military and was carrying a large duffel bag on her shoulder.

Her teeth were stunningly straight and white when she spoke and Tiffany had to lean back from the glare of them. Tiffany hunched her shoulders like a cat sprayed by water as the stranger interrupted them.

I was so close, Tiffany clenched her teeth and pedaled up to the desk next to Mrs. Marx. She was chattering away.

“So there’s bedrooms in the west wing, but not the east right now, but the sunrise in the west windows is just to die for. You can see right all the way to Black Elk Peak, have you been there darling?” “Can’t say I have ma’am.” Her voice was still low and steady, Tiffany eyed her big bag. Something was different about this. “Well it’s just lovely. Especially from the west wing windows!”

“What brings you around here?” Tiffany interrupted, she could feel her mom cringing at her from rooms away.

The young woman raised her eyebrows and refocused on Tiffany, “Just passing through.” Mrs. Marx nodded, “Most folks are.” She agreed, “A real travelers town.” She gave a small laugh, “My own Ricky, that’s my husband, was only passing through when I met him! Said he’d never stay, but look at him now- a curmudgeon with a house in the hills.” Tiffany snorted at that, but the woman just arched her eyebrow up, “sounds nice.” “Oh it is,” Mrs. Marx could go on, but I thought I’d spare the traveler a little.

“Well alright,” I crossed my arms over my chest, “As long as you’re not here for any ghost-snooping, Mr. Thomas is telling Spook Hunters to stay out.”

Mrs. Marx gave a nervous laugh, “I mean, it’s not all that.” “Oh,” the woman just cocked her head to the side, “Ghosts?” “No ghosts,” Mrs. Marx said quickly, “Bad local legends is all.” The woman leaned across the counter, “Should I be worried? I’m sure I could keep go-” “No, no,” Mrs. Marx shot Tiffany a sharp look. “Nothing of the sort, Tiffany here listens to… a lot of wacky podcasts! How long would you be staying with us?”

The woman relaxed, “Just two nights.” She said evenly, “you have internet, right?” “We have internet.” She nodded briefly and then eyed me, “And as long as no ghosts come out I suppose.” She gave a thin smile and took out her credit card. Tiffany leaned forward, “It’s not actually ghost, it’s probably a m-” “So credit card? What name should I put the room under?” The woman adjusted the bag on her shoulder, “Lona,” she said simply, “Davis.”

Mrs. Marx was already nodding and moving onto when breakfast was and the ‘no stealing our bath towels pretty please’ speech with at least two mom jokes.

Tiffany examined Lona again, her eyes dragging up and down. There was definitely something lumpy in the sack, and her boots were metal-toed, a circular tattoo was around her right wrist. And that probably wasn’t her real name.

Tiffany didn’t notice as the transaction completed.

“Have a wonderful stay at Anne’s!”

Lona gave Tiffany another curious look, “I will.” She turned and left, heading to the west wing.

Tiffany exhaled, putting a hand over her heart, then she whipped around to Mrs. Marx. “That’s a monster hunter!”

Mrs. Marx drew back, “What?” “The shirt, the bag, the boots! That girl is here to hunt the monster.” Mrs. Marx wrinkled her nose, “She seems just like everybody else. There’s all sorts that pass through, why, just last week we had a man who was a professional clown. He was dressed normal, but he told me all about at the counter. A traveling clown! Have you ever heard of-”

“Did you see that protection tattoo? She’s on the trail.” Tiffany was certain, a professional!

“Now Ms. Tiffany,” Mrs. Marx clucked, “you can’t make presumptions about someone. Especially,” she put her hands on her hips, “Customers.” “I know, I know, okay,” she waved her off, and tried to keep her theories on track, “we were talking about last Saturday first,” she kicked away from the desk, “I’m all ears.” Mrs. Marx’s eyes went wide again and she turned back to Tiffany, returning to their previous hunched position, “Well, all the lights were on-” “My fair Candice!” Another voice carried over to them, “And lovely young Tiffany.” Tiffany winced so hard she thought her heart dropped out of her ass, “Goddammit,” She cursed under her breath.

“I just saw a customer walking to room 200! A good sight.” They both turned to Mr. Thomas in unison, Mrs. Marx smiling through.

“Indeed!” She chirped, “and more than one night too.” Mr. Thomas just hummed at that and looked between us, “I hope everyone is keeping their wits sharp.” Mr. Thomas chuckled, he was a small man with a pointed mustache and crinkling boyish blue eyes under round glasses, he wore suits everywhere and shiny black shoes.

He also said very pointedly kind things that always translated to ‘keep working’ and ‘do your job already.’ This was his ‘keep working’ phrases right now.

Mrs. Marx shifted in place, “course we are! Sharp as a church point.” She winked, “Ms. Tiffany was just…” She glanced at my notepad. “Doing some schoolwork!” I nod despite the fact I had graduated highschool two weeks ago. Mr. Thomas smiled over like he was making a Christmas list, “Well if you’d like some hel-” “Actually!” Tiffany stood up, realizing she probably wasn’t going to get any more out of this. “Time for me to go. Let’s talk later.” She gave Mrs. Marx a meaningful look and she just nodded.

“And Tiffany,” Mr. Thomas called after her as she tried to quickly scurry away. “The rooms aren’t playthings.” That was one of his more blatant instructions and Tiffany was struck for a moment by feeling six and chastized by the neighbors for throwing things into their yard. She meet his eyes steadily. “Of course,” Tiffany flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and started walking, “I’m not playing.” She escaped to the second story ice machine room, cramming herself into the nook between vending machine and wall, she started to pour over her notes: noise, lights, wake up, headache?

Her thoughts dragged back to the girl at the counter and she wrote in the margins: monster hunters coming.

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

It was late afternoon, the sun was streaming in through the small box windows at the end of the hall and the AC was on full blast in the simmering heat of summer. Tiffany was holding her pencil up again.

“I know you haven’t talked about it yet Mrs. Ludwig,” She followed the back of bustling old woman in a long grey dress and white bandana tied around her head. “But I’m here to listen.” Mrs. Ludwig didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked into room 203, it had just lost it’s occupant, a Mr. Virilis. Mr. Virilis moved to greener pastures and left them with only around 5 other customers in the whole motel that night. Two of them were semi-permanent residents at this point, so she wasn’t sure they counted anymore.

Tiffany tried to step in Mrs. Ludwig’s path and catch her eye, “Please, I know it’s a very traumatic experience. I’ve been through that before.” It felt like the five stages of grief as she attempted to bargain. “With all the, uh… blood? Was there blood?”

The Koviak case had been ‘confidential’ and no details, except the occurrence of the death, had been released to the public. He was a traveling European businessman found dead in his bed two months ago, nothing else known. Mrs. Ludwig still didn’t look at her as she got out the cleaning carrier and gloves, she pushed open the propped door with her hip and didn’t look back.

Tiffany steeled herself, she took a bold step forward, “Mr. Koviak’s family has been asking!”

Mrs. Ludwig paused, turned, and fixed her with a potent icy glare, “do you plan on helping me clean?” Tiffany grimaced, her left eyebrow twitching, “Yes! I could. If… we could just have a short chat about the body.” “Run along Tiffany Green.” Mrs. Ludwig closed the door behind her and left Tiffany in the empty hall. As she had all the other times before.

“Fiiine,” Tiffany groaned and did a little spin, dragging her feet down to the other end of the hallway. If she knew Mrs. Ludwig she wouldn’t get another word out of her for at least 24 hours.

Tiffany flipped through her notes again, the fluorescent lights blared overhead, she would have paid them to flicker at this point. Buzz. Do anything.

She walked blankly ahead and fretted quietly to herself. No leads. No knowledge. How did it get around? Was it large? Was it corporeal?

Did it hate motels or just those in southern South Dakota? She just didn’t know.

It wasn’t until she was in the next hall that she heard a whirring of a machine, Tiffany looked up sharply and her eyebrows raised. Someone was actually using the motel gym.

There was a giant glass panel in the middle of the west wing, second floor. It held one elliptical machine, five weights, three sets of bell bars, two exercise benches, three jogging machines, and a water cooler. It had a speckled tile floor and frosted rectangle windows that barely let in the light.

The elliptical machine was whirring round and round as someone took it through its paces. Tiffany slitted her eyes, she recognized the figure: lean and muscled, the girl had a long choppy ponytail and a tattoo around her right wrist.

Her.

Tiffany stood there longer than she rightfully should, watching the girl’s back get damp with sweat and muscles strain with every quick step. Tiffany was tempted to inform her that, according to her notes, this wasn’t the type of monster you can run from. Training wouldn’t matter.

She doubted that would go over well.

Tiffany was leaning toward the elevator, trying to get her body to remember itself and move, it didn’t. The girl paused, her legs slowly pumping to a stop and the machine grinding down, maybe she felt Tiffany eyeing her, she turned. Their eyes met, a little tingle went up Tiffany’s spine, Lona’s dark half-moon eyes search her.

She tilted her head, expression placid as she hopped down to the floor, unreadable, she didn’t break eye contact as she moved. They stare at each other as Lona reached for a towel and wiped down her wet brow. Tiffany bit her bottom lip, maybe she’s the monster.

That seemed unlikely.

Lona took her time walking casually up to the giant window pane, Tiffany stiffened, waiting for something. Lona pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side, still considering Tiffany.

Tiffany shifted in place, her skin crawling and neck prickling, she had a feeling her cheeks had already flushed red.

The girl’s face shifted quickly, mouth falling open, eyes widening, whole body reeling back from the window. Lona pointed wildly over Tiffany’s shoulder, ‘look out!’ She mouthed urgently, breathlessly, pupils dilated. Tiffany jumped, whirling around to look left and right, holding her heart, preparing to run.

Tiffany untensed when nothing is behind her except garish yellow wallpaper and her own thumping heartbeat.

She arranged her face into something stony and unamused, she clenched her hands and turned back to the glass. Lona was grinning.

Tiffany tapped on the glass and leaned forward, “You don’t know what you’re in for.” She mouthed the words slowly, “it’s coming.” Lona frowned at that and then shrugged, “I can’t understand you.” She called, voice muffled by the glass, but still legible.

“Oh.” Lona flipped her long hair back, “do you work here?” Tiffany took a few steps back, “No.” She called, just loud enough.

“Good,” Lona turned back to her elliptical machine, “go home for the night.” Tiffany arched an eyebrow, she took a deep breath, “I don’t think so, I’m going to be the one to find it you know.” Lona glanced over her shoulder again, “Excuse me?” “I know who you are,” Tiffany pronounced loudly, “And this one’s mine.” Lona rolled her eyes, “little dramatic, don’t you think?” She wiped her neck with the towel, “Go take a nap kid, you’re not making sense.” Tiffany growled and then turned on her heels, look out. She mouthed the words and blood boiled from being pranked like a five year old in a haunted house.

What a stupid act, stupid customer who is definitely a monster hunter. Tiffany stomped toward the elevator, thoughts frenzied and whirling. She barely stopped as the lights in the hallway flickered. She froze mid-stride and looked up, the lights flickered again.

She gaped and took out her pencil, wielding it like a spear. She searched the hallway, up and down. “I’m here!” She called breathlessly, “I’m here.” Her eyes stayed glued on the lights, but they remained shining and motionless. Tiffany gulped and squared her shoulders. When she looked around she saw Lona in the hallway too, she doesn’t look half as amused this time. They don’t so much as nod at each other as Tiffany departed.

I’ll find it first.

Tiffany promised herself she wasn’t going home that night.

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

“But mom,” Tiffany could feel herself whining, “I need to stay the night.” “Not on your life.” Her mom threatened, her curly dark hair tied back and mouth turned into a hard line. “Can’t you be into, I don’t know… boy bands? Hockey? Anything else.” She closed the car doors of the 2007 volkswagen, Tiffany bared her teeth, “do boy bands eat people? No? Unimportant mom! This is important.” Tiffany was suddenly remembering all the reasons she left in the first place.

Her mom grunted and turned the car engine on, “Do you want to get hurt? It’s not a game.” “Hurt?” Her eyes lit up, “So you do believe in the monster!” Tiffany retorted shrilly, “And I’ve been training for this, I’m ready.” Her mom veered out of the parking lot, “The only monster I believe in is my daughter’s ego, and she really needs to place it somewhere else other than bad scary stories.” “You’re making this impossible,” she tried to chastise back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“That’s right, missy, no bothering the motel tonight.” Her mom sniffed loudly and drove them home.

Tiffany pouted and complained the whole way home, she figured this was how all monster hunters were treated, unbelievers were just part of the job. At least, that’s what she told herself as her mom lamented her behaviour later that night on the phone with her dad.

“I just don’t understand, how many horror movies have you been letting her watch?” Her mom paused, as her dad answered. Tiffany hid around the corner and stared at the wall, she had refused to come to dinner that night.

“Yes, Henry,” her mom sounded tired, “But I’m worried your indulgences have let her grow up like one of those undomestic- she’s not a field of wildflowers Henry, she’s a young woman, with a future. Stop it, stop, I don’t want to hear any more of your metaphors. She’s not a clay pot either! Goddamnit, you always do this. All of those self-improvement classes and you can’t listen worth a damn. Don’t start on me.”

They had one of their usual arguments.

Her mother sighed loudly after a few sharp barbs, her voice grew soft and tired, exhausted, “I just don’t know what to do with her.”

She was 19. And apparently no one knew what to do with her.

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

Tiffany had a clunky transistor radio in her lap and the itch of a lumpy blanket wound around her shoulders, they had My Little Pony characters on them from years ago. That was neither here nor there for her in many ways.

The clock by her bedside read 10:47 in bright red letters and Tiffany was hunched over and squinting her eyes in the dark. Her mom would notice if she turned on any lights, even at this hour.

She was certain the older woman was still holding her late night wine and indulging in her stacks of romance novels. Everyone was a paradox in their own ways, but Tiffany doesn’t point that out.

She was busy twisting knobs again. The hush of the radio blared through the air.

“We have a great setlist for you-” “Nobody, nobody, noooboooody-” “I can’t be-” “Sh-” “Ja-”

“Bzz-” She kept twisting.

Some part of her began to sink with each turn, what am I doing? She tried to push the thought down, she knew what she was doing. She knew what she saw all those years ago with her dog and she knew what she wanted now.

She had called it her ‘gap year’ between highschool and college but there was no plan to go to UCLA or San Jose University. She just needed to prove herself this once.

Monster hunters didn’t need to pour over biology textbooks that took her three different rereads to even fully absorb.

“Mountain mam-” “Sex, sex, and-” “Kis-” “Oomph,” “Ssssshhhh.” Tiffany’s hand froze and her muscles tensed, she landed on a chanel, one with strange static blaring over the line: 98.3.

She held her breath and brought the radio up to her ear, “Yes?” She whispered at the speakers and she hoped that her mom was almost done with her wine by now.

“Sssshuck.” Her eyes went wide, “Please.” She didn’t want to beg monsters, but she couldn’t lose this. Tiffany clambered to her feet and shook the radio, “Tell me.” “Sssshuch.” The radio buzzed, almost sing-song, and gave off an eery crunching static, Tiffany exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment, absorbing it. The radio buzzed, she jumped to her feet and reached for her extra-thick socks. She threw off her blanket from her shoulders and yanked on a pair of shorts and button-up shirt.

She didn’t hesitate as she quietly shoved the second story bathroom window open. It was a half mile walk to the motel. She turned the radio off, shoved it in her pack along with her notepad, several pencils and a dull kitchen knife she had carried off days ago from the dining room drawers.

Despite the heat she yanked on her brown bomber jacket and lifted herself out the window. Maybe her mom thought it was too high to jump from, maybe she underestimated how determined Tiffany was.

Maybe the woman was curled up around her ‘Favio x Angela’ novel and was far too gone to try and figure out once again what to do with her daughter.

Tiffany climbed down and started walking.

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

The night was a warm sweet milk around her, cradling her and leaking into her insides like a fiery gas leak, her shirt was almost soaked through by the time she saw Anne’s. The moon was a slice of silver cheese in the sky and the South Dakota sky was a river of sparkling white blemishes against inky black night. It smelled like dry grass and dust.

She breathed in the silver and exhaled warmth, it wasn’t like this in North Cali, but maybe that’s why she came. She took out the kitchen knife, it had a plastic covering and she slipped the weapon into the waistband of her shorts.

It dug into her thigh as she walked, but she ignored it. The monster hunter had warned her about tonight, she knew she had to be here.

Exactly four lights were on Anne’s Motel: the lobby with its vibrant pale yellow light and three windows alight with their soft beige curtains drawn. Tiffany went around the back, walking past rows of low rectangle bushes and spotting a narrow metal door with a red sign over the handle: fire exit. It was supposed to be properly locked but she shook the handle back and forth gently until it clicked in place and she pushed her way in.

They were modernizing Anne’s, but it wasn’t quite there yet.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hands on the handle and bracing herself. You can do this, her ears rang, you have to.

She shouldered her way through the back door and stood in a dark hallway, lit only by silver moonlight at the other end of the long space. She held her breath. It was quiet.

The shadows seemed to play before her eyes, shifting in place and forming ghastly shapes in the dark. She sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall, letting the door slide closed behind her.

