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millersfinest · 2 days ago

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the thing in your chest that beats ⁴ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.9k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho | wyoming (you’re here)

tags: @elliecoochieeater

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: healing!reader, healing!ellie, vulgar language, ellie being avoidant as hell, slow-burn romance, little jj, reader being really depressed at the beginning, little time jump, sexual content but not smut per se, pure sugary sweet ending (almost pissed ME off)

note: omg final chapter!! i didn’t really know how i wanted to end it, so i went through scenic route. i hope you guys enjoyed my little series, because i had fun writing it.

wyoming

For the first time in a long time, you were cozy—absolutely bored and comfortable, and what a delight that was! The settlement in Jackson was everything that you had hoped for. It was warm and welcoming. Not by everyone, but by enough to want this place to feel like home. When the moon replaced the sun and the stars trickled over the night sky, warm yellow lights flickered on. Draping over the center of the settlement, where the establishments flourished. Lighting up a path that was being adorned by the first snow of the year.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen snow in all its icy glory; you were nothing but a child then. Waking up from a troubled sleep, in a spacious home that you could call your own, you shuffled to a frosted window. With your arms wrapped around your body, looking to see minute flurries fluttering from the sky. Collecting in piles on the outer edge of your windowsill.

After a month of already being in Wyoming, at the settlement, reality had set in. You were no longer a soldier, or a slave, or a traveler. Finally, you have made it to the place that was nestled in your mind for endless days, weeks and months.

Relief. Solace. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Except for one thing.

The house was a two-story home, with beige striped wallpaper; mahogany wood accenting arches separating rooms, cabinets, bannisters and floor boards. Upon your arrival, it was already furnished. A long, soft maroon couch. Decorated with quilts and knitted blankets from neighbors. A square wool carpet laid flat under a mahogany coffee table. Lamps in various places, warmly illuminating the room.

A dark wood dining table. Iron cookware. Upstairs, a quiet bed frame with a decent mattress and comforter on top. A couple of pillows. Two dressers. A proportionate closet—this house looked like a home. Minus the adjustments and additions you were planning for. However, it didn’t quite feel like a home.

It was empty… Or you were empty.

Since your arrival, talking with Ellie became a challenge. You rarely saw her; it was like she handed you off to the officials of Jackson’s and dusted her hands from you. It was dramatic to ruminate over a woman who’s only obligation was to get you to Wyoming—to this community. That’s what you tried to tell yourself to stay in line, but it wasn’t working. Even after busying yourself with different jobs and tasks to start earning your keep, you still thought of her.

Hell, you caught glimpses of her. Jackson wasn’t that big. She’d be walking hand-in-hand with a small child, a toddler, talking intimately with a dark-haired woman. You saw them together often. It could only be assumed that they were important—her ex-girlfriend and son. Well, now, you were uncertain if that was her ex-girlfriend… But, again, you shouldn’t be ruminating. You got what you wanted, remember?

It was an early morning when Maria had asked to meet with you, at a coffee shop in the middle of the square. Dressed in an insulated coat with a hoodie underneath, a pair of trusted light-wash jeans and black leather boots; you began a trek from the corner of the settlement in a light layer of snow. The asphalt wasn’t cold enough to let it fester just yet, but the grass held onto the ice. Headphones rested over your ears, playing a tape gifted to you as a housewarming gift from your young neighbor.

Some old rock band from the 90s. Nirvana’s About A Girl played in your ears as your boots crunched the snow.

It took about four songs off the album for you to get to the coffee shop. Pulling the flimsy headphones down to rest around your neck, you entered the shop looking for a head of sleek blonde hair. An aroma of burning coffee beans and sugar infiltrated your nose. Small chatter was heard from people holding warm mugs, looking at old newspapers, reading novels.

From a table in the far corner of the shop, Maria stood to wave you over. A friendly smile spread across your lips, taut and plastered, as you approached the square wooden table. “G’Morning, Maria.” You reached your hand out to shake her hand, professionally.

She looked down at your hand, snickering. Impressed by your insistence on professionalism. After all, she basically was your employer. It was the one thing the fireflies taught you well—respect your superiors. “Good Mornin’,” Maria firmly shook your hand, taking her seat.

The heaters in the shop toasted up your exposed skin, causing you to remove your jacket before sitting down in the seat across from the older woman. Two cups warm mugs were put in front of you, almost on cue, by a young girl with a maroon apron. “Thank you, Melissa.” She smiled at the barista. “I wasn’t sure if you liked coffee, so I just ordered you a hot chocolate. Hope that’s all right.”

“Oh, it’s fine. No complaints here.”

“Good.” Maria curtly nodded her head, pulling a black binder from a bag hanging on the back of a chair. “You’ve been sleeping well in that house?” Dabbing her middle finger on her tongue, she sifted through the pages and hand-written documents.

You blink, wrapping your hands around the ceramic mug. “There’s good nights and bad nights…” Nodding, you attempt to take a sip of the hot beverage, but it was too scolding. “Not the fault of the house, just me.” The ends of your lips curl as a softener to your words. Being negative in the face of someone who granted you a place to stay felt like a crime.

Maria hummed, looking up at with genuine blue eyes. “Well, I hope there are more good nights than bad nights.”

“Yeah, of course!” You shrugged, answering entirely too quickly. Which certainly gave away the fact that you telling the truth. Her icy blues were intimidating, although you’ve seen much worse than a pair of eyes.

Falling asleep alone, in the dark was another challenge you had to face. After spending months on the road with someone, knowing they’re there… It was an eerie feeling being far from them—being along. Especially, those last few weeks leading up to knocking on the community’s door. Whenever you found a place to camp out for the night, her arms would be wrapped around you. Or your arms wrapped around her. Relishing in each other’s clothed or bare bodies; it had become a tragic comfort.

Your skin burned for her like it did on that fucking pillar. It tingled, ached and wanted for her touch. Her lips. Her eyes. Her hands.

The nightmare’s of your traumas persisted when you closed your eyes. You wanted to blame it on Ellie’s absence, but they rarely surrendered with her around. But at least when you woke up, boiling, sweating and heaving like you’d just run a marathon, a pair of arms were there to lull you back to sleep. Kissing the back of your neck to remind you that you weren’t there anymore—that you were safe.

And, when she had her moments, shooting up from your arms with tears rolling down her cheeks. You coaxed her back to sleep with her head on your chest, and affirming whispers.

You couldn’t help but wonder if those moments meant as much to her as they did to you.

She hummed at your response, pursing her lips. “If you’re having any problems let me know. I have some great remedies to help with sleep.” The blonde woman offers, a soft smile spreading on her lips. You nodded, chewing on the soft skin inside of your lip. “Now,” Maria begins. “I see that you’ve had some time to try out some of the positions we offer. Have any taken your interest?”

Flipping through a couple of pages, she continues. “I’ve heard great things from Ava Marin, she manages the patrols. Uhm, and Mrs Hayworth, from the gardens and greenhouse…”

“Mrs Hayworth is a very kind woman. I enjoyed working with her— she’s great at explaining things.” You compliment, thinking about the few days you spent with her planting vegetables and fruit. Her salt and pepper hair puffed in coils around her cherubic but wrinkled face. Crowd feet leading to a pair of squinty hazel eyes. Mrs Hayworth treated her plants like they were her children, and she enforced you to do the same.

“She is— wonderful woman.” Maria agreed.

Humming, you think about all the jobs your tried—which was a lot. Patrol was something that you were used to. Being out in the world wasn’t a grand change. However, you weren’t certain that you wanted to go beyond the walls so often. You’ve spent lots of time patrolling, surveying, killing infected—you wanted to hang that up. Every once in a while wouldn’t hurt, though. “If I were to sign up to help out with the gardens… Would that mean that patrolling would be off limits?”

The blonde woman shook her head, pursing her lips. “Not at all! For patrol, it’s in a sign-up basis. If you were to mainly do patrol, it would mean going out every other day. If you were to mainly work the gardens, that would be more of a consistent job— but you could still sign-up for patrols if you wanted.” Maria informed. “As long as you’ve been approved to go, and you have.”

“Hm…” You thought, weighing your options. The inner rage that you harbored had remained dormant since you arrived. It had been replaced with rumination and sadness for things out of your control. “Gardening full-time seems serene… I’ve spent enough time out there.” Nodding, with a subtle curl to the corners of your lips, you admitted.

Maria begins to scribble with a pen on a sheet of paper, connected to the rings in the binder. “Sounds fitting. But, of course, you can change your mind anytime.”

After you deal with business, Maria continues conversation with you. Casual, of course. You could tell she was trying to pry without being obvious—wanting to know more about you. Willingly, you gave in, because why not? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a real conversation with someone. Maria Miller seemed genuine enough.

However, when she brought up Ellie, the air stiffened. And you could tell she noticed it.

“You and Ellie… Have you spoken, lately? It’s been hard getting a hold of her— it’s like she’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” She chortles, taking a sip of her coffee. Pressing her lips together at the bitter taste.

Stunned by the mention of her, you shook your head. Fingers growing numb around the warm, untouched, hot chocolate. “Uhm, no I haven’t…”

She hummed, leaning her head to the start. “That’s odd.” Maria scoffs, bunching her eyebrows. “She made it seem like you two were very close— being that you traveled so far together…” It’s like she was thinking out loud, making you want to bolt from the wooden chair holding onto you. “I mean, she made sure that you got the best house in Jackson… I would assume that she would’ve at least visited—“

“Well, she hasn’t.” Sternly interrupting her, you inhaled, sharply.

Noticing the mistake, she sighed, looking at with blue eyes filled with pity. It irked you. Trying to fix it, Maria plastered a bittersweet smile on her lips. “She’s more like Tommy than I thought.” Bunching your eyebrows, she continued. “My husband— ex-husband— I don’t know… It’s complicated.”

You know the feeling… Kind of.

Ellie had told you about Tommy Miller. He was a very ambitious man, to say the least. Ambitious enough to send a grieving girl to kill someone in his absence—feeding off her own despair. You caught that much. But, if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have ever met her. What a selfish thought. “They’re both hermits in their own right, but they always come around.” She released a wistful sigh. “Ellie will come around… Just give her some time to get all her ducks in a row.”

With tight lips, you nodded. How much time? You desperately wanted to ask, but you didn’t. Instead, you stood up, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. “Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, Maria, but I have to go.” Speaking quickly, you slid your arms into your puffer jacket. Maria abruptly stood to her feet with an inquisitive expression.

“Oh, well, uhm,” She began, rubbing her hands together. “Of course. You’re schedule should be out in the next few days. Consider the meantime your sabbatical.” Her eyes drifted over your frame like a concerned mother. “It was a pleasure talking with you, y/n. I’m glad you could join us here.”

Sending another tight-lipped smile her way, you stuck your hands into your pockets. “I’m glad you let me. See you around.”

Leaving the coffee shop, the cold air was a smack in the face. Pulling you from shackles of solemnity—briefly. Raising your headphones back around your ears, you resumed the tape inside of the Walkman clipped to your hip.

Thin flurries of snow began to fall from the bright grey clouds. Trickling over the strands of your hair, melting in contact. Stuffing your hands back into your pockets, you walked down the icy path of the square.

The main square in Jackson was littered with people. Some were standing around conversing, with cigarettes in their hands. Some worked pulling supplies in large wooden carts, moving them to another establishment. You seen a man on a ladder fixing a broken light on the outside of a pub. And a woman walking a train of small children holding hands—like they were on a field trip of some kind. They laughed and giggled under knit beanies, bundled in their jackets that may have been too big for some.

A smile appeared on your lips as you watched them march by you.

You stopped at an art store, looking up at the wooden sign. Quoting Maria, you were on sabbatical; so, you wanted to use this time to fully explore the settlement. In the month that you’ve been in Jackson, you have visited the local pub more often than you’d like to admit. Entering the store, a bell sounded, and you smiled at the few people walking around the decorated shop.

Organic paints and brushes were located in the back corner of the store, taking up two walls and some floor space. While the rest of the store harbored artwork from the people who lived in the community. And some refurbished work found outside the wall. A sign on the wall read: talk to an attendant for group and private classes. You hummed, impressed by the normalcy. Perhaps, you could sign up for one.

Meandering around, your eyes survey the paintings and drawings. Thinking about your home, it could use some personalization. You came across a landscape portrait of two women. The strokes emulated grass—olive tones—that they were lying on—intertwined with each other. Arms and legs entangled. Lips grazing each others cheeks. The strokes that were made were intentionally blurry and messy. Who were these women? Was their relationship as unofficial and indifferent as your own?

Fingers grazing the canvas of the painting, you couldn’t help but think of that freckle-faced woman you’ve grown to adore.

“You interested in that one? Nice choice.”

Even though your headphones played Nirvana in your ears, you could still recognize the outsourced voice. Her voice was like honey. Soft, warm honey. Luring you like a spell spoken by a witch or warlock. God, you missed the sound of her voice. “Funny thing is… The woman who painted this actually has a husband.” She chuckled, glancing at you with a nervous glint.

You froze at the sound of her voice, eyes glued to the art before you. Just blinking. Buh bum. Buh hum. Your heart beat in your ears, in your chest, in your hands—everywhere! Skin growing hot as if you were sat in front of a furnace. Were you mad or just upset? It was hard to tell, even for yourself.

The smile on her lips faded, immediately. Fiddling with her fingers—she always did that. “How’re you settling in—?”

“I’ve already settled in…” Your voice was eerily calm, side-eying her as you spoke. “I haven’t seen you in five weeks, Ellie.”

She sighed, adjusting the knit cap over her hair. Licking her lips, nervously. “I know—“

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” When you finally look at her, she notices the irateness in your eyes. Crowding over the feelings of yearning and sorrow.

“Can we talk? Please, just let me explain.”

Gritting your jaw, you peer at her. Thinking about hashing it out within a small walk. But, you were tender, sensitive—you couldn’t be sure that your reaction wouldn’t be explosive. What if she told you she was getting back with Dina? Going back to her family. That alone could send you into ruins. And you too far from your house to escape the public once you unleashed hell upon that woman. “You know where I live.” You told, with a pinched expression.

That was your cue to leave the store, pulling your hoodie over your head. Maybe, today wasn’t the day to tour the community. Another day. Plus, you had to spend the rest of the day anticipating a knock at your door.

It was a glum walk back to your place. You had put your Walkman on pause, walking in a depressive silence. Each step you made up your porch was deliberate and slow. An old swing chair swung in the wind, bolts shaking once you put your weight on the porch. It wrapped around the entire front of the house, and it definitely needed more décor.

Entering your house, you hung up your jacket and kicked off your shoes at the door. Stalking up your staircase, leaning in the railing, you made your way to your bedroom. The un-made bed beckoned you; so you kicked the door closed, and jumped under your covers. Hopefully, getting some shut eye could ease your nerves.

The sleep was rocky—you were in and out. In the moments when you awoke, you pulled a book from your bedside table to read��George Eliot—hoping to fall back asleep. But the novel only intrigued you for hours. Distracting from that anticipation long enough for it to come sooner than you expected.

It was dark, but it was no later than six-thirty.

You approached the door with a heavy heart, sliding your fluffy socks across the wooden floor. The reveal of the woman on your porch caused your body to heat up once more. She turned around, still dressed in the clothes from earlier.

“Hey,”

“Hey…”

Pressing her lips into an awkward line. “Nice porch.”

Scrunching your eyebrows at the compliment, you abandoned the door while it was ajar. Telling her to enter without losing your dignity. Ellie stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. “Shoes off.” You tell her, waving a hand, carelessly.

Walking to the kitchen, you threw onto the stove a metal kettle filled water. While your innate anger was healing, there was still pridefulness about you. You had to have some sort of control over any situation that you’re in. Ellie came to your house; this conversation was on your terms. And it was going to stay that way.

Ellie had navigated around your living room, feeling the softness of the carpet under her feet. I did good. She thought. Ellie taking part in the decision making for your accommodations was true. She wanted to give you the absolute best, because she knew she was going to need some time alone.

Appearing from around the corner, you leaned against the mahogany frame lining the entrance to the living room. With your arms stubbornly crossed over your chest. “You have about seven to eight minutes before that kettle goes off, and when it does, this conversation is over.”

She slid the hat from her head, dragging it down to the place over her belly button. Kneading the fabric with her thumbs. “Do you not want me here?” Her voice cracked, hands smacking down at her sides. “Because we can talk another time—“

“Six minutes.”

Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “You know, what?” Ellie scoffed, striding past you toward your kitchen. Irritation rushing through her nerves. It confused her how she could be so obsessed with someone who might’ve been more stubborn than herself.

You followed her into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman reached for the kettle, taking it off the small flame. Flicking off the fire, she turned to look at you. “You’re not gonna give me six minutes to explain myself— I’m not gonna let you rush this.”

“I’m not rushing anything.”

Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms. Leaning her back against the counter, coolly. “Are you seriously insulting my intelligence, right now?” Ellie raised an eyebrow, mocking words that you’ve said in the past.

Squinting your eyes, glaringly, you scoff. “Just… Talk, Ellie.” You waved your hand, leaning on the threshold bordering the kitchen and the small foyer. Perhaps, you were pushing it a bit too far.

The auburn-haired woman sighed behind speaking. Placing her hands on the edge of the counter. “When I left… It was an immediate decision— made in the middle of the night in a farmhouse I shared with my girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, and my kid.” She began, eyeing you intently. “I left my family behind, y/n, including Maria and Tommy and anyone else in this fucking community that I knew.” Her hands moved as she spoke, passionately. “In that moment, I don’t think I ever planned to come back. There was nothing to come back to…

Then, I met you. When I thought I traveled so far for nothing— I met you.” Her olive eyes looked to the ceiling, thinking. While your heart blundered under your ribs. “Coming back was never my intention, and I left that way. So, when I walked through those doors… I had a lot of work to do. A lot of bridges to mend and gain the trust of again— which I’m still doing, by the way.”

Her hand jutted out, before slapping against her thighs. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like that. Truthfully, I was overwhelmed.” The woman confessed, scratching the back of her head. “For the first two weeks, I was begging for Dina to let me see JJ, my son. For the next, I was arguing with Tommy for letting Abby go— it was a lot. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to put any of that on you.” Pursing your lips, you nodded. “You’ve been through enough… I was protecting you. I wanted you to just focus on settling in.”

“Well, it was hard settling in without you.” It almost came out like a whisper—a little louder than a whisper. Followed by a dry, stubborn chortle. “I spent months on the road with you, and it’s like you just hung me out to dry. That fucking sucked.” Averting your eyes, you peered at the shining floorboards.

She nodded, frowning at your downcast expression. But, there was an element of proudness. Give or take a few weeks back, you’d argue her down over anything. However, this time, vulnerability leaked from you. Poured from your words and demeanor like liquid gold. “I know, and I’m really sorry. It was fucked up. But it will never happen again— I swear to you.”

“What if something else comes up?” You question, chewing on the skin inside your lip.

“I’ll clue you in— every time.”

You hummed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the status on you and Dina?”

Ellie rubs her nose with her index finger, ready to answer your rapid-fire questions. “Cordial co-parents.”

“Does she know about us?”

A goofy smile spreads across her plump lips. “We’re an us?”

Narrowing your eyes at her, fighting a little grin, you responded. “Answer the question, Ellie!”

“Oh, my God! Yes, she knows about us, and she’s happy for me.” With amused features, she begins to slowly approach you. “Now, are you done with the twenty questions game? Because you haven’t accepted my apology once…” She pouted, sliding her hands over your arms, pulling them from their crossed position.

Batting your eyes at her, feigning thought. The touch of her fingers on you sparked a fire, setting your skin ablaze. Even if it was in your best interest not to accept her apology, you probably still would. The way her eyes looked into you with such gentleness—it couldn’t be replicated by anyone else. “I accept your apology…” You admit, grazing your fingers up the sleeves of her flannel.

“Fuck, yes!” She wasted no time to embrace you, wrapping her arms around your neck. Tightly, you wrapped your arms around her back, leaning your head over her shoulder. “I missed you. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you?”

“You have no choice but to make it up to me.” You spoke against her exposed skin, pecking the side of her neck. “For the sake of lost time.”

Ellie giggled at the brush of your lips, pulling away with raised eyebrows. “Oh, shit. I almost forgot— be right back.” She runs to your front door pulling it open, and leaning to the side to grab a flipped canvas that was leaning against the outside brick wall. It was the portrait you were considering buying at the art store. “Housewarming present!” She grinned, presenting it in front of herself.

You matched her smile, reaching out to take it from her. “That woman is totally gay for making this.”

“So gay. I feel bad for her husband.”

Sharing a laugh, you look back at her, setting the canvas to the side against the wall. Walking up to her, you grabbed her face, caressing the skin of her cheeks. Musing at her earthy features, taking them all in like you’d never see her again. The last time you saw her, it’s like you took it for granted—not knowing if it was going to be a while before you got to look at her the way you wanted to. Leaning into her, you pressed your lips against hers, unabashedly. Her hands found comfort at the divot of your waist, pulling you flush against her.

Sliding your hands down to the nape of her neck, the kiss deepened. You whined into her mouth when she slipped her tongue between your lips. With the combination of her grip on your waist and the taste of her lips, you wanted to merge your bodies—so she could never leave your side again. You’ve survived enough tragic loss; was it so bad to want this one thing? The touch of your troubled lover.

Ellie backed you against the wall, muttering against your lips. “I wanna take my time with you…” She began to trail hot kisses over your cheek, down your jaw, to the sensitive parts of your neck. “Show you…” Smack. “Just how much…” Smack. “I love you.”

Under the waistband of your jeans, you throbbed, but the thing beating inside your chest swelled and beat louder. “Y— You love me?” The tips of your fingers scratched at her scalp, comfortingly. As she pulled her face from your neck, her freckled cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, I do.” Her thumb came up to caress your jaw. “I really do.”

That was your cue to completely devour her. You pulled her upstairs, into your bedroom, to ravish her—to ravish each other. Stripping from your clothes to come unto one another with a sickening love. Her lips traced every part of your body; suckling, nibbling, tonguing down the most sensitive parts. Pulling moans from your diaphragm, seamlessly. She cooed for you and spoke filthily in your ear while touching you with a gentle firmness that only she could replicate over and over—making you come undone hard. As if the universe came from within you.

Stars, planets, galaxies—celestial bodies!

You and Ellie were two halves of one whole. Everything that led up to that beach happened with the purpose of bringing the scorned together. To cancel it out, blossoming something much greater. Somehow, you proved to each other that you were both worth saving. No matter the sin. No matter the guilt. It was all worth it to end up wrapped in her arms, skin to skin, caressing her battered epidermis.

As months progressed, gearing up for the spring season, Ellie had long moved her stuff in. Her easel and unfinished works nestled in the guest room. Her clothes were stuffed beside yours in the drawer before your bed, and the closet beside your door. Bringing in sunrises with sleepy, feathered kisses and innocent touches. It was a dream you both got the chance to live out.

This wasn’t enduring or surviving—it was living. Experiencing life.

With your hands covered in dirt, replanting a radish, joyful voices were behind your back. Looking over your shoulder, a tiny frame was trotting toward you, calling your name. Ellie in his trail, with her hands in her pockets.

Gasping, you turned around with a grin. “Hey, buddy!” You opened your arms for him to promptly land in them. Keeping your hands far from his jacket so the soil wouldn’t dirty him up.

“Careful, JJ, she’s working!” She tried, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, Ellie, it’s fine.” You waved a dirty hand, sliding them off your fingers, dropping them onto the grass. So you could reach under his arms to hoist him onto your hip. The sun landed just right on his little head, sparkling off his small growing teeth.

Ellie’s lips curled at the sight. “He wanted to come visit you at work before I dropped him off.” She meandered toward you, pecking your lips.

“Just JJ? Or you, too?”

“Both of us, whatever.” Playfully, she rolled her eyes. “Plus, I had to remind you of our dinner date tonight— its mandatory. You can’t be late.” Her fingers pushed fallen pieces of your hair from your forehead.

Once you had gotten into the grove of gardening, time flew by. It would go from seven in the morning to eight in the afternoon like it was nothing. Causing you to miss out on some of the plans you made with your generous lover. “You’ve been reminding me since I got up this morning. Trust me, I remember, Ellie.” You squeezed his chubby cheek, cooing at him. “Ugh, I love him.” You gushed, peering between him and your girlfriend.

“Oh!” You pulled a folded-up paper from your back pocket. “JJ, you wanna do me a big favor?”

His eyebrows lifted, grinning.

“Give your mama back this recipe for me, all right?” He takes the paper in his hands, preparing to unfold it. “Promise me you’ll give it to her…”

“I promise!”

“Okay, bud. Tuck it tight into your pocket until you get there.”

Instead of unfolding, he pushed it into the pocket of his coat, messily. Patting it, to let you know it was inside. Kissing him on his cheek, you put him back on the ground. Eyes glancing at the watch on your wrist. “Well, I gotta get back to work.” Your hand found hers by her side, leaning your body toward her arm. “Thanks for visiting me, babe. Letting me see that beautiful face of yours.”

Ellie blushed, averting her glazing eyes. You leaned your head closer to hers, warmly kissing her cheek. “My pleasure…”

“I’m sure.” You teased, inconspicuously biting her ear. Quick enough that it went unseen to the surrounding people, and JJ as he played with the leaves sticking out of the garden. Ellie released an airy sigh, narrowing her eyes at you. She whined your name as if she were embarrassed. “Don’t be like that— you know I love you.”

“I love you more… But you have to chill. Mrs Hayworth is right there.”

“You don’t know Mrs Hayworth like I do.” You snicker, waving a hand to the older woman a few bins away. The salt and pepper haired woman waved, sending a teasing wink. Ellie looked back at your with confused, and slightly horrified, features. “I’ll tell you about it later. At the dinner I’m not going to be late to.”

“And you better not.” Ellie poked you, with pouty lips.

“Ellie, I won’t.”

“Okay, I believe you.” She kissed you one more time. A little longer. A little deeper. “I won’t keep you from the vegetables anymore. JJ, say buh-byes.” He jumps from a squat, waving his hand with a smile. “I’ll see you later. C’mon, kid.” Ellie hoisted him up into her hip and began walking back the way she came to deliver him to Dina’s. Leaving you with metaphorical heart eyes, pulling your gloves back onto your hands.

And, when later came; over a hearty chicken dinner prepared by Ellie Williams herself, a shiny silver band was presented to you in the pages of a book. Laying over an underlined and highlighted excerpt of the book—something you highlighted. It was a novel you had finished sometime between the end of December and early January.

“‘What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life–to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?’” Ellie had recited, evenly. With not a speckle of wavering, or awkwardness, or pause—unless it was intentional. “Adam Bede. Your favorite book… I hope it’s your favorite book.”

