#i feel like she'd bedazzle everything

[petricorah]

girls being girls [based on that one makeup meme] [id in alt]

[slocumjoe]

Previous relationships

Excluding Curie and X6, as I don't HC them as having experience.

Cait; The other woman's name was Power, a caravan mercenary. She was gruffer than Cait, but quieter. Older, too. Power had been around longer than a lot of fucking people in their circles, but still had the wild-eyed frenzy of youth burning in her almost black eyes. Cait liked her because Power made her feel safe. Power was big and mean and didn't let anyone fuck with Cait, not even Tommy. Even Tommy was on his best behavior when Power was around. Power said she just saw a young woman still figuring herself out. Power said she'd be back one day, with money and guns and she'd take Cait with her. She joined the Minutemen. Only one Minuteman survived Quincy. Power joined the Gunners. She didn't forget Cait, but it was a dog eat dog world. Cait would have to feed herself.

Danse; When he was still a Knight, shortly after Cutler's death, he did everything he could to not look like the mess he truly was. He socialized like anyone else, hid his drinking, spent his few caps on makeup to cover his eye bags and worsening health. Anything to look normal, to look like other young men his age. What they did, often, was talk to civilian ladies and go talk in private. There was one lady in a town he'd been stationed in for a few months. She came up to Danse, first. Her name was Eliza. All they did was talk. She told him all of her secrets, her drunk mother, dead father, little brother she cared for, the bar she worked at, her mishaps in the kitchen. He told her about how he felt like nothing without the Brotherhood, the emptiness behind his armor. He babysat Henry a few times while he was off the clock. Eliza held his hand many nights. He left thinking of marriage, of fatherhood. He still thinks of her freckled hands.

Deacon; Before Barb, there were a few. Sasha sticks out to him. She had bright green hair that was always thinning and falling out, fake teeth she'd made from mongrols, and a knife bedazzled with pink jewels. Deacon saw her across the town and all but ran after her, desperate to know what kind of mechanisms made that clock tick. She was fun incarnate. Sasha had a good spirit about everything, and told Deacon that to really make it in this world, you had to be happy being a fuck-ass loser no one would understand. He broke up with her when he found out she was involved in chem rings with raiders, but it was on good terms. He didn't want to deal with that life, she gave him a hug and told him to live as quietly as he found fun. He thinks very fondly of her. Last he heard, she was a ghoul in Goodneighbor with her own beauty salon.

Gage; By all accounts, Robert was not Gage's type. Unfortunately, Gage has a type, and that type is Fucking Awful. Robert was a rich brahmin baron from a big city who was clean, spoke nicely, dressed nicer, and looked like he walked off one of those old world billboards. That's what he looked like. But he wouldn't have met Gage if he wasn't as black as soot underneath all those shiny bits. Robert had a taste for free labor. Gage's gang at the time was more than willing to help him find it. Occasionally, he paid them to escort him to business deals, be hired muscle. Robert liked Gage immediately, found him smarter and funnier. Took him aside for drinks. Said he'd look good, if he could eat more and put some meat on his bones. Robert kept them hired for years, just to buy Gage steak dinners, just to fuck him once he filled out. Gage liked the meals, but out of all of his partners, would rank Robert as one of the most unsettling people he's ever met.

Hancock; He never got her name, but she was blonde, short, had a foul mouth, and fished off the river for money. He watched her wrestle a mutant fish-thing and fell in love. They had so much public sex, Hancock paid someone to try and figure out how many Boston locals had seen his dick and/or her tits. His name for her was Netty, because she wore fishnets and....well. She fished. With nets. He wrote her poems, she told him to shut up and get between her legs. Netty kept him off chems for a while because she could taste them on his breath and despised the taste. Eventually, Netty told him, naked and beneath the moonlight, that she was going to this old war fishing Hotspot, some place the Americans called Maine. He got a letter months later with fish bones and a lipstick stain, telling him she was getting married to an Atom cultist and asked if he wanted a boat ride up for a threesome. Hancock sent her a letter back, politely declining but wishing her a happy marriage.