Nothing moved, no lights flickered. She steadied herself, “hunting,” she took deep breaths and held her chest, “Hunting is all about facing fear.” She edged forward, almost spooking herself as the motion sensors picked up on her movements and blinked on. She had rub her eyes a couple times to adjust to the sudden flood of light.

A flicker of movement arose in the corner of her left eye, “ah!” Tiffany jumped back and rolled to her left, careening to the floor on her knees. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but when she looked back up nothing was there. Again.

Tiffany took deep breaths and crept her way toward the east wing of the hotel, something had to be there. It was time, the radio had been buzzing.

The lights stay on.

Her pulse ran ramshackle through her veins and Tiffany practically crawled her way across the motel floors. The plastic knife protector dug deeper into her thigh, but she doesn’t feel it. She edged up to the second floor ice machine room, just outside the east wing, and waited- eyes opened, jaw set, world spinning slightly.

“This is it,” she whispered to herself and began to wait.

She crouched, checking, waiting, eyes strained on the fluorescent lights above and frequently sniffing the air for something. She stays perfectly still, biding her time, waiting, until the lights turn off again, and then flicker, once.

Tiffany’s eyes dart back and forth in the dark, she crept out of the ice machine room and looked up and down the long hallways. She opened her mouth to call out, ask something, prompt something.

She heard a hiss instead, “What are you doing here?” Tiffany flinched and spun around, two half-moon eyes glow in the dark behind her, a growl rumbling in the girl’s voice. Tiffany’s lifted her chin and blinked a couple times, “Oh.” “You shouldn’t be here.” Tiffany’s brow folded in, “My mom works here.” It was probably the best defense she had.

Lona’s eyes were hard and shifting around the room quickly, wildly almost, “Get out of here.” “What, are you ordering me?” Tiffany tried not to sound petulant.

Her hand came down like an iron claw on Tiffany’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise, “Yes.” That’s when the lights flared on like the sun itself had been pulsed into them, flaring to life and filling the whole space in a brilliant glow, Lona widened her stance and drew herself up. A noise like a low buzzing gurgle sounded behind them, quiet and licking at her insides like sandpaper over skin.

“Take my hand.” Lona put her hand out and Tiffany eyed it. The lights flickered above them like a sudden rapid eclipse. “Uh,” Tiffany reached for her pack instead.

“That’s another order,” Lona took an aggressive step forward, the lights flickered quickly above them, fritzing and blinking.

Tiffany gulped, “I’m not,” she tried to summon her courage, “I’m staying.” “Take it or I’m carrying you out, civilian,” Lona growled and Tiffany gave in and slipped her fingers in between Lona’s. Lona gripped them, “Don’t look back.”

They started to run.

The sound grew louder, like a clunking car engine purring through the air, metallic and crunching to the ear, static fuzzed just below the surface of the noise. The lights flickered.

Tiffany looked behind her.

“Ah!” Lona skidded to a halt, painfully squeezing Tiffany’s hand as they came to a jarring stop. Tiffany was still looking behind her, the hallway was painfully alight except for a deep dark nothingness just after the bright fluorescent overhead. Just at the end of the hall, it was too dark to see through.

What was it?

“Excuse me,” A voice said shrilly, “Oh my, I thought I heard some commotion.” Tiffany was dragged back to the other issue at hand: they had been stopped by Mr. Thomas, standing in a bathrobe and eyeing the two of them. Specifically, Mr. Thomas was eyeing Tiffany, standing in the middle of the space with his hands on his hips.

“Honestly.”

Lona drew herself up, “Sir, where is the nearest exit?” “Exit?” Mr. Thomas blanched, “is this young Miss Tiffany’s doing? I promise, any tales she might be spinning are hyped up! Please considering not cutting your stay with us short.” He gave a small, placating smile.

Lona groaned, “Sir, you don’t understand…” She reached for him next, this time with her left hand.

The lights flickered. Lona and Tiffany both instinctively took a step backward. Two of the lights went out behind Mr. Thomas.

Tiffany tried to stutter out, “Mr. Thomas,” she took another step back, “Come toward us. Slowly.”

Mr. Thomas made a face at her, “I’m sorry Tiffany, but this bothering of staff and guests has gone on long enough. No tricks are going to change that. I’m afraid I’ll have to ban you from the motel.” The light directly behind Mr. Thomas went out, a thick tangible darkness sat behind him.

Tiffany’s heartbeat pounded painfully in her ears, move, she commanded herself to move. Reach for him, beg for him.

Instead, she stood with her back to the wall, still holding Lona Davis’s hand like a five-year-old at an amusement park. Tiffany swallowed, “Okay,” she said slowly, “but first you need to-” “Shh,” Lona hushed her and pressed them both firmly up against the wall. “It’s too late.” The last light in the hallway went out. The buzzing crescendoed into an insect-like metallic cry, a song like a garbage disposal, and two perfect round lights came on from behind Mr. Thomas.

Like headlights.

“What in God’s name,” Mr. Thomas turned around as the white lights fell on him.

The headlights blinked and Tiffany took in one horrible twisting vision: a creature with two hooved feet, a massive furry body that took up the whole hall, two dark wings hanging limply off it’s back. She squinted at the face but all she saw was headlights.

And then the headlights tilted up, an enormous mouth opened wide: blunt white teeth gaped and a grey thick tongue snaked out of its giant mouth. Mr. Thomas didn’t even get in a scream before the black lips clamped down. Teeth snapping down as Mr. Thomas’s head was rested from his shoulders.

Tiffany got in a scream though, “Aaaah!” She let out a piercing shrill cry as the blunt teeth chomped through flesh and bone.

Her stomach lurched like the titanic sinking as a grotesque crunch followed, the sound of bone and skull being crushed by huge molars, thick red liquid splattered across the carpet. Tiffany couldn’t move.

“Come on,” Lona stayed true to her promise, grabbed Tiffany around the waist and hoisted her onto her shoulder. Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut as she heard another crunch and Lona carried her down the hall and through the emergency exit.

She had met the monster.

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

The next few hours were a smeared blurr, filled by a sickening headache that made her whole body tremble. The first thing Tiffany did was sag forward and vomit up the dinner she hadn’t eaten.

It was clear and tasted like bile. Tiffany puked again at the sight.

“Let it out,” Lona’s voice was no less hard, but she wasn’t hovering over her at least. Her hands were busy holding a small mechanized crossbow trained on the door and twisting something around her wrist.

Tiffany took deep gasping breaths and tried not to puke a third time.

It was real, it was all real.

She had known, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

Tiffany raked at her shirt, as if were too tight, as if there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. “Here.” There was a tap on her shoulder, she turned as Lona handed her a water bottle, “Drink.” Tiffany greedily downed the entire bottle before gasping for breath again.

“Oh my God,” she started to repeat, “Oh my fucking God.” Lona just snorted, “the first one is always the hardest.”

Tiffany’s head was light and there were spots in her vision, she glanced back toward the emergency exit and wiped her palms down on her shorts. “It, it, Mr. Thomas...” She squeezed her eyes shut before taking a rattling breath, it took another minute to open them again.

She wanted to scream again, she wanted to run back in there, she wanted to turn and run the other direction for miles and miles.

“What now?” She finally rasped out instead. Lona raised her eyebrows, “I assume it disappears again after feeding.”

Tiffany’s face fell, “there was a body for Mr. Koviak.” Lona turned toward her slowly, “perhaps it only eats the head.” She took wobbling a step back from the door, “it’s so much more… it’s so much.” Lona patted her shoulder, “Drink more. This will be over soon.” Tiffany drank a second bottle of water, she turned back to Lona, feeling limp and queasy, “What are you going to do?” She leaned in close, clenching her hands down so they wouldn’t tremble, “How can I help?”

She tried to push down the sight of Mr. Thomas’s limp body falling listlessly to the ground in a splatter of red. She tried to push down the crunch and the flickering lights. I can help, I can help, I can help.

She repeated to herself over and over. I can do something.

The other gnawing voice in her head wasn’t as persistent, but just as loud: your fault.

She finished the water before handing it to Lona, “What can I do?” Lona eyed her up and down. “Go home kid,” she sighed, “Actions over for tonight.” Lona turned to leave, Tiffany’s hand jutted out and grabbed onto her sleeve.

“How old are you?” She asked slowly.

Lona made a face, “How old am I?” “And tell me the truth.” Lona snorted, “I’m 21.” Tiffany let her go, “Then I’m not a kid to you.” Tiffany lifted her chin up, “And I can help.”

Lona tilted her head, “Were you not just in there? Did you not just see that man’s head get bit off? This isn’t a game.” Her tone remained even, but there was fire in her eyes.

Tiffany looked down at her shoes, “please,” she didn’t like the waiver to her voice, “It’s my, my f-fa-” “It’s not your fault,” Lona hand waved her. “Unless you’re a monster with hundreds of teeth of course.” Tiffany pinched herself so she wouldn’t cry, she looked up again, “What is it? What is that thing?” Lona scratched her chin and looked away, “Nothing good.” Tiffany sighed, “Please,” she took a step forward, “Let me help. I knew Mr. Thomas, I know everyone at this motel.” Lona arched her eyebrow up, “you know everyone in here?” She pursed her lips, “Do you… do you have any keys?” Tiffany perked up for the first time that night, “I can get some.” “Ugh,” Lona threaded a hand through her choppy hair, “You can’t come on any of the actual hunts. You hear me? None of this again.” Tiffany nodded vigorously, “I need to avenge him, any way I can.” Lona exhaled through her nose, “I better hope you like books then.” Tiffany shrugged weakly, “Where can I sign?” She looked down and gave a mirthless laugh, “I always wanted to hunt monsters.” Lona almost popped a smile, she put a hand on Tiffany’s shoulder, “Don’t. It only gets harder from here.” “I thought you said the first one’s the hardest?” Tiffany examined Lona in the light of the moon, neither of them were moving back inside yet.

“I lied,” she started to walk, “They’re all hard.” Tiffany wasn’t sure she liked teaming up with a stranger, much less one who would boss her around. But the image of Mr. Thomas’s stark white face being engulfed was too much.

Tiffany shuddered, this really wasn’t just a summer project, it never was.

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

They closed the motel down after that. It made sense, one of the owner’s had just been found headless in the hallways. His sister hadn’t made a comment yet, but it was said she found the body.

Ms. Thomas was a mousy woman in her late fifties, she had iron-grey hair and wore knee-length dresses everywhere and jackets that looked like they were from the 1920s. No one had seen her for days afterward, though Tiffany’s mom made sure to bring her soup every day and leave it at her door.

There were rumors the FBI would be sent in to look for any head-hunting serial killers. But those were just rumors.

There were rumors the Tiffany was there, that the maids were in on it, that the stranger passing through town knew something. Words flew and Tiffany felt a tremor of fear gathering in the small community.

She saw her mom pray at the funeral, get down on her knees and bend her head. There was a slight summer shower coming over the land that day and no one bothered with an umbrella.

They all stood in the light rain and bowed their heads, Tiffany knew her mom had become an atheist a long time ago, but she was muttering verses under her breath as they left. Maybe she thought it was the work of a demon after all, or maybe things like this brought out other sides of people.

Tiffany didn’t say anything at the funeral, just clenched her teeth so tight and wound her mouth shut so firmly that she thought her jaw might shatter like an old wind-up clock. She watched her shoes as she walked, entered, listened, left.

It all felt like something else, happening to some other girl.

She didn’t sleep that night, she hadn’t slept a lot since the night two weeks ago in the motel. I can do something, she repeated it to herself. I came here to do something.

She played with her transistor radio every night and waited.

It was a Wednesday at midday when she finally sought out Lona again, it would be a place to start.

Tina, from her mom’s spin class, knew Sierra, who worked at the local grocers had heard from the cashier that Lona came in every morning for a danish and a coffee. The girl was like clockwork, and better yet, she was still in town.

Tiffany rolled herself out of bed that Wednesday, glanced at the college pamphlets her mom left just outside her door and then brushed her teeth with the force of a steam engine. She didn’t bother with breakfast as she waved at her mom and left for the morning.

They were both out of work at the moment so Tiffany told her she was going to go look for a job- and it was, a job of sorts at least.

Tiffany found the girl in the fresh fruits section examining a shiny red apple, hair was loose and pushed over her right shoulder. She was wearing a navy blue shirt that day and capri jeans that covered most of a bruise on her calf. Tiffany came up behind her and cleared her throat.

“So,” Tiffany made the hunter jump. “When can we catch this horror-terror?” Lona turned and made a face, “Oh.” She paused, “hello again, uh…?” “Tiffany,” she said groughly, “Tiffany Green.” She put her hand out and they take a moment to exchange an awkward handshake.

Lona put one of the apples in her basket, “I’m afraid progress is slow.” She said carefully, backing away, “There’s complications.” Tiffany stepped into Lona’s personal bubble, “Put me to work then.” Lona pushed her hair back and started walking the other direction, “It’s not that simple. I don’t need you yet.” Tiffany followed her down the next aisle.

“Then need me now.” She insisted, “We don’t have all the time in the world, even if the motel is empty right now.” Lona didn’t look back, “We have at least a few more days.” Tiffany frowned deeply, “Take me with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aren’t monster hunters supposed to have backup?” She chased after the other girl’s heels.

Lona arched an eyebrow, “Hunters are supposed to be careful. First and foremost.” Tiffany opened her mouth and then closed it, ‘careful’ was not on her job resume. “Please.” She tried again. “I can’t… the motel can’t stay closed. My mom’s worked there for twelve years. I can help.” Lona wandered her way to a tall silver coffee dispenser and doesn’t say anything as she fills a large canister, Tiffany felt like a lost puppy as she followed her to the cash register.

“Fine,” Lona finally relented as Tiffany trailed her to the parking lot, “You can come back with me.” She said slowly, “there is something we can both do.” Tiffany’s mouth breaks open into a toothy smile she didn’t know she had in her, “You won’t regret it.” Lona just clicked her tongue and made her way to a blue chevy car, “Rule one,” she got in, “listen to what I say.” She just got into the car after her.

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

Books. Tiffany should have anticipated books.

There was a second hotel in Rowing South Dakota, it was a motel 8 with 24-hour service, an outdoor swimming pool, and actual lawn chairs next to it. They were Anne’s main competition.

Tiffany was led through the cramped parking lot all the way to room 108 where Lona took out a set of keys and jangled the door opened. Tiffany glanced at the room momentarily, the curtains were drawn but the scent of sweet wine and something smoky wafted out of the door.

“Come in, come in,” Lona gestured quickly and Tiffany gladly ducked into the AC-blasted room and out of the heat. She turned in each direction, pictures were on the walls, books were open on every surface, there was a crossbow in the corner.

“Wow,” She breathed and milked in every second of it, Lona covered the crossbow with a blanket and pushed a pile of books aside to let Tiffany sit down on a small chair.

“Who knows, maybe a new set of eyes will actually help.” Lona muttered to herself and pushed her hair back- a habit Tiffany was starting to recognize. Tiffany twitched nervously, concentrating wasn’t her strong suit. But this was a monster, this was The Monster and sometimes that was enough to trick her brain into cooperating.

She tapped a rhythm on her legs as Lona firmly closed the door behind them, “SO,” she spoke up, “Are you finally going to tell me what we’re looking for?” Lona didn’t respond right away, opting to walk silently back across the room and take her seat on the single red-quilted bed.

“I don’t know,” Lona said clearly, evenly.

Tiffany leaned forward, “What?” “I don’t know,” Lona repeated and then turned away, she made a soft frustrated sound, “this isn’t what you think it is. These aren’t your mother’s monsters, these aren’t TV monsters.” “Okay?” She puffed her cheeks and drew a little closer, “I’m all ears then. What does that even mean?” Lona met her eye, “maybe there once was, I dunno, perfect vampires and pure weres.” Tiffany studied Lona’s face, as she was hesitating around something, “but?”

“It’s the twenty-first century, monsters change, grow just as the world did, they didn’t stop adapting just because people stopped believing.” “That, yeah, yeah?” Tiffany rubbed her neck, “Yes?” Lona cracked the book open and placed it on her lap, “it’s a hybrid.” She said simply, “I don’t know what it is, because it probably wasn’t bred into this damn world until recently.” She uncapped a highlighter with her teeth, “Damn bastards.” Tiffany blinked a couple times, “hybrid… like?” “A combo, mix, mutt,” Lona highlighted something in her book.

Tiffany looked down at her lap, “Monsters fuck.” She said to herself quietly.

Lona put her palms up in the air, “That is your great take-away?” She looked up sharply, “You can fuck monsters.” Lona rolled her eyes spectacularly, “most only once.” She shook her head, “And you haven’t met a more annoying creature than a vampire-fae or banshee-werecat, hybrids don’t make this fucking easy.” Tiffany gave a sideways sloppy smile, “You really are a monster hunter.” Lona snorted gently, “I thought we established that, yeah.” Tiffany grinned to herself and looked down, “Give me a book.” She gave her a thumbs up, “Let’s figure out which of these things have been doing the nasty.” Lona leaned back, “I’m trying not to regret this.” Tiffany winked, “Try harder.”