Jumping from your chair across from her, you leaped into her arms after placing the book into the dinner table. Pecking your lips across her face. “Yes! Yes! Ellie, a million fucking times, yes!”

“I didn’t even ask the question.” She laughed in your ear, looking up at you with dilated pupils.

Pulling back, you narrowed your tearing eyes at her. “You don’t have to. I already said yes.”

“But isn’t that the exciting part… Popping the question?”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “I thought the exciting part was me saying yes to marrying you…?”

Ellie spent days studying George Eliot, hours setting up the dinner, and minutes shaking with anxiety. Working herself up to saying those magic four words, only for your to swipe the chance right from under her. And, honestly, she loved you more for it. “All right, can I at least put the damn ring on your finger?”

“‘Course, you can, Els.” You pull the book toward you, opening it up on the page with the ring. Ellie takes it from your fingers, glancing at you with opalescent olive eyes. She slid it onto your ring finger, delicately twisting the band around. You grinned, hopelessly, with your bottom lip between your teeth.

Her hand trailed up your arm, squeezing. “My lucky charm…” She muttered, thoughtfully.

“I’m all yours.” You lean close to her lips, glancing at them. “And you’re all mine.”

Neither of you were able to finish the dinner while it was hot.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams fluff #lgbtq #ellie williams smut

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lactoseintolerentswag · 1 year ago

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Rise Characterizations Pt. 5!!!!!

Okay I promised I'd share my Splinter reference notes, so here I am! Also wanna take a moment to thank everyone reblogging the prev. parts. All the tags/notes are so sweet!!! Anyway, here's our one and only Rat Man,

Splinter Character Notes

Language Habits:

Catchphrase: "HOOOOOT SOUP!!!"

Will yell "whoa/oh nelly!" when in a tight spot or stumbling around

Makes puns/dad jokes, and laughs at said jokes to himself

A poor liar, will skirt around the truth until you drop it

Penchant for interrupting people if he's not interested, devout user of "yada, yada", "ah, bup, bup, bup"

Verbalizes his attacks/moves, something his sons pick up on. Could be a habit picked up from his action star days, such moves include: lights off jitsu, and slow motion jitsu

Uses 2010's slang, (i.e. "totes", "chillaxed"), could see him incorrectly using up to date slang to embarrass his boys

In a group refers to his sons as "boys"

One by one will refer to his sons by their designated colors, but will pull out the full name (not nickname) if the situation is serious

Also refers to Donnie as "the funny one"

Personality:

A performer, well he is an actor after all. He knows how to captivate an audience. Splinter likes attention--something that may be connected to his strict childhood with high expectations--but he also performs for his boys. To keep them happy, but most importantly safe. This also means he keeps his true emotions tucked closely to his chest

Jovial. Despite his dark past and heavy responsibility thrust upon him at a young age, Splinter is always laughing. He finds the fun in everything

Secretive. As mentioned before, Splinter tends to keep things close to his chest. Despite this, he's a terrible liar. He'll just avoid the truth until it comes back to bite him in the ass. This makes him sometimes a little emotionally unavailable

Lazy. He always finds the easiest way to do something, and procrastinate on his responsibilities as long as possible

Vain. He's glory seeking for all the proper attention he lost in his youth. So the Lou Jitsu aspect of his life boosted his ego in irreparable ways. He also uses the identity of Lou Jitsu to escape from the idea of being stuck as a rat. Glorifying the past is way to find comfort for him

Adrenaline junkie. Part of that glory-seeking and glorification of the past manifests into him needing adrenaline to feel alive. (i.e. when he steals the tank)

Attentive and empathetic. He can be a little hare-brained when it comes to remembering the details, but he's always very attentive to his sons needs. In flashbacks he's shown to supply them with items needed for their interests (i.e. little Mikey gets art supplies), and always apologizes when he messes up (i.e. the conversation he had with Donnie). This empathy also extends to other people and animals, as he was sympathetic with Cassandra when she was lamenting about the foot clan and was immediately worried about the turtles Draxum had in his lab

Protective. He would sacrifice everything to save his sons, and he does

Miscellaneous:

His tail is Very expressive, and one of the most active parts of his body, so if you want to subtley show emotion I'd focus on that

Has a Lou Jitsu body pillow

Remembers all his stunt double's names

Snores loudly

Talented singer, can sing opera and lived next to a karaoke bar in Japan

The show he watches the most is called "Soapy Treadmill", a Japanese game show where they throw things like scorpions at people who are soapy on treadmills

Has a "do not touch!" cabinet, full of trophies, mystic artifacts, and mementos of his past

I have a List of all the mentioned Lou Jitsu movie names mentioned in S1, but I'm probably gonna wait till the end of my S2 rewatch and post it separately (it's also long too). Will link here!

I'm also gonna add a recommendation here at the end.

This is for the white and non East Asian folks. I'm not as well-versed in East Asian or Japanese culture, but Splinter is a first generation immigrant! He keeps a distance from his heritage because of the trauma of his youth, and the role Lou Jitsu probably also forced him to westernize his identity to make it more palpable to Hollywood. But it would be a disservice to sever parts of his identity, because one is uncomfortable or not knowledgeable in writing it.

For my white folks intimidated by writing a person of color because they want to get it right, research always helps. Research helps with everything!!! writingwithcolor here on tumblr actually has a lot of useful resources, here's their guideline, and a research chart one of their moderators created, which I personally found to be very helpful. I believe their ask box is closed right now, but if you ask questions in the future be nice!!!!

Anyway I'm gonna do April next :)

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt hamato yoshi #character analysis #writing #fanfic #long post #critter talks #rottmnt lou jitsu

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marlynnofmany · 11 months ago

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Fingernails and Fisticuffs

The box of miscellaneous engine parts slipped out of my grasp, catching a fingernail on the way down. I said, “Ow!” but was overshadowed by the loud clatter of washers and junk. Heads of several species turned from across the cargo bay. I reassured all my alien coworkers that nothing was broken.

“Are you okay?” Paint asked. She was the only one close enough to notice how I was shaking my hand, and worry was clear on her lizardy face.

“Yeah, just broke a nail,” I told her. “I didn’t think it was long enough for that. Ow.”

Paint looked at the box with alarm. “There are nails sticking out?”

“No, a fingernail,” I said, holding out a hand. “One of these. The little not-claws that humans have.”

“Not-claws?” Paint repeated. She stepped closer to get a proper look. Her expression was somewhere between distaste and pity. “I never really studied them before. They’re hollow! Just the top half! Why?”

I shrugged. “I guess we don’t really need proper claws anymore. Our distant ancestors had them.”

Paint looked scandalized. “How could you not need claws?”

Before I could come up with a good answer, Trrili walked by with a heavy pipe held in her pincher arms. I’d say she was looking down her nose at us, but she didn’t really have one of those. Just bug eyes, mandibles, and lots of opinions. She said, “No wonder humans like weapons so much, if you don’t even have sharp digits.”

“We can fight without weapons too!” I protested.

“Really,” Trrili said, stepping past to deposit the pipe beside several others with a loud clank. “How? You can’t bite like her,” she said with a flick of one antenna toward Paint. “Or even grapple like him.” The other antenna pointed out Mimi, tentacle-walking over like an octopus with a plumber’s belt.

“We can grapple pretty well,” I said. “But most of our fighting is punches and kicks.” I shadowboxed briefly, with what I thought were some pretty good moves. I even did a slow-motion roundhouse kick that brought my foot level with Trrili’s head.

She blocked it with a pincher. “Any Armorlite could hit harder, and so could half the Frillians I know.”

“Maybe, but they’re probably not as agile.” I bobbled and weaved.

“On two legs,” Trrili said, sweeping one of her own forward to try and trip me. I jumped over it, but she still wasn’t impressed. “Honestly, it’s a good thing you can climb things and fit into cabinets to hide, because the softest Mesmer child could defeat you in a fight.”

“Oh yeah? Bet you can’t do this.” I opened the box I’d dropped, dug out a metal washer, and laid it flat on the floor. “Pick that up.”

Trrili regarded me silently for a moment, pincher arms flexing and antenna doing a disapproving dance.

I just grinned at her. “What? It’s easy.” I scooped it up with one thumb and the finger with the longest nail. “…If you have fingernails.”

Mimi joined us, chuckling in his gravelly voice and plucking the washer from my hand. Paint giggled a little too, though stopped when Trrili glared at her.

“That’s beside the point,” Trrili declared. “What would you do if faced down with true danger, and no weapons in reach? And that includes rocks to throw; I know how fond you are of that.”

“I’d throw Mimi at it,” I said, pointing.

“Do not,” he said.

That just made Paint laugh again. Trrili was shaking her head.

“Hey, don’t underestimate some good problem-solving,” I said. “Especially if I’ve got time to prepare! There are some great trickster legends about humans who made traps for their enemies out of the most unlikely things.”

Paint asked, “Like what?”

Mimi interrupted, “Let’s get the supplies put away first, then have story time.”

“Of course,” I said, picking up the box. Mimi had already grabbed a couple of things out of it. “Blip and Blop will want to hear this too. And Trrili, I think you’ll appreciate some of those legends. Especially the ones about a human child left home alone when dangerous adults break into the house. Some of those traps were downright vicious.”

“That remains to be seen,” Trrili said.

I winked at Paint. “And some are funny.”

Storytime after dinner was a big hit. Blip and Blop enjoyed it so much that Captain Sunlight had to make everyone promise not to do any of that.

Unless, of course, the ship was ever attacked in a very specific way. She may have been taking notes for later.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #writeblr #writblr #happy new year have a brief bit of amusing conversation #this year should hold some exciting things

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that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict · 4 months ago

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SIC PARVIS MAGNA Pt.1: "Streets"

DC Birds of Prey x ATEEZ

an AU by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict & @seventhcallisto

Masterlist & Character profiles

Heavy edm booms throughout the night club, barely heard over screams of distress, punches landing and the shattering of glass bottles. You winced in pain as you nursed the bruise on your knee, a souvenir of your clumsy attempt to get to the bar counter that you were now crouched underneath. You tugged off your heels, knowing that they would likely cause more trouble for you than protection from whatever miscellaneous trash was littered throughout the checkered nightclub floor. The mahogany counter you were leaned up against suddenly shook with a loud ‘thud’, causing you to jump backwards in your hiding spot. Cautiously getting on your knees, you peeked over the counter top, in hopes of at least locating your friends. The scene before your eyes was chaos, a blur of fists and bright disco ball lights flashing inconsistently, doing little to help your eyes navigate the already dimly-lit room. Looks like you were gonna be there for a while.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a large black figure was thrown over the counter and against the wine cabinet behind it. Glass shattered everywhere, prompting you to gasp out loud and shield your face from any flying shards. The figure slammed to the ground, and awkwardly rolled under the counter next to you. A sigh of relief escaped your chest when you realized it wasn't one of the tattooed thugs that had come barrelling through the club's entrance earlier on. It was a man with flaming, yellow-streaked orange hair, dressed in long drapes of dark fabric. His lowered face was obscured partially by a black cowl with pointed tips. As he tried to push himself up, he shook violently and doubled over even more, evidently reacting to a painful injury. You instinctively reached out to try to help, but he didn't notice you, instead ripping off his bat-shaped cowl and disorientedly raising his head.

Oh my god.

Nothing could have prepared you to see the face behind the mask.

One day earlier…

“Hand over what's in the cash register, and no one gets hurt!!”

Shit. Not again.

Turning around in your spot from behind the cashier, you came face to face with the poorly-dressed man who had entered the store just a few minutes ago. His bloodshot eyes raked your raised hands as he brandished his scratched-up pistol at you.

Fuck, I knew he seemed off when he walked in.

You mentally cursed yourself for not refusing service to him the moment your gut feeling had kicked in. Now you were stuck behind the cashier of the convenience store, having to choose between forking over the little money in the register and being shot at the scum standing in front of you. Not that this was new to you. In fact, having lived in the crime-ridden city of Seoultham for long enough, you're rather desensitized to being robbed. It just sucked that it had to happen when you were working your shift at the local 7-11. For the 3rd time in a week. When your rent was due in a few days.

Despite the familiar anxiety that overtook you whenever you were looking down the barrel of a shooter's gun, you managed to reach into the beat-up register to grab the few dollar notes, while hardly breaking a sweat. You stared longingly at the crumpled notes as you handed them over to the thief.

Guess I'm not getting paid this week. Whatever… I'll just ask Taehyun-oppa to send some money early.

A cry of dissatisfaction broke your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. The thief had counted the money, and he looked nothing but happy.

“What the fuck is this?! There's barely enough money ‘ere to rent a whore!”

“That's all there is, man, I swear…”

“Yer lyin’! Scoot over and lemme see the register, or I'll shoot!!”

“Dude, it's 11am on a weekend- This place hardly gets any business in the morning! You got some money anyways, so just get out!”

You eventually gave in (persuaded more by the gun than the obviously uneducated fellow that wielded it), moving aside to let him rummage through the register. He gave a huff of displeasure at the empty metal drawer, before making his way out of the automatic doors. You let out a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally.

☆☆☆

A visit from the patrolling policeman, a couple texts to your boss, and a few hours later, you walk past the next shift's staff and out of the store. Relief washed over you as you walked the familiar path home.

What a day.

Pulling out your phone, you turned off the Do Not Disturb setting, and was immediately met with the buzz of groupchat messages. The notification bar was flooded with texts from your girl friends. You couldn't help but smile a little at the most recent ones.

Nayeonnie 🐰: KANG Y/N AND YOO JEONGYEONNNN

Nayeonnie 🐰: Answer ur phones RN.

Nayeonnie 🐰: omg don't leave me hANGING 😭😭😭😭😭😭

The moment you clicked the notification and opened up the group chat, Nayeon’s contact number popped up on screen, causing you to nearly drop your phone. You quickly stuffed your coat into your tote bag so that you'd have a free hand to answer.

“Hello? Nayeon?”

“Y/N you're alive!!!”

“I was at work, dude, my phone was on silent mode.”

“Aww you can't even look at your texts while manning the counter?”

“I would if I could, trust me. Anyways, I would've been screwed today if my phone was buzzing with notifications during work.”

“Whaddya mea- Ohhhh shit, did the store get robbed again?!”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You murmured, Nayeon sighing out loud on the other end of the line.

“You really gotta find a safer place to stay. Jeongie and I's door is always open for you. I gotta go now, but I'll text you about this new club I wanted to check out later!!”

She ended the call, and you stuffed your phone inside your pocket, looking up as you turned round a corner. The sight of a dilapidated 4 storey building up ahead greeted you. Home sweet home.

Halazia Apartments was dead as usual. The apartment complex is still standing on bare concrete and broken foundation, which you doubted you'd come home to because of said things, but with it still standing everyday you were pleasantly surprised that it wasn't rubble and dust. Maybe you're not giving the place enough credit. As you take your steps up the entrance stairs a familiar shadow is on the other side of the door, pushing out.

“Oh hey,” Your sweet old land lady's only daughter, Chungha, greets you, phone in one hand and her thick brown braid twirled around the other. Despite being older by a fair amount, she looked effortlessly gorgeous yet laid-back (as usual) in her pastel tracksuit. A stark contrast to your windblown hair and wrinkled tee that still had a few glass pieces from the earlier break-in. What wasn't usual, was the stranger standing next to her; a tall, thin man with faded red hair. Something about him made him almost fade into the background, you didn't even notice him at first. His pale skin had a slight tinge of green to it, and his eyes looked like bottomless pits. Not creepy, but more mysterious.

Is that her new boyfriend?

Your eyes flicker between the two for a moment, internally deciding not to question one of your very few friends. This doesn't go unnoticed by the cute stranger. His figure shrinks a little and he moves closer to Chungha, his big frames almost sliding down his hooked nose. She doesn't react, as if she was used to it, and instead spoke to you again. “If you happen to see that Song guy, let him know the elevator is getting maintenance and he shouldn't try to use it. Don't want a lawsuit." Chungha crosses her fingers and clicks her tongue, as if the problem isn't as serious as it is. Considering you'll have to walk up the many flights of stairs. Fuck, could it get any worse? “Yea sure,” you nod and slip past the tall man (who's still clinging onto her).

“Thanks, sweetie. Hwa, c’Mon, let's go,” Chungha hums a word of appreciation as she tugs on the man’s baggy sleeve. He was quick to react, eagerly following her out of the building. You could hear her infectious chuckles outside as you started to walk towards the staircase. Shaking your head, you push the mystery man out of your thoughts and headed to the row of mailboxes next to the staircase.

Multi-colored graffiti decorated the once-blank walls that surrounded the mailboxes. Not that you minded. It gave a somewhat lively feel to the still and dead air of the place. You reached for your assigned mailbox that was labeled ‘#03-01’, only half of the ‘3’ was scratched off.

Inserting and turning your key, a grumble escaped your throat when you realized that the mailman had mixed up your mail for the nth time. The heavy envelopes inside were all addressed to ‘Song Mingi’, aka your infuriatingly absent neighbor that lived a level below you.

Whatever, I had to go tell him about the elevator anyway. If he's even home this time.

Jogging up the stairs to the 2nd level, you crossed over to the first door in the pin-drop silent hallway and knocked, expecting to be met with even more silence . To your surprise, there was a ‘click’ followed by the door squeaking open. Your giant of a neighbor stood in front of you, looking like a lost puppy. He scratched his flaming yellow-and-orange hair, muttering, “Can I…help you, Kang?”

Honestly, you were taken aback for a moment. It was the first time you'd seen him up close before, heck it was one of the first times you'd ever personally seen him at the apartment. He lived there, but rarely left his unit from what Chungha told you. You didn't see or hear much of him, besides clunking of machinery, aggressive clacking of keyboards that you could hear through the thin floors, or occasional loud conversations between him and the friends he had over. You couldn't help but let your eyes rake over his sharp features for a moment, before snapping yourself out of it and showing him the stack of yellow envelopes addressed to him.

“Our mail got mixed up…again.”

“Oh shit, ‘m really sorry you had to go through the trouble-”

“It's fine. At least you're here for once to actually receive your shit. I wouldn't wanna leave it outside your unit again like some threat from a loan shark. By the way, uh…the elevator’s down again. Chungha said to use the stairs for now.”

Mingi offered you a crooked smile and took in his mail, nodding and mumbling a low “thanks” before clumsily re-entering his apartment.

Well. That was awkward.

And this leads you to where you are now.

Caught in the midst of an intense nightclub fight, crouched beneath the bar counter with increasingly sore legs, and face-to-face with that exact same downstairs neighbor; holding a cowl in his hands, looking absolutely petrified as he stared right back at you.

The two of you gawked at each other like goldfish, the loud music and fighting nothing but white noise in that moment.

Just as Mingi was about to speak up, there was a shrill cackle coming from the front of the bar.

“Batsy!!! Where ya at??? The cops are coming, we gotta bounce, you fucking beanstalk!!”

You could hear a deranged man speaking and punctuating his words with punches and crashes of bar stools.

Mingi's eyes lit up at the sound of his companion's voice and he quickly shoved his cowl back on, tugging up a baggy hood over his striking mop of hair for extra measure. He caught your gaze, offering a “please pretend you didn't see anything” look back in return. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Soon enough, the rowdy bar fight was broken up by the cops. Police sirens and yells of “Freeze!” rang throughout the room, prompting both innocent bystanders and troublemakers alike to attempt to flee. You stayed exactly where you were, too shocked by the revelation that you'd just made.

What the hell was Mingi doing here? Is he a vigilante? Why'd it have to be him to run into, out of all people?

It wasn't long before a police officer found you huddled under the counter. He'd asked for your name, but took your silence as a sign of shock from the night's events. As you were being escorted out of the club, you could hear groups of police officers discussing in hushed tones as they tried to round up as many thugs as they could. Amongst these officers, you spotted Officer Seo, your elder brother’s friend. Curiosity overcame you and you broke free from the officer's hold to clumsily hobble over.

“Changbin oppa!”

The beefy policeman whipped around at the sound of your voice, and caught you just in time before you tripped. “Y/N! You were caught in the fight??” “N-no, I mean yeah, but I was hiding behind the counter most of the time…” Officer Seo heaved a sigh of relief at your response, muttering, “Taehyun would've killed me if you got seriously hurt.” You couldn't help but smile as Officer Seo waved off the officer who had been escorting you out. He'd always looked out for you, ever since he got to know you and your elder brother through a mutual friend, Yeonjun. “You were here with your friends?” “Yeah, only I don't know where they are…I lost them in the crowd ‘cause I was on my way to the toilet when the fight started. And I left my phone with one of them, so I can't exactly make a call.” You ranted. The reality of your situation was sinking in. The man sighed in exasperation this time, sweeping off a few shards of glass that were stuck in your hair. “Give me their names and a description. I'll get my colleagues to find them. We're holding witnesses outside for questioning, I'm sure they're there.” Officer Seo chuckled at the relieved look on your face.

“Do you know what happened, Changbin?”

He scratched his head at your question, evidently irritated at the mess surrounding him. “Yeah, buncha thugs came in to stir shit with the club owners. Witnesses say the Birds of Prey had arrived and were tryna take out the troublemakers, but they clearly,” he waved a hand at the ruined bar, splintered chairs, and smashed disco ball before adding on, “left behind a huge mess for us to clean up. As usual.”

Officer Seo continued to ramble as you gathered your thoughts on everything that had happened. Birds of Prey? Seoultham’s infamous group of vigilantes that would disappear as mysteriously as they came? You chewed your lip and you couldn't help but ponder.

Is Mingi part of them?

After the nightclub had been cleared out, Jeongyeon and Nayeon had came running, nearly suffocating you with their tight hugs and cries of “Thank fuck you're okay!!” (Jeongyeon was crying). Officer Seo had personally driven the 3 of you back to your respective apartments; Jeongyeon and Nayeon to their shared unit in another part of the city, and you to Halazia Apartments. By the time you got home, it was almost 2am, and you'd quickly gotten ready for bed, exhausted from the night. Right as you were dozing off, you swore you could hear some commotion from Mingi's unit on the floor below…

The next morning, you were still deep in thought. Even as you were making your way to school. Before leaving the building, you'd considered going to Mingi's unit to interrogate him, but decided against it after the complete silence at his level. Normally, in the mornings, you'd hear some sort of heavy machinery operating. God knows what that computer science student, and apparent vigilante, was doing.

As you turned the corner to walk out of Felony Alley, a man with red-streaked black hair practically threw himself at you. “Y/nnie!!!” The two of you fell to the ground with a thud. Hearing the familiar voice, you immediately relaxed. It was just San, the sweet and bubbly (and very affectionate) mechanic from the nearby bike shop. He snuggled into you as you struggled to get up. “Hey- good morning to you too, San…Can you get off me?” Once you two were up, he hooked a muscly arm around yours while you walked along the sidewalk, eventually leading you to the small shophouse that he lived and worked at with Yunho, who was crouched over a red motorbike at the entrance. “Good morning, Yunho,” you greeted him as usual. Limitless Mechanics was located almost right outside Felony Alley, meaning that you'd pass by it everyday while leaving for college. Over the years, you'd befriended the two mechanics that worked there, and you and your busted-up bike became regular customers.

Upon hearing his name, the lanky man leisurely turned in your direction. But his face dropped for a second when he realized it was you. “Oh. Good morning.” A wave of uncertainty washed over you at this. Yunho wasn't as physically affectionate and bubbly as his business partner, but he always greeted you with a warm smile. A warm smile that was nowhere to be seen at that moment. You bit your lip out of anxiety, wondering if you'd done something wrong. San seemed to notice, and he quickly started talking to bring focus away from the weird tension. But even he sounded nervous about something.

“So, Y/n! I heard that you were caught at Arriba's bar fight last night…did you- see anything out of the norm?”

“Uhm…”

An image of Mingi's stunned pikachu face flashed through your mind.

“...as unusual as a bar fight gets, I guess.”

“Ah, I see…glad you're safe.”

The air went stagnant between the 3 of you. Between Yunho's unusually stoic demeanor and San's fidgety yapping, it was nothing but awkward.

Fuck, how many times have I been put on the spot these past few days? It's getting ridiculous.

“Well, I'll uh…be making my way to college now. See you guys…”

San opened his mouth, presumably to say goodbye, but a look from Yunho made him opt for a wave instead. You turned and walked away as fast as your battered sneakers let you, feeling Yunho's piercing gaze stabbing daggers at you from behind.

Talk about uncomfortable…

Thankfully your mood had lifted a little once you reached the college campus . Meeting with Jeongyeon and Nayeon for a light breakfast at the campus’ cafe took things off your mind a bit before you could head for your lecture. The two girls had avoided discussing the previous night's events, likely still shocked at what had transpired. Not that you minded. You'd had enough of weird happenings and situations for the day. Or so you thought, when you ended your lecture on DNA analysis and started heading for the biology lab.

Since you only had one lecture on your schedule, you'd opted to go help out at the biology lab as the professor's assistant, as usual. A side gig to earn some extra pocket money. You walked into the small storage room connected to the lab, stretching slightly as you put down your bag in a chair, grabbing one of the lab coats that was hanging from the clothing rack next to the door. The biology professor hadn't briefed you on what lecture he was carrying out for the day, so you'd have to wait. A clammy hand suddenly reached out and touched your shoulder.

“AH WHAT THE FUCK-”

You jumped forward, screaming out in surprise at the same time. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with a man that you hadn't even noticed when you'd entered the room. It took a moment for you to realize that it was the same guy that was leaving Halazia Apartments with Chungha just yesterday. He was wearing a baggy brown plaid vest, and a few pins in his faded red hair to hold stray strands in place. His eyes were wide, clearly more scared than you were. “I-I'm sorry…you were standing in front of the test tube cabinet, and I need to get to it…”

You quickly moved out of the way, muttering an apology as you watched him gingerly open the wood cabinet. Were his hands shaking? Now that you saw him up close, he seemed rather timid and soft-spoken. His bony hands didn't have much color on them.

“Sorry, I didn't get your name…” “O-oh. That was rude of me. I'm Park Seonghwa…” “Well, nice to meet you, I’m-” “Kang Y/n. Halazia Apartments level 3, right?”

He blurted out suddenly, taking you by surprise yet again. A few cogs seemed to turn in his head at your reaction, and he quickly started stuttering.

“C-Chungha told me! I'm friends with her, and I ran into you yesterday, r-right? She told me you were one of her mom's tenants at Halazia…” “Ah, don't worry, man, I didn't think you were like a stalker or something.”

Seonghwa looked visibly relieved at your response. Your eyes traced over the test tubes that he was now clutching tightly. “So why're you here?” “Uhm, I got a job as a lab assistant here…” “Really? Same here. I've been working as Professor Li's assistant for some time now. Guess we're colleagues now!” Your attempt to sound chirpy went unnoticed by your new associate. He was just as nervous and fidgety as the day before. Clearly, it wasn't gonna be easy to get to know each other. “Are you Chungha's new boyfriend? Your two seemed,” the memory of him clinging desperately to the older woman flashed through your mind,”...close.” Seonghwa looked uncomfortable at your question, and his figure shrank even more. It reminded you of a plant wilting.