MacCready; In Goodneighbor, he occasionally shared a drink with a cute guy named Peter. He was a Triggerman, but had a scrappy charm, nice teeth, and looked good in the suspenders. They hooked up here and there, but mostly they'd just make Kent come out of the Memory Den and talk about comics in the sunlight, playing cards on a bench and debating who was a hotter Mistress of Mystery, or if a certain comic run was good or not. Peter was sweet, and Mac really liked him, both as a friend and as a potential step dad. Peter liked kids, and wanted to meet Duncan. Eventually, Peter fucked up on a job, and the Triggermen didn't kill him, but ran him out of town. MacCready heard he was up in Bunker Hill last, and still occasionally thinks about rekindling that friendship. He knows Kent took the loss real hard.

Nick; Despite his hang ups with his current body, a man's desires are not so easily swayed. Nick has a type. That type walked into Diamond City with a sway in the hips, a cig on his lips, and a well-kept mustache. He was a cattle rustler, a cowboy for local farms. His name was Derek. He heard about Nick and came to see the metal man for himself. Derek was quick to say he didn't look bad at all, no, he was rather easy to look at. Said his eyes reminded him of the orangest part of a sunset. Nick weighed his options, if he was truly willing to drop his pants for someone he met 10 minutes ago. He said no. Derek stuck around and quickly proved to be a good guy. Nick dropped his pants the second proposition. For a farmhand, Derek knew his way around robots. Nick blames it on too many years since his last horizontal-tango, but still heats up when he thinks about the encounter.

Piper; Fell for a male stripper in Goodneighbor and still questions her sanity. She was ovulating, okay? And he was kind, and was patient when she fumbled with her caps and told her she was just fine, and played with her hair while he said by her, and...Piper has a soft spot. That soft spot is hot people who just stare at her and smile while she embarasses herself. He was ghoul, his name was Garret and he smelled like expired floral perfume, but God damn it, Piper likes expired floral perfume. They were mostly just fuck buddies, but Piper genuinely thought he was fucking hilarious. He was a pre-war pastor and a lot to say on the matter, though his opinions pickled over the years. Garret sends her letters about hot gossip or useful info regularly.

Preston; met a dominatrix for pay. Preston is not a very sexual person. He doesn't have a lot of libido. Queenie liked that, a lot. She liked being able to just talk and talk, and not have to worry about sex at the end of it. Preston thought she was fascinating, having met so many people through her work and seen such weird sides of them. You brought up any topic, Queenie had a story for it. And she was killer at tailoring and sewing, so she patched up his gear while she rambled about how one of her clients got married, again, and how his new wife tried to kill her, and how she had to fend her off with a sack of potatoes. She was constantly flustered and baffled, once her work-mask slipped off, and her turns of phase were hilarious. Once the Minutemen get rebuilt, Preston got a letter, telling him she'd become a professional tailor, now, asking if the new General needed someone who knew her way around the uniform.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[innytoes]

You have one of those 12 foot skeletons in your yard and you caught me trying to take selfies with it / Sweet Tarts

Also for @invisibleraven who asked for the exact same thing. Who knew this prompt had Carrie/Reggie vibes?

When the Wilsons celebrated, they went hard. Their birthday blow-outs were legendary from the time Carrie had been in kindergarten. Their Fourth of July drones show (fireworks were so 90s) was epic and set to their favourite music. Christmas? Their mansion was covered in so many lights they had their own generator, and every room had a Christmas tree. (The one in Carrie's room was all pink, of course.)

So of course they went all out for Halloween, too. It was pretty hard to convert a sleek white modern mansion into a spooky old Victorian house, so instead they went all out with other kinds of decorations. Like the skeletons that hung out in front of the large windows on the second floor, having cocktails. Or the ghosts hanging from the trees and railings. Or the spooky lights and glowing orbs in the pool. Or the gazillion decorative pumpkins around the place. (Again, the ones in Carrie's room were pink.)

This year's new showstopper, though, was a twelve foot skeleton that her dad brought home. He showed it off, jazz hands and all, like the dork he was, and she could only barely hide her smile even as she eye-rolled at him.