She gave a hoarse laugh and Tiffany cracked the spine of an ancient tome that smelled like dust and molding ink. The first picture was of a demon with seven fingers on each hand and a head of fire.

She kept turning.

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

They had a bulletin board. A bulletin board and string and seven questions in scrawling large print. It felt like a 70s cop show and Tiffany was the spunky assistant, spunky and full of potential- as long as she kept herself whole and uneaten of course.

She paced in front of the board, the seven questions were written in fat sharpie marker and read:

How does it move around?

Where does it go?

What can it manipulate? Light? Sound?

Why is it eating just heads?

Mothman?- that one was scratched out and given a little frustrated face next to it.

Why the hotel?

Why Rowing?

They were both looking at it with blurry eyes and a slight headache by 11pm. Tiffany had sent a few hasty texts to her mom saying she was at the movies, her mom seemed to willfully give in to that.

Tiffany stretched and yawned one more time, she glanced back at the board, “What if,” she pointed to number five again, “angry mothman.” Lona groaned, “I told you ten times, it’s not mothman. He doesn’t eat people.” “But what if,” she rested her head on her own shoulder, “it was mothman? Or mothman… saw a sexy subaru and decided to have a little fun.” “Oh my god.” “I’m just saying!” She threw her hands in the air, “it has those headlight eyes.” “Yes,” Lona looked ready to toss her book across the room, “And we still have no idea why.” Tiffany yawned again, “Machine-mothman sex.” “Absolutely not,” Lona massaged the bridge of her nose, “I don’t even want to live in that world.” “Too bad,” she grinned, “I just made that world.” Lona flopped down on the bed, “what’s that you say? You want to offer yourself up the monster as a sacrifice? Virgin sacrifice? That’s very noble and bold of you.” Tiffany stuck her tongue out at her, “Hey, I’m coming up with ideas over here.” She fidgeted in place, “an’ m’ not a virgin.” She mumbled. Lona chuckled, “You know I have a lie detector-rune, right?” Tiffany’s eyes went wide, “Really?” She almost stammered. Lona tossed her head back and laughed, “No.” “Ugh,” Tiffany picked up one of the nearby dislodged motel pillows and threw it at her, “bad people get eaten by monsters you know.”

Lona sighed, “everybody gets eaten by monsters. That’s how it is.” Tiffany looked up at the ceiling and listened to the AC blast, “Maybe…” She mumbled, “It’s a weremoth-car hybrid?” Lona gave her a tired look, she shrugged, “turn to ‘were’s’ in that book over there.” Tiffany spun around in her chair, “Really?” “Not the car part, no,” Lona sniffed, “But we have to figure out the timing in between feedings, figure out something, anything.” Tiffany frowned, “Do we know if it’s feeding or not?”

Lona hung her head, “No. We don’t.” She rolled over and pointed at newspaper and book clippings, “We know there were cults in the hotel.” “For one night.” “And a burial ground.” “Ten miles away.” Lona closed her eyes and sighed, “what about a weremoth again?”

She grinned, “On it.” Lona trudged over and looked over her shoulder as she read, poured over the words, the symbols, any of it, all of it. Tiffany glanced at her several times and wondered, not for the first time, where she came from. And where she was going after this.

They kept flipping through books.

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

Night three approached like a bad hangover: thirst, headaches, and staring at nothing for a few hours straight. Her mom was starting to ask where she kept going, there were only so many movies out and she apparently didn’t buy the new ‘I made a friend’ excuse.

But Tiffany was 19, she was allowed out of the house. And into the motel 8 room 108.

Tiffany was lying on Lona’s bed, back resting against the headboard, and transistor radio back in her lap. Lona was in the corner furiously flipping through yet another book, this one titled: The Supernatural of North America, volume Five.

She was growling, “no glowing eyes, no winged creatures with glowing eyes. No head eating!” She spilled the book onto the floor, “Useless.” Tiffany kept her eyes down and responded in a monotone, “Don’t give up yet.”

Lona angrily got to her feet and started to pace, “So useless. There’s nothing here, we might as well name it ourselves.” Tiffany’s mouth twitched, “The Lona-saurus.” “Yeah, why not.” Tiffany laughed, looking up, “Lona-terror.” She shook her head, “Don’t you want it named after you?” She grinned, “No.” she tilted her head to the side, “Though I do have a question for Lona-Human.”

Lona paused and raised an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Tiffany kept fiddling with the dials and glancing around the room. “How did you get into this business anyway?” Lona glanced over her shoulder, “I told you earlier. That’s confidential. You shouldn’t know about all of this,” she was murmuring now, “How am I going to explain any of this?” Tiffany frowned, “To who?” Lona turned on her heels and kept pacing, “No one.”

Tiffany groaned and kept flipping through her channels. “Jesus lov-” “Shuckin-” “Pi-” “Shh-” “Ki-” “Would you stop that?” Lona crawled onto the bed with her, “I don’t know how much time we have left and it’s distracting.” “Shush,” Tiffany suddenly sat upright in bed as she found the chanel again: 98.3. It was dead quiet. “Here it is.” The quiet stretched on and Lona reached to take the radio from her, “Knock it off.” Tiffany rolled away from her.

“Listen!”

As if on queue, the static blared to life.

“Oh shit!” Tiffany shook the radio in midair, “There is it.” Lona raised an eyebrow, “What is it?” Tiffany glanced up, “this is the chanel,” she bit her bottom lip, “The monster channel,” she whispered it and glanced at the door just in case.

Lona scooted closer to her, “Well it sounds like you’re getting bad reception,” she didn’t seem particularly impressed. “Here. It’s probably a blocked chanel.” Lona reached for something in her pocket, holding the object with her right hand and bringing it to her lips. She seemed to whisper to it and then spit on the surface. Tiffany wrinkled her nose at that, but noted closely as the other girl placed a shiny metal rock on top of the radio.

“Turn the dial now,” Lona commanded, Tiffany reluctantly complied.

“I’m telling you, it doesn’t get any clearer than-” She turned the dial and voices immediately began pouring in through the speakers, chanting, singing, wild and strange. Tiffany’s breath caught in her throat.

“Sanguis Bibimus. Corpus Edimus. Sanguis Bibimus. Corpus Edimus. Tolle Corpus Satani! Ave!” Unmistakable gibberish came over the speakers with a grating metal sound in the background, unmistakably dark, unmistakably powerful. The hairs on her arm stood on end, demonic.

Lona stood up immediately, “Of course,” she reached for her duffel bag, “Of fucking course.” Tiffany bounced to her feet, radio still in hand, “What, what is it?” The demonic chanting continued. “Stay here, turn that off,” Lona ordered, “I have to hurry.” Tiffany grabbed her wrist before she could dart away, “What’s going on,” she shoved herself into Lona’s face, “You owe me that much.” Lona struggled with something for a moment before opening and closing her mouth, “Do you remember what the monster looked like?” “Yeah,” Tiffany shuddered, “glowing eyes, wings, huge ass mouth.” “Remember the teeth?”

Tiffany squinted, “I… don’t think I can forget.” “They were blunt,” Lona shouldered her way toward the door, “This isn’t a carnivore, someone else is doing this, that channel… it must be going through the whole town.” Tiffany followed after her, “You’re not stopping me from coming with.” Lona tugged at her hair, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Then don’t fight it.” Tiffany reached out, “I can come with you now or hitch hike there, I’m not staying.” Lona pinched her lips together, glaring and wrestling with something. They stare off for a long minute, finally, Lona stepped aside and Tiffany climbed into the car with her.

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

“Rule number one,” Lona was speeding down the city central road like she wanted to leave skid marks on it, “Don’t come in.” “No.” “Rule number two,” Lona growled, “Stay away from the monster.” “I mean, I’ll try,” Tiffany could feeling her blood pumping through her ears, I’m not going to freeze up this time. She made herself a promise.

“Rule three,” Lona swerved into the parking lot, her face a placid sheet of determination, “if I say run, then you run.” Tiffany nodded, “I can do that.” Her hands trembled slightly, she balled them up and met Lona’s eyes, “I can do that.” Lona’s face slipped into a small smile as they pulled into the parking lot, “And if you can’t run…” She handed her a small pointed cross, “Fight like hell.”

Tiffany smiled back as she took the pointed cross, “Is this for demons then?” Lona kicked her door open and took out her crossbow, “We’re about to find out.” Tiffany edged out of the car and ran after her.

Tiffany watched Lona’s long hair swing back and forth as they strode toward the hotel, no lights were on, it stood quiet and empty. She nursed a growing nausea in her gut at the sight, nerves burning through her system and forcing her feet to follow Lona anyway.

“Lona,” Tiffany chased her heels, “I’ve got your back.” Lona snorted and looked over her shoulder, “I am going to be in so much trouble for bringing a civilian into this.” She pushed her dark hair back, “Is there anything I can say to get you to turn around?” Tiffany drew herself up, “Not on your life. Now,” she cracked her knuckles, “Lemme get us in.” Tiffany found the back door and carefully jiggled it open, she could feel them both holding their breath. Hybrids, she was still wrapping her mind around it.

This wasn’t the movie monsters, it wasn’t even the white-limbed forest walker she was certain ate her dog all those years ago. This was the real deal.

She doesn’t have time to process what this would mean, she cracked the door open and a buzz sizzled through the air. Their eyes both went wide, Lona darted in first, crossbow out, Tiffany pushed her way in after before Lona can lock her out.

The door shuts softly behind them and the lights flicker softly overhead, Lona crouched down and Tiffany stood in place. The yellow wallpaper and green carpet suddenly seemed like a funeral walk, she looked down the narrow space and looked for something.

Lona grabbed her wrist and forced her up against the wall, “Don’t just stand there.” She hissed and placed Tiffany in the corner. “Careful.”

They crept down the long corridor and the echoes of demonic chanting reverberated through Tiffany’s headspace, remembering the sound of ghoulish voices calling across the radio.

You knew there would be dangers, she reminded herself, you knew it wouldn’t be easy.

The lights flickered and Tiffany looked in all directions, waiting for teeth or shadows or giant wings that swept them all away. She tensed her muscles and crept after Lona, keeping her back to the wall, the lights flickered.

It’s quiet, but Tiffany swore she heard the sound of distant buzzing, metallic and crunching.

“I don’t like this,” Lona murmured, “We needed more… more time. More information.” She heard her take a deep breath.

Tiffany clenched her teeth, they hadn’t figured out what the chanting even meant. “It’s coming,” she said, “We have to stop it.”

Lona nodded back, “Keep your eyes open, we don’t know when or where-” “Aaah!” A shriek shattered the air, gut-wrenching and sharp. They share a look, then they are running. Tiffany flung herself toward the cry, focusing on pumping each leg forward and keeping in motion, they followed it toward the second story.

They crashed into the fire escape door and sprinted up the flight of stairs, it was east wing.

“You took him,” a wobbling voice cried, “You took him, devil, bastard.” It was a desperate, watery wail.

Lona burst the upstairs door open, the hall was dark, dark and breathless and a pair of eyes are blaring like two white perfect headlamps. Tiffany blinked a couple times until she could see more clearly.

Ms. Thomas was holding up a fire-poker and brandishing it back and forth like a sword. Maybe she had come for vengeance too.

For a moment Tiffany’s breath is taken away, the creature loomed at the end of the hall. Eyes like flashlights, a buzzing emanating off of its body. It’s massive mouth was a slit across it’s lower face, she could make out two fuzzy atena hanging down above it this time.

It’s massive furry body filled the space and blunt white teeth were just visible in the dark.

Ms. Eve Thomas held up her poker, “stay back.”

The creature lumbered forward undeterred, but Tiffany was moving before she could question it, question anything. Ms. Thomas stabbed up at it’s open gaping maw. Tiffany lunged first, tackling her to the ground and falling head over heels into the wall as the creature’s mouth came down over nothing.

An arrow whizzed above them and a solid thunk carried through the air, Tiffany looked up to see the end of the projectile lodged into the creature’s right shoulder. The creature stumbled in place and took a moment to touch the black arrow embedded into its flesh, fresh black blood oozing out.

It threw its head back and opened its mouth wide.

A buzzing insectoid noise lept from it’s throat, Tiffany reached to cover her ears but Lona was yelling at them. “Move,” she yelled and let loose another crossbow arrow. This one just barely grazed the creatures left leg and left a trail of blood spilling onto the carpet.

The creature stumbled forward, saddling up alongside them, it’s thick arms reaching out wildly and grasping in the dark, Tiffany could smell it’s musk, hear it’s labored breaths.

Tiffany pushed Ms. Thomas forward, “Run!” She yelled, “run goddammit.” Ms. Thomas scrambled forward, reaching for Lona, but Tiffany paused, there was something on the ground, something behind them. It was a thin strip of white paper, black ink was scrawled vertically along it.

The paper lead down the hall and up the creatures back, up and up, Tiffany followed it with her eyes. She licked her lips, “Lona,” she said slowly, eyes not leaving the paper, “I’m breaking rule number two.” “No you’re fucking not.” Lona called, trying to reload another arrow just as the monster lurched toward her, slow, but deadly with it’s thick grey tongue lashing out.

“Huh,” Tiffany grunted and sprung to her feet, it’s headlamp eyes turned toward her, hitting her directly in the face, neck turning like an owl’s. Tiffany threw herself on it’s massive furry body and climbed.

The grating buzzing noise boomed, Tiffany flinched but managed to dive for the paper tied around the creatures neck. It was arranged like a noose, tied and scrawled with inky dark unreadable letters.

The creatures hands thrashed at her, Tiffany kicked at it’s claws and latched her hands onto the paper. The moment she grabbed the scroll a fiery burn bloomed in her flesh that sparked all the way to her elbow, burning and bleeding into her skin. “Agh,” she screamed and let go, luckily, she slammed into the wall instead of into the creatures enormous mouth and searching tongue. Pain burst from her head and hands, she hit the wall and slid limply to floor.

Her vision blurred and tilted, but voices were yelling, calling, she feably pushed up and fumbled back to her feet, the world was a rush of nonsense sound and light. A hand thrust out and grabbed her shoulder, yanking her out of the way as a row of blunt snapping teeth descended.

Tiffany is pulled to safety for a second time.

“Thanks,” she said weakly as Lona crashed them into the nearest wall and out of the way.

Lona’s eyes didn’t leave the monster, “What the hell was that?” Tiffany glanced down at her burned hands, headlamp eyes were sweeping toward them once more, “You’re right,” Tiffany reached for her pocket, “I don’t think it wants to do this.” Lona pushed them back again, “We need to retreat, regroup-” “Hey Lona,” she thought of Mr. Thomas, his face pale and mouth open as the teeth closed in around him. “If anything happens,” she took a deep breath, “Don’t tell my mom I died doing something stupid after all.” Lona’s hand was firm across her shoulder, “Don’t you da-” She wiggled free by jumping out of her brown bomber jacket, she slid smoothly forward and jammed herself directly into the monster’s path. The headlights blind her for a moment, but she jumped up this time, leaping blindly just as the creature lunged to take her head off. She wound her arms around its neck as it bent down.

A thick grey tongue licked at her leg, but she kicked and grabbed at the paper noose tied firmly around its neck. She cringed at the searing burn in her right hand, but drew the sharpened cross up and sliced at the paper. Tiffany prepared herself to have to saw and tear away, but the paper broke like wet tissue paper against the press of the holy object, it smoked gently and fell away.

A deafening screech followed and her whole world tremored.

Tiffany was falling again, falling and falling, just as a pair of hands collided into her back, stopping her head from cracking against the hard floor. Lona had dove for her as she fell away from the beast.

The creature screeched again, it’s voice insectoid but losing it’s inhumane metallic clang. Lona started to pull, “The door,” she yelled and started tearing away, “We need to get the door.”

Tiffany barely remembered stumbling and sweating her way down the stairs and back to the first story, her hands screaming in pain and head spinning. Lona shepherded them toward the fire exit just as the creature rammed itself into walls and ceiling, knocked out the lights as it flew rapidly in all directions.

The emergency exit peeled open and they threw themselves out. Tiffany gasped for air, Lona pushing her out of the way just as a huge furry body burst out behind them.

The summer air was somehow cooler on her flushed skin and she swayed in place, the fight leaving her battered body, but she couldn’t let her eyes close, she stayed in place, transfixed.

The shadows melted off the enormous humanoid beast, the dark blacks fading into a sharp silver, it’s wings extending, grey and covered in spotted intricate markings. It’s headlamp eyes shun in the night and it’s antena extended.

It was a light grey now, sparkling almost, wings massive and whumping in the night.

“Oh,” Tiffany stepped back, “ Oh fuck.” Lona kept her hands around her, she chuckled, “Huh,” she said simply, “A fairy creature.” Later, Lona would call it a ‘will-o-wisp’ mated with a moth beast, a lost mutt fairy creature.

It’s movements were quick and decisive, slightly lopsided and presumably still wounded, it sped into the horizon. It’s silverback disappeared into the trees, the buzzing and screeching following it and the world fell quiet and still.