The room went silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “Professor Li said…you don't need to be here today. He told me to inform you if y-you came around… I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” You let out a breath that you didn't even know you were holding. Deep down, you felt alleviated that you didn't have to spend 2 hours working with such an introverted, withheld colleague. Not after the chaos and rapid fire of uncomfortable situations that had ensued in the last 48 hours. It was draining. You shook away those thoughts as you hightailed it out of the college building. You sent a quick text to Jeongyeon and Nayeon that you were going to miss out on your usual lunch, noticing a new text notification.

Tae oppa (personal atm💵): dongsaeng-ah

tae oppa (personal atm💵): come down to the museum

tae oppa (personal atm💵): I'm in the city for a bit so hurry up or you'll miss me 🙄

Perfect timing on his part. Taehyun, your one and only elder brother, messages just as you're heading home. With a quick-witted response back (A thumbs up emoji) you're on your way to see him. The museum, that he would go to whenever he was in town, was thankfully nearby your apartment. God, you haven’t seen him in a while. You should probably thank him for covering your rent this month. Like he has for the past couple of months… yeah. An in-person thank you was long overdue.

The doors rattle as you push forward into the Visage of History Museum, aged over time. And in the center, after a few steps in, you notice the familiar jet black hair of Wooyoung talking to Yeonjun. Yeonjun was yours and your brother's childhood friend, as well as his current business partner, so Yeonjun would be around whenever your brother came to visit. Wooyoung, on the other hand, worked at Seoultham’s museum, which was a business partner of Taehyun and Yeonjun. “Oh! Y/n!” Yeonjun flashes his signature smile, and during that split second after your name was called, Wooyoung's head whips your way. “Hey Yeonjun oppa, hi Wooyoung..” you toss your head in acknowledgement, glancing at Wooyoung. His stare - unlike his usual playful one, is wide and clouded in an emotion you can't quite tell. You flinched slightly at the suddenly defensive look in his eyes.

Seriously, what is up with everyone today?

The awkwardness of the unnerving stare makes your eyes flicker back to Yeonjun. “Where's Taehyun oppa?” You mumble, rounding the counter to meet them on the employees only side. Yeonjun clicks his tongue but doesn't mention it. “Wow, only a hey? Not even a hug or anything?” Yeonjun pouts. And unlike usual, Wooyoung doesn't interrupt his friend, only observes with his arms crossed over his chest. Your eye twitches in worry, but instead of mentioning it, you pull Yeonjun into a side hug to shut his whining up for the moment. For a second he’s tamed, and just as he goes to speak once more, Taehyun is rounding the corner to one of the art exhibits. You quickly turn, hoping to briefly step away from Wooyoung’s stony stare.

“Here's the man of the hour,” Yeonjun gestures, patting your back heavily - an irritating thing he's done since you were young. Your older brother's eyes meet the edge of the counter before settling on you, a satisfied grin spreading over his cheeks. “Oppa” you yell while waving enthusiastically, and Taehyun grins back, jogging up to the counter to bring you into a full fledged hug. “Have you eaten? It's already lunchtime.” His grin is contagious, and you scratch the back of your head, laughing nervously. “Uh, no.”

Taehyun scolds you with a small ‘aigoo’, clicking his tongue. “It's a good thing we ordered pizza!” Yeonjun piped up, waving his phone, which had a delivery app opened up on it. “Pizza? In a museum? Wow, Jun, I thought you'd be more responsible,” Taehyun rolled his eyes at his colleague before adding on, “I'm kinda craving a coffee, honestly. Jet-lag is crazy. Y/N, what's the name of that place you bought me that really good black coffee the last time I visited? The one with that barista who called you a caffeine-addicted ninny?” “...you mean Nightbrew Cafe?”

You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore how Yeonjun had doubled over in laughter at how your brother remembered your favorite cafe. Nightbrew was the local cafe/coffee shop, and was located practically in the middle of the college, Halazia Apartments and the museum. Naturally, when you first moved to Seoultham, you had started frequenting it as it was convenient. Over time, you even befriended the main day-shift barista, Jongho, who took a liking to you the first time he served you and you blurted out a “You too!” when he said “Enjoy your cake”. It was awkward and embarrassing, but it did lead to you becoming good friends with the muscly man.

“Jongho didn't call me that, by the way!” You fumed, smacking Taehyun's shoulder defensively. “Oh, is that his name? But I remember it so clearly! He definitely did. Maybe I'll ask him, I wanted to go down to grab another one of those delectable coffees anyway. Go with me, sis, I don't know where it is.” Wooyoung had been quiet this whole time, but he suddenly blurted out after hearing that Taehyun and you intended to interact with the barista.

“H-he’s not working today!”

“Who?”

“Uh- Jongho… he took an emergency leave today….”

You crossed your arms, looking suspiciously at Wooyoung. He immediately avoided your gaze, opting to state at the ground and shift slightly in his platform sneakers.

“You know him?”

A hint of panic flashes across Wooyoung’s face. His eyes darted around hesitantly for a few moments, almost as if he was thinking of a lie.

“We…we're neighbors.”

“Hm. Okay.” You noted his odd behavior, once again reminding yourself that it was a far cry from the usual flirty and big-mouthed man he was. After living in Seoultham for a few years, it was odd to you that your favorite barista and Wooyoung knew each other, and you didn't know. After all, the city population was generally low, and most people knew each other.

Taehyun and Yeonjun looked uncomfortable as the two of you exchanged blank stares, before Taehyun hesitantly spoke up. “Dongsaeng, I'm actually not craving coffee anymore…let's go grab some snacks at a convenience store?” He rubbed your back soothingly, obviously trying to cut the weird tension between you and his business partner. Both him and Yeonjun could tell that there was something unpleasant going on between you and Wooyoung. You brushed off your elder brother. “Sorry, oppa, I'm kinda tired after my lecture. And Beomgyu said he wanted to play an online game with me too.” You quickly made up an excuse to leave as you added on. “By the way, thanks for paying my rent again, there have been way too many robberies at my workplace lately.” “Hah! You'd think with so many vigilantes here, there'd be fewer of those incidents,” Yeonjun scoffed jokingly.

Wooyoung subtly chewing his lip in response to Yeonjun's words didn't go unnoticed by you.

Later on in the evening…

“Beomgyu! Dammit! The guy on the left!” You yelled in frustration, the controller beginning to creak under your harsh grasp even as you slammed the buttons. The distant crackle sound of Beomgyu cut through your headset, his loud voice booming in your ears. “My left or yours!?” and bam! You were suddenly shot and dead, you tossed your controller next to you in anger, groaning into the microphone when your revival rate depleted when the guy who'd shot you started t-bagging your downed body. “What a dick.” You grumbled, groaning once more when your partner, Beomgyu, had died just as suddenly as you did. The screen flashing to whoever won the match when they got the final kill. “Dude, you suck.” Beomgyu’s static voice irritated you.

“Shut up, it’s your fault we lost” You mumbled, throwing yourself the rest of the way onto the couch you currently sat at. “Excuse me!?” he retorted, but you drowned him out, glancing to the clock. There was a knock on your door.

“Someone's at the door- I gotta go, bye oppa-” “Dude! I'm not done-” you shut off your console. Stretching before another set of knocks rang through your quiet apartment.

“God, who the fuck’s here at this time-?” you fumed under your breath as you crossed over to the doorway. The handle of a battered baseball bat snug in your hand as protection in case whatever behind the door was trouble. You yank open the multiple locks on your door, a little harder than you intended, still agitated at your last game. You weren’t prepared to come face to face with one of the people you’d been dreading to see.

“...Song?”

“Uhm, you can call me Mingi…”

Mingi fidgeted under your heavy gaze as you looked him up and down. He took up nearly the entire door frame, but seemed to shrink in front of you in that moment. Your eyes lingered on his wringing hands and crumpled t-shirt. Almost as if he suddenly remembered something, he straightened up. “We- we need to talk. Can I come in?” You hesitated before stepping aside, allowing him to make his way into your apartment. Whatever he had to say, it was definitely going to answer some of your suppressed questions.

Minutes later, Mingi sat on your two-seater couch, looking impossibly tense. He was fiddling with a piece of paper that he had produced from his pocket, putting it away when you’d re-entered the room with 2 mugs of barley tea. Was he looking at a fucking script?? You scoffed under your breath at the idea, before sitting in the armchair opposite the couch.

“So? What’d you want to talk about?”

“I…uhm…the bar fight at Arriba! You were there, right-?”

“Yes, I was there.” You decided not to give any confirmation that you’d indeed seen him that night. You still didn’t know why he’d come to talk to you about it. Shouldn’t he be informing his fellow vigilantes? Or…is he taking out the witnesses? Your grip on your lukewarm mug tightened, secretly preparing to smash it on your neighbor’s head at the first sign of threatening movement. Mingi’s jaw visibly shifted at your short answer, but he pressed on. “Did you…did you see anyone or anything weird, by any chance..? Anyone…familiar?”

Wow, straight to the chase.

You opened your mouth, ready to give another vague reply, when you fully took in Mingi’s form. You’d been so focused on watching out for danger, that you didn’t notice his expression and the look in his eyes. The poor guy looked like he was about to cry. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, so you let down your guard. “Song, if this is about me seeing you without your mask, I-”

*BANG!!* The door to your apartment suddenly slammed open, prompting you and Mingi to whip your heads toward the red figure that was barrelling through.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FU-”

Before you could even fully process the situation, you were dangling by your sweater collar, pushed up against the wall. Your eyes raked over the rainbow-streak-haired man who was holding you up. The man who currently had a jagged knife pressed against your throat. Mingi was hurrying over from behind, yelling in protest at his apparent associate. “Joong-hyung, put her down! She doesn’t mean any harm!” “Ha! We don’t know that yet! You were takin’ too fucking long to interrogate her, so I had ta’ step in. You’re welcome, Batsy!” The (obviously deranged) stranger punctuated his last word by applying just the slightest bit of pressure on his weapon, drawing a drop of blood from your neck. You cried out loud at the sting. You were beginning to feel dizzy from how fast everything was going, not to mention from the sharpness of the blade on your skin. Is this it? Is this how you were going to die?

No. Hell no.

Sudden adrenaline rushed through you, fuelled by desperation to survive the situation you were involuntarily put in. You sent a kick to your captor’s stomach, forcing him to loosen his grip on your collar and drop you. Landing on the hardwood floor with a thump, you rolled away. The escape drills that Changbin taught you a few years back were being put to use. Your baseball bat, leaned against the couch, came into view, and you immediately dived towards it. “Kang- Y/N, please calm down-!” Mingi attempted to grab you, but not before you got your hands on the bat and brandished it at him and his associate. “I swear to fuck, Song, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I took Judo for like, 5 months when I was 14, so you better keep your hands off me.” He stared helplessly in response, his associate hobbling over to him. A combination of scattered voices and hurried footsteps at the doorway pulled your attention away. A spark of hope, albeit rather preposterous, bloomed in you, deep down hoping that it was Chungha, or your friends, or your brother - anyone who could get help.

Oh my days.

Instead, 6 men came jostling in, and your grip on the bat tightened. They were all dressed in variations of dark-colored clothing and masks, yelling different things at the one that had almost killed you just a minute ago. A red-haired man draped in an oversized, dark green suit, who was the only one not wearing a mask, irritably waved a hand at the other 5, effectively silencing them. He stepped forward with a hand out. “Miss Y/N, please calm down, I assure you that we mean no harm, and we just want to talk…” You were distracted by his features for a moment. His skin was almost glowing, prominent cat eyes and a hooked nose, his hair a bright red. He looked like an olden day Greek sculptor’s rendition of a siren; alluring and mysterious. The hand that he had extended towards you had tiny vines entwined around them, twisting around at his fingertips. It didn’t take a degree in criminology to figure out that he was one of the most prominent names in Seoultham’s vigilante scene. “Y-you… aren’t you-?” “Yes, that’s me, I’m Ivy.” The infamous hybrid vigilante, known for his captivating charm and plant-like abilities. His voice was silky and had an aura that made you relax. Just a little, though. You were still on guard. After all, there were 8 strangers in your house, one of them being your neighbor who you’ve barely talked to. Ivy lowered his hand before approaching the man on the floor.

“Quinn, are you okay?” “Don’t use that name, V, we don’t know how much this chick knows!” Quinn, the rainbow-streak haired man, scoffed at Ivy as he stood up from where he was crouched earlier. “She’s no harm, dude, I sweat!” “Its ‘I swear’, Hawke.” “Oh, sorry…” You had to do a double-take at the 2 who spoke next; a tall masked man in a coat, and another who had a pair of large, feathered- are those fucking wings?? You couldn’t help but gawk at him. The rest of the group included a feline-like man wearing a cat mask, a silk-masked man in a dark leather jacket, and a brooding, hooded figure with their face concealed entirely by a stitched-up mask. Mingi stepped out from a corner, hesitating before speaking up.

“Can we…can we talk to you?”

Christ. What have I gotten into?

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oneshotnewbie · 5 months ago

Note

Carina&Maya x daughter

Daughter is old enough to go do things on her own or with a few friends like go to the movies or a restaurant. All she has to do is tell her mom’s where she’s going. Daughter is informed about a little get together at a friends house after going out for dinner, daughter told Maya and Carina she was going out for dinner but not the “after party.” Daughter knows she wouldn’t be allowed to go because it was at a house her moms were unfamiliar with.

Daughter ends up going to the party and tells herself she will only be another hour or so, but time slips away. The party is held in the basement so cell service is pretty much zero.

The party has drinking but daughter know better than to take it. However daughter has a severe allergy to peanuts. There was a table full of snacks and miscellaneous things, nothing was labeled. Everyone was having a good time and daughter wasn’t thinking about anything, she was eating a cookie that was on a platter on the table and she really enjoyed it. The person who brought them said to her “oh yeah those are my mom’s famous cookies” about 5 mins later daughter started to feel really warm and her face was becoming very red and patchy. She collapsed. Her one friend asked what was in the cookies and sure enough they were peanut butter cookies. All of the underage teens were freaking out while someone called 911

Carina was working but Maya had the day off. Andy and Victoria arrived to the house with the aid car. They got to the basement and realized it was (daughter) and acted fast and took her to the hospital. Once settled in the hospital Andy got ahold of her moms to tell them.

So sorry this is long! Thoughts? I know a peanut allergy is cliché but I didn’t want the daughter to drink knowing she can’t go behind her mom’s backs like that. It was just a bunch of preteens thinking they were cool cause they stole a few drinks from their parents cabinets (I’m thinking parents aren’t home) anywhooo I hope this is okay :)) -🦋

ᕚ---ᕘ

Maya Bishop and Carina Deluca were preparing for their upcoming shift at Station 19 that afternoon. The sounds of running engines and the occasional ringing of the duty telephone filled the air as the blonde checked the equipment. Carina, meanwhile, counted the supplies so that the aid car team could make the best possible care of an injury before she made her way back to Grey Sloan.

The two of them were completely absorbed in their work and did not notice a person, a young girl, walking through the open gates, a bright smile and lively eyes betraying anticipation. "Hey, mom, hey mama." You greeted your mothers cheerfully and they both turned around in shock, but returned the smile when they noticed that it was none other than you.

"Hey my sweet. What brings you here?" Maya asked, now completely turning away from her work and giving you your full attention.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going out to dinner with some friends at a restaurant tonight," you explained excitedly, pushing yourself into her outstretched arms. "It's nothing special, just a casual meeting."

Maya and Carina exchanged a look and couldn't suppress their smiles when they heard the news. "That sounds great, y/n. Thanks for coming over and letting us know. Which restaurant are you going to?"

You thought for a moment, briefly checking your phone to tell them the real name of the restaurant. "We decided on a restaurant named 'La Trattoria'. It's not far from here and apparently has great pasta. Y/bf/n drives us there and she also takes me home afterwards."

"That sounds like a good choice, bella," Carina agreed, giving you a small kiss on the cheek as a late greeting and early goodbye. "Have fun and take care. Don't forget to let us know when you're home safely."

"Of course, mama. I'll watch the clock and send you a text. See you later!" you nodded to them as you waved goodbye and left the fire station. A contented sigh escaped the brunette as she watched you go. "Our daughter is growing up, isn't she?"

Maya nodded to her and crossed the last few centimeters that separated her from her wife. Her arms wrapped tightly around her middle from behind while her head rested on her shoulder. "Yes, she's getting older and more independent. But as long as she always informs us where she's going, everything will be fine," she murmured, her gaze shifting towards the open gates where you had recently disappeared entirely.

Meanwhile, your best friend intercepted you on a corner near the fire station and took you with her. You entered the cozy Italian restaurant 'La Trattoria' and were greeted by the tempting smell of pasta and pizza. You both looked around for your other friends and found them already sitting at a table near the window, waiting for you. With a smile you both walked over and sat down.

As you ate together in a cozy atmosphere, the conversation was lively and funny, and you felt comfortable in the company of your closest friends when suddenly one of your friends' cell phone rang. He immediately pulled it out of his pocket and saw a message from one of her friends sending him the address to a party.

"Hey, did you also get the chain message from the party?" he whispered excitedly, placing his open phone on the table to show everyone the online flyer he had received. You raised your eyes and listened intently, not focusing on the phone. "What party do you mean? Where is it?"

Your friend grinned widely. "A huge house party at Jason's, the guy a grade above us. Everyone's talking about it. It's supposed to be legendary!"

You felt a tightening in your stomach and your heart began to beat faster. A party sounded tempting, but you also knew that your mothers had only allowed you to go out to eat with your friends. The idea of telling them you wanted to go to a party afterwards made you feel uneasy.

"When is the party?" You asked uncertainly, taking a sip of your cool drink, not knowing if you should go. "It's supposed to start at 9 p.m. That's still two hours away. Are you in?"

You hesitated for a moment, torn. Should you go? Your mind raced as you weighed the consequences. On one hand, you knew that it would be a violation of your mothers' trust if you just went to a party without telling them. On the other hand, you also knew that you probably wouldn't get permission to go there if you asked.

"What's up, are you okay?" your best friend asked, noticing your hesitation. You bit your lip, unsure of what to do. "It's nothing, I'm in."

Your friends cheered and immediately started making plans for the party as they got back to their food. You tried to suppress your rising doubts. It was just a party for 9th and 10th graders and you were only going to stop by for an hour anyway. What could possibly go wrong?

When it came time to leave for the party, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. You had decided not to say anything to Maya and Carina and you really hoped that everything would go well.

On the way to the party, you tried to get excited about the night ahead, but a small part of your conscience nagged at you. You knew you should be honest with your mothers, but in that moment you couldn't ignore the urge for freedom and adventure.

Several minutes later and a sigh of inner conflict, you entered the basement to the party and immersed yourself in the vibrant atmosphere of the night. The music was ringing in your ears and people were happily dancing together, immediately feeling alive. You glanced at the clock and repeatedly promised yourself that you would only stay for an hour.

But time flew by. The music, the laughter and the excitement of the people around you captivated you. Hours passed and you found yourself getting deeper into the party. But at some point you noticed that your cell phone had no reception when you wanted to look at the clock. Panic rose in you as you realized that you couldn't tell your parents that you were going to be away longer than planned. But the thought was quickly overshadowed by the party atmosphere and you decided not to worry. It would be fine.

As the night progressed, the celebrations became wilder. Drinks were passed around with a stronger percentage and you were asked to join in more often. But you knew you couldn't go too far. Despite the fun you had, you kept a clear head and stayed away from alcohol. Instead, you decided to indulge in the delicious snacks that lay in the corner of the room.

The table was covered with a variety of goodies: chips, candy, cookies and other tempting things. You smiled as you approached and began exploring the different options. You grabbed a small plate and began placing a selection of the snacks on it.

As you looked further around the table, you noticed a platter of particularly tempting looking cookies. They were perfectly formed and looked incredibly delicious. You couldn't resist and reached for one of the cookies.

You took a bite, closing your eyes in pleasure as the taste unfolded on your tongue. It was incredible - the perfect mix of sweet, soft and crunchy. You couldn't help but let out a contented sigh as you enjoyed another cookie.

Suddenly you heard an unfamiliar voice, that came closer to you. "Oh, there's someone enjoying my mother's famous cookies," she spoke and you quickly opened your eyes, looking up at the older girl. “Your mom makes really amazing cookies,” you remarked, nodding and reaching for another one.

The party continued to rage around you, but for a moment you were just lost in the delicious world. You savored every bite while chatting with your friends and living life to the fullest. But after a few minutes you started to feel uncomfortable. Your skin began to tingle and you felt heat flood your body.

Panic rose within you as you realized what was happening. You had an allergic reaction. Your thoughts were swirling and you tried to stay calm, but the symptoms were getting worse by the second. Your best friend immediately noticed the change in your face and became increasingly nervous as your face became red and blotchy. "Are you all right?" She asked worriedly and you tried to answer but your voice failed and you could only shake your head helplessly. Soon after, everything around you started spinning and you fell tot he ground.

When your friend realized the danger, she pulled out her cell phone and immediately called 911. "911, what is your emergency?" asked the voice on the other end of the line. "My friend has a peanut allergy and she just ate peanut butter cookies. She has an allergic reaction and it is gonna turn into a allergic shock."

Meanwhile, the other party guests reacted to the emerging panic and some of them tried to calm you down. Some of them tried to help with first aid while others stood around you worried.

Meanwhile, Andy and Victoria, who heard about the emergency call, rushed to the house to help. When they arrived, the scene was chaotic, but they immediately put their medical training to use. But when they saw who needed their help, they realized the urgency of the situation.

“Andy, it’s y/n!” Victoria said, lowering herself to the floor next to you. She made sure you were stabilized and acted quickly and effectively while Andy coordinated the situation and asked the young people to give them some space. "Y/n? Our y/n? Damn it!"

Victoria gave you a makeshift supply of adrenaline that she injected into your thigh. "Hey, sweetie. Are you with me?" Andy asked, patting your cheek a few times as she knelt down next to you. You nodded, your eyes focused on her. A smile of relief graced her lips.

Together they carefully picked you up and carried you to their ambulance, which was already waiting outside. They put you on the stretcher and immediately took you to the hospital. Along the way, Victoria kept a careful eye on you while making sure your vital signs remained stable. The ride was eerily quiet as they hoped for your speedy recovery.

When you arrived at the hospital, you were immediately taken to the emergency room, where a team of doctors and nurses were ready to help you. Andy and Victoria stayed by your side while you were examined and treated by the doctors.

At the same time, your mothers were immediately informed by the two and it didn't take long for the two to arrive in the emergency room after receiving the call. Carina stormed towards the two women with concern, her heart beating wildly with worry. Her eyes were wide open in fear as she looked into the treatment room to see you lying on the gurney, surrounded by medical staff. "What the hell happened?" She asked as she wrapped her hands around her torso and chewed her lip nervously.

Maya followed shortly after, her expression marked with worry and fear. When she saw you, she was relieved that you seemed stable so far, but also angry that you hadn't informed her where you were. "Allergic shock. Apparently she ate something she shouldn't have. The caller said it was peanut butter cookies."

"Yeah, yeah. She's allergic to peanuts," the blonde spoke and both women grabbed each other's hands as they nervously waited for the doctors to finish with you and give them an update. "But she knows that too. She pays very strict attention to avoid exactly that."

As the four of them waited in silence, the attending physician came out and explained to Maya and Carina that you were stable, but that you needed to remain under observation due to the severe allergic reaction and that they would do everything they could to make sure you recovered quickly .

Maya and Carina breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed past him with a thank you to get to you as quickly as possible while Andy and Vic stayed outside. "What happened and why didn't you tell us you went to that party?" Maya asked, her voice full of worry and anger.

You lowered your gaze to the blanket, a feeling of shame overcoming you as the two sank into the chairs next to your hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to worry you. There were cookies there, unlabeled. It was stupid of me not to say where I was."

Carina sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. Despite the fury of betraying their trust, they were grateful that you were now in good hands and that you had been taken to the hospital in time. "We're not mad at you, love. But you should have told us where you were going. What would have happened if y/bf/n hadn't called or Andy and Vic hadn't been there on time?"

Maya nodded, agreeing with her wife as she took your hands in hers. "You could have been in serious trouble. We understand that you wanted to have fun, but safety always comes first. We are here to look after you, but we can only do that if you let us know."

You looked at the two of them as their mothers' words resonated within you. You knew you had made a mistake and you would learn from it. "I'm really sorry, Mom. I promise next time I'll let you know right away."

Maya and Carina hugged you tightly as they discussed the importance of communication and safety with you. Despite the frightening experience, you had grown even closer to your mothers, and you were determined to make sure something like this would never happen again.

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daisies-daydreams · 1 year ago

Note

Hii live for your ao3 series it gives me life.. could I request a Köing x reader - where the reader spends a while making dinner for her and Köing, when they finally sit down to eat, she gets insecure about eating. you can pick the food. Thank you!! Xx (This is my first time requesting so sorry if it doesn’t make sense)

Always (König x F!Reader)

Image by 661ave

Pairing: König x F!Reader Category: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Depictions of Anorexia/Body Insecurity, Slightly (like barely) Suggestive Comments, Emotionally Vulnerable Moment Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Hello there! Thank you so much for your request. I hope it's alright that I based the story off of my personal experience with body insecurity and trouble with eating. Regardless, I hope you're able to find comfort in König's sweet actions. 🫶

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You hummed and swayed side to side as you stirred the thick beef stew bubbling in the pot. You've been in the kitchen for quite some time, having made the stew and biscuits from scratch. Flour and bits of miscellaneous ingredients were scattered along the floor and countertops, some even caked on your cheeks. Your mouth watered at the savory scent wafting up from the soup below.

"It's too many calories-you don't want to have to weigh yourself again, do you?" the voice inside your head hissed. You shook your head and tried to refocus on the task at hand. Snowflakes danced just outside your kitchen window as you tapped the spoon on the side of the silver pot a few times.

The oven timer beeped several times, its screech echoing inside the kitchen. You smiled as you wiped your hands on your blue apron and grabbed the oven mitts.

"You put too much butter on those biscuits-better only eat half of one tonight," the voice advised. You bit the inside of your cheek as you pulled the pan out, the biscuits fluffy and finished with a crispy, golden top. You sighed as you set it down on a mat resting on the marble counter.

You perked your head up as you heard the sound of keys jingling outside the front door. You quickly flicked the burner off and straightened your clothes and hair. A gust of frigid wind rushed into the foyer as your hulking husband stomped his snowy boots on the mat.