"Not cool enough?" Dad asked her. "Don't worry, I thought of that."

And then he pulled out a pair of giant novelty sunglasses from somewhere. That got her to crack, and she laughed, which made her dad beam, which made her feel gooey inside. Out in public, they had to be perfect, and cool, and flawless, but when it was just the two of them, they could goof around and be dorks.

Now, while all of October was Go Hard On The Spooky Stuff, their Halloween basically had two big nights. The first was their Big Halloween Bash, where dad invited all his famous friends and people he worked with and Carrie got to invite some of her friends as long as they all promised to be cool.

The second, which deep down Carrie liked much better, was Trick or Treating. Because what was the point of living in the rich neighbourhood if not to show off all your badass decorations and costumes and spooky playlists and wow kids with amazing treats.

Full sized candy bars? Pah, those were for the old money losers down the street. Carrie and her dad got custom made edible crystals. Kids could pick out their own colour and shape, and eat something that looked like it shouldn't be eaten. Did you want a neon green orb, or a jagged piece of quartz, or even a candy beetle encased in 'amber'?

Carrie, of course, made sure to grab some in all her Candi's colours and put them aside. (And a few pink ones for herself.)

But the big holiday bash had come and gone, and trick or treating wasn't until tomorrow, so what the hell was this guy doing in their yard?

"Aren't you a little old to be trick or treating?" she asked as she flung the door open. Usually, if someone was lurking around like that, she'd call security, but this guy didn't seem to be paparazzi or a crazed fan who wanted to murder her dad. Also, she'd shoved her taser in the pocket of her cardigan before opening the door. (It was pink. And bedazzled.)

The boy, who seemed to be about her age, yelped and flailed, nearly dropping his crappy little phone. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I thought nobody was home!"

Carrie raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make it better?" she asked in her nastiest mean-girl-voice.

He flushed, looking ashamed of himself. Suddenly, even with the leather jacket, he seemed a lot smaller. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "It's just that this is the first time I've seen one of these giant skeletons in real life and I really wanted to take a selfie with it. I mean, he's wearing sunglasses and everything."

He looked so sad, like a kicked puppy, and really, she couldn't begrudge him too much. Their skeleton was pretty awesome. And he was pretty cute.

"You're never going to get all of him in frame with you like that," she rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys and demonstratively pulling the door closed behind her so he couldn't slip inside in case this was just a ruse.

She made sure to keep her hand on her taser as she passed him, but he just gaped at her. When she was far enough away to get all of the skeleton into the picture, she pulled out her phone. "Smile!" she said, and on instinct, he did. She snapped a picture, and when he realised what happened, he beamed, begging for another one.

She had to admit that the one hugging Skeletor's leg (yes, her dad had named their giant skeleton Skeletor like a massive dork) was pretty funny. As was the one where he was bowing down before it. And pretending to run away from it.

They had a little photo shoot for like two minutes, before he seemed to run out of ideas, and thanked her profusely, before moving to leave.

"Hey!" she shouted after him, and he froze in his tracks. "You have to give me your number so I can send these to you!" Okay, so he was cute but not very bright. She could work with that.

He looked a little flustered, but gave her his number to put in her phone. She sent him a test text, and his entire face lit up when he saw the first picture appear on his own screen.

And if maybe she texted him again the next day inviting him over to try one of their gourmet crystals and see the whole yard done up right for trick or treating, well, she just wanted to share the holiday spirit.

[samila4life]

Sam x Mila ~ Pink Meets Black

Mila.

She was like a constant pink blur in his otherwise gray and black world. A bubblegum explosion of frills and lace, with a smile so wide and sparkly it practically screamed fake. Her long blonde hair was always perfectly curled, her nails were always painted the most obnoxious shades of pastel, and her high-pitched giggle grated on his nerves every time she saw him.

Sam didn't know what he had done to deserve her undying affection, but for some reason, she loved him. She'd pop up when he least expected it, bouncing into his personal space like an overzealous puppy, trying to break down the walls he’d spent years building.

It was infuriating.

"Sammy!" A familiar voice chirped from behind him. He froze, already knowing who it was without turning around.