“Will it,” Tiffany felt her tingling limbs to make sure they were all still there, “Will it eat any more people? Should we go after it?” Lona’s eyes trailed down to Tiffany’s raw red hands, she shook her head, “Someone was controlling it. With those chants and that leash,” their eyes meet, “it should be safe now.” Tiffany exhaled, “Who would do that?” Lona shrugged, “There are plenty of bad people in this world.” She pushed Tiffany’s blonde hair back from her sweaty face, “don’t worry about it.” Tiffany slumped down, “There you go again. With orders.” She chuckled and sat gasping in the light of the descending moon, “You’ll notice I’m not very good with those.” Lona collapsed down next to her, “well thanks for not dying at least.” Tiffany shot her a slow smile, “Thanks for letting me almost not-not-die.” Lona chuckled, “please don’t thank me civilian. This isn’t what we’re supposed to do.”

“Okay,” Tiffany’s head lulled to the side, falling onto Lona’s shoulder, “you’re welcome then.”

Lona put her head down too, “That was stupidly brave, there.” She sighed, closing her eyes, her voice becomes lower, small even, “Don’t become a monster hunter Tiffany, please.” There was something unsettling soft in her tone.

Tiffany closed her eyes too, “Too late.” They stay there for a very long moment, contemplating their own mortality, burns, and various fly-away feelings seeping into tired bones.

Lona was gone in the morning.

Tiffany torched all of her college pamphlets on the burner, bandaged her hands, wrote a note to her mother, and followed after.

FIN

[no6secretsanta]

Merry Christmas @aoicanvas, I heard you like AUs.

Have a Motorcycle/Mechanic AU from my heart.

- @secretagentfan

Born to be Mild

     If Nezumi had to pick one word to describe Shion it would be—without a shadow of a doubt­— dangerous.

     Most wouldn’t think this. Nezumi certainly didn’t, the day he met Shion, when he ambled into his repair shop on the sketchiest side of town in a light blue cardigan. Shion looked all parts youthful-grandpa-in-training and no parts actual nutcase but that’s the thing about first impressions: they lie.

     He had wandered around the poorly-insulated garage, examining the heavy metal board that listed all the prices for basic maintenance Nezumi was capable of, the types of vehicles he could work with, and recommendations for where to go if different or specialized help was needed.

     Nezumi loved that board. He welded it himself after dealing with a particularly difficult customer that couldn’t seem to understand that the shop was no longer run by his grandmother, that she wasn’t coming back, and that he had no idea what his “usual” order with her entailed.

     Customer service had never been Nezumi’s specialty. Performing was only fun with a worthy script and “No, your engine is smoking because you ran over a traffic cone, sir” was hardly Shakespearean.

     Since the genesis of the board, however, the necessity for customer service dwindled dramatically. Now when a customer came in, all Nezumi had to do was look up from one of his scripts, and point a thumb at it. Much easier. Saved everyone time.

      “Does your shop carry owner’s manuals?” Shion had asked that day, likely attempting to pull Nezumi’s gaze away from Life of Galileo.

      “A manual should have come with your vehicle,” Nezumi recited, turning the page.

      “I’m sure it did, but I wasn’t the one who purchased the vehicle. I only inherited it.”

     Nezumi looked up, barely. He recognized that this was indeed an issue that required a modicum his attention.

      “Type of car?”

     Shion shook his head, pulled out his phone, and showed Nezumi a picture of an old Suzuki SV650 motorcycle.

      “This is mine.”

     Really, that should have been the first red flag. The second came immediately after when Nezumi actually looked at Shion properly and noticed he had a full head of white hair under his beanie. Not blonde, not grey, but white. It was a color Nezumi had never thought could look natural on anyone, and yet there it was.

      “I didn’t dye it.” Shion says, returning Nezumi’s stare with a polite smile.

      “You brag on that to everyone, don’t you?” Nezumi returned, a half-tease, shutting his book.

     Shion only looked confused. He folded his hands on Nezumi’s desk. “I wouldn’t say brag. Most people are curious and ask. That’s why I wear the hat.”

      “Considerate, aren’t you?”

     Shion smiled, even though there was nothing to smile about. “I try to be.”

     Nezumi helped Shion find his manual on google. He gave him a few tips about maintaining balance when riding which Shion drank in with a kind of genuine admiration that didn’t make Nezumi’s heart flutter so much as stand still.

     Dangerous.

     The next day, Shion was back at his shop, only this time he brought his bike with him for inspection.

     Nezumi nearly screamed at the sight of it. “What the hell have you been doing on this?”

     Shion blinked. “Is something wrong with it?”

      “The tread’s almost completely worn down. I can see the wire.”

      “Should you…not? Is that dangerous?”

      “Only if you think catching on fire is dangerous.”

      “Oh.”

      “Please tell me you didn’t ride it over here.”

     Shion’s silence was damning. Nezumi put a hand on his forehead.

     This guy is going to die. Nezumi thought, but instead of voicing this thought, he pointed at the board. Shion followed his finger, but looked so perplexed Nezumi found himself explaining.

      “I can’t even start the inspection until these tires get fixed. You can do that here, but the new tires will come out of your pocket. Plus clearly something’s fucked up your chain— I’ll fix that too, but I’ll need to practically dismantle the whole thing and add new parts.”

     Shion nodded. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

     He wasn’t wearing his hat, today. Clearly Shion’s desire not to answer questions about his hair was surpassed only by hot weather. His hair was fluffier than expected; it reminded Nezumi a little of a sheep dog.           

      “Better get someone to pick you up, this will take a while,” Nezumi said, finally, undoing his own hair and tying it higher with the hair tie around his wrist. It was going to be a long day.

     Shion nodded again, and pulled out his phone.

     Nezumi showed Shion the customer couch, purposefully kept as far away from his work station as possible. Shion clearly didn’t understand why, because the second Nezumi got to work, he started talking.

      “Your garage is awfully small. I can see you from here.”

      “Astute observation. Maybe I should charge for the incredible view. ”

     Shion frowned. “You’re very sarcastic.”

      “Comes with the greasy mechanic image.”

      “Now you’re contradicting yourself.”

     Nezumi glanced up from the ragged tire he was currently removing. “What?”

      “You can’t be both an ‘incredible view’ and a ‘greasy mechanic’.”

     Nezumi clicked his tongue. “I contain multitudes.”

     Shion’s laugh echoed through the empty shop. Nezumi smiled, barely, and reached for a fresh tire.

     Mercifully, after the first hour, Shion had transitioned into focused staring and the occasional unobtrusive work question. At hour three, Shion stood and walked out of the shop, and Nezumi exhaled, finally able to give the bike his full focus—only for Shion to return a short while after with two brown bags.

      “I brought you one too, although, I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

     Nezumi almost dropped his wrench.

      “What?”

      “Sandwiches. There’s a little deli right next door. It’s very good. I’ll set yours right here.”

      “Don’t you have someone coming to pick you up, Mr. Considerate?”

     Shion winced. “No. Unfortunately. My friend who would usually pick me up is out of town. I should have asked. If I’m bothering you I can wait at the deli.”

      “You aren’t. Thanks for the food.” Nezumi found himself answering. He wiped some sweat off his forehead to his immediate regret and reached for a rag to wipe his hands.

      “I brought you some water too. I wasn’t aware just how hot garages get in the summer.”

     Nezumi sighed, tossed the rag somewhere on the floor and greedily accepted the water. He downed half of it, bottle crunching.

      “It’s this garage mainly. Piece of shit.”

      “Is it that bad?” Shion blinked.

      “Yes,” Nezumi replied. He grabbed his sandwich and sank onto the customer couch next to Shion. He figured if Shion took the time to bring him food, he probably wouldn’t file a complaint if Nezumi sat beside him. “Roof leaks, insulation’s terrible, but the tools are here, and it’s mine so.”

     Shion hummed thoughtfully, unwrapping his sandwich. “That sounds kind of like my motorcycle.”

     Nezumi looked at Shion. “I didn’t actively break my roof, unlike you and your poor tread.”

     Shion held up his hands, looking ready to apologize again. Nezumi eased up on him, elbowing him lightly.

      “But you inherited the bike, so maybe it’s similar. Inherited goods, inherited problems.”

     Shion nodded “It was my dad’s. He left when I was a baby, so I never really knew him— not even well enough to feel much about that. Still, having it and driving it now…I do feel more connected to the past, if that makes sense.”

     Shion played with a string of his bangs as he talked. He was so open, perfectly comfortable sharing these facts about himself with a stranger. Nezumi stared.

      “I think what I’m trying to say is it’s important to have items like that. To remember those who came before you, and the imprint they left on the world.”

     Nezumi swallowed his bite of sandwich, and folded the rest up in the wrapper.

      “Well, let’s see if I can fix your imprint, Shion.”

      “Yes please!” Shion grinned, wrapping up his sandwich too.

     It was dark outside, by the time Nezumi finished. Shion had graduated from the couch to right beside Nezumi, and watched him work. If Shion were anyone else, Nezumi would have killed him, but there was something about Shion’s stupid cardigan and stupid sincere willingness to learn that made pushing him away seem…cruel.

     Shion was also unexpectedly quiet when close by: a welcome bonus.

      “Done.” Nezumi said.

      “That’s it?” Shion asked, head tilted, as if looking at the bike from another angle would reveal another broken component.

      “That’s it. Now I’m closed. You stayed way past time. Go home.”

      “Do you live far from here?” Shion asked, and Nezumi felt the frown form on his face. “I’m just asking because I didn’t see a car in the garage.”

     Oh why did Shion have to be so observant? “I walked. I live about 5 minutes from—“

      “I can drive you home!” Shion beamed, like this was a great idea and not a terrible one.

      “I’m not going to get mugged outside my own shop, Shion.”

      “Not with me driving you,” Shion announced, bright enough to raise the sun.

     Nezumi was tired. He stared at Shion, wondering exactly how he let himself get into this situation. Shion stared back, confused, before finally getting the hint.

      “Unless you don’t want to. That’s fine too. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press.”

     Dammit, Nezumi wavered. This was all just so mind-blowingly stupid, and Shion had bought him lunch; he didn’t want to ruin his day. “You can drive me home, Shion.”

     Shion smiled, and Nezumi had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling back.

      “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Shion asked, easily mounting the bike in a way that made Nezumi’s mouth go oddly dry and made him question his place in the universe.

      “Once or twice,” he replied, climbing on the bike behind Shion. He didn’t touch him, yet.

      “I was sort of hoping it was your first time. It’s an exciting feeling.”

      “Adrenaline is a wild thing,” Nezumi drawled, as Shion revved the engine once. The bike thrummed to life underneath them.

      “It sure is!” Shion agreed, raising his voice over the hum of the engine. “Oh! I almost forgot—put this on!”

     A small blue helmet was placed in Nezumi’s hands. He looked at it, then looked back at Shion.

      “Go on. I want you to be safe.”

     Shion smiled warmly, and Nezumi’s stomach twisted. He put the helmet on to hide the heat on his cheeks.

      “Are you ready?” Shion asked. Nezumi wrapped his arms around his waist, hands on his stupid cardigan. He was warm. Solid. Nezumi wanted to lean closer. He shot the idea down immediately.

      “Go on Shion,” Nezumi grunted.

     Shion only smiled, and pushed them forward, into the night. He drove fast, fearlessly and laughed without inhibition into the wind.

     Nezumi held onto Shion and his own stupid melting heart for dear life.

[notsugarandspice]

get you out my mind

I....wrote it this morning. I couldn’t get it out of my head. so this is a thing that’s happening now. idk I love it so much just...read it if ya want. it’s gonna be a lil’ 3 chapter self-indulgent thing ♡

Not Rated, Meet-Cute, Skater! Eddie, Richie is in a private school & is #miserable, pretty Cali life, Bill is questioning things, Skater! Bill

Read it on AO3.

                                                    Chapter 1

Richie has always been one to get easily fascinated, and there were plenty of things around him to draw interest from, but that’s not what he wants right now. In fact, he’s trying to avoid any and all compelling things, trying not to fall into that daydreamy headspace. He came here to be alone, do his work and that’s about it.

He’s breathing the fresh air coming from the ocean, fascinated with how the dim sunlight glistens on the waves. There are plenty of surfers around, barefoot with nothing but swim trunks on, giggly and tan. And then there’s….Richie. Pale, freckly, still dressed in his uniform: blue polo and khakis, wishing he had a pack of cigarettes with him. Wishing he could actually smoke here.

Richie looks over to the side where people are skating on manmade hills, falling, giggling, happy. Richie doesn’t really have a reason to be upset or depressed over anything, but like most things, he doesn’t have a good excuse. That’s just the state he’s in.

The school has been difficult, exams have been kicking his ass, and he still doesn’t want to go to college even though he’s already been accepted to UCLA preemptively. But he still has a year of torture to endure. He’s been trying to be a good son, he’s been trying to make his parents proud. He just hopes it pays off.

There’s a particularly fascinating red-haired guy to Richie’s right side, one who seems to fall off too frequently for his own good. He laughs it off instantly, and he looks so young it’s painful because Richie can tell he’s definitely a high schooler and Richie doesn’t feel like one. He already feels shaped to be an adult, what with all the private school pressure and additional tutoring, endless soccer practice that recently ended, and that little voice in his head that always reminds him that he’s the only kid and he has an example of two hard-working parents who give him everything he wants. So there’s that.

The red-haired guy falls again after attempting some sort of a trick on the bend and starts whooping someone from the ground, someone who’s running from the parking lot. Richie should really be reading Lord of the Flies but his eyes fall on that boy who gets on the black board mid-run, skating down the slope smoothly, hangs on the top of the tall hill for several agonizing seconds and swoops back down with more grace that should be possible in this sort of thing, his lower body seemingly disconnected from the rest. Richie keeps watching the way his overgrown sandy hair flops from the wind and the corner of his mouth lifts when he notices knee socks with little red pills on them.

Richie looks away because he doesn’t want to stare - he could never skate, no matter how much he wanted - too tall and uncoordinated, and honestly no one to skate with even if he didn’t care about falling. His best friend Stan preferred to stay indoors and was disgusted by any mention of physical activity and Richie tried pressing, was even really good at it, but that was a thing about Stanley - he could never budge.

Richie turns to face the beach again, a little uncomfortable on the weird bench-like rock he’s been sitting on but instead of re-reading the same damn sentence he simply looks forward, reveling in the sound of laughter, crashing waves and the shifting of the sand. He zones out for a solid minute until a board comes smashing into his bench, making him jump a little. It’s the red-headed guy. Of course, it is.

He runs up to Richie with an ecstatic grin on his face, and Richie wants to take it and plant it on himself. He wants a smile that splits his face too. “Suh-suh-sorry, man.”

“All good here.” Richie wants to say something else, maybe make small talk which he’s usually good at but for some inexplicable reason he can’t get anything out of himself, and he bends down to look at the book again.

Richie miraculously reads a full page before he sees someone sprint in front of him, trying to catch up with their board. He realizes with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that it’s the knee socks kid - and he now clearly sees the red t-shirt, blue jean shorts, and a million dollar smile. Their eyes connect, and Richie’s heart speeds up faster than when he was on that terrifying Six Flags rollercoaster. It’s kind of nauseating, and he feels oddly nervous.

The boy huffs a laugh, cocking his hip to let the board sit there. “Sorry ‘bout that. My friend and I keep bugging you.”

“Like I told your friend - all good here. Skateparks aren’t exactly crowd-less.” Richie grins convincingly even though he’s starting to sweat for the first time since he sat down under the sun.

The guy smiles back, and his teeth are a stark contrast to the caramel tan. “What are you reading?”

“Um,” the name of the book flies right out of Richie’s head, along with his ability to coherently speak, apparently, “Lord of the Flies.”

The boy comes closer and puts the board down, balancing on it as he talks. “School? I think I read that Junior year or something.”

“You’ve been out of school for a while?” He doesn’t look like he even graduated and Richie doesn’t want to be rude, so he forces himself to stop talking before he inevitably offends the guy.

But he just smiles and squats on the board, somehow perfectly balanced, confidence unwavering. “Babyface, I know. Still in school though. Senior.” The boy looks over to the side and chuckles when his friend falls on his ass again, and Richie can’t help but smile when a small dimple appears under the boy’s pink cheek. “What about you?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” says Richie without thinking and he hopes his voice reflected the joking nature of it.

“I mean, you’re wearing a school uniform. Blue means…Junior year, yeah? Red is Seniors.”

“You don’t go to my school.”

The boy straightens again, skating around Richie’s bench. “Definitely not. One of my friends does.” He suddenly skates away, down the slope and quickly makes it all the way to the other side where he’s nothing but a red blob. Richie squints in his glasses but can’t make out the expression on the guy’s face.

He drops his head back down to the book with an uneasy feeling, hoping he didn’t do something to push the guy away. He strangely wants to talk to him more, and Richie is usually good at talking, joking, all that, but he’s kind of speechless around this particular person. It makes him nervous, and he simultaneously wants to run away and bravely grab someone’s board to make it to the other side.

Richie sits for five more minutes, skimming through a couple of pages and decides he can’t stay still anymore. He lies down on his back, putting his head on the half-empty backpack and manages to go through a whole chapter before the red-headed guy’s in front of him again, this time without a valid reason to be. He just stands there for a while on top of the board like the other guy did earlier and looks at the beach. Richie puts the book down on his tummy and cocks an eyebrow, awaiting a response.

“D-duh-do you skate?” asks the guy, his cheeks tinted pink, green eyes jumping everywhere.