“Maus?” he called in as he slammed the large oak door behind him.

“In the kitchen!” you called as you tucked your apron into the wooden cabinet nearby. König grunted as he unwrapped his thick scarf from around his neck and hung his coat on his hook. He shucked his boots off and set them aside before strolling towards you.

“How was work today?” you asked as he lumbered into the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor. Your smile grew as his ivory face came into view; his bright blue eyes gazing into yours as his ginger hair remained tousled from his thick winter hat.

“It was alright. Mostly paperwork,” König shrugged as he slipped his hands into yours. You giggled as he spun you around and pulled you against his broad chest. You sighed and rested your chin on his pecs while swaying with him for a bit. “Hi,” he said softly. You pulled back and beamed as you craned your neck up.

“Hi,” you replied. The two of you held each other close as you reached up on your tiptoes. König grunted as you caught his chilly lips in a sweet kiss, your mouth lingering for what felt like hours before he tilted his head up.

“I missed you today, Mein schöner Hase,” your husband sighed as he brushed his thumb over your cheek [My beautiful rabbit]. Your eyes sparkled as he kissed your forehead, his massive hand splayed against the small of your back. König inhaled deeply before his stomach gurgled. He chuckled and patted his toned belly.

“You’re in for a treat tonight,” you winked as you led him over to the stove. König’s sapphire eyes lit up when he looked at the stew simmering in the pot.

“Ah, biscuits and beef stew,” he said as he excitedly rubbed his hands together. "You really do know how to spoil me, Maus," your beloved beamed. You giggled as he pecked your temple before eagerly grabbing two bowls.

"Go ahead and grab your seat. I'll bring you a bowl," he said as he began to scoop some of the steaming food into the ladle. Your smile tensed as you clenched your jaw. There was no way you'd be able to measure out your portion sizes if he brought it to you. You took a deep breath.

"Okay," you murmured in slight defeat. You held onto your stomach as you shuffled over to the table. You pinched and squished whatever flesh was there as you nervously bit your lip.

"Not enough," the voice spat. König cleared his throat.

"Ah, the Baumgartner's invited us to their place for dinner on Saturday. Would you like to go?" he asked as he plucked a fresh biscuit from the pan. You smiled nervously as you thought about all the food your neighbor's would make.

"Sure," you replied. "I can make my chocolate cake," you added. Your husband groaned as he turned around with the two bowls in his hands.

"Ah, I can taste it already," he licked his lips. You giggled at his antics while he took his seat across from you. “Something wrong, mein Schatz?” he asked as you shifted in your chair. You clenched your clammy hands and swallowed thickly.

“No. Everything's fine,” you replied. König kept his eyes trained on you before setting one of the bowls on your mat. You curled your hands in your lap as he said thanks before diving in. You stirred your spoon in the thick stew, pushing the different vegetables and chunks of meat side to side.

"I was thinking that maybe after we eat and clean up, we could do a little...catching up in front of the fireplace?" König lilted as he gently brushed his foot over yours. You blushed and squeaked at his suggestion.

"G-Großer Bär," you bit your lip and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear [Big Bear]. Your husband laughed heartily.

"We don't have to. I just missed seeing you all flustered," he winked playfully. You smiled politely before your thoughts were quickly pulled back to the piping hot meal in front of you. You squinted your eyes in concentration.

Alright, it looks like he poured in two cups of beef stew into my bowl. The average calorie amount of one cup is around 235, so two cups would be 470 calories. The whole biscuit (with extra butter) is potentially 150 to 160 calories. That would total to about...630 calories.

You nearly gagged at the amount of calories despite the fact your stomach was painfully clenching on barely anything inside of it.

No matter, there has to be "safe" foods in here. Let's see...celery. Four stalks is 30, so that'll be good. Potatoes? No, too much starch. Starch includes sugar and sugar is dangerous. But then again, starch is a complex carbohydrate, so-

“The stew is wonderful, Liebling,” König cleared his throat [darling]. You snapped your head up to see a gentle smile on his face.

"Huh? Oh, thank you," you said before going back to pensively staring at your meal. Your husband’s spoon clanked against the side of his nearly empty bowl as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“(Y/N)...are you feeling alright? You haven't touched your stew at all,” he asked with knitted brows. You glanced up, letting your gaze fall on his mouth instead of his eyes. You frowned, eyes stinging with tears as a lump swelled in your throat.

“I…” you paused and bit your lip. König waited patiently as you fought for the right words to say. You took a deep breath as you gazed at the surface of your wooden table, fear gnawing at your heart. “I…I can’t eat it,” you muttered. Your love leaned forward and furrowed his brows even more.

“Can’t eat what?” he asked, a sense of urgency laced in his raspy voice. You felt your throat tighten. You were so hungry it ached you to the core, your body wracked with an unbearable urge from only eating a few crackers and a protein shake today. You felt your stomach flip as you shivered beneath your husband's gaze.

“I can’t eat the stew,” you said a bit louder, the tips of your ears burning as you felt like a child about to be scorned. König blinked.

“Why-“

“I just can’t,” you interrupted. König’s face hardened as you stiffened in your seat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you," you said.

“It's okay," he assured you. There was a brief pause between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the crackling fireplace nearby. "Hase, please tell me what’s going on. I've seen the way you push your food around many times,” he said. "I don't think I've even seen you finish a meal in a while," König frowned. A blade pierced your heart as you sucked in a sharp breath, your heartbeat pounding inside your ears while your hand shook in his grasp. You sighed and hung your head.

“I just…I can’t. I’m sorry,” you said. König waited, the fire popping in the background as you clenched your jaw. “You wouldn’t understand,” you muttered. You flinched as your beloved slowly stood up from his seat. He lumbered over to the chair next to you and gently wrapped his arm around you.

“Maybe not, but it won't stop me from wanting to help you,” he said with a firm nod. You tilted your head up, eyes wide and lips parted.

“What?” you whispered. König squeezed your shoulder as he patted his lap with his other hand. You frowned as you climbed onto his thick thighs, your smaller frame fitting snugly in his lap.

“We've been through a lot together, (Y/N). Whatever you have to say won’t scare me or make me love you any less,” he reassured you before kissing your temple. Large tears spilled down your cheeks as your bottom lip trembled. You sniffed and wiped your eyes as your chest tightened. You flung your arms around your husband's torso and pulled him closer. He cooed and rubbed your upper back as you soaked his navy blue shirt with your hot tears.

“I-I’ve been struggling with making sure I eat enough,” you confessed. König continued to caress your back as he leaned in closer. You just barely glanced up before a bitter taste coated your tongue. “It started a few months ago. There really wasn’t anything specific that set it off, just a bunch of little things that snowballed. It...It all seems like a blur now,” you muttered, your body feeling unbearably heavy under your beloved’s gaze. You released a long sigh. “I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I understand if you’re angry since I kept this from you. I-“ you gasped as König squeezed you in his hulking arms, pressing your cold form against his warm, massive body.

“Oh, mein Schatz. I could never be angry with you,” he whispered before wiping a hot tear that trailed down your flushed cheek. You sniffed he cradled his hand against your face. "You are so, so precious, (Y/N). It breaks my heart to see you go through this, but I'm not angry or disappointed in you at all," your husband affirmed. His icy blue eyes were filled with such warmth, you thought your heart would melt right then and there. You kept your arms wrapped around your husband’s large form as you continued to sob into the soft fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. König brushed his fingers through your hair as he rocked you in his arms.

“Shh, it’ll be alright, (Y/N). Mein Liebling,” he whispered as you cried into his chest [my darling]. He kissed the crown of your head, the sound of his steady heartbeat bringing a little comfort to your aching mind and body.

“I’ll be right here for you. Always,” König murmured softly.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobsessed @8xbygirl @blueapplesiren @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below!

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tsams-and-co-memes · 8 months ago

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LAES Lunar Canon Info

Updated - 11/10/24

Lunar's likes:

Sour skittles, Smarty’s, and chewy chips ahoy

Beanbags

Things that glow in the dark

Metal music, as long as it’s still intelligible

Peaches and bananas

Comic books

Spider lily flowers

Space and astrology related things

Making an entrance

Spigot

Uncrustables

Kingdom Hearts

Anything sugary

Chainsaw Man

Sushi

Making himself smaller for other people (<- being small is a comfort thing for him)

Coffee (it's implied that he rarely, if ever, gets it though)

Tekken 8

Penguins

Friday Night Funkin

Bowser

Lunar's dislikes:

My Chemical Romance

Wildberry poptarts

MLP (his favorite is Rainbow Dash)

Lunala and Pinchurchin (his favorite Pokémon)

His favorite expression of love is words of affirmation

The ocean

Putting ice in his drinks

The color red

History. In his words, history sucks and is like the worst subject in school

The color yellow

Football

Eclipse (<- he's more indifferent to Eclipse now, more than anything else)

Bloodmoon

The creator

Jack (subject to change) (Lunar's cool with Jack now)

Peanut butter

Miscellaneous:

If Lunar gets too scared, he WILL cry

Unlike his brothers, he can eat food (<- retconned. They can all eat now)

When he is upset, anxious, tense, or getting scared, he makes a high pitched squeak sound that’s almost the equivalent of a whimper, but it sounds like a creaky door

His voice box has a concert hall sort of effect, in which a lot of reverb is added to whatever he says. There’s also another special function that lets him sound like he’s talking on an old radio station

He’s very sassy

He was originally made of nanomachines, before he was blown up by Eclipse

His birthday is August 11th

If he could have a pet, it’d be a chinchilla

He prefers showers over baths

He likes to act more childlike, although he himself is actually an adult

He has a habit of saying things that are very out of pocket

Lunar is slightly colorblind

He has weather based powers– namely wind and lightning (<- his powers are actually based on nature in general)

One of Lunar’s favorite games is Bloons TD6

His memory isn’t very good

Lunar doesn't wake up immediately and is groggy for a bit in the morning. He also screams every morning to help himself wake up more. His "wake up scream" also helps motivate him, too

It's implied that he watches Phineas and Ferb

He cleans himself via taking a sponge and scrubbing the metal parts of himself

Monty did design Lunar with the capability to change his clothes

Lunar's a sleep talker

Lunar can't read cursive, while Earth can

Lunar gets into a lot of trouble with small animals

When Lunar gets angry enough, he sounds more like Moon

He's good at math

He occasionally eavesdrops on Earth’s therapy sessions with people if he finds the person attending interesting at all

Lunar doesn't know how to read Morse code

Lunar's comfort food is chips, and he eats them when stressed

When Lunar had a tail, his tail apparently was sensitive

Lunar's not good at rhythm games

Lunar has a stomach hatch that opens sideways like a cabinet door

Lunar sometimes makes the kids dance in the daycare. He even dances with them

Lunar thinks Bowser "can get it"

Lunar could eat an entire crate of Nutella in 3 days, and his body would convert it into star power

Lunar doesn't watch R-rated movies

Lunar doesn't eat very much healthy food

Lunar is possibly Monty's smoking buddy

Lunar has a bedroom in Sun and Moon’s basement, then he has a separate room for napping

Lunar has a borderline addiction (?) to Nutella and even has a room he uses for the sole purpose of storing it

Lunar is pansexual, but doesn't currently know if he's polyamorous or not

If he could wear other clothes, Lunar would want sweatpants, baggy t-shirts, and at least one suit (for Earth's amusement, mostly. So she can pick him up and pretend he's her son or something). No matter what he wears though, he'd always have his hat

Lunar has a little private getaway in the woods that he goes to sometimes. Monty helped him build it

Lunar is non-binary and omniromantic

#laes #tlaes #the lunar and earth show #tlaes lunar #lunar and earth show lunar #lunar and earth show #laes lunar #canon info

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 1 year ago

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Somebody to Heal, Somebody to Hold (Joel Miller x dispensary! reader) 🍃 🔥 💨

Chapter 1 : Moonberry

Chapter 2 here || Chapter 3 here || Main masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x dispensary! reader, AU no outbreak Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap) Summary: Joel can't rely on pills anymore for his back pain, so his doctor prescribes him medicinal marijuana. But he's not happy about it. Word count: 6.6K A/N: This is a shameless indulgence because I wanna see PEEPAW get HIGH. He needs it, his BACK needs it. He's not gonna like it at first though 🌚. A thank you to my literal heart and soul @iamasaddie who listened for hours on end to my rambles and creative word vomit about this idea, I love you forever. I will add the tag list later tonight. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

“God fucking damn it.”

Joel’s resounding growl reverberates throughout the empty house as he slams another kitchen drawer closed with a loud thud. He impatiently rifles through the drawers one by one in a failed attempt to find any pain killers, any fucking pills he can get his hands on, really. His hands flit through stale takeout menus, spare remote batteries, streamers, matches and other miscellaneous odds and ends with no avail.

He even went so far as to look in Sarah’s bathroom cabinet above the sink and her dresser drawers too. The pieces of furniture in her room somberly coated with a thin layer of dust, marking her absence ever since she left for college a couple months ago. He didn’t have any success. No Advil, no Tylenol, not even any RUB A535 or joint pain creams to be found in any corners of the seemingly empty Miller house.

Damn.

She must have taken anything she had with her off to college when she moved into her dorm, Joel surmised. The dresser’s groan as he shuts it close rivals Joel’s, that rips from the back of his throat as he feels another sharp, needling pinch in his lower back. It eventually subsides into a dull ache but he knows he doesn’t need to move in any abrupt or particular way to trigger the same said infuriating pain, sending shockwaves down his back, through his spine. He grits his teeth and rests both of his palms on the textured surface of the wood, trying to ground himself as his back rounds and he hunches over. Looking up into the mirror attached to the dresser, he grimaces. Recoiling from the image of an old man with hollowed circles under his eyes, grey hairs littering his head and his permanent scowl.

Joel is old. He knows that much. The years on him are telling. Aside from his physical looks, his knees are shot and there isn’t a day where he has to physically brace himself to bend down, swing his legs out of bed, or hoist anything above his head when he’s out on jobs. Even his ability to pick up jobs and swiftly finish them as if he was a sprightly 35 year old with a slightly athletic build has slowed down tremendously. It takes him twice as long to seemingly do anything nowadays, regardless of whether it’s physically laborious.

Hell, he even struggled when it came to moving Sarah into her college dorm room. Even though she remained in state and her campus wasn’t more than a 2 hour drive away, and multiple trips could be made, Joel steeled himself to ensure he would be there to do the heavy lifting, and only have to do it once. Enlisting Tommy’s help would have made it easier as well but of course his younger brother was too gregarious for his own good. Aside from showing up 40 minutes late, with a 6 pack of Lone Star in his hand and forgetting the tools he was supposed to bring, Tommy was more easily preoccupied setting up the mini fridge he bought for Sarah, Which of course Joel scolded him for, and joking around with other freshmen in the dorm.

The harsh reality is that the harder he tries to forget about it and ignore his persisting aches and pains, the more his body and mind humble him without fail that he is old. Broken. Might as well be, seeing as he’s about losing his damn mind without having any painkillers to pop and wash down with a glass of whiskey.

He recalls the fruitless conversation he had with the doctor two weeks earlier which had placed Joel in his current predicament.

“Getting older is a facet of life Joel, I’m not gonna lie to you about that. And you’re an otherwise healthy guy, aside from your cholesterol creeping up a bit high and the occasional spike in your blood sugar.” His doctor told him frankly as he flipped through Joel’s medical history.

“Unfortunately your body is just responding to the stresses of doing physically intensive work, as it does with any other person when they age.”

Joel opens his mouth, already ready to refute the doctor's next words, when the doctor holds his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, you’ve been doing the same job for years. Nothing about being a contractor has changed. The fact of the matter is the job remains the same but you have changed Joel. Your body just can’t keep up as quickly, nor can it recover as quickly anymore. All that heavy lifting, straining the same muscles over and over in fixed positions, it’s just catching up with you now.”

Joel crosses his arms over his chest and grinds his jaw. “I’ve been managing just fine,” he grunts, not trying to hide his annoyance through the lie.

He had been trying to take it slower in the past couple months. The key word being trying.

Sending Sarah off to college was no easy feat financially, especially as a single parent, but Joel wanted to give his daughter the best chance at a college education, knowing how bright and determined she was. He worked hard to save for her tuition, the first two years that is, but he wouldn’t admit he was running himself into the ground trying to pick up more jobs than he could handle on his own, in order to save up for the rest. Forget the tuition, there was also the cost of residence for living on campus, her textbooks, a laptop, student association fees and a whole bunch of other crap he couldn’t wrap his head around.

“Back in my day you just went to your lectures in the same building, wrote in the same notebook, and used the computers on campus,” he grumbled as he squinted at the tuition balance outlined in the letter sent by her college. There were more zeros than necessary behind said balance that already had Joel’s mind spiraling into a panic.

“I thought you only did like, less than a year of college before you dropped out to start working in the trades Dad,” Sarah quirked her brow at him smugly.

“It was nine months,” he corrected her, “long enough for me to realize that it wasn’t for me.”

“Not long enough for you to learn how to properly use a computer though,” she smirks as she watches Joel start scribbling numbers down onto a piece of paper, reverting to mental math instead of using a calculator.

“It was a long time ago smart ass,” he chides her despite the warmth in his eyes. “Besides, you were still so young. I was spending more time outside of the home, working and trying to juggle school, away from you and your mother. It wasn’t ideal. The trades allowed me to be flexible with my hours, while being able to spend more time with you”

His doctor gave him a sympathetic look and sighed. “If that were the case, I don’t think you would be here and we would be having this conversation right now would we?”

He sits down in his chair and wheels over to the computer sitting on the desk, clicking this and clicking that as he filters through the previous medications that had been prescribed to Joel, before he turns to face him.

“Now in any other instance, I would prescribe you slightly stronger painkillers than what you’ve received in the past,” Joel subconsciously starts nodding along, ready for the spiel about his prescription dosages and what not. “But, because your cholesterol is a little high right now, I can’t do that.”

The crease in between Joel’s eyebrows deepen as he tries to anticipate what the doctor tells him next.

“The side effects from an over the counter painkiller could spike your cholesterol even higher, which is what we do not want,” the doctor continues, unaware of Joel’s steadily boiling frustration. “Which is why I wanted to suggest an alternate method for pain management, something more natural.”

For fucks sake.

He thought this would be a simple appointment. Show up, get a new prescription for whatever magic pills can help this pain in his back to dissipate, and go home. Not look into ‘alternative methods’ that undoubtedly wouldn’t work.

Joel’s gaze narrows and he huffs, leaning back in his seat. “Natural? Like what, seeing one of those hokey practitioners that read your energies and use natural herb remedies and all that crap?”

“Not quite that per say but it is natural medicine. Medical marijuana to be exact.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry as his jaw hangs open. Weed? Nope. Not the solution he was looking for.

Maybe what he should be on the market for is a new doctor at this point.

“Uh listen, I appreciate the suggestion doc, but I don’t think that’s gonna help me at this point. I don’t do that kinda stuff,” he waves his hand dismissively. “If it gets to that point I’ll crack open a beer.” Joel leans forward in his seat and he starts to get up.

“Just a second, hold on. At least let me write you a prescription for it today and you can choose whether or not you want to get it filled at a dispensary.”

“I don’t think-” Joel continues to protest but the doctor cuts him off.

“It’s medicinal marijuana Joel,” the doctor says plainly, as if that’s supposed to calm his nerves. “It has opiate-like properties, which means it’s similar to a pain killer, just without all the usual side effects that come with over the counter medicine. Lots of individuals, older and younger,” the doctor pointedly emphasizes, “use it to help with aches, pain, anxiety, even mental health issues. Not just the physical.”

Joel continues to eye the doctor warily, his spine now stiff as he sits up in the chair. Even now, he can feel his body protesting his upright position, the inkling of that pinched phantom pain coming back slightly.

“Does it get you high?” he asks the older man.

Aside from the stories he’s heard, he’s had his fair share of buddies who used to toke up back in the day. Hell, they didn’t even know what was in it back then, they just smoked as a distraction, something fun to do, to take the edge off after a long day's work. Joel tried it once and didn’t like it at all. The hazy, fuzzy feeling not mixing well with his frayed nerves, glassy eyed and out of touch with his body. No, he would much rather crack open a beer or pour himself a whiskey neat to kick back and relax when he was stressed.

“Not necessarily, some strains, or some kinds of weed have a higher content of THC, tetrahydrocannabinol, the psychoactive component that makes you feel high or ‘out of it,”’ the doctor explains with finger quotes. “Some medicinal marijuana are low in THC but high in CBD, the relaxing component of marijuana. CBD acts as a relaxer, and it can ease physical pain. So depending on what you’re comfortable with, you can opt for the kinds that have a high CBD but low THC content, which will help with any pain issues, without causing you to experience the high.”

Joel’s mind whirls around the acronyms. THC, CBD, ABC. Christ. Does it have to be this fucking complicated?

He knows his doctor is only trying to help at this point, basically just doing his job, but this is way beyond Joel’s comfort zone. He inhales deeply and leans back against the chair as he resigns himself to this conclusion. Seeing as there are no other options.

Picking up on Joel’s internal freak out, the doctor explains. “It’s a lot of information to process, I know. But like I said, take the prescription and think about it. There’s a new dispensary in town here where you can go and take the prescription, have them fill it, chat more about the options and see how you feel. If you’re still adamant about the painkillers then come see me in a couple weeks and we can discuss it more. I want you to try a few things to lower your cholesterol in the meantime.”

His doctor writes the prescription on the office letterhead, and hands it to Joel along with a card for the dispensary in town.

Fast forward to the present, Joel turns around from the dresser and leans back against it. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the prescription slip, the paper now visibly creased due to the number of times he had folded and unfolded it in contemplation. Of course it was near impossible to make out the doctor's chicken scratch handwriting.

Must be a requirement of all medical school grads. Step 1, learn to write illegibly, step 2, graduate

He is able to make out the other writing further towards the bottom of the slip, where the doctor haphazardly scribbled out ‘cholesterol’ and underneath it read ‘less red meat and beer, more omega-3’s (fish and eggs), and more fruits.’

“Might as well buy a fucking casket at this point,” he grumbled to himself. If there was a world where he couldn’t enjoy a juicy ribeye steak along with a cold beer anymore, well, he had pretty much resigned himself to the conclusion that that was not a world he wanted to be in.

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Alright so we have the Pink Kush Indica loose leaf at 3.5 mg, at 19.7% THC, and the Strawberry Rain hybrid pre-roll pack at 22.4% THC, a very good choice by the way. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

You smile warmly at the customer you’re cashing out at the front till. He’s a young guy, no older than 19, maybe 20? Legal age, but with the way this kid’s eyes are nervously darting around the store, looking at everything but your eye line, you correctly assume it’s his first time buying marijuana products.

“No, nothing else, thanks,” he mumbles as he fidgets with his coat pockets, before paying and quickly snatching up his purchases and shoving them in his pocket, briefly turning to exit the store.

You chuckle to yourself internally and shake your head, remembering what your first time was like when you legally bought from a dispensary after the government legalized marijuana.

Despite its legality, you were a fucking deer in headlights as the dispensary worker tried to explain to you the differences in strains, types of weed, paraphernalia that you could use to consume it. Wholly consumed by the guilt of acknowledging you were purchasing illicit (yet completely legal) drugs, you scurried out of the store as quickly as you could after getting what you needed. What would your parents say if they found out? Not that they ever would, but the ever present shame that needled and cracked through the facade of their wholesome daughter, their good girl, consuming such a horrendous drug, the devil’s lettuce, now that shame loomed over your head constantly for a long time.

You sigh and turn to go into the back storage room. Only 1 hour left until close luckily, yet somehow the last hour of your shift always seems to go by the slowest. Go figure.

“Let me guess, 19 ?” Your colleague Josh guesses with a presumptuous smirk on his face, as he continues to count the inventory of vapes in your storage room.

“Try 21! I believe you owe me dude,” you hear a chirpy voice chime in, as you look to see your other coworker Stef strolling in right behind you.

She holds her hand out expectantly as she approaches Josh, as he slaps a $5 bill into her up-facing palm, a smug grin plastered across her face. Stef usually worked the front door so naturally she would remember the ages of most customers that walked in, after scrutinizing over their ID and making dismissive comments about their appearances and age. Sometimes she was too blunt and outspoken for her own good, but you would call her out on it, all good natured. She was your best friend from elementary school. So naturally when she began working at One Plant and a part time position opened up, she hounded you about it constantly until you came into the store with a copy of your resume, briefly chatting with the manager at the time.

You gasp with feigned sarcasm as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a supply shelf.

“You guys said you would stop betting on the customers last week! C’mon now.” You reprimanded them lightly, a half hearted attempt to be the voice of reason, despite the smile on your face. Stef and Josh both outranked you in terms of seniority as they had been working at the shop longer, but it didn’t stop them from concocting new shenanigans every fucking week to make the time go by faster and make your shifts more entertaining.

“What? The kid looked like he damn near was having a fucking seizure when I was checking his I.D.. Yeah he’s technically ‘legal,’” she emphasizes with air quotes, “but he looked like he got lost on a fucking field trip, poor baby.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head once again. Stef may be blunt and take the mick out of customers with a thinly veiled sense of self restraint, but you loved her. She made the days go by faster, as did Josh, lord knows he put up with so many of your antics. It’s a miracle he kept you both in the store at all, despite his threats to take you both off schedule because you couldn’t contain the bullshit amongst yourselves. He joined in on the fun once in a while, giving you a break and empathizing.

“They’re getting younger and younger everyday, I swear.” Josh chimes in as he does a double count of the inventory before logging it into your system.

“I suppose back in your day, you just bought whatever you could from the local dealer who lived in his mother’s basement, right grandpa?” Stef poked at him, as she sat down and propped her feet up on the table used to package orders, scrolling on her phone.

You snorted as you began to tidy up and organize the stock for the following day, preparing any orders that were due for an early pick up. Grabbing a pack of indica pre-rolls here, a couple vape cartridges there, putting away the bongs and pipes that were out on display.

It’s true, that despite the government legalizing marijuana over a year ago, there was still a large influx of customers who were new to consuming the herb, in the face of its notoriety as an illicit street drug. The dispensary saw all manners of people who came in seeking relaxation, calmness, appetite inducing, sensory heightening products. You almost couldn’t believe it when you started working here.

Customers ranged anywhere from barely legal college kids, who couldn’t tell the difference between sativa or indica and couldn’t roll a joint to save their lives, to young parents needing a break between the monotony of daycare and diapers, as well as trade workers coming off a long day at the job, or even seniors looking for a mild pain relaxer.

“Everyone’s got a vice, everyone is looking for a piece of that relaxation. Not all stoners look like typical stoners,” Josh quietly reminded you as he trained you during your first week on the job.