He felt her small hands tugging on the sleeve of his black leather jacket. "Sammyyy!" she repeated, drawing out his name in that sugary tone that made his skin crawl. He sighed deeply, clenching his fists in his pockets before slowly turning to face her.

There she was, wearing a pink miniskirt that barely covered her thighs and a matching crop top with the word "CUTIE" bedazzled across her chest. Her heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her head, and she was holding a glittery purse shaped like a cupcake. Everything about her was wrong, from her obnoxiously happy aura to the way she always smelled like cotton candy.

"What do you want, Mila?" Sam growled, his voice low and rough.

Mila giggled, oblivious to the venom in his tone. "I was looking for you, silly! We were supposed to meet up, remember?"

Sam frowned. He did not remember making any such plans. But then again, Mila had a tendency to create plans in her own mind and assume he’d agreed to them.

"I never said I'd—"

"Anywayyy!" she interrupted, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I was thinking we could go shopping today! You know, maybe get you some clothes that aren't all black? It’ll be so fun!"

Sam stared at her, utterly bewildered by her persistence. "I don’t do shopping," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to put more space between them.

Mila pouted, her glossy lips forming a perfect little frown of disappointment. But within seconds, the pout was replaced by a blinding smile. "That's okay! We dont need to buy you things! You can just carry my bags! Pleeease?"

For some inexplicable reason, the word "no" stuck in Sam’s throat. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone and stop pestering him with her endless enthusiasm. But something about the way she looked at him, with those wide, hopeful eyes, made him feel... guilty? No, not guilty. He didn't care about her feelings. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Before he could respond, Mila grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, dragging him toward the shopping district. Sam resisted at first, but Mila was surprisingly strong for someone so small and, well... pink.

"Fine," he grumbled under his breath. "But don’t expect me to enjoy this."

Mila squealed with delight, completely ignoring his reluctance. "Yay! This is going to be the best day ever, Sammy! I promise!"

As they walked through the crowded streets, Sam couldn’t help but feel like a dark cloud trailing behind a ray of sunshine. Every step he took beside her felt wrong, like he was breaking some unspoken rule about who he was supposed to be. Mila represented everything he hated: happiness, brightness, optimism. But no matter how hard he tried to shake her off, she kept finding her way back into his life — and maybe, just maybe, into his heart.

PT. 1

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Now I am curious about the girls day with batmom, can we have it pls?

Bruce looked around the table at lunch and frowned, "Alfred where-"

"Miss Y/N took the other ladies in the house for a girl's day. Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie needed school clothes and Miss Barbara offered her assistance," Alfred said simply.

Bruce's frown faded slightly and he grunted, "Did they take-"

"They took the Jeep, I believe."

_________

You look at the flamboyant bald man currently trying to persuade Barbara into much longer nails and raise your eyebrow over the rim of your mimosa glass, "Roland, the girl said no," you tut. "They all do too much work with their hands to have the Dragon Talons you like designing."

Roland sniffed, "It's a pity any of you work with your hands- these callouses are a crime. What are you doing anyway-"

"Whatever they like. Don't you worry your pretty little head. Just do what they ask."

"I don't know why I bother with you," he scolded without any real heat. He bothered because you tipped well and told the best dirty jokes... but. He was still irritated that you hadn't let him bedazzle your fingertips.

"I thought it was because you like having something to complain about," you tease. Next to you, Cass smiles a little where she's watching with interest as someone applied lime green sparkly polish to her toes.

"I just can't believe Bruce agreed to pay for all this stuff," Steph snorted.

"Oh no sweetie," you laugh, "I just don't give him a chance to say no.."

'She really doesn't," Barbara said grinning when Steph's eyes went wide as she deliberated over purple polish colors. "She just declares she's doing something and if he doesn't like it, he can sulk about it."

"Charmed life," Cass said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Roland made a soft envious sound, "Does he have a brother?"

__________

Steph eyed clothing racks and frowned, making a soft discontented sound. It was nice, being out with the girls. But it didn't magically make her mom less shit. Or the ongoing mess of her love life any less draining.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?" you answer, holding out a shirt for her to inspect- 70's inspired. Purple. And would look nice with a pair of the flared jeans she'd already bought.