Richie bends his arm to elevate his head a little as too many thoughts race around his head, starting with why is he talking to me? and ends somewhere around Richie’s observation on how much easier it is to talk to this dude. His heart isn’t jumping out of his chest, and he might be able to make this guy laugh which is all Richie lives for at the end of the day.

“Nah, too tall and gangly. Hence, ridiculously unbalanced. String bean. Whatever.” His shoulders go up to his ears, and the boy laughs. Richie smiles and feels the desire to keep this shit up like a lifeline.

“Wuh-wuh-what are you d-doing at a skate park, then?” The boy looks behind him and furrows his brows before turning to Richie again.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought no-one would bother me here.” Richie winks and the guy blushes more now, smiling bashfully.

He opens his mouth to respond, but they suddenly hear the approaching sound of a skateboard and look in the direction of the pit. Richie sees the smaller guy approaching, his hair caught in the wind, lip stuck under the top row of teeth. He instantly sits back up, suddenly too breathless to feel so relaxed. The guy smiles when their eyes connect and skates right into a sitting position on the bench, leaning on Richie heavily from the speed at which he landed on his ass. Richie’s hand somehow lands on the boy’s slightly sweaty lower back, and he yanks it away, his finger tingly, stomach churning.

The boy giggles and Richie’s heart stings slightly. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t calculate this landing properly.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” says Richie without thinking, my stupid motormouth, fucking shit, and he can feel his cheeks heat up feverishly and his throat feels tight. He’s waiting for something like dude, what? but when he finally turns to look at the boy he’s smiling at him small and bashful, sitting on his hands, rocking back and forth. Adorable is the only word bouncing around Richie’s head.

“We should p-puh-probably get out of your h-hair,” says the green-eyed boy with an awkward smile, all ready to go with a board under his armpit.

His friend ignores the offer to leave and instead extends a hand to Richie, eyes sparkly with that light grey that seems to look straight into your soul. “I’m Eddie. This is Bill,” he bends his head in the direction of his friend without breaking eye contact with Richie.

“Richie.” He shakes the boy’s hand, and it’s a lot softer than he’s used to and it makes him look down, noticing how his thumb alone bends around all of Eddie’s knuckles, covering them completely. Richie can’t help but smile at the image, unsure of why it makes him feel all that.

“Like Richie Rich?”

Richie laughs earnestly dropping the hand, the irony of it all not lost on him. “Some ways more than others.”

“Right. Private school, big house, you probably do fencing or some shit.”

“Tried fencing and I was terrible at it. Like I told Bill here - I have the coordination of a newborn giraffe.”

Eddie searches Richie’s face for several agonizing seconds with a big smile on his face, his freckles hiding in the folds of the slightly crumpled nose. “Newborn giraffes are kind of cute.”

“Okay-“ mutters Bill and quickly skates away, miraculously making it the whole way to the pit without face-planting.

Eddie snickers into his fist and turns back to Richie, seemingly scooting closer, but that could just be the trick of the eyes. Richie’s mouth is apparently faster than his brain again. Or his brain is too fast. Doesn’t it answer for everything he says? “You come here often?”

The boy giggles and blushes slightly, cocking an eyebrow that leaves Richie’s heart stuttering. “Are you hitting on me with the most typical pickup line ever?”

Richie feels his heart drop on the ground and roll all the way to the ocean and down, down, down. “Oh, no, I- I mean- fuck,” he huffs a laugh quickly rubbing his steaming face, “do you actually hang out here often?”

Eddie keeps smiling sweetly, looking at Richie with unabashed interest. He seems to think the question over from a different perspective and looks towards the water when he answers. Richie notices the smooth bend of his nose and how pretty his skin looks under the sunset light. Richie feels like he ran the field three times back and forth, he’s so breathless.

“Yeah, I mean, this is the only place I like to hang out besides home. I don’t really go out.” There’s something oddly vulnerable in that admission even though Richie doesn’t necessarily think it’s such an odd thing to say.

“Me neither. If you don’t count all the times pops drags me to be his caddie to a golf club in Malibu. Love getting undressing stares from old white men.”

Eddie laughs and looks at Richie pitifully, scrunching up his face in a ridiculously cute way. “Ew. Don’t go there.”

“I try not to! I literally ran out of excuses at this point. Whatevs,” he says throwing an arm forward, laughing slightly. Talking to Eddie feels…nice. Nicer than he wants to think about.

“EDDIE!” they hear Bill scream with his hands around his mouth, waving for Eddie to make it to the other side, pointing at someone standing next to him.

“Oh!” exclaims Eddie, gesturing Bill a thumbs up. He bends down to see where his board is and they both look over to the left where it’s propped halfway on the grass. “I gotta go. My friend just got here.” Eddie jogs towards the board, neatly jumping on the side that was on the sidewalk, making the board do a 360 to get it on the ground again.

Richie feels ridiculously impressed even though skating never fascinated him enough to be that interested in it. He might be very interested now.

Eddie runs a hand through his hair as he rolls to balance in front of Richie and he notices a thin beady bracelet, many colors on it. Eddie smiles when their eyes connect, and Richie has the biggest desire to grab the boy’s hand and take him to the little café across the street, where they make the best strawberry cappuccinos and small chocolate croissants and what the actual FUCK, Rich, you want a date or something? Richie huffs an awkward laugh at his own thoughts, nervous that the boy would hear him, knowing well enough, though, that it’s not possible and he really needs to be less self-conscious.

“Don’t have too much fun without me, Eds,” says Richie, his mouth apparently desperate to make a lasting impression. His hands are slightly shaky where he’s wringing his fingers between the two of them.

Eddie groans and leans back a little in a dramatic manner that Richie thinks he’d imitate if he was less nervous to be around the guy. “No nicknames, for the love of God.”

“It’s not like you’re ever gonna hear it again.” Richie’s heart stings instantly when he says it, and he’s terrified there might be truth in that statement.

Eddie looks at him a little bug-eyed, a smile falling from his lips. “You’re not planning on coming here again?”

Richie considers it, looking past Eddie on the water, hearing the loud laughter, the sound of boards on the smooth surface, the wind rustling palm trees above him and then at Eddie’s face, framed by the pink and orange glow of the sunset behind them. He thinks he couldn’t stay away from this place even if he tried. “Dunno. Don’t live that close.” Right. I’ll probably die if I don’t see your face again.

“Okay. Well…I hope to see you soon.” Eddie’s voice is so small when he says that and his eyes are almost pleading. Richie doesn’t know why this kid would ever want to hang out with him, but he can’t replace the responsive feeling in his chest and all the hurricanes happening in his gut.

“Me too, Eds. See ya.” Eddie rolls his eyes and runs onto his board, sticking his tongue out and screams “Bye, Richie!” skating down the slope, towards his friends.

Richie follows him with his eyes languidly, wanting to run down the slope, tumbling head first into the guy’s arms. Whatever. He smiles at the distant image of Eddie’s red shirt and picks up his book to put it inside the backpack. He waits several seconds to see the Sun finally drown itself in the water and goes up to walk to the parking lot, backpack on one shoulder. He looks over at the pit one last time, hoping to catch Eddie’s eye but he’s skating back and forth, swift and skillful, and Richie grins sheepishly, unwilling to let the image exit his mind.

He texts Stanley on the red light, asking him to come over. He has to figure out an excuse to drag Stan with him next time. Not that it’s too weird to hang out at the beach for no apparent reason, drawn to a cute tan guy on a skateboard. Shit.

Perma Tag: @studpuffin @j0ys @d-nbroughs @tinyarmedtrex @constantreaderfool @its-stranger-than-you-think @aizeninlefox  (I’m removing some people who don’t interact - I’m not here to force my work on anyone, so no hard feelings. Let me know if you want to be removed/added to a perma list or a specific fic ♡)

[notsissannis]

—Some Mystery Lost and Died Alone

Sirius Black x Tom Riddle

one-shot: complete

Rated: T

Read on [AO3] [FFN] — Thank you to my favourite girl for fixing my mess, @honeyweeds

This is a birthday gift for my beloved @synoir my Slytherin wife and my crazy Sirius/Tom lover! (We have so many plans, Su! Where them at?!) I'm sorry that this came out so late. Life's been taking over me and I believe your man has made sure you've enjoyed your birthday, so thank you, Durul!

This is for you, love! Our babies! Love you, Su!

Sirius stopped writing, snapping his quill into two in frustration. He cursed under his breath, trying his hardest to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched, again.

He swirled his head toward the source. He was right. It was the third time of the day he saw him watching him. He tucked his most cherished journal away carefully as it could have been one last gift from his brother.

“Prongs, tell me you can see him now,” Sirius half-begged his friend, hands waving to the young man standing at the hall’s door.

James looked up to where the boy was. His eyebrows knitted together before he faced him, rolling his eyes. “You tryna prank me one final time, aren’t ya?” He took a bite of his dinner, mouth full as he continued, “Not gonna work, Pads! I figured you out! Because…” His hands cupped around his mouth and he whispered, “I’ve prepared one for you, too!”

“C’mon, mate. Just tell me you can see him,” Sirius said exasperatedly, then he quickly added, “I thought we had a plan for graduation tomorrow! Leave with a bang kinda shit!”

“Yeah, but I’ve also prepared individual prank for each of you, Marauder’s honour.” James pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose, “And I told you for the hundredth time—”

“Third,” Remus corrected between bites. “And I’ll kill you if I get pranked.”

“—I see no sort of boy,” James glanced to the door then to Remus, “And I love you more, Moony.”

Sirius ignored the spectacle boy and turned to his two other friends for support.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t see shit,” Remus said.

“Neither do I,” Peter admitted regretfully.

That did it. Because there was no way Peter wouldn’t take his side. He brought his head to the gigantic door again to make sure he was still there before he scanned around the hall, hoping that he would catch at least one girl drooled over the dark haired boy. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was one good looking bloke. Snake or no snake.

His admittance itself started to creep him out.

“Well, third time's a charm.” Sirius pushed himself up, cracking his neck side to side. “I’m gonna drag him here myself and we’ll see if you fuckers continue with this half-arsed performance. As a self-proclaimed critic, let me tell you this: it sucks!”

It didn’t suck. It was very convincing. Very real. And as Sirius walked briskly to the door, he started to get goosebumps. Because what if, what if, they — everyone in the hall — really couldn’t see him?

He didn’t get to come up with an answer. Before he realized it, he was standing nose to nose with him.

Sirius once again scanned the hall for any drooling teenager. Still none. He cleared his throat, brushing the unease away as he looked down to the shorter boy.

“Come with me,” he said.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow. His lips pulled into a smirk as he spoke, eyes gazing over his shoulder to the Gryffindor’s table. “Pardon me, Mr. Black. But I’m not interested in mingling with that merry band of yours.”

Sirius turned to his friends. Their attention were still on him. Only him. Alone. He was about to call them when he felt a warm breath on his neck.

“Meet me on the seventh floor at midnight,” the boy said. His voice was soft, a gentle wisp against his neck.

It sent chills running down his spine. “Seventh floor.”

“Across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy,” He added.

Sirius nodded his head. He was certain it wasn't a good idea to see this invisible boy later, but there was something captivating about his voice. The old, posh accent over his subtly demanding tone grasped at Sirius.  

So he nodded again and confirmed, “Midnight.”

The boy smiled. It was the most pretentious smile Sirius have ever seen.

“Alone.”

Sirius studied Barnabas the Barmy’s attempt to teach trolls ballet. He shook his head, erasing the absurd image off his brain. The night was quiet; except for the faint whispers of prefects walking down the stairs after their last round on the seventh floor.

He has been stood up, he surmised.

He chuckled humorlessly, turning his feet to the stairs. “What was I thinking?”

“Hopefully of me.”

Sirius whirled his head back to the tapestry and dropped his jaw open. Where it was Barnabas and ballerina trolls, now it was a big, wooden door. The boy stood straight in front of it with hands behind him, chin tilted up.

“What the fuck? I swear it wasn't there before,” he said, making his way toward the door.

“That’s because it wasn’t.” He shrugged nonchalantly — elegantly.

“So, what? It just appeared out of thin air?”

“I know. Wonderful, isn’t it? Magic, that is.”

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat. Magic, he repeated in his head, mesmerized by the way the ghost boy's eye lit with wonder at his own statement. The torch’s fire reflected in his eyes, making it seem like they were literally burning in curiosity, eagerness, desire.

Magic.

He could feel a bead of sweat trailed down his sideburn. “What’s inside?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

The boy pushed the door open. Sirius winced as the creaking sound echoed the empty corridor, a reminder that they were alone past curfew. Filch could be anywhere.

As if he could read his mind, he spoke. “No one can find us once we’re inside,” the boy told him. “Come. It will only be the two of us.”

Sirius halted. He turned to the stairs, evaluating his decision. The silence felt heavy around him, swallowing him whole. He turned his back toward the stairs, running his hand through his long hair as he made his decision.

This was his last night in Hogwarts. After the graduation ceremony, there was no certainty he could explore the castle again. He managed to convince himself.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

The boy smirked when he heard him, bowing his head down as his hand gestured welcomingly toward the room. “After you.”

Sirius walked past him. There was nothing wrong with being curious. He would tell all about this room to the others later. It was just another night of exploration and mischief. He didn’t expect to see Gryffindor’s common room on the other side of the door, though. Not from a Slytherin.

The boy stood proudly in the middle of the room in his green robe. The picture was wrong, as though he tried to rob the Gryffindor in him in every inch of the way.

“I could ask for Slytherin’s common room. But your comfort is my priority.” His words were those of snakes — a string of silky lies.

Sirius nodded amicably. Despite it all, it did bring comfort to him amidst the strangeness of the night. He took a seat in the armchair nearest to him, watching as the boy roamed about — his fingertips trailed along the line of the fireplace, the couch, and the back of his seat. He rounded him smoothly, his robe billowing as he crouched down between his legs.

“Now that we’re alone,” he began, his fingers tapping on Sirius’ lap, “Let’s talk about the great, unavoidable war.”

Sirius’ mind churned from nothing to everything. He thought of the Order, of his friends, of his bike, of his brother.

His grin seemed misplaced on his handsome face. “I know your brother quite well, Mr. Black.”

Sirius met his eyes, his breath hitched when he watched them blazing red. He blinked, trying to get a clearer sight, only to see them look perfectly normal. The familiar sound of woods’ cracking from the fireplace was a solace he held desperately close.

“Young Regulus is simply doing everything to survive,” he continued, his thumb circling on Sirius’ inner thigh. “He doesn’t have friends like yours, Mr. Black. He doesn't have the luxury of an older brother either.”

The words pierced through his heart.

“He’s afraid. Alone. With no one to turn to.” He stood up, standing behind his seat.

His arms circled around him, enveloping him like a spider web, trapping and wrapping him until he felt suffocated by the warmth of his common room.

“I feel sorry for the young gentleman. He’s a good boy, you see? Thrown right to the center of this chaotic war. He just wants to please his parents in place of his brother’s failure.” He whispered to his ear, “Whose fault do you think it was, Mr. Black? Whose role was it that our innocent Regulus had to fill on the eve of his sixteenth birthday?”

Sirius shut his eyes, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He knew the consequences of leaving the house would fall on his brother. But he saw how his mother has been dotting Regulus in ways she never did to him. He thought it wouldn’t be as bad as what he had endured before.

His body shook as the despair washed over him. The lost of his brother’s innocence, the fact that they would fight against each other in this war, the youth that he had robbed from him.

He felt a set of cold fingers lightly scratching his scalp. “Let it all out, Sirius. We are all too young for this fight. We are nothing but pawns: expendable and worthless piece on his chess board.”

He pushed him away, jumping off his seat. His breaths were short and heavy. Rage ran through his veins as he spat, “You know nothing about Dumbledore. He’s a great wizard!”

The boy’s dark eyes darkened. He looked malicious but just like his red eyes, it was replaced with his controlled, handsome face in a blink. He sat on the armchair, crossing his legs with his two hands laid upon the armrests. “Have you seen the latest model of Triumph motorbike?”

The sudden change of topic threw him off. “What?”

He conjured a magazine, pale fingers flipping through the pages and stopping at one to his liken. “Personally, I loved this one.”

Sirius peered down to steal a glance of the image. It was the same one that he had been dreaming to own after he’s graduated.

He uncrossed his legs, urging Sirus to sit on the floor between them. Sirius complied. His back rested against the chair as he snatched the magazine from the snake’s hands. Thin arms cocooned him, humming as Sirius flipped through the pages, commenting lightly on each model.

He was doing nothing wrong. He was only talking about the war, about his brother, and about motorbike. It was a normal midnight conversation between two young men. He did nothing wrong.

So why? Why did it feel as if he has betrayed his friends? As if he has betrayed the Light?

“Another!” Sirius slammed his glass on the bar top.

“Sirius, honey. Don’t you think you’ve had enough for the night?” Rosmeta asked as she topped his glass of Firewhiskey.

Sirius barked out a laugh. The sound attracted every patrons of the night to him. “Rosmeta, honey,” he mocked, “It’s a night of celebration!”

“Of what?” She asked, exposing her cleavage as she leaned forward.