You took his comment in stride and tried your best not to judge the customers when they came in looking for their vice. Everyone had their reasons, undoubtedly, and those reasons were absolutely none of your business, Stef had so compassionately reminded you, despite your bristling at her blunt words.

Today would turn out to be no different, you realized, as you went back out to the front of the store, and began locking up the display cabinets, putting the weed samples back in their glass cases. You hear the bell toll of the front door opening and you call out to Stef in the back, but it doesn’t reach her ears over the sound of her chattering with Josh.

You glance at the clock. 4:32 pm, less than half an hour to go. Steeling yourself, you walk over to the entrance, where the double doors are that let customers into the store. An added measure for security, despite the so-called front ‘checkpoint desk’ where customers had to show their I.D. before walking into the main store that contained actual products.

“Thanks for coming into One Plant, can I see some I.D.?” You parrot the painstakingly rehearsed greeting as you round the corner to the desk at the front. You look up to see an older guy standing there awkwardly, between the exit door, and the front desk, almost like he’s not sure he wants to really be in the store.

He looks around suspiciously at his surroundings, his brow furrowed as he takes you in.

“Uhm, can I see your I.D. sir?” You ask him again, mirroring his confused expression as you appraise his demeanor. You tap your knuckles on the laminated sign on the desk that states I.D. MUST BE SHOWN, ONLY 18+ PERMITTED ENTRY to emphasize your point.

The man blinks once or twice, then shakes himself out of whatever daze he was in, as he fumbles into his back pocket for his wallet, fishing out his license for you.

“Yeah sorry, here you go.”

You don’t pay much attention to the picture on the license, you never usually do, as bad as it is to say. As far as you were concerned, if the mental math added up in your head, and they were 18, you let them in. This time you take a bit more time to analyze this man’s ID card. You poorly attempt to hide the raise in your eyebrows as your gaze scans his year of birth. There’s no way this guy is over 40. He can’t be. You look from the stiff plastic card in your hand, back up to the man towering over you at the desk, taking in his slightly greying hair and his sparse beard. The crows feet etched on his face, and his seemingly permanent scowl gave away his years without fault.

You look down at the card again. Joel Miller. Huh. Just as you look back up at him, he raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. Realizing you have been holding onto his card for far too long than is appropriate you hand it back to him quickly.

“Sorry, can’t be too careful,” you say playfully, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade his nerves as he puts the card back into his wallet, back into his pocket. Hands shoved into his coat pockets as he stood frozen to the spot.

“Come on in,” you gesture for him to come in as you press the button to open the interconnected door that leads to the shop.

He follows you in, continuing to look around the store anxiously, stiff as a board.

You make a beeline for the register counter, secretly praying that this guy knows what he wants to order so that you can all clock out in time. Usually, you didn’t usually mind staying behind late most days but you had been feeling burnt out between school and the hours at the dispensary lately, and you were all too looking forward to going home, smoking a fat joint and unwinding with some drag race. It didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon though, much to your dismay, as you notice the deer in headlights expression on this poor guy. His gaze darted from the display cases to the glassware, despite his broad stature he was clearly overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

You clear your throat in an attempt to pull him out of his current state of fight or flight.

“First time here?”

His gaze snaps back to you, and for a second you genuinely can’t remember if you asked him the question, or if he asked you something, with the way his huge brown eyes widen and soften slightly before he furrows his brows.

“Is it that obvious?” The deep warmth of his baritone voice betrays the gruffness in his response and you chuckle. The corner of his lips curl into a lopsided, sheepish smile.

Bless this first timer and his apprehension. You take pity on his naivete.

“Not to worry at all. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” You match his small smile in return.

“Uhm,” he furrows his brows again and starts to peer around the store anxiously again, as if he was being watched. “Something for pain management?” He quirks one eyebrow at you, in question, almost as if he’s unsure if that’s the right answer. He fidgets a bit, shifting his weight and then sighing while pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

He squints at the paper briefly. “At least, that’s what my doctor has written here. I think. Can’t be sure with this damn chicken scratch.” He scowls slightly, clearly irritated he is in this predicament.

Again. Bless this first timer, old man. Well, not really THAT old, but still.

“I can help you with that, as for the legibility of doctor handwriting, I’m afraid that’s a lost cause,” you quip. Much to your surprise, he huffs out a laugh in response.

“Yeah no shit. It’s a good thing I clocked what the doctor said before relying on the written prescription.”

“Well, you’re in luck because we have lots of options to choose from in terms of pain management. We have anything from herb, to edibles, to pre rolls, to drinks. Anything really, you name it.”

You chirp off the options, in your customer service voice. Although it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to sell him something at this point, moreso that you’re educating him on what’s available.

It’s a good thing too, with the way his soulful brown eyes continue to get wider, and the crease between his brows deepen with each option you mention to him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, “how about something to smoke?”

“For sure! If you’re looking for something for pain management, that’ll likely be higher on the CBD end, with less THC, more relaxation based.”

“That sounds good,” he gives you another small smile. You start to search for CBD dominant strains in the register database as he shifts a bit closer to the counter, resting his hand with the prescription slip in it, on the countertop.

He has nice hands. Big hands. With nice long, thick fingers. Like really fucking thick. And his thumbs are perfectly curved. You also notice a faint tattoo that's fading, hovering just above the webbing between his index finger and thumb, of… a bullseye? Interesting.

“Alright so we have a selection of pre rolled joints as well as loose herb for CBD, depending on what your preference is. Some people like to roll themselves, plus it’s a bit cheaper to buy it loose and roll it yourself, compared to buying pre-rolled, but it’s up to you.”

Still, he looks at you with a lost expression, but ultimately says says “Let’s go with the pre rolled ones.”

“Sounds good. Any flavour preferences? Or dislikes?”

He furrows his brows again and frowns slightly. God help this man. That should not be as endearing and cute as it is.

“Flavours?” He looks downright bewildered, as if you asked him when he’s going to jetspace off to Mars, that or to sacrifice his first born child. It could very well be both at this point. This poor old man. It must be his first time buying weed in general, not just coming into the dispensary.

Understanding his predicament, you backpedal a bit. At this point you might as well be getting commission on top of the ludacris minimum wage you receive, seeing as how eager you are to assist this man. Normally you couldn’t be bothered to be so thorough and patient with customers when it was nearing closing time but this guy is so lost, you take pity on him. It had nothing to do with how attractive he is.

“Yeah! Weed products come in all different kinds of flavours, depending on the strain. It’s more noticeable with edibles and drinks, any products you consume orally, but loose leaf herb, or the actual weed buds, have different flavours too. If you like fruity stuff there is Mango haze, or strawberry sativa, or if you like a more sour savoury palette, there is sour diesel or lemon haze. Or there are kinds that don’t have a distinct flavour profile or smell, they smell and taste pretty generic when you consume or smoke them.”

“Uh, I think those might be my best bet,” he chuckles hollowly.

“Alright, sounds good.” Going off his limited knowledge and inexperience, you pick a pack for him that is a hybrid strain, light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Usually it’s pretty good for beginners who aren’t looking to get stupid high and not too expensive.

You turn to the back wall window behind the countertop, and knock on the glass, catching the attention of Stef and Josh.

“Hey, can one of you guys grab me the 5 pack of Moonberry pre-rolls for this walk in order?”

Stef conveniently taps her index finger on her nose and looks presumptuously at Josh, making no effort to get up from her seat, who rolls his eyes and goes over to the inventory shelf. No sooner does he walk back over to hand you the pack, does Stef tear her glance away from her phone, and peek up at the register counter, clocking the man. Her jaw drops and she instantly wiggles her eyebrows at you. Before she can put her open mouth to use and make a smart ass comment, you grab the pack of joints from Josh and pivot back towards the register. As you turn back around, you just barely catch the man’s gaze snapping back up to yours, as if he was looking somewhere further south down your body.

No. You’re just imagining that. Your brain running on fumes as the last remnant of your shift dwindles down.

“Okay, this is a 5 pack of pre rolls. It’s called Moon Berry, it’s a hybrid, but it’s very light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Good for relaxation and it helps with pain. Try ‘em out and see how you like them.” You put the pack in a small bag and ring up the cost for him.

After he hands you the cash and takes the small bag into his massive hand, he hovers a bit. Shuffling awkwardly as he waits for something else.

“Uh, is there anything else you needed today?” you ask him after a beat. His hand clutching the bag twitches by his side, and his lips part slightly.

Okay this man is cute. More than cute. He’s ridiculously attractive in an aloof sort of way. His disheveled curls, prominent nose and chocolate brown eyes have you short circuiting, as if you were the one purchasing something from him. Still, you reassure yourself it’s the delusion of it being the final minutes of your workday, not the handsome stranger. Not at all.

Say something. Say anything. Jesus.

At this point you’re not really sure if you’re telling that to yourself or silently pleading to him.

“Need a lighter?” you blurt out in an attempt to break the silence.

“Uhm. I-.” He puts his hands in his pockets as if he was going to retrieve a lighter. Your malfunctioning brain persists though.

“Here, take it,” you grab one of the lighters with the generic dispensary logo on it, off the

display on the counter and hand it to him. “It’s on the house,” you state as you see him start to shake his head, “we don’t make money on these anyway, so they always end up as overstock.”

His large palm nearly engulfs your hand as you drop the lighter into his hand. He looks up at you and gives you a boyish smile again.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, enjoy the pre rolls. If you need anything else, feel free to give us a visit again,” your customer service voice chimes in again as you flash him a warm smile.

Trepidation sweeps across his face for a brief second before he nods and ducks his head, and as he walks out of the store. You check your phone, 4:56, thank God.

You head back into the storage room to grab your things and clock out, only to be met by your co-workers staring at you. Both with shit eating smirks on their faces.

“It’s on the house?” Josh repeats your earlier sentiment to you with a raised eyebrow.

Rolling your eyes instantly, you sigh. “Josh, you and I both know those stupid lighters rarely ever sell out. Or sell, period. It’s not like the occasional few put a dent in the weekly revenue. Plus, there’s lots of other crap in here we sell with the store branding on it.”

He continues to look at you expectantly, his smirk growing bigger.

“You gonna make me watch one of those ridiculous loss prevention videos from HR? Or can we let this go? C’mon it was the last customer of the day and we’re closed now.” You plead with him hoping he will drop it.

“If he wanted to cause you actual pain and suffering he would make you watch those HR videos again,” Stef quips cheekily. “We both wanna know why you wouldn’t just ask for that guy's number, it would have been a lot easier than committing theft as an employee.”

Your mouth gapes open as you look at her indignantly, then to Josh. Screw your best friend for knowing you all too fucking well. You couldn’t hide your poker face from her even if it was surgically constructed.

“Why would I-” you begin your protest but Stef steam rolls over your words in her true form.

“Oh, come ON, babe. I may only have eyes for women but I have to admit, he was fucking HOT and you know it. Those broad shoulders and puppy dog eyes? Probably one of the few attractive middle aged men I’ve seen come through here.”

Josh wrinkles his face in disgust. “Seriously? The dude is probably pushing fifty. He looks like he’s never gotten high in his life seeing as how he was gawking at everything in the store. You included.”

Stef hums in agreement. “Fifty or not, he’s the hottest virgin stoner I’ve ever seen in my life. And I didn’t see a ring on his finger sooo…”

“Okay, that’s it,” you cut her off before she can blurt out any more incriminating things “Let’s implement a new rule, no BETTING on the customers, and no gossiping about how attractive they are.” You huff and grab your things, before dragging your friend towards the store exit. Josh follows in tow, locking up the entrance behind you all.

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Josh mutters as he fixes you with a knowing look.

“I’m just saying,” Stef keeps going as you all walk towards the parking lot, “where else and when else are you going to meet someone with all the shit you have going on right now? Don’t you wanna get out there eventually?”

She gives you a playful shove with a bit too much force behind it. “Don’t you at least wanna get laid again? Poor gal probably has cobwebs down there,” She throws out the crass remark nonchalantly as you sputter with your jaw dropped open. Luckily, she just narrowly avoids the slap you aim at her arm.

“Alright, and on THAT note, goodnight to you both. Get home safe.” Josh shakes his head as he gets into his car.

You turn and face Stef, letting out the deepest breath you’ve probably taken all day.

She’s not wrong. It’s been well near a year since you split up with your ex. Ever since you started school and got the part time job at One Plant, you really haven’t had time for anything else. Despite being best friends and living close by, you rarely saw Stef outside of your scheduled shifts together. Relegating yourself to the hermit life, you kept busy with studying, writing papers, going to class and showing up for your shifts at the dispensary.

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after becoming single? Better yourself? Have new adventures? Or some shit like that.

Sure, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss being with someone. Miss the companionship. But dating in this day and age was fucking exhausting. Even though things between you and your ex ended amicably, you were still very much in your ‘men are trash era’ and the thought of going on dates and getting to know someone again nauseated you.

Annoyingly, Stef wasn’t wrong about the getting laid part. Nearly a year post breakup for a relationship that consumed 6 years of your life didn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things. But being touch starved for nearly a year? That fucking sucked. And you wouldn’t deny missing the intimacy of cuddles, forehead kisses, and feeling close to someone. That and getting railed as if your life depended on it. Toys were nice and all but fuck you missed the feeling of having someone manhandle you, the feeling of someone giving you pleasure, winding you up. You just haven’t put your focus on that very stale and dry aspect of your life.

Stef gently grabs you by the shoulders, squeezing them. “Look, you know I love you hun, I just want you to be happy. That’s all. You gotta give it a chance again.”

Her words pull you out of your dissociation and you blink hazily a few times. You shake your head briefly and pull her in for a hug. Stef may be too outspoken for her own good but she knew you inside and out. Ater becoming best friends in grade 7, you wouldn’t expect anything less from her. But you couldn’t lie that a part of you hated when she was right.

“I know you do, and I love you for it. Even though you’re a pain in my ass. Now get home safe.”

She squeezes you at that and tells you to do the same, before you both go your separate ways.

Finally home, you trudged into your empty apartment, the weight of day’s work finally easing off your shoulders, as you kicked off your shoes and dumped your keys on the coffee table in the living room. As was your routine, you plopped down on the couch, reaching for your grinder and papers on the table, as you started to roll your joint, contemplating on what to have for dinner.

Still, the image of deep brown eyes, and that warm southern drawl ricocheted through your mind as you densely packed the grinded herb into the joint, folding the paper in on itself and twisting off the end. He was just a customer. You saw hundreds of them a day, he was nothing new. As you lit up and inhaled deeply, you felt the warm, molasses-like haze seep through your bones, clouding over your thoughts, as you melted into the couch. He was just a customer. A handsome stranger.

Despite the excuses you gave yourself, you couldn’t help but feel that wouldn’t be the last time you saw that man, or the virgin stoner, as Stef had so bluntly called him. At least you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

TAGLIST:

@xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @morallyinept, @atinylittlepain, @amanitacowboy, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, @pr0ximamidnight, @wannab-urs, @beskarandblasters, @jksprincess10

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #petition to GET THAT OLD MAN HIGH

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fairy-writes · 10 months ago

Note

Hey!!! Love your work!!! I was wondering if you could write literally anything about Sean Renard maybe some tooth rotting fluff. I just love him and it’s sad that not many people know about Grimm or even write about it.

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): NBC Grimm

Pairing(s): Sean Renard x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Short!Reader (mostly because Renard is a freaking giant at 6’5”), Renard is sick

Notes: Ok but I’m loving writing for Grimm again. Thanks for requesting lovely!

__________________________________________________________________________

“You look like shit.” You blurt the second Sean Renard opens the door to his own home. He scowls down at you, and you scowl right back. There’s deep bags under his eyes and a sickly parlor to his sweat soaked skin. He’s dressed in a rumpled hoodie and sweatpants that you didn’t even know he owned.

Since when did he own sweatpants?

Or a hoodie for that matter?

And what’s even worse, he can barely stand up straight, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

“You’re so kind.” He says and opens the door wider so you can come inside.

You make your way to the dining room where you set bags of groceries on the table and turn with your hands on your hips.

“When you said you were sick, I didn’t think you were literally dying.” You say as you give him a once over as he stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“I’m not dying.” He says and you roll your eyes,

“Coulda fooled me. I didn’t even know you owned sweatpants.” You turn back to your bags and rifle through them, tossing him a bottle of Gatorade and gesturing for him to go sit down.

You meander your way around his kitchen, cleaning the dirty dishes and disinfecting the counters before pulling out some ingredients for a simple chicken noodle soup.

It was a classic and easy and good for someone who was sick. Especially the giant of a man who was sprawled out on the couch in the living room.

As you cook, you put the tea kettle on and keep an eye on him. You’re able to spot his head lolling back against the couch pillows and you can hear the tell tale sound of book pages turning and the occasional sniffling.

Typically he’s at least in the kitchen with you while you cook. But you figured you’d make an exception just this once.

Soon enough, the food is done and you bring a mug of herbal tea and a bowl of soup on a TV dinner tray where Sean is waiting. He’a reading some philosophy book that you don’t care to read the title of. You can see where he’s marked certain passages or used miscellaneous scraps of paper as bookmarks.

He always did love a good book.

“Did you start that book I lent you?” You ask as you set down the tray and start cleaning up his space. Random book piles are straightened on the coffee table and old dishes are taken to the sink.

He really must be sick if his house is this messy.

Sean sits up and sets his book atop the most recent pile of books. These ones are in various languages that you can’t even begin to read. French. Arabic. Russian. And was that Latin? Who even wrote Latin books anymore?

“I started it. Couldn’t get into it.” Sean says, snapping you from your musings. You hum as you take the half finished Gatorade and hand him the soup. He says a quiet thank you before digging in.

“It takes a bit to get going. But I think you’ll like it eventually. If not, I have plenty of other things to recommend to you.” You reply and he merely grunts through a mouthful of noodles. You finish folding a blanket and flop into the armchair beside the couch, letting him eat in a warm, blissful silence.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Sean says as he follows you up the stairs and into his bedroom. You begin to rifle through his en-suite bathroom cabinets, looking for a thermometer.

It’s nowhere to be found.

“Yeah and ten bucks says you don’t make it to bed before passing out.” You retort absentmindedly, jerking up to look into the bedroom when you hear a thump.

It was just Sean tossing his book on the bedside table.

You huff and gently push him toward the bed. He moves without complaint and part of you wished he’d get sick more often. It wasn’t often that he was so obedient.

Luckily, Sean has some NyQuil in his cabinets so you pour him a dose and his nose scrunches as he makes a face.

“No thanks. I’m fine.” He tries, and you very nearly force his jaw open to pour it down his throat yourself.

“Drink this and don’t argue with me.” You say, exasperated.

After some back and forth, Sean finally takes the medicine and sags back into bed. You lean forward and press the back of your hand to his forehead,

“You’re burning up. Hopefully the meds will help.” You mumble and he catches your hand as you go to move away.

“Thank you.” He says seriously and you grin, reaching back to smooth his hair back over his sweaty forehead.

“It’s not a problem. I’m just a phone call away if you need me.” You say and lean down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Hopefully it doesn’t get you sick.

#sean renard x reader #renard x reader #grimm x reader #nbc grimm #grimm sean renard #grimm renard #grimm #fairy writes

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moonyflesh · 4 months ago

Text

What would Amanda Young as an older sister be like?

WARNINGS: very triggering. blatant mentions of self harm, abusive parents/corrupted childhood, drug use, alcohol, murder. reader’s discretion is advised.

CHARACTER(S): Amanda Young (SAW/“Jigsaw” Franchise)

🪡 .*.. 💉

Amanda as an older sister is something you never asked for, but appreciate everyday.

-> it’s her terrified eyes that glance back at yours— at your sudden discovery of her slicing into her arms and thighs, your own pain reflecting hers.

-> it’s the sound of her sleep-ridden screams that wake you, nightmares so familiar to her, yet never easier to shake.

-> it’s the discovery of needles, filled to the brim under the kitchen sink’s cabinet that bring tears to your concerned eyes.

-> it’s the soothing texture of her hair through your fingers as she lets you play with it, giggles passed between the two of you from gossip about some new kid in your school.

-> it’s the old band tees and over-worn lacy bras that make you laugh at old photo albums of your childhood together.

-> it’s her laugh that’s so contagious, yet so terrifyingly unfamiliar.

-> it’s the smiles she passes you in the middle of an argument with someone on the phone, reassuring you that she’s just fed up with her ‘boss’ where she works.

-> it’s the way her facial expression contorts into a motherly amount of relief when she comes home late at night, finding you passed out on the shared, worn-in couch, TV static from a finished VHS tape illuminating your features in a way that shows you’re at peace. that you’re safe.

-> it’s the discomfort on her face as you question the markings on her inner forearms; immediately ignored, and told ‘(not) to worry about it, pumpkin”.

-> it’s the realization that this domesticated life she’s formed with you will end at some point.

-> it’s the pain-relieving pills that take up half of your side of the shared bathroom’s sink, scattered about miscellaneously the morning after a night out of partying together.

-> it’s the way she’s dreading telling you she’s not what you think she is- that she’s a monster; that she kills people.

-> it’s the comfort in John Kramer’s words that churns her stomach; aching for a father figure she never had, the very father fighre you’ll never get to experience— eating away guiltily at her conscious.

-> it’s the “imposter syndrome” she’s formed over the years that slowly tears the both of you apart— you’re too pure, to perfect to know of the bloodshed she’s caused.

-> it’s the tears shed into her dingy mattress that wakens you from your sleep, pulling you to her room and sitting with her, immediately diving into an embrace so tight you can feel the way her heart rapidly ‘thumps’ against her skinny frame.

-> it’s the way the words ‘i’m so sorry i’m the way i am’ passes her thin and chapped lips so unfamiliarly, you’re almost frightened by the sheer force of emotion in her tone.

-> it’s the way she knows you don’t understand what she means, but stay near her anyways, her fingers delved so far into your skin you’re sure it’s bound to rip.

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topgun-imagines · 1 year ago

Text

Day 11: Darkest Hour

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bradley returns home to a sight he never hoped to see.

Warnings: self harm, panic attacks, mentions of blood, death & suicide.

Word count: 1.1k

You felt like you were drowning. The walls seemed to be closing in on you. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, your lungs were burning, trying to consume as much oxygen as possible while you collapsed to the floor. Cold bathroom tile was more jarring than soothing. When the drastic sensation should have been comforting, you only spiraled further. Sharp pants escaped you as you clutched at your chest. Everything had been fine mere seconds ago, but now, you just wanted it to end.

There was one thing that you were certain would help. After all, it always did before. Somehow, the pure pain was enough to pull you out of whatever horrible state you were in. So, through bleary eyes and uneven breaths, you crawled across the bathroom floor until you bumped into the cabinet. It was like muscle memory by now. Inside the cabinet, hidden in a bucket stashed in the back corner and buried under other miscellaneous items, was a small pack of razor blades.

The box was innocent enough, so that if Bradley ever found it, he wouldn’t even know what he was looking at. Keeping this kind of thing hidden from your boyfriend was difficult, to say the least. But, over time, you had gotten better at hiding it. Excuses slipped out easier than before and your natural instinct would kick in whenever you needed to cover up. Bradley was none the wiser.

So, you began your usual routine. It was sad that you could call it a routine at this point. That didn’t stop you as you pulled the cold metal out of the small box. The thin item was sharp in your hand, digging into your palm with only slight pressure. This razor was new.

It had been a while since your last episode. Things were getting better. You were happy, content with reality a majority of the time. Things with Bradley had never been better. But that all had to come crashing down at some point, right? You figured that point was now as a sob bubbled out of your chest. The cold, sharp blade pressed against your once soft skin before it glided across it with ease.

No matter how many times you had done this before, the first cut each time always stung a little bit extra. Soon, one cut turned into two, two into five, five into fifteen and so on.

You normally knew when to stop. You had a breaking point and you always made sure to stop just before you reached it. Today, however, that breaking point was the last thing on your mind. As was the fact that the plans you made with Bradley would have him showing up on your doorstep any minute. That was all lost on you as you watched your own blood bead on top of your skin, soon tricking down.

The sheer amount of blood was what scared you. Sure, you were used to this. But this volume of blood was something new entirely. Before you could even register what was happening, your head began spinning. This was different than before. Somehow, this time you knew that things were over. You were finally going to get your sweet escape.

Little did you know that your boyfriend was standing on your front porch only a few feet away with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand.

When you never answered the door. Bradley became slightly worried. So, your loving boyfriend twisted the handle and walked inside. He found it a bit odd that he couldn’t detect your presence immediately, but he kept searching for you nonetheless. With every room he checked, he became more worried. That was until he stumbled into the bathroom.

The sight in front of him broke his heart and made him feel sick to his stomach at the same time. Before he could even begin to process what was happening, he fell to his knees and pulled out his phone. Bradley was confident that he had never been this panicked before as he informed the 911 operator of everything he knew. “Baby!? Baby, can you hear me?” Gentle hands tapped against your cheek as Bradley checked for any signs of life. When you didn’t say anything, Bradley began to sob. He was about to lose the light of his life.

Hope swelled in his chest when he saw your eyes flutter. Through hooded eyes, you looked up at him, a small, bearly-there smile gracing your face. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this.” Whether he was even aware of it or not, his thumbs stroked delicately over the side of your face. One of his hands reached down to grasp yours tightly, almost as if he was trying to anchor you to the ground.

“I-“ You started, coughing a little. Your voice was weak. Weaker than anything Bradley had ever heard before. “I love you so much Bradley,” He shook his head slowly. Bradley knew what you were doing. You were saying goodbye to him. How was he supposed to just let you go? “None of this is your fault.” With that, your eyes closed again. Your hand went limp in his and your breathing slowly evened out.

Distantly, Bradley could hear the ambulance rushing down the street. He could hear it screech to a halt in front of your house and he could hear the men rushing through the front door. And yet he couldn’t focus on any of that. Not when it suddenly felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest. In that moment, the pilot let out the most anguished sound known to man. The paramedics had never heard anything so raw and full of pain before.

Bradley collapsed, sobbing into your chest as he begged you to come back. All he needed was just a few more seconds. Then you would have been okay. You could have gotten help. What ifs surged around his mind, thoughts plaguing him with realities worse than right now. But what made those realities worse was that Bradley would never, ever, get the chance to try and save you. You were gone. Forever.

And as Bradley cried into your lifeless form, he realized that he never got to tell you he loved you one last time.

a/n: hope you enjoyed! Join the taglist!