Sirius twirled the glass in his hand, hypnotised by the small swirl of his drink. “My brother,” he mumbled sadly.

The news had been late to arrive. His cousin, Andromeda, had written months ago to tell him, but the Order had kept the missive for fear that it was a threat. They knew not to put anything past a Black.  

“To your brother,” Rosmeta lifted her own glass.

“To my stupid brother.” He downed his drink in one go. As he predicted, the journal was his last — parting — gift from Regulus. A memento, weighing a ton in his jacket pocket. A heaviness he never thought he would carry. A burden Death left him with.

Meanwhile, presently, the whisky left him with a fiery trail down his throat. Burning him inside.

The fire sent his mind wandering into the night. Was it real? Had it really happened? Sirius never did tell anyone about him — about that night. Never even told James — about his cold fingers on his scalp, about his wondrous dark eyes, about his smooth words. A snake.

He caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye. Shiver showered all over him as he felt it once again, just when he thought of him, the same sensation as he was being watched; by him.

His feet started to catch up to his brain, to his darkest thought. Follow him, find him, follow him, find him. The clanking sound of his motorbike key loud in his ears. The creaking sound of one of Rosmeta’s inn door called for him. The cracking sound of firewood transported him back to the common room.

He blinked.

And he was there.

“I’m sorry about your brother, Sirius.”

The door locked itself behind him.

“He was so young.”

“Who are you?”

The grin still looked misplaced on his handsome face. “How are you faring? With the war? A little bird has told me something disconcerting.” He passed the fireplace to the study, running his hand along the table’s gilded edge. “How’s young Potter doing?”

The effect was instantaneous. Sirius pointed his wand toward him. His fingers curling around it so sure that his knuckles turned white. “What do you know?”

“The only thing that matters: you.” He locked his eyes with him, “They’re an open target, Sirius. And as much I commend the brilliant idea of using Fidelius Charm, I condemn the moronic idea of using you as the secret-keeper.”

His wand didn’t waver despite of the sudden stop of his heart.

“Potter and Black. Black and Potter. Brothers in every way but blood. How foolish of you children to assume this puny deception could save you from Lord Voldemort?” He spat viciously, strutting toward him until his wand positioned right between his brows.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sirius stressed each of his word. His eyes lit manically, a reminder he did carry the insanity of a Black.

The Slytherin hissed. And hissed some more. And more. Until the journal hissed to him back.

“I believe you have something of mine,” he said, his palm spread open to accept the book as it zoomed out from his pocket. The leather bound journal fit him perfectly.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” Sirius asked. The name has engraved permanently in his mind as it had on the leather bound.

“Do you not know who I am?”

Sirius tried to recall if he ever heard of the Riddle from his Pureblood schooling. “Riddle’s not a wizards name.”

“You don’t know,” Tom concluded, his voice was soft and sympathetic. “Oh, Sirius. You’re fighting a war you know so little about.

“Please, change your plan. I want you to survive.”

“We’ve only met once!”

“But I’ve known you for years.” He set the journal on the table. “Everything you’ve written, all of your heart’s content that you had poured into this, I know.” He was suddenly in front of him, their noses brushing against each other. “I know you, Sirius Black. And I want you to survive this war. Please.”

His wand hand limp to his side. A bubble of laughter ready on his throat at the ridiculousness of the turn of event. What was it with this boy, shaking his belief, his core, his sanity?

“I have changed the plan,” he finally said. He could feel a gust of air hitting his chin. “I am not the secret-keeper anymore.”

Tom staggered backward. “Stop talking.”

But he didn’t hear the warning as he continued talking over it. “It’s Peter. It’s bloody brilliant! No one would have thought of him. He’s laid low the whole war. They would come after me. A perfect deflection to steer their attention away from Peter.”

“Enough!”

Sirius’ brows furrowed in confusion. “You wanted me to change the plan. I got it! I’m not that stupid!”

“Sirius! That’s enough!” Tom held his shoulders, his head tilted up for his forehead to meet Sirius’. “You fool. He now knows.”

“What?”

Tom inhaled deeply, seemingly to savour his smell. Sirius mimed the action. It was both intimate and sorrowful. He could already feel the emptiness it would left him with after.

“Go, Sirius. Maybe no one has to die on this Halloween night. Save your friends.”

As he fell back into the mysterious arch’s curtain, he was reminded of the invisible boy that he had met only twice in his life.

He had learnt about his journal being one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. He had listened to the story of Harry’s bravery — fighting the embodiment of Voldemort’s young soul, Tom. He had accepted the sin he’d committed unto James.

He had, after all, as good as killed them.

The torment never left him even after he closed his eyes into the eternal abyss.

[nitaescence]

BTS | Scenario #3

| Things they do that make your heart flutter |

Pairing : Idol!BTS x Reader

Gene : Fluff

Word Count : From 250 to 370.

Kim Seokjin

Tonight feels hot as you walk on the streets of Seoul, crowded with people. You can’t look away from the garish decorations of fairy lights strings as sellers shout their advertisements to attract customers. From the sounds of meat hissing on the grills to the delicious smell of sweet Korean pancakes, your senses are all stimulated. Walking side by side with Seokjin becomes quite a task and you constantly have to make sure not to lose the sight of him amidst other people. Some street stalls catch your eye and you progressively come to a standstill to watch vendors skillfully make yummy food in creative ways. 

Your boyfriend looks back to see if you’re still following behind and panics a couple of seconds before spotting you in the sea of passers by. He walks back to you and you exchange grins when he settles in watching the small performances with you. After a few minutes you walk again, with him still leading the way. More and more people gather around you and he almost disappears, making you tiptoeing to locate him. He sees you struggling to keep up with his pace and stretches his hand for you to take it. 

You do and soon feel him pull on his arm to make you walk in front of him. You let yourself guide, your cheeks coloring in a pale pink as he speaks out some words to you. “Let’s not lose each other.” He places his hands on your shoulders and your heart is beating quickly in your chest. 

Min Yoongi

You lock your phone and put it back into your coat pocket before nuzzling your face in your scarf to protect you from the cold wind harshly blowing this morning. Your head aches and you haven’t had the time to eat anything this morning since you were too busy choosing what clothes to put on for your fourth date with Yoongi. He’s just told you in the call that he is on his way and the thought of seeing him in a little time makes you feel a bit more good. A hot drink would still be much appreciated. 

Some minutes later, you see him jogging his way to you and you can’t help the smile forming on your face. He smiles too and you know he’s as much happy to see than you are. Your head hurts surprisingly less and you can’t wait any longer before spending all day long with him. 

He hesitates a moment and that’s when you notice he’s carrying something with him. “You sounded a bit cranky on the phone. I thought coffee would do the trick.” You feel a pang in your chest and don’t know what to say to him for some time. He’s already told you about him not being too showing when it involves emotions so you really can’t hide your surprise when he holds in between you a set of coffee cups. He smiles awkwardly in front of your weird expression and nudges your hand for you to take one of them. You’ve just fell a bit more for him.

Jung Hoseok

Now comes the moment you hate. After spending an extra day with your boyfriend the moment you have to part has arrived. And usually you wouldn’t feel so down but he has to be absent for several weeks and despite the fact he’s told you about that several months ago, it still feels too early and is quiet a bummer. He can’t even walk you to your home since he has appointments to attend but has decided to wait for your Uber with you. So there you are, both standing still, facing one another with sad expressions. 

Hoseok tries to cheer you up with funny faces that almost make the pout on your lips turn into a smile but you’re still showing your unhappiness. He sighs and pulls on one of your arm to hug you tight and whispers sweet nothings in your ear that makes you feel a bit lighthearted.  

Then you see your Uber coming closer and you turn your head back, nuzzling it more into his chest. He chuckles and pecks you on your hair as the car park next to your spot. “Time flies quickly, Y/N. We’ll soon see each other again. Take care of yourself.” You kiss longly one last time, you reluctantly step into the car and he closes the door after you. You don’t break eye contact even when the car starts driving away and you turn around to look through the rear windshield — your eyes turning into crescents and your lips into a silly smile when you spot him making heart-shaped signs to you until you disappear from his sight.

Kim Namjoon

The couple of vehicles passes by very rapidly and you’re gradually feeling unsure about actually getting on the roller coaster Namjoon’s convinced you to. You look away, staring at the fairground and the crowd of people walking by to make you feel less pressured and to hide your fright away from your boyfriend.

You, then hear the vehicles coming to a standstill as the passengers get off and you see Namjoon eagerly walk to the front seat as soon as the carny’s provided access to board. You follow close behind, a small frown on your face while he settles with a big smile. 

The whole way to the attraction, he hasn’t shown any particular attention to you — He’s just showed his excitement about finally being able to try the roller coaster and how he really wants to get that ride. 

You sit next to him and fumble a bit with the security belts. You soon grow edgy about it, the thing not seeming to fit into where it should. Suddenly, you’re interrupted by him, taking care of the task at hand for you and you freeze, slightly blushing. You gaze at him, admiring his focused look and smile back when he looks at you. “Comfy? You can hold on to me if you want.” He suggests, holding his hand in the air for you. You take it and he leans in to kiss your cheek while your hearts beats quickly.

Park Jimin

A drink. You need a drink to keep up with interacting with the rest of your family who’s gathered at your home because your parents have thought it a good idea to call people you haven’t seen since you were five years old to congratulate you on your college graduation. You’ve been receiving compliments for half an hour now, relatives coming one after another, sharing hugs, laughs and nice words. Only one person hasn’t come up to you yet. 

You spot your boyfriend happily smiling and talking to your mother and you just wish he was by your side, claiming you back so that others would stop keeping you to themselves. You are seeking someone else’s attention but he isn’t looking at you at the moment like for the past hour. 

You have just the time to sip on a drink you’ve just poured yourself when you hear one of your uncles shouting your name to join him and others so that he could talk to you about everything and nothing. You sigh and put on one of your best smiles before walking to them. You stand next to your kinsmen, not quite sure what to say nor when to intervene. 

You just stand there, looking awkwardly at the floor when your eyes are drawn back to Jimin across the room, now leaning against a wall with his hands in his dress pants’ pockets and a flush color your cheeks when you realize he must have been watching for a while, his cheeky smile just growing even more. You see him mouthing the word “Cute” and you have to look away, heat spreading through your body.

Kim Taehyung

Your stare into space, gaze locked on the first snowflakes waltzing in the cold wind and soon feel a shiver running through your body. You bring one of your hand in a fist to your mouth and close your eyes while softly blowing warm air. Your eyes open again when your boyfriend takes the other one and engulfs it in his large, warm palms. You look at him, at first surprised then your lips curve into a loving smile - his cheekbones and nose tip are red from the cold and his watery eyes, partially hidden by his bangs that have grown too much, are messily gathered under his beanie. He’s just too adorable - smiling back at you, providing you his warmth while you still are together. 

He has been the one insisting on waiting for your train, delaying your splitting time as long as possible and you haven’t objected to it, leading to the two of you sitting on one the station’s benches. Having him waiting with you despite the harsh temperature has made you all warm and fuzzy from within and you can’t suppress the pang in your heart thinking that you’ll be away from each other for some time.

The oncoming train is heard whistling and you feel Taehyung’s hands tighten a bit around yours. You both stand up, neither of you ready to say goodbye. You pull your suitcase next to you, watching the train decreasing its pace as other travelers gather next to the doors. He’s watching you but you don’t want to look at him, sadness gradually taking over you, and you hug him tight - sliding your arms inside his long coat, head pressed on his chest and eyes tightly closed and he circles you in a tight embrace. You don’t want to let go but he eventually forces you to look up at him by cupping your cheeks and doesn’t let you complain as he instantly molds his lips to yours in a loving kiss. You give in and kiss him back, your hands tightening their grip on his sides.

The last calls for passengers to board are shouted and you reluctantly lean back to break the kiss but Taehyung doesn’t let go and presses himself even more into you making you chuckle and you concede him a few more seconds before he grudgingly parts, gasping for air. “Come back to me soon.” Your heart skips a beat while gazing at each other but you really have to go. So you smile, sorry, and he pecks your lips several times before letting you walk away.

Jeon Jungkook

You’re lying on your bed while Jungkook plays on his computer, shouting now and then comments or scoldings into his gaming headset. Totally oblivious to your dying state. Well dying would probably be an overstatement but you’ve been coughing repeatedly and your head was aching and heavy.

Yet you still insist on going out to that film show starting in half an hour now with your boyfriend since you barely have the time to spend it together; so any dates possible are not voidable. You just had to get ill that particular time. Added to the fact that you could barely touch each other since he couldn’t afford being sick with the group’s comeback coming shortly. Lucky you. 

You get up and start getting ready, putting on your clothes and combing your hair, sparing yourself the sight of your tired face. He turns his computer off and changes his clothes too. After putting your coat on, you don’t forget your scarf, hanging loose around your neck while checking in your purse that you have the necessary before going out and you hear him walking to you. 

Once downstairs, you hold the entrance door for him and start walking towards the theater’s way but his firm grip on your shoulder keeps you still and you turn to him, taken aback. He starts buttoning your coat and readjusts your scarf tightly around your neck not to let any cold infiltrate.

You watch his concentrated look while he finishes his task and his face turns all smiley when he looks at you as you watch him. “Can’t let my sick Baby go out in this cold without making sure she’s warm enough. I’ll buy you vitamins on our way there.” You can’t help the blush coloring your face as he kisses your nose.  

[ivy6127]

Unlikely Circumstances III

Part 3

Summary: After y/n’s car gets vandalized, she ends up getting a ride with Billy.

Word count: 1812

A/n: I won’t be able to write much these next two weeks due to finals, so I’m sorry. I might write a short story to relieve stress, but don’t hold it against me. Anyway, enjoy part 3!

Tags: @artisticlales @coolyoungbouquetdestinylove

To say the atmosphere in the car was awkward would be an understatement. Y/n was pissed about her car, pissed about Hailey getting bullied and not knowing till now, and especially pissed at Carol for being behind all this. It’s as if she can see Carol looking at her like she’s won while smacking that god damn gum.

And Billy? Billy didn’t know what to say to lighten the mood, trying to seduce her like he planned would probably make her angrier. Though that isn’t him saying that looking at her fume like she’s going to explode any minute wasn’t turning him on. For a while, they listened to the music blaring out of his speakers and smelling the air that reeks of cigarettes.

“Could you please throw that damn cigarette out the window, I’d like to breathe, thank you”, y/n finally spoke with a strained voice due to not breathing and having to be polite to him.

Billy replied instantly, “My car so I can smoke as much as I want princess”, at that he blew a puff of smoke at her the second time today.

“Please, don’t do that again”, if the first comment she said sounded strained, then this one was like a guitar string being pulled to its limits. Amused at her anger he did it again, this time the smoke cloud was bigger.

That was her breaking point.

Without saying a word, she snatches the cigarette out of his mouth and throws it out the window. This causes him to suddenly slam on his brakes. Which causes them both to violently jerk forward then back, causing the headache that was slowing growing in y/n’s head to come full force. That’s when she yells, “JESUS! You trying to get us killed?!”

He turns to her with only anger in his eyes and grabs her wrist. He quickly turns down the music so that she can hear him clearly. “No one takes my cigarettes. You got that?! Especially in MY own god damn CAR!”, he said at first with a quiet, malicious tone then yelled the rest to prove a point.

For a moment they just stare at each other intensely with anger and tension hanging heavily in the air. Music was completely gone. Then she breaks the silence, “I change my mind, I think I’m going to walk home. Thanks for the lift asshole!” She quickly grabs her stuff and gets out the car while Billy just stares ahead at the road in front of him. Clearly as pissed as she is now.

She barely gets to close the door correctly when he suddenly speeds off down the road. She flicks him off, then lets out a yell of frustration while turning to a tree and kicking it. That was a mistake.

“SHIT!”, y/n yips.

Anyone who passed by would have gotten a good laugh at watching some girl hop around on one foot while clutching the other, looking like some kind of awkward Flamingo. She cursed Billy out loud till she calmed down. Then she picked up her bag and started heading in the direction of her house.

Now thinking about it, she’s happy Billy didn’t get to figure out where she lived, one less bug to swat away is the saying. Or is it. y/n doesn’t really know.

Not long after her little fit she hears talking and the clicking of what sounds to be like a bicycle and something else. Wait no, multiple bicycles. She turns to see who it is and instantly catches the group of what looks to be middle schoolers, or maybe freshmen, who are quickly approaching. They call out to her and stop when they reach her, well, only because the only girl in the group did. She was pretty, had fiery red hair and fair skin, the only one riding a skateboard too. That must have been the other sound y/n was hearing. The group is rather small, three boys and one girl. Y/n soon recognizes the boys, Nancy’s brother and two of his friends, the only one missing is the small one with a bowl haircut. She has never really gotten the chance to talk to the boys since she goes over to the Wheelers to hang with Nancy.

The girl instantly starts speaking to y/n, “Enjoyed the ride with my step-brother? I’ve never seen him kick a girl out of his car before.”

“He didn’t kick me out, I wanted to get out.”

“Ri~ght, and that’s why you two were having an argument over HIS cigarettes that he loves so much.”

That baffled y/n, “You could hear us?”

“Well, we weren’t that far behind, and we got to see you angrily kick a tree and lose too.”

That’s when the boy who used to have missing teeth talks, “Yeah! That was hilarious!” He then gave a big grin that caused his eyes to squint like a cat in y/n’s opinion.

Y/n was beyond flustered that someone actually saw her lose her cool in such an embarrassing way. Then the girl speaks up again, “Hey, it’s cool we know how frustratingly annoying Billy can be. You can walk with us too, I know we’re just middle schoolers so if you don’t want to we get it.” Y/n just shakes her head and replies, “No, I would like that actually, you kids seem amusing.”

At that they head off down the road, they introduce each other when the boys get off their bikes to start walking alongside y/n. Dustin, who had the missing teeth, Lucas who must be dating Max, Mike who is Nancy’s brother, and Max who is ultimately Billy’s step-sister, putting an emphasis on the step. Soon enough they are asking y/n why she was even in the car with, as they like to put it, that “Crazy Asshole”. That’s when y/n starts telling them about yesterday and what she was met with today, leaving out how violent she acted toward Carol.

They talked to each other for the entire time, eventually splitting up when reaching Cherry Lane. Supposedly it’s not a good idea for the boys to be with Max in front of her home, but y/n lives on the same street so she wasn’t alone. By the end of the walk, y/n has clicked with the kids, especially Max. Next time she goes to the Wheelers house she might consider playing that silly game her and Nancy have teased them over.

“Hey, guess we’re next door neighbor’s”, Max comments as y/n checks the mail.

“Yeah, I guess so, if you ever want to come over go ahead. Hailey likes making new friends, so she would be thrilled to meet you.”, y/n states nonchalantly. Hailey really does love it when people come over, she starts taking out all the board games they have in the house along with her coloring books. People tend to act uncomfortable when she does this, but y/n just finds her excitement cute.

As y/n looks up over to the Hargrove house she notices Billy standing in the doorway watching her and Max. He takes short drags of his cigarette and runs his tongue harshly against his teeth, making it look like those octopus’s legs y/n’s seen in Florida. Y/n just glares at him till Max speaks up again.

“I have to go, maybe I’ll come over another time. Bye y/n”, she quickly says while walking toward Billy.

“Bye Max! It was nice meeting you!”, at that Billy and Max enter their house, slamming the door.

When y/n goes into the kitchen she calls Hopper at the station, though she calls him Hops. His secretary answers and quickly transfers her over to his office.

“Hey Hops, it’s y/n, I need your help with something.”

“Y/n, odd for you to call instead of y/m/n. What’s wrong?”

“Well, this girl- someone at school slashed my car’s tires and I need your help taking it to the shop. Before you ask, I walked home safely so don’t worry about that and Hailey was home sick.”

“I’m on my way over, when I get there you better tell me who did it”, Hopper states before ending the call.

It only took a matter of minutes till he was at the y/l/n residence. At that time, it had started getting dark, so by the time her car was in the shop she could barely see out the side of Hoppers car.

“You gonna tell me who did it or just stare out the window all night?”

“I can handle it Hops don’t worry”

He groans, rubbing his forehead while saying, “Y/n, why are you so hell-bent on doing everything yourself?”

Y/n looks over at him while cocking an eyebrow, “I asked you to help move my car, didn’t I?”

Hopper is practically like family to the y/l/ns. To y/n especially, he’s like the father she never had. Their mother grew up in Hawkins you see, she was considered as invisible as y/n when she was a teenager, and she moved out of Hawkins as soon as she graduated from high school to join the military while attending college. Though y/n’s grandfather has always been well known in the town due to his extroverted personality, his daughter and grand-daughter though, have always been introverts who never really went out of their way to talk to someone. However, when g/f/n introduced his daughter to Jim while they were children they became close friends, like siblings almost, she moved back to Hawkins only because he lost his daughter and needed someone there for him. Though it didn’t stop him from drinking. Since g/f/n still lived in Hawkins they tended to see each other at least once a year before moving back, which caused y/n and Hailey to be the daughters he never had. So really if anyone had a problem with them, they had had a problem with him as well.

Hopper only groaned this time as they pulled into the driveway and saw Ms. y/l/n, still in her uniform, sitting on the porch. They got out of Hopper’s car and headed to her, “Hello Jim, nice to see you’ve taken y/n somewhere without Hailey. Any reason why? You can tell me at dinner, c’mon” Hopper takes off his hat as he enters y/n’s home. Apparently, Hailey made dinner for them, Ms. y/l/n helped, and was waiting for y/n to get home. Makes sense as Hopper got radioed about her being reported missing, one of Hailey’s anxieties.

“Y/n! Where have you been?! I thought you got kidnapped by Carol and her awful friends!”, Hailey said worriedly. Hopper looks over at y/n,

“Carol and her awful friends huh?”

y/n whispers a curse word while looking away from Hopper defeated.

“We will talk about it during dinner like I said, so let’s eat”, Ms. y/l/n interjects while setting dinner on the table.

[itsahamandjlaur-blog]

Just, Breathe - Part 1

Summary: Pasts do not define futures if you let them. You can only move forward and hope for the best. 

Prompt:  “I just don’t think I can do this anymore”
“Who gave you the right?”
“You’re a coward you always have been” very angst Daveed x Reader or Lin x Reader, please! - Anon (the other prompts will be in the next parts I promise)

Warnings: swearing, Angst. 

words: 1,790 (give or take) 

A/N: You guys asked me for some fuck me up real good angst soo I did this? This was actually really fun to write and Marti helped me a lot with the dialog because i fucking SUCK, but I'm so happy with how it turned out. There is 100% going to be another part if you guys want it that is. So if you enjoy this please let me know so I can start working on the second half asap. Thank you for reading this, this is the first time i’ve stepped back from something and thought i actually like this. Be safe and stay lovely. I love you. - A.Ham (Gee) 

Masterlist 

Prompts 

- Flashbacks are in italics. 

_______________________________________________________________________

"Lin I can't do this on my own anymore man its time"

"what do you mean?"

"I haven't seen my wife properly in three weeks, we need another conductor on board with this. You know exactly who we need" Alex said trying to read his reaction. Once it clicked in Lin's head he started with the no's and they didn't seem to stop for a long time.

"I'm calling her, and you're going to be a man and deal with it" Alex said searching through his contacts.

"I swear to god Lac, do not call her. I haven't seen her since- since"

"Which is exactly why I'm calling her" _______________________________________________________________________

You were brought back from your lazy Sunday by your phone buzzing on the glass of your coffee table. Who would even dare ring you at 8am on a Sunday morning? You ignored it, taking another sip of your tea before returning your eyes to the book placed in your lap.

After about 3 rounds of buzzing you sighed outward and picked up the call. "this better be good" you all but shouted down the phone not bothering to look who was on the other end.  "Hi, [y/n] it's Lac, how are you?" You rolled your eyes. He was calling you early on a Sunday morning and he has the audacity to ask you how you are? "I'm fine Lac what do you want?" Your annoyance faded. "I have a proposal for you, how quick can you be at Richard Rogers?" Lac let out in a quick burst as if he was compensating for the fact that he was hiding something.

"give me 20 minutes and I'll be there. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"I'll explain when you get here" and with the phone line went dead before you hauled your ass off the couch to gather the contents of your handbag together.

_______________________________________________________________________

As you waltzed down the right isle of the Richard Rogers you couldn't help but let every single memory that you shared in this hall flood back to you engulfing your mind in endless memories of a time when things were so much simpler. Back then you were a carefree spirit, people use to say you would say or do anything for an easy life. As you trailed your fingers across the red velvet-clad seats you couldn't help but put a simple smile on your face as you recounted a number of times you had walked up and down these aisles on a night.

_______________________________________________________________________

Your lazy fingers drifted over the keys for the thousandth time that night, or so it felt. There was no more passion with your playing you were strictly trying to get the notes to hit in the right places so your soon to be husband would finally come home with you. As the last notes sounded out you wanted as Lin's hand floated in the air in front of him. For a split second, you complete forgot that you were running on three hours of sleep and five coffees. You watched him content with the moment, every key you hit was a direct line to what was happening in his brain as he tried to figure out what his next move was.

You ended the song with finally letting the yawn escape your lips that you had been holding in for the last four minutes of the song.

"Lin baby it's 2 in the morning, there is a puppy who needs us and a nice comfy king size with my name written all over it" you spoke softly even though the acoustics made it seem like you were up on stage yourself.

He didn't look up from his notebook for a while, scribbling more unreadable words.

"run it again, I need to figure out the last bit" you heard as you rubbed tired hands over your face.

You let out a long sigh. "If I run the last section one more time do you promise you will take me to bed?" you asked him cocking an eyebrow. This raised a smile from him. You knew that he was just trying his best to make sure everything was perfect. Days away from opening night and he was spending every waking hour figuring out what to leave, what to cut, what to add and in some case what to re-write completely.

He looked down at you with nothing but love in his eyes, the smile growing to reach either side of his face.

"I promise I will take you to bed [y/n]"

"who gave you the right to keep me here this late, my boss will have your head you know" you joked straightening out your back and letting your fingertips trace the keys in preparation.

You took a steadying breath ready to run the section one last time you looked up to find him laying straight above your head center stage.

"I am your boss remember" He quickly replied before popping his head into the hole to meet your lips to his.

_______________________________________________________________________

"hasn't lost its charm has it?" you heard a familiar voice bellow through the empty stalls, settling itself in the forefront of your mind.

"Lac!" you let out a soft giggling before being embraced by the tall figure. You stayed there on your tiptoes reaching for him for a long time before he pulled you off him, holding you at arm's length before him.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said gazing down at you. You and Lac had been extremely close ever since you nestled your way into a sweet little gig conducting on Broadway, flitting from show to show and adapting to your surroundings like you were taught. He always admired the way you felt every single string and note with every inch of you. Music was the all-consuming force in your life, your mother said ever since you were a baby smashing notes on a piano you were destined for great things.

Graduating from Juilliard and being thrown into Broadway meant you felt like a fish out of water in most places. Sure you were taught everything you could want to know and more, but the underlying feeling that you weren't meant to be this honored position so early on in your life.

You and Lac chatted a bit, while he was leading your way in the back of the theater, where the meeting room was held.

You knew he was there, probably hiding from your view. He wanted to avoid you as much as possible because 6 years passed since his fear of commitment, but he knew that you were everything but forgiving.

You felt as if you was the center of a big joke, after all. And how to blame you? Lin had asked you to marry him, and he himself, after you had said yes, was the one who called everything off. You didn't push him into asking you to marry him. It was all his idea. That's why you were angry.

It didn't allow either of you to move on. He was still madly in love and regretted every single day to have called the ceremony off, and you were left fucked in the brain: you couldn't trust a man again.

You took your seat next to Alex around the large conference table before the door opened with a core shuddering creek and in he walked. Hair down to his shoulder framing his face perfectly. You wished you could say that he hadn't changed one bit, but it was not the case.

When you worked on In The Heights with him he was the most hyperactive person that you knew. Jumping from scene to scene with ease.

He looked older, wiser, and to be quite honest it looked like he hadn't slept all god damn year. Lin's dark eyes met your light ones and it felt like the very first time that you had met him. The very first time that his eyes found yours was a memory that you would never forget for the rest of your days.

"no fucking way" he spat before turning on his heel and throwing himself towards the door like his life depended on it. Before Lin's feet could carry him out of the room and to the safety of his dressing room Alex was in front of him before he could even take a step.

"sit down, shut up, and figure it out" Lac let out through gritted teeth causing Lin to rethink his approach to the whole situation. He was kind at heart, you knew that of course. But you couldn't help but stare him down from across the room as he made his way to take a seat opposite you.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "Lac. why me?" you asked, desperately at the same time as lin said, "Lac, why her?" You did your best to hold your laugh because you were still angry with the boy. Even if you loved him. You were angry with him

"You need me more then I need this job, why should I come where I'm clearly not wanted?" you shot looking between the two men. Lin tried to stumble up some excuse or explanation you were not really bothered which one of the two, you were more content with watching this situation get to him.

Between his best friend challenging him and his ex-fiance sat at arm's length, the physical pain was evident all over his face.

"Guys, the sexual tension is killing me. Can you stop staring at each other?" said Lac, trying to be the adult of the situation. There was a long pause before he let out a shaky sigh and continued "I need to go home, I can't direct this show forever. I need to see my wife, spend time with my family. I am risking a divorce here. I need to catch my breath. I don't find this funny anymore. [Y/N], I need you to step in. You are the only one who gets me and Lin and Tommy"

"Alright" you gave in, there was no way you could let Alex down like this. Lin may have been tired but Lac looked like he was about at breaking point.

"What?" said both Lin and Lac at the very same time. "Alright, I'll do it," you said, your voice barely audible.

Lac hugged you while Lin almost did, but then gave you a quick nod and a sort of smile. You extended your hand to him, so he could shake it "Friends?" you said.

And in that moment, Lin's heart broke

[genuivity]

Second Time’s the Charm | Oneshot by genuivity  | READ ON:  ao3

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Pairing(s): Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki (victuuri) Story Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Genres/Tags: high school au, school reunion au

(For #victuuriweek2017 - day 2: traveling, Yuuri prompt: long distance/reunion)

Victor and Yuuri—former partners in biology class, first friends, fellow figure skating club captains, and first loves—reconnect thanks to a high school reunion.

It was ten years after graduation, and their high school had coordinated a breakfast reunion. It was free and promised food, and Victor had a free morning, so he went.

And so did Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki, his partner in biology class, his first friend, his fellow figure skating club captain, his first love.

He was a lot of things to Victor. But they had grown distant over the years, strangers now.

They made eye contact for a second, then quickly looked away, then glanced back when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Victor, in both curiosity and pettiness, wanted to catch up. See what he’d been up to without him. So, since Victor wasn’t the type to give much forethought, he approached him.

“Hello, Yuuri,” he said. Great start.

“Hi, Victor,” said Yuuri. His voice was deeper now, but still on the quiet side.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

Years ago, Victor had imagined their reunion. He pictured running into Yuuri’s arms, maybe on a beach somewhere, or at an airport, with declarations of love and promises to never leave. Not uncomfortable small talk at a cheap high school reunion over donuts and orange juice.

“You cut your hair,” Yuuri noted softly.

“Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand to push his silver bangs back. “I actually cut it a few years ago.”

Yuuri looked apologetic. “Y-You did? Sorry, I’m not good at keeping up with people.”

Victor nodded. That made two of them.

A faculty member saved them from their sad reunion, ushering them to the seats in front of a podium and stage. The school principal, now a man they didn’t recognize, tried to make a sentimental, thoughtful speech, the school band came in and played a discordant song, and they served stale muffins made days before in the school cafeteria, and all it really did was remind Victor how old he was.

“This thing’s a bit lame,” he whispered to Yuuri. And because that conversation was not at all how he wanted their reunion to go, he added, “Do you want to ditch and grab a coffee? My treat.”

Yuuri blinked, turned to him, and inhaled. “Ditch, huh? Victor, you haven’t changed a bit.”

They snuck out as the school choir prepared to serenade them. They got to the coffee shop, placed their orders, and reminisced.

***

It was the autumn of their freshman year, the second time in a week that Victor forgot his biology textbook, and just one of the many times that Mr. Feltsman would threaten to throw him out of his classroom.

“Just share with a neighbor,” their teacher mumbled, eyebrows furrowing as he began the lesson. Victor shot an apologetic look to the boy next to him, a chubby guy with black hair that stuck out at the ends and blue glasses that looked too big for him. The boy appraised him, looked to the front of the classroom and back to him, and pushed his textbook to the edge of his desk, closer to Victor. Victor smiled, grateful, and loudly scooted his desk next to him. It interrupted the class for just a second, but in that time Victor swore Mr. Feltsman aged another five years.

The boy took studious notes, Victor noticed. At least, he did for the first half hour of class. But Mr. Feltsman’s voice drawled over an already boring lesson, and their stomachs grumbled for lunch next period, so it was only a matter of time until it became impossible to focus. He watched as the notes devolved from full sentences to messy bullet points to doodles at the bottom of the page.

Amused, Victor turned to a blank page in his notebook (most of them were empty anyways) and drew a tic-tac-toe board. He added an X to the center square. When Mr. Feltsman turned to the chalkboard to draw asymmetrical Venn diagrams, he plopped the notebook in front of the other boy. He adjusted his glasses, blinked at the page a few times, and Victor saw his lips quirk upward in a small smile. He wrote in an O at the top right corner and returned to pretending to take notes.

They went back and forth, and Victor won that game. The boy pursed his lips and drew another grid.

Several tic-tac-toe games later, the score was three wins to Yuuri, two to Victor, and three draws. Victor wrote in long, looping letters underneath all the grids, What’s your name?

YUURI, the other wrote, handwriting in all caps. WHAT’S YOURS?

Victor. Thank you for letting me borrow your book. He didn’t really use it, but it’s the thought that counts.

YOU’RE WELCOME. THANKS FOR KEEPING ME AWAKE.

Victor chuckled. He lifted his pen to respond, then the bell rang, shrill and sharp.

“See you later, Victor.” Yuuri’s voice was quiet and nasally. He packed his bag quickly, and he was gone.