Tagging: @ohtobeleah @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @kmc1989 @nyx2021 @els-marvelvsp @mploopssek @callsignharper @seitmai @kellyls04 @xeve9809 @scarletmeii @inkandarsenic @malindacath

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swooningdelirium · 4 months ago

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reddie? in 2024? embarrassing tbh but here’s a fluffy little sickfic i wrote last year

He awoke to a shiver that ravaged him from the inside out and rendered every last hair on his body standing on end. With sweat matting his hair to his temples, Eddie rolled over to check the digital clock on his bedside. His eyes burned, but he willed them to focus. When he could finally make out the numbers, he saw that is was just past 4AM. Eddie shuddered. Even through the veil of delirium that blurred the room around him, he could feel a cumbersome panic rise in his chest. As he placed a sweaty palm to his forehead, the placebo pills and waiting rooms of his childhood burst forth at nauseating speed. His stomach lurched. He shook his mother’s nagging voice from the recesses of his mind and assured himself that whatever was wrong wasn’t fatal. He was fine. It was all okay.

Richie still lay beside him, snoring softly. His body radiated a heat too alluring for a chilled Eddie to ignore. Eddie snuggled up closer to him, assuming the big spoon position for once, and whimpered:

“Richie, I don’t feel good.” He winced at how childish he sounded, but couldn’t help it.

Richie rolled over with a grumble, instinctively pulling Eddie in closer and burying his face into the pit of his shoulder. “Hm?”

“Rich…” Eddie trailed off, a lump beginning to form in his throat. “Something’s wrong.”

Richie jolted upright and switched on the bedside lamp, taking in Eddie’s pale, sweaty form for the first time. “…Oh. Yeah. You don’t look so good, baby,” Richie’s brows furrowed, his voice still thick with sleep. When he saw the anxiety flash across his love’s weary face, he quickly added, “You’re alright, though. I promise. I’m right here.”

He placed Eddie’s arm over his own shoulders and gently helped him sit up against the headboard. He leaned forward and planted a prolonged kiss onto Eddie’s forehead. He was, in fact, burning up. Shit. This would send him spiraling. He pulled Eddie’s head to his chest as hatred for his estranged mother-in-law flooded every fiber of his being. It broke him enough having to see Eds like this without thinking of all he had endured when they were kids. As if they weren’t already going through enough.

“It’s okay. Everybody gets sick,” Richie whispered into the top of Eddie’s head. “You definitely do have a fever, though. We’ll have to check on that. What else are you feeling right now, my love? What hurts?”

Before Eddie could answer, he erupted into a coughing fit that sent him barrelling toward the bathroom with Richie in tow. Just as he entered, Richie found him hunched over the toilet, retching. Tears streamed down his face. He knelt beside his partner and rubbed his back in soft, circular motions.

“I know, Eds,” he murmured. “I know. You’re okay.” Eddie gasped for air with each fleeting moment his stomach settled before inevitably starting again. Whether he was short of breath from pain or panic, Richie couldn’t tell.

When the vomiting subsided and Eddie nodded upon being asked if he was done, Richie led him back to bed and placed the lightest throw blanket on top of him. “Okay. I’m gonna go get you some medicine and some water. Anything else?” Eddie shook his head weakly. “Alright, my love. We’ll take your temperature when I come back too, okay?” He reached out to hold Eddie’s face and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. God, he was warm. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie opted to close his eyes for just a minute. A prolonged blink, really. It must have been longer, though. He only opened them again when the creak of floorboards indicated that Richie was back with supplies from their comically well-stocked medicine cabinet. He placed the thermometer and miscellaneous medications on the nightstand, immediately heading back toward the kitchen. Eddie heard faintly running water for a moment before the tap turned off and Richie returned with a washcloth and small bowl of water. He placed these items next to the others and reached for the thermometer.

“Okay. Let’s check that temperature now,” he said in that tone that always put Eddie at ease. The only voice that could bring him down from the panic. He leaned over his Eddie and placed the thermometer under his tongue, holding his hand while they waited for a reading.

At the tone, Richie removed the thermometer, which read 102.8. Eddie wouldn’t take that well. Inhaling sharply, he showed Eddie the number and squeezed his hand. “That’s alright. It just means your body is fighting extra hard, okay?” He felt Eddie’s already rapid breathing quicken, but he paused for a deep breath.

“Can you maybe take it again?” Eddie rasped, barely audible. His throat was still so raw from upheaving the contents of his stomach. “I just want to make sure.”

“Okay,” he murmured, kissing away a stray tear on Eddie’s cheek. “We’ll do it one more time.”

Once again, he placed the thermometer under Eddie’s tongue and waited for the tone. When he heard it, he removed it to see that it now read 103 on the dot. He gently pressed the power button and placed it back in the sleeve without showing Eddie.

“Yeah, honey. It was right the first time.”

“That’s a really high fever,” Eddie whimpered miserably.

“Oh, Eds. I know it’s scary.” Richie placed one hand on Eddie’s shoulder while he used the other to open the bottle of liquid cold and flu medicine. “You’re okay. It’s just a bug. Try not to let the number scare you too much. We’re gonna take that fever down, okay?” Richie extended the bottle cap full of medicine to Eddie’s mouth. “Drink this, baby.” Eddie obliged as Richie submerged the cloth into the bowl, wrung it out, and placed it on his forehead. He shivered against the sudden cold, but didn’t resist. “I know you’re already cold, but we have to bring this temperature down. It’ll make you better. I promise.”

Eddie nodded. He looked small. Smaller than Richie had seen him in as long as he could remember. He forced out the memory of a tiny, terrified Eddie in that dingy Neilbolt basement with his arm contorted at a sickening angle. He needed to be here, now. Eds needed him in the present.

Richie checked the clock. It was nearing 5 A.M. “I’ll call us both out of work a little later.”

“Do you think I’ll need antibiotics? Or maybe some infusions? What if this is serious? I think we should go-” Eddie winced. The thought of the hospital threw his stomach into another bout of nausea.

“How about this,” Richie began, “I’ll check your temperature again in an hour or so. If it isn’t any better, I’ll take you to the doctor. For now, though, I think it’s alright if we stay here. Just you and me. How does that sound?”

Eddie nodded weakly and reached his arms toward Richie.

“Yeah?” Richie whispered, climbing back into bed. “Do you just want to be held?” Eddie nodded again, a whimper escaping his throat. “Okay, why don’t you drink a bit more water for me and then you can try going back to sleep.”

Eddie obediently took some small, cautious sips before returning the glass to its place by the bed.

“Good job, baby. Now try and get some rest.” Eddie drifted off before he was even finished closing his eyes, but his husband remained awake, holding him close as he shivered through the sunrise.

…

It was only when he felt Richie’s lips on his forehead again that his eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” Eddie smiled though his head was pounding and his body ached.

“Hi,” Richie pulled his love back into his arms. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mmm-hm.”

“Good. Do you think you could eat anything right now? Crackers maybe?”

Eddie stifled a gag. “Definitely not,” he confessed.

“I didn’t think so. That’s alright. We’ll try and get something on your stomach in a little bit. How about we just take your temperature for right now?” Richie swallowed as he asked the question, praying the fever had gone down. What if it had gotten higher? Eddie would freak. His poor Eddie.

Eddie seemed to be reading his mind as he took in a shuddering breath. “I guess we should check it again.”

Richie planted a quick kiss on Eddie’s cheek before taking the thermometer back out of the sleeve. “Okay, baby. You ready?”

Eddie parted his lips and raised his tongue. Richie winced as he watched the number on the screen climb past 101, then 102. He sighed in relief, however, once it stopped at 102.4 and the tone sounded.

“See?” Rich felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders. “You’re getting better already.”

Eddie heaved a sigh. “That’s still high,” he mumbled.

“It is,” Richie admitted, “but I’m going to take care of you. We’re going to get you better.”

Eddie rested his head on his husband’s chest, allowing Richie’s steady heartbeat to ease his own. “Okay,” he conceded. “Do you want to just go back to sleep for a little while?”

Rich chuckled as he wet the cloth again and gently dabbed his love’s forehead and cheeks. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He placed the washcloth back onto Eddie’s brow and held him tightly, wishing the roles were reversed. As terrified of germs as his Eddie was- as much as he had been through- it all fell by the wayside if Richie was sick. And though Eddie would make him see a doctor for so much as a head cold, he remained collected. All that mattered in the moment was that his love got better.

That’s what Richie would do for him now.

As Eddie turned to his side and his breathing evened, Richie covered the both of them with an extra blanket and held the cloth in place on his forehead so the boy he loved would sleep soundly.

#reddie #fever whump #illness whump #hurt/comfort

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theknightmarket · 11 months ago

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"Choke on it."

In which Dark finally helps the person he wronged. Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - AO3 TW: cursing, possibly abusive relationship, heavy violence, destruction of property Pages: 29 - Words: 11,500

[Requests: OPEN]

It was nearing midnight when your heartbeat finally calmed down. Not even setting foot into Mark’s apartment had been a relief, not when you were so close to toppling over the cliff of a heart attack. Your friend had yet to say a word since you got him out of the manor, and the distant expression on his face was little comfort. At least he still had a face. You didn’t want to know what that maniac would have done to him if you hadn’t come out of that bathroom in time.

Questions of that man swirled around in the forefront of your mind while your body acted on autopilot – Mark would have to settle for the sixteen-hours-on-set-in-summer protocol, which started with you laying him on the couch and getting two glasses of water. It was a good thing that you were used to this, too, because your focus was split between him, yourself, and the stranger.

You hated that. You hated that he distracted you from helping the person you cared about. You hated that the dozens of questions that plagued you like locusts refused to leave even as you retrieved the med-kit from a bathroom cabinet. Staring back into the mirror, you tried to fight them back, or redirect your attention to the present. The last hour didn’t matter, stopping your panic did.

Were you panicking? You couldn’t tell. When you tried to inspect yourself for injury, your eyes blurred your skin so much that you couldn’t differentiate between a shadow or a possible bruise. Didn’t matter. You knew that Mark was hurt. You could check yourself out afterwards.

He was exactly where you’d left him; lying on his back, spread longways on the couch in the living room. He didn’t look any more coherent than he did before. You didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

The inside of the med-kit was rammed full of miscellaneous equipment. There was a pack of unlabeled pills, some Advil, three rolls of gauze but no band-aids, a cloth, and a couple of bottles. The edges of the box were surprisingly battered, as if it had been thrown around in the moving truck. One of the latches was nearly falling off. Was it ironic to have a broken med-kit, or just stupid? Not that it really mattered all that much. It was still a container if the lid wasn’t on it all the way. Nobody was breaking in to get at your random assortment of drugs. Or maybe they were.

Eight minutes you had spent staring into the med-kit.

You struggled between trying to tether your mind to the present – the feeling of the microfiber smothered in disinfectant – and it escaping back into the wilderness of questions. It got lost in the bushes as you brought your hand to Mark’s head. You had propped him up at some point, or maybe he’d pushed himself to a sitting position, but that dazed look was still present.

That daze was broken when the chemicals leached into his cuts. There were multiple in the same place, as well as the bruises from that psycho’s fist, so it made sense to tend to those first. The hiss that shocked the air was an understandable response, and you were glad that it was that to take him out of the haziness.

“Hush,” you muttered, almost inaudible, “we don’t need this swelling and making your head any bigger than it already is.”

Starting bits wasn’t part of your protocol, but you couldn’t stop one from pushing past your lips. It only made you feel slightly guilty when Mark didn’t laugh, or even respond in any sense of the word. That hiss was the most brought out from him.

“That was a joke.”

The lack of band-aids meant you had to fetch some scissors from the kitchen and cut out a sizable square of the gauze, with a slightly bigger one of medical tape to go on top of it. Apparently, there wasmedical tape in the box, too. You shifted your attention to his jaw.

“That didn’t go to plan.”

You leaned back at Mark’s words. That much was obvious.

“No, I didn’t think it did. Can’t exactly base a ghost show off a living man beating the hell out of you.”

The spit of, “Living…” did not fly over your head, but you assumed it was just natural spite. He didn’t like his pride damaged, and being battered, even if it wasn’t life-threatening, wasn’t exactly a badge on his boy-scout sash.

You continued to pepper the disinfectant around the most important areas, pausing for Mark to take one of the known pills, and then resuming your care. This being Los Angeles, you weren’t a stranger to helping out with injuries, especially when shoots wrapped up late. This one, though, confused you more than a random alley mugging.

“What was that guy’s problem?” you asked as you cut up another gauze and tape.

“I’m sure he has plenty of them.”

“Was that place even abandoned?”

“Not exactly.”

You blinked. While you hadn’t been asking questions for no good reason, you didn’t expect an answer, especially not one that put you on guard. Not exactly. That wasn’t a promising response from the very person who had told you it was safe not four hours prior.

Your eyes narrowed. “Mark.”

He didn’t take a breath before he rushed to his own defense. “The studio said we were going to use it, so I took it upon myself to check it out. If we hadn’t, we might’ve encountered that man halfway through filming.”

That eased your suspicions somewhat, enough for you to wrap the last injury and pack up the med-kit. The look in his eyes was somewhere between pleading and self-justifying, so you let it go. It wouldn’t do you any good to pick a fight when the dinginess of the encounter was wearing off finally – you quite liked being able to think, thank you, and if that meant backing off from Mark for the day, you were fine with that.

So, sighing, you grabbed the kit and rose from the couch. His eyes trailed after you as you made your way back to the bathroom. “I guess so,” you said, rounding the coffee table, “just don’t make it a habit, yeah?” The light chuckle you heard calmed your heart some more. He seemed to be in good spirits after the whole ordeal, and you weren’t about to go breaking that. He’d get an earful from the makeup department the following day, so that took the lecturing off your plate, and you wanted time to think about everything before you launched into an argument. You wanted answers, something to back everything up if he got on the attack; getting the full picture normally disproved a lot of Mark’s points.

Your feet brought you to the edge of the hallway. You didn’t like planning for a fight, but, with Mark, they happened too often to let yourself be willingly vulnerable. It would have a better outcome for you if you weren’t in the dark.

Though, there were things that you still missed. For instance, Mark’s whispered words of a forewarning promise that slipped by you. “Trust me, pet.” He made himself more comfortable on the velvet cushions. “I already got exactly what I wanted.” Ever the dramatist, he knew nobody would hear him, but being able to say those words aloud, and for them to be true, was one of the most satisfying feelings in the world.

The clock in the kitchen read quarter past one when you were readying a meal for yourself. The last thing you ate before arriving at the manor had been a slice of pizza you’d scavenged from the tech room, and that gave you the smallest boost of energy you needed to get back to the apartment. Now that you were out of danger and had missed dinner, you were starving. Mark had gone to his room before you asked if he was hungry, so, while you had the oh-so-generous thought of waking him up to eat, you ignored it in favor of the oh-so-appealing thought of just throwing down whatever you wanted and then collapsing on your bed for the next eight hours.

You rifled through the cabinets and fridge until you came up with the basic ingredients needed for a sandwich. Simple, quick, and good enough that it would get you through the night. It required no cooking and barely any clean up!

Brushing your commercial thoughts away, you settled down on one of the stools and took a bite. You’d suspected it for a long time, but, in that moment, you made concrete the revelation that things always tasted better after the worst possible day, at the worst possible time, with the worst possible thoughts in your head. You almost bit your fingers clean in two with the distractions floating about – the questions flitting around your mind like a plague of locusts that refused to leave – but a solid taste brought you back to some modicum of awareness.

However, only those first few bites were satisfactory. What you had was an addict’s high, as stupid as it sounded in comparison to eating food, because as you filled your stomach, the thoughts strengthened. They poked and prodded and pulled, demanded that you pay attention to them, the one thing you steadfastly refused to do. You squeezed your eyes shut, no help, you opened them, and took the lesser of two evils by forcing them closed again.

The sink was directly in front of you.

Goddamnit.

The manor was fine to think about, right? It wouldn’t hurt any to reflect on the day. It was just a building. An old building, which housed a violent mania— it was just a building. As far as you could remember, you didn’t like reflecting on things. Being in the moment, as people called it, wasn’t how you liked to spend your time. You could be out doing things that mattered, and the past had already happened, so why bother devoting a second more to it? Despite that reasoning, you’d found yourself reflecting more and more recently.

Like a bad habit.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

You wrapped the sandwich in plastic, placed it in the fridge, and wandered off to the living room. Something to distract you, that was what you needed. A bad show or reruns of a movie that was seared into your memory from how many times you’d seen it already. Anything but the stillness and quietness and void that pulled you into thinking.

A laugh bubbled up from your throat when you let yourself fall onto the couch Mark had occupied before. Most people liked thinking. The pillows were still disheveled, more so after you launched them into the air. One landed on the floor next to your foot, but you didn’t pick it up, choosing instead to search for the remote between the seat cushions. It didn’t take long to find it, drudging up a couple coins, some string, and a whole leather wallet alongside the thing.

You brought a hand up to your face, and, with the other, clicked on the TV. Whatever was on already was fine, you were too tired to change it, or even listen to it. Making that sandwich really sapped your energy, it seemed, teasing you into an early food coma. What was the lightweight version for food? Was there one? Could you make one? You rubbed your eyes until they stung, and your mind fogged up with the pressure. Everything was falling in on you, all at once. A headache knocked at the edge of your brain, stirred on by your own merciless hand and a swarming static in your ears.

You groaned. Great. Amazing. Now the TV was breaking. You glared at it from the corner of your eye, but it didn’t right itself; the silvery sparks danced across the screen, repeating and reemerging from every corner. You saw them as you looked away and as you looked back. Just what you needed, more problems to add to your pile of issues you weren’t ready to fix. A yawn stretched your jaws open. Screw it, you’d deal with it in the morning. You had time. For the moment, you could just switch it off and ignore it all. Or, apparently, with your thumb jamming into the button, you couldn’t.

The universe hated you. The damn thing wouldn’t turn off, and the static was overwhelming you, and you were tired, and you couldn’t sleep with that thing next to you, and you figured you might as well wait out your demise on your comfortable bed. Huffing loud enough that you wondered if Mark had woken up, you tugged your body off the couch and pulled your legs to the edge of the room. You had to get out quickly or the fixing chore would soon be a replacing chore.

You resisted sprinting down the corridor away from the living room, but you compromised by glaring at everything that passed. The windows, the lights, the paintings. You flipped one of them off out of spite. You knew you were being petty, but did you care? Not really. No one was there to see you, you could make as many obscene and nonsensical gestures as you wanted, as long as they didn’t wake Mark, and you had gotten pretty good at keeping quiet.

As you trudged around a corner, you noticed how many paintings Mark had. You’d once spent an entire day off counting them, but he must have gotten more in the meantime – one, because he was Mark and everything did was over the top, and, two, because there were some you didn’t recognize.

You ran your hand along the frame of a winter wonderland, then crossed to a split-screen of a brilliant disco and a monochromatic office. The third one felt more homely; a painting of a Victorian living room so detailed it might as well have been a photograph. You stopped at the last one. In the row of four, this was the one that gave you pause, knocked you off your rhythm, made you feel ill. It was… nothing. Just a black canvas. Completely empty, like someone had made a mistake and dumped a bucket of the darkest paint they could find on top of it.

When you moved your head, you saw the light reflect off it, bringing your attention back to nothingness. You moved again. You missed it again. Whatever it was, it was giving you a headache, not that you would be free of one given that you could still hear the static from the television.

What were you doing?

Right.

Bed.

You’d have to avoid this hallway when you woke up. There were enough rooms that it was possible, and you were going to take full advantage of that. You were well aware that you could cut off an entire section of the house by going in a different direction – you had found that out when you avoided Mark for a day and got on just fine. It did take some watching through a crack in your door for when he'd leave his bedroom, which was helpfully stationed opposite yours, but it worked, and you were proud of it.

Speaking of your room, as you rounded another corner, you spotted your door. Relief washed over you at the thought of your comfy sheets and no more static. If you heard it inside, you might have just thrown yourself out the window and called it a day.

Fingers on the handle. Still there. Pushing the door open. Still there. One step forward taken. Still there. Another step. Still there. The door drifted closed behind you.

Thank fuck.

If you silently pumped your fist in the air, nobody knew. You trapped the static right outside, you were the goddamn winner, you deserved an award, you were really tired. Stumbling over to the foot of your bed, you gripped the edge of your shirt and fully debated just sleeping in your clothes, and you probably would have, had you not been distracted by the figure appearing in a swirl of smoke in your full-length mirror across from you.

Your body sprang into action, fists pulled up, legs steeled in the stance you’d seen in movies before. You could question why the maniac from the manor was in your mirror when you knocked his lights out, and you could wonder if that was possible after you tried.

He held his hands up placatingly. “Easy, easy!” he said, “I’m not here to fight.”

That didn’t stop you from moving closer, eyes narrowed at him. “Yeah? What are you here for then?”

“You.”

He spoke as if it were simple. As if you were supposed to know that already. And, somewhere in your gut, you thought that you did.

“I just want to explain.”

“Go on. Explain.”

His eyes flickered, leaving trails of red and blue in the sockets. For a moment, you were worried he was bleeding, but you didn’t care. Why would you care? Maybe you didn’t want a dead body in your mirror.

You frowned.

“I can’t do it here.”

Your frown deepened.

“Why not?”

“He’s nearby.” Considering it was only Mark and yourself in the entire house, you could guess who he was talking about. “Anything I say, he’ll use against me, and you, too. We can do this on a level playing field.” He stopped. Last time you had spoken, albeit less speaking and more yelling, he had seemed desperate. Angry, but desperate. He had pleaded with you, for something that he didn’t receive, and then he conceded. Earlier that day, you were able to leave the old manor with nary a glance over your shoulder or a thought to the man until you arrived home. Now, he was different. You didn’t know whether it was because there was a screen of glass protecting him, or because Mark was asleep, but he was collected. His words came out confident and calculated. You weren’t about to admit that you preferred it.

After nodding to himself, he tugged at the edge of his jacket. “The manor is still open; you can meet me there.”

“And that’s a level playing field, is it? Your home turf?”

“Going anywhere else would be much more complicated on my end, and I need to get this done as fast as possible. It’s urgent.”

It was urgent? It was urgent. Something stirred in you that whispered to bite back, to send a petty remark, but not one that was fit for the person who assaulted your friend. More as though he had taken the last donut at the studio, apologized, and then left. You didn’t need to be angry, it told you, you just had to joke back to break the tension.

“Please. We need to talk.”

Another pang. It was almost hurting now. You didn’t like it. It was all wrong. You didn’t know how, but it was wrong, and, in order to make it right, you had to accept.

Begrudgingly. Of course.

“Fine—” because he was dangerous, “—tomorrow morning—” and he was untrustworthy, “—the manor—” and he would definitely use you against Mark, “—we’ll talk.”

So, aware of all that, why did you almost copy his smile when it spread along his face. He was relieved. Normally, you weren’t a fan of being out of the loop, but you felt no reason to ask. What you did want to ask, however, was something much simpler.

“In return,” you said, “you could give me your name?”

“Ah, yes, I always forget that part.” He shifted on his feet, both hands springing to his jacket. “Dark. You can call me Dark.”

Although you wanted to tell him that his name was actually an adjective, you held back and just nodded. You could bully him in person tomorrow. More fun that way, and you could think about that instead of the fact that you were putting yourself in the path of a metaphorical rolling boulder.

Or the light chuckle that you let out when Dark said a quiet, “Thank you.”

Your new acquaintance disappeared in a puff of smoke, the kind you’d see in TV shows, but it didn’t seem that odd to you. You got over the strangeness of the whole ordeal quickly, which you supposed was a good thing – though, whether you got over it or were ignoring it was up to debate.

After pulling off your shirt and reaching for the nightwear thrown over the bed frame, you paused with the fabric in your hands. Did you have to tell Mark? You knew that you should, it was only right for him to know. You wouldn’t not go if he told you to, but he should have been aware of it. Shouldn’t he?

You vaguely registered sitting down before you were overwhelmed by indecision. On one hand, Mark was your friend. You trusted him, and going behind his back to, what, meet with his assaulter was unfair. On the other hand…

You just didn’t want to tell him. It was so simple that it made you feel sick. You had to keep this from him. He wouldn’t want you to go anyway, and, if nothing came of this little event, then it didn’t matter if you told him or not.

For once, in the life that you could remember, you decided that it would be better for Mark to not know, and you carried on your routine without a second thought to it.

It was cold outside the manor, but it was infinitely better than standing inside. Preparing with deep breaths and calming thoughts was going to be no use when you were standing in the maw. Better to do it on the gravel, where you could turn tail and run if you couldn’t do it. But – deep breath in, deep breath out – you knew you could do this.

The door swung open before your fist could come within an inch of the wood. It revealed the foyer, the staircase, the rubble, a room devoid of life. A glance around didn’t help its case. Whatever had caused the door to open didn’t stop you from stepping tentatively onto the floorboards, but the twin shivers racing up and down your back stopped you from moving any further. Paralyzed, you settled on calling out to the ancient manor’s walls.

“Hello?”

Your voice echoed. Not a creak or a crack to reply. You were somewhat surprised the little word hadn’t caused the place to collapse around you, but weirder things were happening to pay attention to it. Your gaze zoned in on the mirror at your side, like a moth drawn to a flame.

It was difficult to blink as you looked at yourself through it, harder to take your eyes off it than inspect every inch of the glass and frame. The wood had intricate designs that coiled up and over, disappearing behind the dusty reflection of the rest of the room. Instinctively, you brought a hand up to your cheek. It felt the same as it ever did, but that didn’t stop you from brushing a thumb over every pore and rough patch.

When you pulled yourself away, like removing your body from fly paper, you didn’t try to suppress another shiver. You could convince yourself it was from the cold of the manor, but that was undeniably a lie.

“Who’s pretentious enough to own a manor?” you muttered, stepping back into the middle of the foyer.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, shit—” You managed to not trip over your feet, but you whirled around far too quick to appear stable, “—don’t do that.”

Behind you, or now in front of you, stood none other than the man who had invited you here. Dark was still in the same outfit as when he’d shown up in your mirror; the black suit and white dress shirt, both uncreased and unwrinkled, even when he shifted his arms behind his back. The more you stared, the more you noticed, though you stopped at the faint red and blue lines that curled away from him. Weird.

Dark opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. “I apologize,” he said. “I… it’s nice to see you, under better circumstances than yesterday.”

“Attacking my friend isn’t a good start.”

He recoiled at your words, but which aspect was most appalling was lost on you. “That is what we need to talk about.”

“Well, you can start by apologizing again for hitting Mark in the jaw. It’s his best redeeming quality.”

“That I cannot do.”

“An even worse start.”

How was this supposed to work, then, if he refused to apologize for the simplest wrongdoing? And what even was this, anyway? Dark had managed to be both blunt and vague at the same time, leaving you gasping for breath in a sea of confusion. You didn’t know whether taking this seriously would help you, because Dark’s way of speaking to you didn’t give you anything to go off of that would let the few meaningful words have any weight.

“By the end of today, if all goes well, you’ll understand why I won’t.”