***

It was the winter of their sophomore year, and they were off-campus at a nearby skating rink.

Victor didn’t recognize him at first. His messy black hair was pushed back, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. But Victor found his attention drawn to him; he had been at the rink longer than anyone. His jumps were sloppy, not enough speed or not enough height, but he took smooth and fluid steps to the rhythm of whatever pop song played on the loudspeakers.

Victor approached him after he flubbed a jump, but Yuuri remembered him first.

“Oh, Victor!” He said, surprised, trying to steady himself on his skates. He almost fell again, but Victor moved to catch him.

“You’re… Yuuri, right? From bio last year?” He helped him get back on his feet.

“Yeah, hi.” Victor had to strain to hear his soft voice over the music and other skaters, their skates gliding across the ice. They couldn’t stop in the middle of the rink, so Victor began skating slowly.

“I didn’t know you skate,” Victor said.

“I just started a few years ago,” he confessed, looking down at the ice.

“Oh,” Victor shifted to skate by his side, “you’re pretty good, for just starting.”

“T-thanks.” His steps faltered, and he brushed against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor’s voice was light. “If you want, I could give you tips.”

“Really?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Because that would be… You don’t have to, but that would be—”

“I want to. Think of it as thanks for letting me leech off of you in bio.”

Yuuri laughed and shook his head. He mumbled, “You don’t need to thank me.”

Victor considered then, tapping his lip with a finger. “How about as a winner’s prize, then, for all those tic-tac-toe games?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Yuuri said, bashful.

“Me too, actually.” He never remembered important things, like birthdays or anniversaries or what he needed to study for the biology final. But he did remember the little, unimportant things, like the games they played in Victor’s notebook or the blue glasses that looked too big for his face.

Yuuri searched his face for any sign that he was joking. Upon finding none, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure, okay.”

They practiced for two hours. Two hours of spinning, twirling, falling, almost hitting his head on the outer railing, and Victor’s good-natured yet unhelpful teaching (“The jump just didn’t feel right, Yuuri!”). During a water break, Yuuri said, more to himself, “There should be a figure skating club at school.”

Victor’s eyes brightened, and he gripped Yuuri by the shoulders. “We should make a figure skating club at school!”

***

It was the spring of their junior year, and Victor sat on the edge of his seat at their school’s spring dance concert, waiting and waiting and waiting for Yuuri’s part.

Yuuri had talked about it for weeks, even skipping out on figure skating club meetings for extra practice. Now that he was an upperclassman, he got a leading part in the choreography. Victor pried, relentlessly curious, requesting him to perform just a snippet.

And every time he asked, Yuuri would blush and say, “If you want to see it, then go to the dance concert.”

So he did. The theater was dark, the seats were squeaky, and the music was too loud, but still Victor searched for his friend with bated breath.

Soon enough, the theater filled with the sound of a guitar, and the spotlight shifted focus to Yuuri.

There was no time to wait and take it in. An upbeat piece of guitar and strings moved Yuuri through the stage. Dancing with quick grace and elegance, he made ballet look effortless, music of movement. Over the years, he had lost weight from ice skating and dancing, and it showed, especially now. He wore a red, long-sleeved leotard decorated with silver and black accents, and black tights that complemented his figure. His slicked-back hair and dramatic eye makeup caught the stage lights, and Victor couldn’t look away. He sat with a hand over his mouth throughout the entire performance, eyes wide as Yuuri executed swift, dynamic jumping steps and sequences.

When Yuuri ended, panting heavily as he held the final pose, he received a hearty applause, though Victor was certain he cheered the loudest.

***

It was the summer before their senior year, and they were sitting on the floor of Victor’s room, spilling secrets over a bottle of champagne he had stolen from his father’s liquor cabinet.

They met to celebrate the transition from juniors to seniors. They were both curious to drink, but Yuuri’s nerves made him look over his shoulder after every sip, despite the fact that Victor’s door was locked and his parents weren’t home anyway. At first, they chatted about inconsequential things. More private matters came as they worked their way down the bottle.

Maybe it was the champagne, or the spark of night, or just the flat intimacy. Something compelled Victor to divulge something he’d been holding in for months.

“I like you, Yuuri. A lot,” he began after a moment of stillness, “and this is probably a really bad way of confessing it, but… It’s how I feel.” He finished with a shrug, keeping his eyes down and swirling the champagne around the glass. His voice sounded much calmer than he felt, his heart a drum in his chest. It wasn’t often that Victor found himself at a loss for words, but talking about his feelings was a particular weak spot for him.

Yuuri was quiet. He hadn’t run off, or pushed him away, so Victor took that as a good sign. His voice was a murmur, caught in his throat when he said, “Since when?”

Trying to keep himself composed, he spoke gently. “Remember after the spring dance concert? You told me you were terrified that I would make fun of you for doing ballet, and I hugged you?” Victor remembered it vividly. Yuuri was exhausted, sweaty and panting, and he was so tired he practically fell into Victor’s arms when he hugged him. Victor wound his arms tighter, and they swayed together for a while.

“Silly. As if I would make fun of you for something like that,” Victor said, playful, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He pushed against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I know now.” Yuuri pushed him back, unreadable. As it became quiet again, Yuuri drew his knees up to his chest and exhaled. “Freshman year.”

“What?”

“I’ve liked you since freshman year.”

Victor turned to look at him fully, almost dropping his champagne flute. He could hear nothing over the sound of his heartbeat, louder and wilder than before. “Really?!”

Yuuri nodded. A blush spread across his face. His eyes were downturned, half-lidded. His lips were pink and shiny from the champagne. His glasses, still blue but a bit more fitting these days, caught a reflection of the moonlight. Victor watched as Yuuri gulped, licked his lips, and looked up at him, slow, shy. He was beyond gorgeous, Victor thought, and he was suddenly struck by the urge to—

“Yuuri, can I kiss you?” A whisper. The words came out before he could stop them.

Yuuri blinked, once, twice, and his mouth fell open. After a moment, he nodded, certain.

Eager and yearning, Victor leaned into him at once and missed, brushing against the side of his lips, bumping noses, and almost poking his own eye out with Yuuri’s glasses. He breathed a laugh and apologized. They pulled back, and Yuuri took off his glasses and tilted his head to the side, almost comically. Victor tilted his head the opposite way and brought a hand up to trace Yuuri’s lips with his thumb.

“Second time’s the charm,” Victor said. He kissed him.

Their eyes fell closed at the press of their lips. Yuuri was tense at first, unresponsive, until Victor cradled his cheek. He relaxed and parted his lips slightly at that, and their breath carried the sweet, slightly acidic taste of champagne. Yuuri made a noise against his lips, and one of his hands found its way to back of Victor’s neck. He gripped a bit too hard, and Victor accidently bit Yuuri’s lip, and they pulled away with soft smiles and easy laughs.

They were each other’s first kiss, and they took it slow, tentative, experimenting and making mistakes. It was awkward, graceless, and they both wouldn’t trade it for the world.

***

It was ten minutes after getting their coffees, and they were finishing up their drinks, wistful smiles on their lips.

“Those were the days,” Yuuri said, looking out a window.

“They were,” Victor agreed. What happened? Ah, right, college happened; Yuuri left to study in Detroit, and Victor had a scholarship for figure skating to claim on the other side of the world. At least the breakup wasn’t too ugly, just a simple drifting apart, not ending in bitterness or hatred, but not full of definite closure, either.

But here they were, reunited, somehow. Victor looked at Yuuri. His black hair was longer but still stuck out at the ends, and his glasses fit snugly on the bridge of his nose but were still blue. He watched the sunlight brighten his brown eyes, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“Maybe we could try again?”

Yuuri smiled and said, “Second time’s the charm, right?”

[universatile-girl]

A letter I might let you read one day (but probably not)

I never thought of all people I would be so in love with you. I was expecting a brand new person, maybe in a few years, who was totally unusual and foreign to my ways. I thought that's what I needed next in my life, my next step. But it was you, in fact, who reached out to me. Someone from my deep past, so far it feels ancient now. Like our history never actually happened. I think we'd both like to pretend it never did, for different reasons, but that works with me just fine. You once brought it up (or maybe I did, because I was fishing for something. Sound like me?) and I remember you saying you messed it up somehow. I know what happened, I remember it somewhat clearly, but I wasn't going to reveal it. It's something I'm willing to look past because we were 14 for fucks sake (actually oh my you were still 13). Who can expect some barely-teenagers to act with maturity when it comes to relationships? You may think you were a foolish boy but I was also a dumb fuck back then. I wore eyeshadow without mascara because I thought it was more subtle... who let me get away with that! Anyways, SOMEhow, SOMEway, you still fancied me and I fricken adored you. Took you a few months too long to actually ask me out though, am I right? Because god knows I wasn't going to be the one to do it. You were so shy though, and I'm sure my face was beet red as a result of literally tripping up the stairs on my way to meet you for you to "ask me a question" and being absolutely trashed by a group of laughing older girls who witnessed it... my god it hurts to remember us back then. Curse my emotionally accurate memory. Let's fast forward? Time goes on, I never see you except for like a total of 5 times for the rest of high school. The ones I remember are: sitting on the blocks in the mall in a group of mutual friends and you were on the other side of the circle, the exact time Jamie decided to point out that my face looked orange, hopefully you don't remember; walking home while you were walking the same direction with that skateboard of yours, me asking where you were headed and oh guess what you were going to your girlfriends, well that's okay cause I had a boyfriend currently living in another country; I was working at target the beginning of grade 12 and you came through my till buying silly string for the grad prank. And then that's it! Not even at grad. Then early December last year I was on a bus and I saw you on the sidewalk. And coincidentally no more than a week later you messaged me out of the blue. And there goes Chris And Tanea Round 2. Here we are one month short of a one year anniversary, and I absolutely cherish the warm feelings I get from looking back on our past year spent together. It's amazing how much nostalgia you can feel for something you still possess. Our first date started a little awkward, but I definitely expected it knowing who we both were. It's strange going on a first date with someone you were once kind of close with. You think you know them, but it suddenly becomes very obvious that 4 years does a lot to a person, especially at such a young age. Here we were, two recently graduated 18 year olds, playing board games just as much as we were playing the game of life, trying to make sense of our feelings. It was a wonderfully unromantic, normal day, and then it became wonderfully romantic in the best way possible. It was rainy and cold and sooo windy, neither of us were dressed for that. We went for a downtown walk, we talked, learned about each other's new lives outside of high school. You were unexpectedly funny, I was laughing the whole time. And you were confident, you knew how to take care of me without me even realizing I needed to be taken care of. If my memory serves me right, you even held my hand that first day? I'm not sure. But you sure gave me your jacket, you paid for our activities despite my rejection, and you put your arm around me on the bus. "I could get used to this," you said. Ahh... I'll admit I was trying my best not to fall for you, because I was weary of your intentions, but let me tell you those worries disappeared once I realized how genuine your actions were. You never did anything with desperation, you just did it and I saw how happy it made you. I went to your house that first day briefly while we waited for a movie time. I met everyone in your house and your dogs, and it was so unexpected from the house I had imagined you called home. Your parents pestered you to ask me if I wanted tea, as they still do. But now they are my family in a way too and if I want tea I just make it. Then we went to the movie, a superhero comedy, and within 20 minutes there was a real good make out scene. I remember getting all nervous and then you looked at me so I looked back and you lifted my chin and kissed me for the first time ever. We held hands for the rest of the movie. That was Sunday, now it's Thursday and I meet you downtown across from your work, but neither of us know what to do so we go to my house. But it's a nice day, so we walk. The whole way. The only times I've done that have been with you, then and this past New Year's Eve, and once with my mom cause she's a fitness freak. But it was such a nice walk. That was march 17th, the day you asked me to be your girlfriend. And you literally said it just like that. We were holding hands and you lifted them while wrapping your arm around my shoulders and looked at me and said it all unflustered and I just... what the fuck. Everything in me tried to think of a way out of it, I was scared. I wasn't sure what I wanted. But (hopefully) without hesitation I agreed and smiled, relieved. That's when I knew I truly wanted it. That day I think I made you watch a kids movie. For someone who never used to watch movies I sure changed that huh? And we made out on the couch. And I think you stayed really late, like so late you missed the last bus and had to catch a cab home. That Saturday you stayed the night though, and we did the naughty. And then my mom got really mad cause she didn't know you. But it went away eventually. We really didn't waste much time getting to that point, but I kind of like that. The whole beginning of our (second) relationship was kind of urgent, as if we were trying to make up for all the time we lost. But it was far from meaningless, I needed you more than I realized and apparently you did too and it just came out in affection. After that point we started hanging out more and more, and all of the other important milestones of ours are so abundant that I can't possible recount them all. But, I have to give some, so first there's the day you told me you loved me. Actually, rewind, I forgot about my period scare. It must have been about a month or 2 after we started banging and I hadn't had my period for 3 months, but I never mentioned it to you because I didn't expect you to think about it. Then one day, with a great solitary view of the city beneath us, you confronted me about its absence. Then I came clean, understanding your investment in us finally. You then proceeded to tell me "whenever I felt like I wanted to say I love you, it would be okay" or something like that. It was ultra confusing at the time, but you later confessed that you were at that point, and you could have said it right then and there. You were trying to not make it something scary for either one of us. Those three words have powerful meaning, and no one should be embarrassed to say it. Not long after that was the actual day you said it, the SAME DAY I tried edibles for the first time. I took waaaaaay too much and completely lost my mind so guess what, I barely fucking remember that beautiful day. But what I do remember is standing on a beach at the potholes, a time seemed to be going immensely slow. I swear an entire lifetime passed, but you said it was only 20 minutes. Still, it wouldn't have been a bad lifetime. So we are talking about something and I probably look like an idiot, but you tell me you really like me. My natural response is to say the same, because I do and I can't possibly think of other words myself at this point. And then you say you might even say that you love me. I don't know what happened then but I said it back and we said other things I think. Then sometime during all those years we were there we found a rock with three pieces, so we held hands and threw one each into the river and while saying "I love you", your idea. I remember thinking where all your romantic shit was coming from, but I loved it. I think I grabbed a lot of rocks that day cause I have too many with that date written on it. I hate the fact that I was high the first time we said it, and I hate that I barely remember it, but I just started thinking that, if that's the way it went down, I might as well accept it. So in a way that high was kind of magical. I wasn't necessarily unhappy with it while we were at the beach (it got worse later when I had to talk to people) so I was able to take in absolutely everything about the scenery. The ripples in the water, the sound of pebbles under my feet, the body of a loved one near me, emanating security, the breeze... it was kind of perfect. The memory I have is like a surreal dream. An intense dream where my senses are heightened but it seems like I'm in another universe entirely where time doesn't move. I can live with that. For someone who overthinks every little detail and becomes self conscious of their actions in every interaction, I must say maybe it was good for me to have a diluted experience like this. Other things I remember are all of our nature exploration days in the summer, cuddling everywhere, having sex in some slightly risky places, sitting in your driveway while you work on your car, house sitting, finding Pokemon, snow days. There are so many qualities in you I didn't expect to find, and I'm so grateful to call you mine. Something about our relationship or my life right now has made me come full circle in a way. It seems like since we started talking again, a lot of the things I left behind in high school have resurfaced. Particularly people. But under any other circumstance it may seem unpleasant, while right now it just seems right. It's like some unfinished things are making their way back. Whether it's because I left high school in a rush, or the person I was with at the time had me isolated from everything I'm not sure, but these recurrences are helping me understand myself. It helps to revisit old people and interests sometimes, even if you thought your business was finished there. Chances are there's still a lot to learn, especially since people change so much from 16-20. Everyone I see now seems incredibly different from how I knew them, and I love seeing the transformation. There can be a kid who gets in trouble constantly and you think will never succeed, and then a couple years later they're putting away their bad habits and putting themselves through school. Well, it seems you and I certainly had unfinished business. Valentine's Day was yesterday and I just realized, it's not the first one we've spent together. That's crazy! 5 years ago we had our first and only date on Valentine's Day. So I take it back, we have had a first date, even though I wouldn't really call that a date. But damn I didn't even realize. I think forgetting is sometimes a blessing. I also have a random memory of you holding your hand out for me to cross the river on the Grade 8 camp out, when we didn't even know each other. So I don't know why I kept that memory. But then that reminded me of a dream journal entry I made also in grade 8. Before or after the camp out I'm not sure but presumably after. In my dream, I had a very intense connection to this young boy. It appeared he was my own, but I wasn't sure. His face was unmistakably yours. As if you were a 4 year old probably, it just wasn't creepy I promise. But that was one of few dreams I've had where I woke up and felt moved. It was important to me certainly. I don't have anything to explain that coincidence but it still means something. I feel something with you that I've never known before. When we were talking about our future that one time and you confessed you spend the rest of your life with me, right now. You knew it in your heart. That broke me, because I knew you meant it. You reach me on another level for sure. And when we watch the vlog together and get all mushy when he boasts about how amazing being a dad is. And when you teared up at the one where a kid with cancer got his wish to meet him... oh my. You are special. You put up such a front but I'm glad you show me behind all that that. I melted when you drove me past a particular front yard that you passed minutes earlier on your way to get me, where a dad was playing outside with his kids. You are such a softie and I love it. You have so much heart.