Ah, so you were here to forgive him. Great. Okay. And what did that achieve? You hated being in the dark more than you hated knowing painful truths, so you wanted to speed this along. He must’ve seen your restlessness, because he hastily ushered you towards the archway that connected the foyer to that kitchen. You tried not to look at the sink, but you still found yourself seated in the same stool as last time with Dark in the one next to you. A pair of teacups still steaming on the marble had you questioning how much he had planned this morning out.

“You’re gonna have to start explaining, I have no idea what any of… this is about.”

Dark cleared his throat while one hand reached to tug on his jacket. Your first thought was that he had a weapon, but it just appeared like a nervous habit. You paused as he thought through his words. It wasn’t natural for him. The way his hand moved to the side ever so slightly before it lunged for the fabric made you think it was a replacement, and not a good one.

An artificially calm tone brought you back, Dark asking, “Can you promise to believe me, if only for the duration of this talk?”

That was counter intuitive. If you agreed, then what was the point of being told at all? Blindly believing someone was never a good idea, you would know, and an insane stranger was not a good candidate for it – why would you know – really, this entire situation screamed trap, and his request made it clear that whatever he was going to tell you was too outlandish to be taken seriously.

You nodded, ignoring the sense of reason that you shoved further back in your mind by taking a sip of the tea.

The story that followed sounded exactly that; a story, crafted with rough hands that produced cracks and faults the kind that made it impossible to hold itself together. A shoddy job, which definitely made you regret promising to believe Dark, even before you were halfway through. Everything was convoluted and paradoxical. Not a single word of it made sense.

So, why were you nodding along with the sections, filling in the blanks yourself, and acting less surprised than if you heard the lady down the street had lost her fifth cat? Why did it make sense that you were, apparently, somehow, the shadowy leftovers of a 1920s district attorney, shot in the chest by a colonel – who was still around there, somewhere –, and left for dead by your current best friend, who was really a century old actor? Oh, but don’t forget that the man sitting in front of you was three spirits, two of which were your childhood friends of a seer and the goddamn mayor, inhabiting your body after they trapped you in the mirror that you had seen when walking in.

You wanted to not believe it, so badly.

Dark watched you placed the cup back on the countertop. You weren’t angry, that was good news, but you hadn’t said anything since he’d began to talk. He was familiar with the old adage that ‘no news was good news’, but the silence made his throat dry, and his breath escape him shakily. Back to square one, looking at you as he hoped you would say anything, please.

You cleared your throat, and then said, “Except I can’t remember any of this. How does that fit?”

Dark’s shoulders lowered. Your tone wasn’t condescending, and it genuinely sounded like a question. Only, it was one he couldn’t satisfyingly answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I was hoping you would be able to fill me in on that.”

“Do you have any physical proof that this happened?”

“Not as such.”

“Any witnesses?”

“None who would make it any more believable.”

“Right, then.”

With that, you rose from your seat, pushing the teacup away from the edge, and moved your gaze from his. Panic crossed out any other thought in Dark’s brain. You couldn’t leave now. You’d be going back to Mark, and he’d never have a chance of helping you again. You’d be stuck, and he’d have failed, and everything would continue to be wrong.

“Come on.”

What?

Your shoes unmoving on the tiles of the kitchen, you looked down at Dark. The movement of your head indicated you wanted him to follow. But weren’t you leaving?

He brushed himself off as he got to his own feet. “Where are we going?”

You spoke as you began to lead him back to the foyer, though you stayed well away from the front door. “If what you’re saying is correct,” you started, “and my friend has been lying to me for three months, and I’m really the—” you found it difficult to keep the laugh out of your voice, “—what, ghost, reincarnation, of a district attorney who died one hundred years ago… then we’re gonna see if we can’t recover some memories through good ol’ exposure therapy.”

You didn’t remember the layout of the manor, but the way you moved, hurled yourself around the banister, walked backwards up the first few steps of the staircase, certainly made it seem like you did. Like this was all natural to you. Dark hoped it was, even if it were just muscle memory, because that gave you a chance. It gave him a chance.

Hope was a hard thing for him. Frustratingly intangible and always disappearing at the last moment. However, as Dark inspected your face for deceit, he thought that, maybe, hope was something he could hold onto, if only for the rest of the day. There was something familiar in your eyes. It wasn’t the same as the 1920s, but neither was Dark, and he would find no comfort in something from the time he hadn’t participated in. That would be for Damien, or Celine, or the extra entity. The risky flame in the color that flirted with the paper white around it was just for him.

He placed his hand next to yours on the end of the banister and followed you up to the first floor.

This was proving more difficult than he had thought. For the past three hours, Dark had taken you around the manor – a tour through the most valuable places that might contribute to your memories. The office that housed Abe’s suspect board was a bust, but that was never going to be of any help to anyone. The room you had slept in on the night of the party yielded no results, save for your tripping over a loose floorboard that Dark had to right you from. Both the master and the other normal bedrooms were useless. Peeling out of the last room, he was gradually losing confidence in this not being another wasted venture.

That meant he had to think of the consequences. You couldn’t keep living with Mark but getting you to understand the danger you were putting yourself in was the only way of convincing you. It wasn’t as though anyone else in the manor was going to help. Benjamin was still annoyed about his kitchen and Wilford was—

Coming down the hallway.

His hopes dampened further.

“Oh, hello! Fancy seeing you here!”

The newcomer was a sight, to sum it up. Dressed entirely in pink and yellow, practically candy-coated, and oozing a manic aura that made you take a step back. He didn’t seem to take offence, too caught up in seeing you, apparently, again.

“Hello?” you spoke carefully.

The stranger moved closer, past Dark and past the door you had just come from, to walk around you, as though you were a zoo animal to gawk at.

“In the flesh, too.” His whistle was punctuated by a poke in between your ribs. You didn’t try to keep still, and, instead, slapped at his hand and crossed another over your stomach to protect as much surface area as you could. “I thought it’d take more to get you back, but I should have had more faith in our friend here, eh?”

Our friend? Well, whoever this was, he was involved in the events that you’d forgotten, but further judgement made it clear he was going to be just as vague as Dark in giving you information, if not more with a flair for the dramatic. A fluorescent pink moustache wasn’t the style of a straight-lace guy.

He came to a stop from his shark-esque circling next to Dark. “Though, really, I did not expect to see you with Mark.”

“And why would that be?”

He huffed and the hairs of his mustache shifted slightly. “From our last chat, between the two of us, I’d say I was the more sympathetic to him. Don’t tell me your flame’s gone out.”

The issue with having moved from where you had been standing before was that you were now trapped between the end of the hallway and the wall. It gave you no space to get away from the man who was now leaning in closer. The melodramatic attitude sapped away, exchanged for something more threatening.

And then he was gone. Not disappeared but planted further down the corridor than he could have moved in the second you took to notice. Creepy, but you preferred it to his invasion of personal space.

“Ah, no matter,” he announced, hands on hips, looking quite sure of himself, “it won’t take much to stoke that fire. You’ll be right as rain in no time, as long as Dark does his job right—” the wink he tossed was met with furrowed eyebrows, “—and I trust that he will.”

He patted Dark on the shoulder once, firmly, decisively, before spinning on his heel and marching back down where he had come from. That left just you and Dark, yourself staring at the retreating haze of color, and the latter looking anywhere but.

“That’s one of the witnesses?” you guessed.

“Correct.”

You barely took a breath before you replied, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

While you processed the new not-stranger, Dark carded a hand through his hair. He knew he looked disheveled but what else was new? He hadn’t been anything else since you had been taken, and now that you had returned, he was even more unstable than before. This effort to restore your lost memories was taking a larger toll on him than he would admit, especially when he had already reached the last resort.

The last resort, which he had conveniently forgotten was completely destroyed.

You whistled as you set foot through the library’s door, Dark’s face dropping behind you into a grimace that you missed when you walked forward. The toppled shelves and collapsed desk were all pushed to the side, as if to make way for the whirlpool of pages and books and bindings. Seeing the mess that he’d made sent another pang of regret through him to his core, but you were not deterred, likely because you didn’t know it was the man behind you who had created it.

You stepped carefully over a pile of the healthiest books and proceeded into the centre of the ring. From what you could glean of the covers, a lot of them were faux journals, framed as entries into some magical cyclopedia, while others were playscripts. You stumbled over a collection of Shakespeare’s tragedies but landed with a curse on spirit interaction guide. In a situation like this, you had no clue where to start, so you just dropped to the ground in a crouch and started rifling through the legible documents. At one wall of the library, Dark followed suit, scanning the higher up books for a hint of something to help you.

Ten minutes passed. Nothing. Thirty passed. Nothing. An hour passed. Nothing. Two hours passed. Nothing.

Dark prided himself on his ability to plan. He would map out every possibility and consequence of those possibilities in his mind and react accordingly. It helped in keeping people away from the manor and, although it had slipped in recent months, keep an eye on Mark.

Yet, certainly because of you, those plans were thrown out of the window and into a smoldering pit where they burned to a crisp. It was something about you that threw him off but let Mark keep afloat. His plan to recover your memories, foiled by either Mark or you or even himself. Nothing was working how it should, like it used to, and the only different component was you.

You lodged a spanner in the works and tore down the front Dark had managed to painstakingly construct of power and order.

Now, he was just some fool, searching through empty bookshelves for optimism and forcing the stress and the anger to the forefront to avoid thinking about why you had such an effect on him. Coming up empty after another half hour of skimming page after page only added fuel to the fire.

And all of that wasted time had no effect on you. You had returned to your spot in the middle of the library after searching in an arc for nothing in particular. He’d watched you out of the corner of his eye as you waved a hand over the viable covers or browsed the exposed pages for a line to give you any strong emotion. You’d even picked one up and laughed to yourself about a recipe’s annotation. How you were getting enjoyment out of this was beyond Dark. Hell, how you were still going with that slight grin on your face had him questioning whether you were taking this seriously.

He could only hope you were. For both your sakes. If he lost to Mark again, he didn’t know what he would do.

But he couldn’t let himself worry. Worrying would damage the dam he had set up to keep the emotional side of him away. He could worry after you were safe. For now, he would have to be stressed if he wanted to get anywhere. Dark forced himself to keep moving.

You were surprised to see Dark stepping away from the shelf – he hadn’t moved an inch in the last twenty minutes – and that surprise strengthened when you realized he was moving towards the door. Quite quickly, in fact. You narrowly missed tripping on one of the books in your effort to chase after him.

“Why isn’t anything working?” he muttered to himself, rushing in the direction of the staircase. You caught up with him as he rounded onto the first step, skidding to a stop against the dusty carpet. Dark was at the bottom before you could think to descend, and then he was turning the corner just as you reached the last step.

You were halfway to winded when you wound up next to him. Back in the foyer, back near the front door, back near the mirror, which he was staring very intently at, like the answer to his problems should have been written on his forehead. You didn’t stop the light chuckle at the thought from escaping you, going so far into the bit as to follow his line of sight.

Your throat dried up and your breathing froze inside. Every inch of your skin went numb to the outside, but you felt the blood course against the surface and your organs churn. Heart batting a dozen against the cage of your ribs. Mind focusing every conscious and unconscious thought onto the image inside the mirror. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Dark. It was something else. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to look away. Neither of those you followed through with.

Against the backdrop of a void laid a body as clear as daylight, but, god, did you want it to be shrouded in darkness. The flesh was pouring off the bone, melting eyeballs staring right at you, taunting you, and the smirk of chipped lips from a face turned almost 180 degrees. A red robe molded itself into the divots and dips that the caved in skin left, making it difficult to discern between the crimson fabric or blood. The stuff pooled around his head to create a sick halo.

“Anything?”

You couldn’t talk. All of the breath was knocked out of you, stolen by the exotic corpse. Its smile grew wider.

“This was a horrible idea.” You barely registered Dark’s sigh. “Can you give me anything at all?”

You snapped your head to face him and immediately shivered. Stiffly, you replied, “Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t invite myself here.”

After taking a breath in and letting it out, you risked a glance back. Gone. Gone? The body was gone.

“You say that like you don’t care.”

A voice whispered to you that this was, indeed, a horrible idea. You shouldn’t have come at all. You should have brushed Dark’s appearance in your mirror off as the product of an adrenaline high, or simply a dream. It would have been better than this.

Dark took your silence for resignation, to which he took offence. “If I’m correct,” he practically spat, “you are living with a murderer.”

“And that’s a very heavy if. Mark’s my friend.”

“He’s not your friend.”

“Because I can trust the person who I watched try to kill him.”

Stop. Slow down. Don’t do this. It was happening again. You were getting into an argument when more important things were at stake.

“Look at me,” Dark spoke, trying to be as calm as he could manage, “tell me I look like some maniac who would attack someone with no reason.”

And look you did. Up and down, you inspected him. While he was right, he didn’t look like he’d assault someone for kicks, you couldn’t admit it. Because then you would have to admit that Mark was not who he said he was, and that you had to take this seriously.

All you could muster up was a faint, “People do things for so many reasons.”

Dark could tell you didn’t believe that. Your sentiment didn’t meet your eyes, and he’d spent long enough looking into them that he knew when you were genuine. “Then give me my motive,” he offered. “If not for revenge, why did I harm him.”

“Oh, who knows!” The hiss came out stronger than you thought it would. “It’s not as though you’ve been trying to convince me I’m a dead attorney for the last four hours. Give me some leeway here.”

“We don’t have time for a casual stroll down memory lane, you could be in danger.” In fact, he knew you were. You just needed to see that.

“It’s Los Angeles, it’s impossible to be safe.”

“Stop making light of this.” The command was stern and offered no alternatives, but he knew that had never stopped you before. “He murdered our friends, he left you for dead, he trapped you in a void—”

“He got me out!”

Who did Dark think he was? Barging into your life and taking away those happy moments that were the only things keeping you going, ruining the treasured feeling of sun on your skin and wind in your hair and the ability to walk ten paces to the left without seeing a dead body in your peripheral! He thought that it would be such a good idea to drag you back to the darkness. And you almost let him. You agreed to go along with it and go on a wild goose chase for something you doubted would even matter, because you couldn’t have this life without Mark. Being free meant being with Mark, and you knew it wasn’t true freedom, but the alternative was going back to that mirror.

Although you had only said four words, you were knocked breathless. Dark was similarly surprised, mimicking the shock on your face before it broke apart, half eager, half pained.

“I said you acted like a child, that you were being selfish.”

“You stole my body.” You wanted time to think about this, you tried to stop the response from shooting out, but you couldn’t.

“I minimized your suffering to explain my actions.”

“I was stuck in complete darkness.” The taste of metal spread in your mouth.

“I stayed away for three days after that.”

“I kept seeing Mark’s corpse.” You didn’t understand what you were saying, like the thoughts were coming from someone else and you were just acting as a conduit. But they felt right. They made sense, even if they didn’t to you.

Dark’s breath became labored at his final admission. “And I never got you out.”

“You left me for one hundred years.”

You both came to a stop. Cars going too fast that crashed into the same wall. Flames danced in your eyes, and wreckage collapsed in Dark’s. Tears trailed onto your chin, carving out the shape of a snarl, but you paid it no mind. You were caught, face to face, with this stranger. According to your statements, you should’ve despised him, if they were all true, but, now that you’d slowed down, there was something else. The accusations told you Dark was cruel, and yet the emotions behind them whispered otherwise. You cared for the monster, somehow, you cared for the man who had abandoned you. Mark might had left you to die, but Dark left you in your death. You didn’t know what to do about that, because your muscles spasmed against your brain that held them back from reaching out for him.

You didn’t know everything yet. Some of the most important memories were still trapped, and Dark knew how to unlock them.

He was running towards his office before either side could win you over.

“Oh, you are not leaving again!” Your yell echoed after him, following your shadow on the ruined wallpaper up to the first floor. Wherever he was going, you were going, too.

Although, he didn’t go far. You caught the edge of the door before it could close behind him and stalked into the office. Everything was so pristine compared to Dark, who was bathed in the streaks of bright light from the window. He looked almost ethereal. You knew he was no human, but it was undeniable now.

You stopped moving when you were a few steps away from Dark. He wouldn’t be able to get back out the door, but he clearly had no plans. Instead, he had pulled open one of the draws of his desk and was keenly searching it, with more vigor than in the library.

A book was pushed into your grip within seconds. Your skin burned against the cover, though Dark’s hands on the other end prevented you from dropping it. You couldn’t help the fearful look you shot him, your own hands shaking and words crumbling in your throat. You only managed a meek, “What?”

A gentle smile and the book cupped in your hands were all you were offered, but you still took a breath. It was just a book. Why did it hold so much weight?

“Go on.”

Damn it. Damn it. The soft look in Dark’s eyes, his encouraging smile, damn it. You had called him a monster, but he had gone so far to help you, and now, after you insulted him over and over, he was being kind to you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or sob.

You settled for opening the book to the first page.

Immediately, you were greeted by a sight you were all too familiar with. No memories from months ago were needed to recognize the signature on the white paper, you’d seen the thing just a few days ago when Mark had signed off on a year-long contract. A dramatic, emboldening crimson was the only difference. The flourish at the end like a blood splatter made your stomach churn.

The cold didn’t seem to affect you as much anymore. You were still aware of it, of course, but you got better at accepting that it was there. A long time ago, you had tried to exercise to generate your own heat, but this was better. Everything was better. You both hated and loved that it was. On one hand, it had taken a century to get to this point. The loneliness and fear had no reason to it anymore. But, on the other hand, it was over, even if its happening didn’t matter. You knew why it was better, too.

Dark’s arrival was a miracle. Behind the teasing and the pettiness, you were truly grateful to him for showing up – you could have done without the wait, but better late than never. You would admit that there was a tipping point when you stood on the cliff and looked over the edge into that ‘never’. You had been so close to taking the leap and letting go of everything. Lucky for you, the years of waiting strangled your perception of time, meaning the days you took to decide weren’t the seconds it could have been. And, even luckier, it was during those days that Dark chose to talk to you.

You didn’t get to the bottom of what he wanted, but you didn’t care anymore. The warmth that flooded you was enough that the need to know didn’t bite at you like it normally would.

You were happy. What a weird thing to say. You liked it.

With your nine o’clock soirees becoming habit, you were able to handle the void better. The aforementioned cold, the darkness, the body. Hell, you even risked a look in your peripheral just to show it that you could get better, and that you had and—

No. No, no, no, no, please, no.

“Hello, darling.”

The body was standing, but it wasn’t just a body anymore, because it wasn’t that same body. Frozen exactly how you were, you were able to see the corpse on the ground, splayed out just as it was before, but it was rotting. The more pristine duplicate was not wearing the robe, and it wasn’t snapped at an odd angle. No, this one was decorated like an alter to a forgotten god, sporting a red jacket, black tap shoes and a damnable smirk that made you want to throw up.

The Devil wore a suit and tie, after all.

You stumbled back in a blind panic, back to the mirror that you had been staring out of. “No, no, you do not get to do this, not now!”

Mark laughed. “If I knew I was going to get this reaction, I would have come a lot earlier.”

Your order unheard, you resorted to the only thing that you could trust in the void, though you had to get closer first. You braved every step you forced your body to take and swung at his jaw. Miss. The spot you would have landed on was empty, and, next to you, a puff of smoke revealed him again.

“Now, now, none of that.” You moved to get as far away from as possible while he teased. “Fisticuffs aren’t my forté. I came here to bargain.”

“Yeah? And what could you give me that’ll stop me giving you another broken neck.” Make him match the shell he left behind.

His command of the void got under your skin and made your blood boil. Celine may have worked in the dark arts, but at least she knew when to stop. Meanwhile, Mark took all the power he could get, and then some more. He disappeared and then reappeared again behind you in whirls of shadow.

His breath fluttered against your neck, as he whispered, “Freedom.”

You spun around to see him further than he was supposed to be.

“That got your attention.”

Bartering with this demon was a terrible idea. It was the worst-case scenario, the bottom of the barrel, but there you were, standing before him and asking, “What do you want for it?”

“Oh, just a small thing. You’d barely notice it’s gone.”

“You’re a dramatic bitch, Mark, just spit it out.”

“Okay, here’s the deal—” you hated that he was so prepared for your attitude, “—I will let you out of this mirror, if you promise to come with me and stay with me, willingly.”

Sneaky bastard. It was like dealing with the fae; you needed to know every term and phrasing of a contract to agree with it, or you’d be giving up more than you thought.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you spoke. “What do you get out of this?”

His hand leaped to his chest, and he recoiled. You, meanwhile, didn’t try to keep your eyes still. “You don’t believe I can do this out of the kindness of my heart?"

“I don’t believe you have a heart.” He still didn’t look actually offended, although it played it up as such. Redirecting your gaze, you sighed, “You said a bargain.”

“I’ll get the smallest bit of revenge. That’s all.”

A man like Mark had to be in tune with everything around him to get where he was. Every action and every emotion were things he had to be able to sense, in order to use them to his advantage. Playing on your hesitation was child’s play.

“You can feel the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair. You can talk to people with no connection to your death.” That word sent knives through your chest and needles through your brain, as though your body was trying to reject the notion that it shouldn’t be functioning anymore. Still in the denial phase, after one hundred years.

You were on the edge of accepting. Mark could see it in your body language. Your attempt to broaden your shoulders and make yourself look intimidating was hindered by your worry – and when you tried to make eye-contact with him, you missed. So, he surmised, you just needed a little push.

A step and he was close to you. That shark’s grin widened when you didn’t move away. “You can live.”

“I just have to do that in your presence.”

“Is that so much to ask?”

It was. It was so much to ask because, and you reminded yourself as you stared at his outstretched hand, Mark was the one that prompted your death in the first place. Without him, you would have died of old age or in a boating accident or robbery gone bad or something other than this horrid immortality. You would have had an actual life.

And you wouldn’t have to sacrifice the one you are being offered.

“Do we have a deal?”

The Devil wore a suit and tie, indeed.

You would do it, take the new life and use it wisely. As soon as he finished doing whatever meant you could leave, you would take revenge on him, instead, for yourself, for Dark, for all the victims of this bloodied monster. And once he was dead, you would return to the manor, find Dark and… you weren’t quite sure what you would do then, but it was an appealing enough fantasy that you suffered through Mark’s frigid touch to take his hand.

Up, down. The deal was done. Nothing had changed, but a burst of confidence washed over you, allowing you to pull Mark forward and grab at his jacket’s collar. “The moment I am out of this mirror, I am going to cave your face in.”

Your snarl met a smirk. “I can’t wait.”

Slowly, he leaned down and brought your clasped hand to his lips. If you had more time, you might’ve killed him right there and then, but the explosion of smoke and ash whisked you away before you could. The cage, for once, was missing its prisoner, and the warden stood inside. He was proud of himself for tricking you – you had been a force to reckon with back in your prime. He’d seen you argue a case with just a few loopholes to go off of in court. However, your skills had waned in the years of disuse; you hadn’t even caught the cold terms of the agreement. It made him sigh a breath of relief that you hadn’t asked what you’d be missing, and the little thing that you wouldn’t notice was gone were your memories. He didn’t lie, after all, not that you would remember the trick he had pulled.

Good. The first step in his plan was an undeniable success. With the other hand to the one you had held, Mark withdrew a calligraphy pen from his jacket and turned towards the mirror screen, underneath which laid a single, old book.

You were sobbing when you came to. Clutching the dampened pages of the book, your book, ‘The Lady in the Lake’, your heart thundered against your ribs harder than it had before. The restriction in your throat compelled more tears, to the point that the ink on the paper disappeared into mush. You ruined it. You’d ruined everything. It was all your fault.

“You’re okay,” someone whispered in your ear. You registered the pressure on your shoulders before you met Dark’s eyes. You cried harder. Regret, shame, a terrifying horror filled you; you had hurt him, emotionally and physically, and sided with Mark to do it. Could he ever forgive you? You assumed he hadn’t considered anything yet, given how he spoke to you in such a soft tone. “It’s all okay.”

“Dark, I—” The words choked themselves in your throat. How could you explain yourself, you couldn’t just say you had a plan. It was a foolish plan, anyway, it didn’t deserve the strain it would take to convey it.

But Dark didn’t care. His hands tightened on your shoulders, eyes fluttering around your face like he couldn’t believe you were you again. “I know, I know, I know. You’re safe now.”

You believed him. You believed him more than you believed yourself right now. You should have trusted him from the very beginning, but you hadn’t, and now you were here, collapsed on the floor of his office and lunging to do the thing you had wanted to before you were taken.

Dark was a lot firmer than you had imagined him to be. You half expected him to disappear into smoke underneath your touch, but he stayed put, letting you wrap your arms around him and just hug him. The fabric of his suit was a comfort, but his neck against yours as you buried your head into his shoulder made you want to never let go. You had yet to bask in the ability to touch, too caught up with fully being conscious with Dark for the first time in months. You shifted, barely, when you felt his own hands come up to grip at your shoulder blades, the most comfortable position so that you could continue for as long as you wanted without losing feeling in any of your limbs.

If you were to ask him after the fact, after the two of you had separated and looked each other in the eyes again, Dark would deny the tears that formed at the bottom of his eyes, but he would gladly confirm the way you made him feel. Loved. Simple as that.

“I’m sorry, Dark, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, using one hand to try and fix his hair, “I thought, I thought I could… I’m so sorry.” Trying to explain it would only cause you to choke up again, so you were grateful for Dark’s ability to just nod, mutter that he understood, and attempt to correct your collar.

A wet laugh bubbled up. You could have really used a mirror.

You didn’t think you could look at another mirror ever again. After being trapped for so long, you’d take your chances looking like the corpse you were supposed to be.

But speaking of corpses…

Gingerly, you got up from the ground and put a hand out for Dark. He gladly took it, hoisting himself to his feet, and following your example of brushing yourself off. You were tired, after all this, but a good sleep was third on your list. First of all was the mission of finding and dealing with Mark.

You took Dark’s hand again after his go-ahead, grinning as though you had just won the lottery.

“Let’s go make good on my promise.”

If you had it your way, you would have picked up some gasoline and matches on the way back to Mark’s house, but an agreement with Dark meant that you were going to face him immediately. You supposed this was better. You hadn’t thought through the implications of brutalizing a popular actor, who, in the eyes of his coworkers, was self-centered but not evil. It put a damper on your mood to know that you couldn’t outright kill him, but it worked to stabilize you enough to come up with a plan. You could go in, beat Mark with your bare hands, stage a home invasion, leave a little of your blood, and then leave with your pride and dignity intact.

Mark being the only witness would be helpful, and he couldn’t rightly tell the truth about the situation. No, he’d have to come up with something new, and that would give you the time you needed to come up with more plans. You knew just the person who would be eager to help with that.

That was exactly why, not half an hour after you’d left the manor, you were again greeted by Dark in the entrance hallway’s mirror of Mark’s home. This time, you were able to appreciate the irony of seeing him behind a screen of glass, but you weren’t overjoyed to see it, like how you imagined you would be months prior. Instead, you shot him a smile and a wave and moved towards Mark’s bedroom.

Kicking down the door was fun, you had to admit. Seeing Mark’s shocked face was better.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, “I was worried when you weren’t in your room, I thought—”

“Shut up.”

God, that felt good! And Mark looked dismayed to hear you say it before his expression melted into fear at your approach. He stumbled up from his seat at his vanity. Helpful. It was easier to swing your first into his jaw, landing directly onto the spot Dark had hit before, to which he released a pained yelp and curse. You didn’t give him the chance to take a breath, shoving him into the wall and taking a mirror down with him. Deserved him right for owning so many.

“W-woah, pet,” your fists ached to hit him again, “think about what you’re doing.”

For a brief moment, as you lifted Mark by his collar, you felt bad. Not for Mark, no, but because it was so similar to what you had done to Dark. When you hadn’t realized who he was, when you had fought on Mark’s behalf. The monster you were risking touching earned everything you were going to do to him.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it, and I have never been more confident in my decision.” A manic grin split the bottom of your face in two. “I said I was going to cave your face in, Mark. Took a bit longer than I’d have liked but, y’know, we work with what we have.”

He tried to smile, but the shock of pain from his jaw stopped him, leaving him to cough out a laugh. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Hmm, go ahead, then.”

His silence was the best noise you’d heard.

“Turns out explaining isn’t your forté, either.”

Unblemished skin bruised like a peach every time you landed a hit. No blood, only blooming violets telling you what had happened. You lost ten minutes to that haze. Repeated punches and kicks where you could fit them in, the temptation of using a weapon the only thing you were aware of when you had to brush it off. It was when you knocked Mark into leaning against his vanity that you slowed down. Huffing and puffing, you reeled back your fist, then stopped.

He looked awful. He deserved to look awful. That wasn’t what had you pausing and lowering your clenched hand.

It was the sight of Dark in the fitted mirror. He was watching you; you had known that since you started, but he didn’t look happy. Conflict, if you had to label it, a war waged between a two parts of him. One that encouraged the fire, the flame, the inferno of bloodthirst propelling you forward in this unfair fight – and another that just wanted it all to be over, so that you could return home and you could start to live without Mark. On the outside, Dark looked cold. You liked that less than the soft, caring side you’d been shown before.

You gaze trailed downwards, to the monster that you’d been using your anger against. There wasn’t a spot you hadn’t damaged, nor a bone you hadn’t knocked. You were sure you had broken one of his ribs sometime in that fog. He was breathing at the same rate you were, forcing you to steady yourself and get back to a better rate.

Rubbing a hand on your shirt, you glanced around the room. It was destroyed enough, you only needed to shatter a window to sell the story of an invasion, done so in quick fashion with your shoe.

A look back to the vanity, you saw a beaten Mark, and Dark behind him, looking pleasantly surprised.

You walked slowly towards the door, crushing mirror shards underneath your feet.

“We had a deal.”

The choked reminder of a dying god.

“Choke on it.”

And you, a happy heretic, gathered the few sentimentals you had gained during your time there and collected them in a rucksack.

“Could you come back to the manor now?” Dark asked from the void of the mirror in your room. “We have matters to discuss.”

“We sure do.”

Your smile wasn’t as manic as it had been before. It settled more comfortably on your face; it suited you better. You were sure you would keep it for years to come if you stayed by Dark’s side, and, as you set off to return to the manor, you were reminded of the second point on your list.

You were going to admit every feeling you’d ever had for Dark.

[I was hoping to post this yesterday, but better late than never, eh? In all seriousness, thank you for reading, thank you for supporting, and I hope to see you guys in the next - and, hopefully, final - part that will be major fluff. Of course, there's going to be some angst, because I'm writing this, but it will be as wholesome as I can physically make it!]

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Here's another WTH House that looks like it could be another failed Airbnb for sale. Thanks to Curieously for submitting this 1900 cottage in Minneapolis, Minnesota that also refuses to give its address. 3bds, 2ba, $339,900.

As you enter the sunporch, you notice that unlike the exterior trim, it's painted magenta to match the curious tub & umbrella in the corner.

Next, enter a gold foyer.

In the sitting room is a peculiar assortment of chairs with footstools. Also note the one long strand on the ceiling fixture.

In the very magenta dining room is a table that looks like a cross between a surfboard and an ironing board surrounded by more miscellaneous stools. (I don't know about you, but I find this a little weird.)

The kitchen, however, is a contrasting stark sterile white. Boom.

When I first saw the floating toilet paper holder, I thought that you had to pee in the tub, but then I realized that maybe the toilet is across from it and you have to do a "boarding house reach" to get it.

Okay, this has to be an Airbnb. Look at the claustrophobic 3 tier bunk in another magenta room with a view of the kitchen.

So, here we are on the 2nd fl. landing.

Why do they like little lamps on high cabinets? This one is connected by a wire that guests can trip over. More magenta, but this time combined with diaper diarrhea green and teal.

This room has a bed so close to the ceiling, I would hit my head, just to accommodate a little reading nook.

Office. I don't think that those are the files of all the guests. Can't be.

The patio is kind of depressing. Definitely another Airbnb for sale.

#airbnb for sale #houses #house tours #home tour #submissions #WTH House

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magicshopaholic · 1 year ago

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Near Misses

Summary: Five minutes and a near miss each, Jimin and Hoseok help two ladies in their lives set up their apartment.

Pairing: Jimin x OC, Hoseok x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Exes, brother's best friend; humour, banter, flirting

Word count: 4.2 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, kissing, references to alcohol

A/N: Takes place about three months after New Year's Eve Eve and two months after Kiss and Tell.

Tagging: @bbl32@quarter-life-crisis2@meirkive@faearchives@margopinkerton@dreaming-with-happiness@confessionsofamarshlily@jiminjhang@xjoonchildx@tarahardcore@infinitehobi@handfullofcandids@purpleseoul7

Listen to: "simple song" by the shins

jimin masterlist | hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

“Think fast!”

Jimin whips around and catches the object just before it hits him.

“What the hell?” He examines the thing in his hand. “Sooah, I could’ve died.”

“Getting hit with a coaster? Try again, Park Jimin.”

Jimin huffs and places the coaster with the rest of the set in its stand and lines it on the coffee table. “You could be a little more grateful for my help, you know?”

Sooah chuckles, not looking up from the cardboard box she’s rummaging through. “Help? You’ve spent the last half hour critiquing every aspect of my living room.”

“Isn’t that helping?”

“Not quite. I like my living room.”

“It’s cluttered.” He gingerly picks up the quilt on the edge of her sofa. “And… mismatched. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“No, I think it’s charming.”

“It’s messy.”

“So are you.” She smiles innocently at him.

“Fine, we get it. You like messy things,” he says nonchalantly, grinning and catching a stuffed toy she throws at him. “And you have a lot of crap. Sooah, this is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he informs her, holding up the stuffed white cat.

“It has lost a lot of its allure,” she admits. “Fine, I can throw that out. I wouldn’t even know where to keep it.”

Jimin frowns. “Why are you unpacking, anyway? Isn’t Chaeyoung the one moving in?”

“Yeah, but I figured she’ll need some room for her stuff in the living room, too.” Sooah stands up and surveys the small space, hands on her hips. “And it’s a good enough reason to do some spring cleaning after a while. Apparently I have a lot of crap,” she adds.

“Kudos to Chae, then.” Jimin sits on the floor and leans back against the coffee table as Sooah tosses the empty cardboard box to the side. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Taking a shower, I think,” she answers, pulling an entire drawer out of a cabinet and rummaging through it. “She spent most of the morning sweeping and cleaning her room.”

“Are you sure you can do the roommate thing again?” Jimin asks curiously, watching as she holds up two sets of miscellaneous chargers. Her hair is tied back but loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail. Her cheeks look pleasantly chubby and flushed; in the absence of any make-up, he can almost imagine the tiny, almost invisible smattering of freckles on her cheeks.

“Sure, why not?”

“You’ve lived alone for a while. Speaking from experience, having roommates requires a lot of sacrifice,” he says wisely.

Sooah sighs and looks up at him. “Are you going to complain about Taehyung and Jungkook finishing the last piece of hoppang again? It was three years ago, Jimin. Move on.”

“I said it was mine but they still - no.” He takes a deep breath. “Not again. I just meant that I thought you liked living alone.”

“I don’t hate it,” she agrees, going back to the drawer. “But I don’t hate having to split rent either. Plus, if I’m being honest, it’s been getting a bit lonely here lately,” she admits.

Jimin frowns. “Really?” When she simply shrugs, he bites his lip. “Why haven’t you ever called me when you’re lonely?”

It takes her a moment to meet his eyes but when she does, he’s surprised to see she’s suppressing a smile.

“That’s sweet, but… it’s not the kind of loneliness you’ve helped me out with in the past,” she ventures.

He narrows his eyes. “Wow. I’m just a hot piece of ass to you, aren’t I?”

Sooah laughs. “Your words, not mine.”

“So what kind of loneliness is Chaeyoung going to help you out with?” he demands, standing up and folding his arms across his chest. “What does she have that I don’t?”

“You really want an answer to that question?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Chae, with her wise words and cute pajamas?”

“Oh, I get it. She’s better at sleepovers. Mixing fruity cocktails and shelling out advice about the horrible men you work with. I’m sure you follow that up with the pillow fights in your underwear.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Chim, but girls don’t actually do that.”

Jimin clutches his chest in mock-agony. “You’re breaking my teenage boy heart.”

“It’s survived worse,” she says nonchalantly, chucking two broken halves of a candle into a trash bag.

“Chaeyoung must be a hell of a roommate if you don’t even get the pillow fights out of it,” he remarks, picking up a stray cushion and hugging it. “Or you must be the super roommate for her to snag the room the day after you decided to rent it out.”

“Actually, I asked her if she wanted to move in - but only because Hoseok asked me to,” she clarifies, shrugging. “He said she probably wanted to but she’d never listen if he suggested it. I kind of get it, though. Her old roommate was shady as hell.”

“Hoseok may have done you a service, then.”

“Oh, definitely. The first thing she did when she came in here was set up an aroma diffuser.” Sooah points to a small earthen pot at the top of the TV cabinet, with white sticks poking out of it. “I was sold.”

“Sounds like the whole package.” He claps his hands. “Guess you don’t need me, then.”

“Guess I don’t.” She flashes him a smile.

Jimin narrows his eyes. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, you know,” he warns her. “When you have no one to snark with over cookie dough or make you a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You tried that once in all the time we’ve been hanging out since Taehyung’s party, Jimin,” she reminds him. “I have yet to be impressed.”

He nods and bites his lip, knowing she’s referring to more than just a sandwich. She raises an eyebrow expectantly and he chuckles, unwilling to fold.

“Fine. Can I buy you a new sofa? Would that impress you?”

Sooah frowns, visibly taken aback. “A new sofa? No way.”

“This one looks really old,” he says reasonably, going over and examining it briefly. “There’s a cigarette burn here and… is this a coffee stain?” He straightens up and tilts his head. “Don’t you sleep on this?”

“Hey, it’s a really old sofa, okay?” she replies, a little defensively. “I got it second hand because inflation hit rent pretty hard that year, so just… back off,” she adds.

Jimin raises his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to criticise. Just… can’t I gift you one? Friends do that.”

“Friends,” she repeats.

“Isn’t that what we are?”

To Jimin’s relief, her mouth twitches just a little as she rolls her eyes. “Friends don’t gift each other things like furniture,” she informs him, passing him by to gather some stray tape and bubble wrap on the floor. “Save that kind of stuff to spoil your girlfriend with.”

He sighs hugely. “If only she’d do something about it, I would.”

Sooah scoffs as she starts to walk back, stopping slowly when he grabs her hand and tugs her a little closer, the other hand in his pocket.

“Think of what you’d get out of it,” he insists, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound more persuasive.

She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head. “A free sofa?”

“A free sofa, ice cream at your beck and call, and parties with a lot of expensive liquor.”

“A compelling argument.”

“Is it working?”

“Not as well as you’d like,” she quips, playfully punching him in the solar plexus and slipping away when he groans. “In fact, why don’t you make yourself useful?” she continues, nudging a dusty machine at the edge of the carpet. “I dragged this out of the storage closet and almost pulled a muscle while doing it; could you help me put it back in?”

“What is it?” he asks, frowning and going over to take a closer look.

“Vacuum cleaner,” she supplies. “I bought it after four homemade margaritas.”

“So, that’s, like… ten regular margaritas?”

“Exactly.”

“So you called me over just to do all your heavy lifting?” Jimin places a hand on his hip, affronted.

Sooah frowns, a little incredulously. “Are you kidding? I didn’t even call you - you just showed up.”

“Yeah, but with beer. You know what? Fine, I’ll help.” He stretches his arms and cricks his neck for effect before bending and picking up the vacuum cleaner. “Storage closet, you said?”

Sooah beckons him to follow her and leads him to a small opening between both the bedrooms. Opening the closet door, she reaches up and taps the top shelf. “Right there.”

“Got it.” Taking care to flex his triceps, he raises the vacuum cleaner over his head, ready to place it in when she stops him.

“Wait! Um -” She slides in between him and the closet and moves some stuff to the side. “Here. You have more room now,” she says, turning around but not stepping away.

“Mhm.” Jimin doesn’t even bother suppressing his grin and heaves the vacuum cleaner into the appointed space. He grunts softly as he pushes it and tucks it in, feeling his t-shirt ride up his abdomen and cool air on his bare skin. He bravely leans forward slightly, just so her nose brushes momentarily against his collarbone, before stepping back down.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she answers, without turning around to look. Her freckles, few and far and almost the same shade as her skin, are slightly more visible now, peppered over the bridge of her nose. “I mean, it’s… fine.”

Jimin nods and places a hand behind her on one of the shelves, just above her ear. “Anything else I can do?”

She brushes some dust off the front of his t-shirt. “Stick around. I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do.”

“Aren’t you glad you called me over?”

“Again,” she says, folding her arms across her chest, “you invited yourself over. Haven’t you learnt that it’s rude to show up without calling?”

“I’ve been doing that pretty much every day since New Year’s. And you never seemed to have a problem with it,” he points out. He pinches her cheek affectionately. “Even the days I showed up empty-handed.”

She nudges his hand away but loosely locks her fingers with his, bringing both their hands now. “And yet, you still haven’t told me what it is you really want.”

Jimin sighs. “Sooah, you know what I want. What I think we both want. Why do I have to be the one to say it?” he whines.

Sooah give him a look. “Because you broke up with me.”

A beat passes and Jimin deflates. “Fine. Here goes.” He looks at the floor and then surreptitiously up at her, only to see a mildly interested expression on her face.

“Kim Sooah,” he begins, bringing his face closer to hers and knowing he isn’t imagining the slight hitch in her breathing. “Kim Sooah, I…”

Another beat; Jimin’s stomach twisting in anticipation, Sooah’s eyes wide with cautious hope. Without meaning to, their noses graze, just when the doorbell rings.

Sooah flinches while Jimin closes his eyes, partly frustrated and partly relieved.

“... will get the door.”

A little regretfully, he steps away from her and heads towards the living room, hearing the closet door loudly slam shut behind him. He opens the door to see Hoseok cradling a potted plant.

“Hyung?” he says in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I - I came to see Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung’s apartment, I mean,” he amends, holding up the plant as though to support his answer.

“Hey, Hoseok, come in.” Sooah appears from behind Jimin. “Chae didn’t tell me she’d called you over.”

“Oh, no, she didn’t,” he says immediately, shuffling inside and slipping his shoes off. “I thought I’d just pop by… see if she needed any help unpacking.”

“Huh.” She turns to Jimin. “So this is where you learnt it from. She’s in her room, probably already started,” she tells Hoseok, ignoring Jimin’s roll of the eyes. “It’s the one with the dreamcatcher hanging on the doorknob.”

Hosoek half-grins and waves to them, making his way to the aforementioned room. He’s about to knock when he sees the door swing open slightly, and he frowns. He knocks softly anyway but upon hearing no response, pushes the door open a little more.

“Hey, Chae, are you - oh, shit!”

He immediately whips around in horror, almost giving himself whiplash, while Chaeyoung scrambles to cover her torso with something.

“Hoseok?” Chaeyoung exhales in relief. “God, oppa - can’t you knock?”

“I did knock!” he cries, back still to her. “You didn’t answer! And the door was open!”

“Oh. Sorry. I was wearing earphones.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes so hard he feels like his eyeballs could fall off. “Great job, Chae,” he says sarcastically. There’s the sound of clothes moving behind him but he still doesn’t turn around, the image burned into his retinas of her long hair down her bare back, her long and narrow waist, her pelvic bones peeking out from above her joggers… He squeezes his eyes shut, willing it to go away.

“Uh, you can turn around now.”

“I’m fine right here, actually.”

“I’m fully clothed now. God,” she exclaims, and he can almost hear her rolling her eyes.

Gingerly, opening his eyes a millimetre at a time, he turns around. He doesn’t leave anything to chance, though, placing his free hand over his eyes anyway.

“Here,” he says vaguely, extending the other arm with the plant blindly towards her. He feels her slap his hand softly and finally uncovers his eyes with a huff, relieved to see her in a full sleeved white top, a black tank top visible through the thin material.

“You’re not going to turn into stone if you accidentally see me without my shirt off, you know?” she snaps.

“I didn’t think - that’s not -” He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose. “Here,” he repeats, handing her the plant again. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”

Chaeyoung’s expression freezes in the mildly irritated one from a moment ago before her muscles relax and her eyes widen in earnest. “Oh. That’s…” She takes the plant from him. “Wow. You didn’t have to do that.”

Hoseok shrugs noncommittally. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” She opens the door wider and steps aside. “Thank you for the plant, by the way. It’s really nice of you.”

“No problem.” He glances around the room, feeling distinctly like he’s stepped into a portal to the past. It’s not exactly like the room she had at her parents’ house, but something about the purple and white bed covers, the tall lamp with half a dozen colourful scarves tied around the neck and the smell of fruity moisturiser feels so very Chaeyoung that he isn’t even sure he’s allowed to be here.

“So?” she asks, holding the plant with both hands and in front of her abdomen. “What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

“Really? No opinions on which wall the bed should face or the hazards of a scented candle on a wooden desk?” she asks sceptically.

Hoseok raises his eyebrows and glances at the desk to see a white candle perched on the top shelf of her desk and chuckles. “No. I think I trust you not to burn down your desk.”

“Huh. Who are you and what have you done with my… brother’s best friend and his extreme lack of faith in me?”

“I’d almost be offended but it kind of brings me to why I’m here.” He slips his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans and rocks on the balls of his feet. “I… wanted to apologise. Sort of. I know I’ve been treating you like a bit of a kid and I just wanted to say… well, you’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

Chaeyoung nods thoughtfully. “In the last ten years? Well… maybe some, not a lot.” She shrugs sarcastically before smiling a little as though to let him know she’s just teasing. “Oppa, is this about the party at my dad’s house? Or… what we talked about that night?”

Hoseok sighs and nods, taking a seat on the chair at her desk and facing her. “Kind of. I expected a certain reaction from you but the one you actually had was… pretty mature.” He says the word a bit disbelievingly. “You’ve grown up, Chae. I guess it just took me a while to see that.”

She seems to be a bit taken aback by this confession and is - Hoseok observes in satisfaction - momentarily speechless. “Oh. Well, I - thank you,” she stutters.

“Yeah.”

“And also for the… plant.”

“You got it.”

Chaeyoung nods awkwardly and places the white ceramic pot on her bed, balancing it carefully on the quilt before straightening up. He can tell she’s thrown by his sudden admittance and is a bit awkward; she avoids his gaze and ties her long hair into a ponytail, her bangs still damp from her shower. The movement makes her shirt ride up slightly and he catches a glimpse of her pelvic bones again and immediately looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Um -” He swallows and bites his lip. “I also wanted to check… you didn’t happen to mention any of that to your brother, did you?”

It’s like a switch has been turned on - or turned off. Chaeyoung’s shoulders fall and the delicate awkwardness he realises he was actually endeared by disappears, only to be replaced by an annoyance he’s much more familiar with.

“Is that what you’re really for? You know, this could’ve been a text, Hoseok,” she states sullenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What? No,” he says honestly. “I came here to see - to give you that,” he clarifies, pointing at the plant. “I just wanted to check, okay? He’s my best friend and you’re his -”

“Do you really think Chanyeol will even care?”

“Oh, believe me, he’ll care.”

“Really? Would you be this anal about it if Jiwoo unnie dated him?”

Hoseok almost gags. “Okay, that’s disgusting. And you know what? You’re being all self-righteous about this,” he points out, turning it around on her. “Would you be okay if, like… Sooah suddenly started dating Chan?”

“Um, yes?” she answers, like it’s extremely obvious. “It’s none of my business? They’re adults!”

He stares at her incredulously before shaking his head. “Fine, maybe it’s different for sisters. Younger sisters, especially, but… you don’t get it, okay? You’re Chan’s sister and I can’t -”

“Oh, my God, is that all you think of me?” she interrupts fiercely. “Has it ever occurred to you that I have an identity outside of Chan’s sister? That not everything is about him?”

“I know you’re -”

“You come over here and give me this spiel about how I’ve grown up and everything but it doesn’t matter because I’ll always be your best friend’s little sister!” She shrugs in frustration. “You know why I don’t think Chanyeol will care? It’s because he - get this - knows I’m a person separate from him.”

“Chae,” says Hoseok, a little sternly now because why doesn’t she get it? “I hear you, okay? I know you are your own person, but Chan has been my best friend my entire life,” he explains clearly, joining his hands and punctuating every word with a movement. “So for my entire life, for better or for worse, you were just Chan’s sister.”

“I’m not -”

“And I would love to get to know you better and I want to hang out with you more, but you will always also be Chan’s sister, which makes you the one girl on the planet I cannot mess with.” He exhales, panting a little. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just… how it is.”

Chaeyoung’s gaze is trained away from him, somewhere around her bed, her jaw set and brows furrowed. “Fine,” she says eventually, shrugging. “Whatever. I didn’t tell him anything. It’s not newsworthy or anything, you know?”

Hoseok says nothing, already regretting his outburst a bit. For the first time in his life, he wishes she wasn’t just Chanyeol’s sister. He wonders briefly what it would’ve been like if he’d been nicer to her when they were kids, if she hadn’t made her schoolgirl crush so obvious, if he’d cared less about what his classmates thought.

But they’d been four years apart; at that age, four years felt like a gulf. Right now, it feels only vaguely far away, like walking distance, enough to take her by the hand and guide her if she encounters a pothole.

Hoseok stands up and walks over to her. She still doesn’t look at him, not even when he nudges her shoulder.

“Come on, don’t be mad,” he says softly.

“I’m not mad.”

Hesitating only for a fraction of a second, he reaches over and wraps his arms around her shoulders in a hug. “You’re kind of cute when you’re mad,” he says, a little teasingly.

For a moment he’s afraid he’s misread the situation completely, but then she begrudgingly hugs him back, her slender arms going around his waist. “Don’t lie,” she grumbles, resting her chin against her shoulder.

He chuckles softly and rubs her back, his chest feeling instantly lighter. They separate and he’s glad to see she looks at least slightly more appeased, if a little ruffled.

“You should put that somewhere,” he advises her, pointing to the plant. “You’ll spill soil on your bed.”

“Okay, dad,” she mutters, but picks it up anyway. “I’ll put it on my desk - it’s directly in the sunlight,” she adds, gesturing to the spot next to the candle. “By the way, nice work on subtly reminding me we’re nothing but platonic.”

Hoseok almost chokes. “What? I did no such thing.”

“You kind of did,” she disagrees, about the place the pot on the desk. “Could you move those papers out of the way, please?”

“Don’t twist my words around,” he tells her, reaching over from behind her and clearing the space on the top shelf of the desk. “This was about your brother. And my life.”

“I don’t even know why you’re so bothered,” she continues, apparently not even listening to him. “It’s not like we made out. It was actually a pretty platonic kiss, ironically,” she says matter-of-factly, neatly placing the pot on the desk.

Hoseok frowns. “I wouldn’t say it was platonic.”

“Not platonic like kissing a friend, sure, but it wasn’t as scandalous as you think,” she says serenely, stepping back to admire the plant in the gentle rays of sunlight streaming in. “Looks good, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean by platonic?” he repeats. “It was… we -” He trails off, not sure what the word is. “It… lingered.”

Chaeyoung frowns slightly and turns to him. There is now less than a foot between them when she places one hand on her hip. “Kind of. I mean, we didn’t… you know…” She shrugs slowly, and he can see her cheeks pinking up slightly, “... French. Our lips… touched. That’s all.”

Without warning, Hoseok’s gaze falls to her lips. He averts it, but it takes him a second longer to do so. “It was a little more than that,” he argues weakly.

She says nothing, but something in her eye seems knowing. A ray of sunlight falls on her, making the flyaway strands of her dark brown hair appear almost auburn. A light breeze ruffles the collar of her shirt, baring her collarbone and his mind zooms back to his arrival and the unintentional glimpse he’d caught that seems unlikely to ever leave his memory. How her eyes went wide when she turned her head around in surprise; how the rest of her body, despite mostly facing away from him, still revealed a shape he’d never considered in relation to her; how she’d covered up her breasts in record time with her shirt but the shape of her collarbones slanting down towards her chest was empty as ever.

This is Chan’s sister. But the voice in his head sounds like it’s underwater and drowning, barely audible.

“You were pretty drunk that night, oppa,” she reminds him in a murmur, and Hoseok’s stomach flips. “Do you think you need a recap of what really happened?”

It occurs to Hoseok very vaguely that his mind is absolutely blank, for no response comes to him. Chaeyoung’s mouth twists infinitesimally upwards when a sound like a gunshot makes them spring apart.

They look to see Jimin at the door, his knuckles against the wood. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. Hoseok doesn’t know if he’s imagining the slight smirk on his face. “We’re ordering lunch. Do you guys want anything?”

“Jajjangmyeon,” pipes up Chaeyoung, while Hoseok tries to slow his pulse.

“Um - bulgogi.”

“Cool.” Flashing them an unnecessarily wide grin, Jimin saunters away, leaving the door wide open.

For a few seconds, neither of them speaks. Hoseok is too afraid to look at Chaeyoung, and even more afraid at the road his thoughts were going down when Jimin scared them half to death.

“So, um…” He clears his throat, looking anywhere but at her. “You were, uh… unpacking?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “I was going to do the - the books next. Or the accessories,” she stutters, pointing to the remaining boxes under her desk.

“I got the books,” he says, reaching down and dragging the box out. “They go in the…”

“Bookshelf.”

“Right. And the accessories are…”

“In the closet,” she answers immediately, “all the way on the other side of the room.”

“Perfect.”

—

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