She took it, feeling the fabric and crinkled her nose at the price tag, "How did you do it?" she asked quietly

"What specifically-"

"I mean, after everything. Like- with-" she broke off the word 'cult'. Not sure if she was actually allowed to ask about that. Or about the time you left. Things that weren't really secrets but just not things you LIKED to talk about; not as anything more than a passing comment.

But when you pat her arm and add the shirt to what was laying on her arm, she gets a sense that you know.

"It took time," you answer after a moment. "But I had to make the choices that were best for me- even if they didn't make sense to anyone else. And more than that, I had to learn that it was okay to do that. That I didn't have to let my past determine my future. Any more than I ever had to be that... powerless ever again."

Stephanie bit her lip and you smile a little. "When my sister was killed," you pause and tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "I couldn't stop them. And I carried that guilt with me for a long time. Still do. But. I know that I can stop other girls from meeting the same fate. So- I focus on that. Because I can't control the past; or other people. All I have is right now. That's all anyone really has."

"That's- kinda depressing."

"It can be," you hum, "At least until you get used to it. There's something liberating about just saying 'fuck it' and learning to live for yourself."

Stephanie smiled. It was less rare to hear you use swear words but it still sounded funny, given that your usual curses were "Hell's Teeth" or "Son of a biscuit" around the house where the kids could hear you.

"When did you hit 'fuck it'?"

"About the time Dick and Tim gave me my new 'pet name'," you muse. "I think that's when I really figured out I didn't have to let ANYONE tell me what to do anymore."

[glowmiko]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍚 . . ★ く♡ __ 🍯 ~ ANGEL ! SHENHE

cw › tit grippin' n suckin, scissoring, pet names ( baby, darling. ) soft!sub!virgin!shenhe, top/dom!afab!reader, clit rubbing, rough fingering(?) . non wlw &&. minors dni.

a/n › ik we know absolutely nothing about shenhe, but I jus wanna make her my soft baby 🥺 tis not proof read soo.. 🧍‍♀️reposted cause my tags ain't work.

. . ★ she was your everything, raising your temperature so high you could almost feel yourself exploding to dust and bits. beautiful. that was the word for her, catching your eyes with every slight turn of her head, silky hair falling off her shoulder in such swift movements. she had you whipped, without even trying she'd already swooned you with her angelic looks. hair seemingly sparkled and bedazzled in angel dust.

she was everything you've ever wanted, and now, your soft hand cups her fluffy cheek. looking up at you with such cute eyes— you could almost burst into a fit of tears. "gonna make you feel good, you want that, baby?" you spoke in such a gentle manner that shenhe could only submit herself to you. with a small gesture, she nodded, her plump tits being uncovered by the protection of her arms.

you made haste moves, pushing her back down against the soft and welcoming plush of the bed, your lips colliding with the smooth skin of her neck. a small sign of pleasure moved past your lips, she was squirming, her legs spreading and closing around your waist. you giggled, moving your head down to her breasts, a swift lick to her left nipple.

"a-ah!" her face flooded in rosy pink, her buds perking up as you lapped your tongue around her perky breasts. she was wet, oozing in arousal. she wanted you, she wanted to be explored in ways she couldn't ever imagine.

your lips did a satisfying pop, scattering pink (soon to turn purple) kisses along her tits. "feel good?" you hummed, littering her tummy in kisses. you were making rapid moves, after all, you really wanted something.

shenhe squeaked, clutching your head in her thighs, you'd pressed a kiss to her cunt— she wasn't expecting it, not yet as she was entranced in the way you fondled her breasts.

"'ts okay my darling, I'm gonna be real gentle, unless you'd like otherwise." you tossed a wink at her, spreading her thighs; a galore of glossed pussy showcased at your very sight. you flushed, cheeks warm, gentle fingers spreading her labia. you bowed down, tongue molding against her clit.

she squealed, a hand thrown at your head. "please... want more!"

who were you to deny her requests? you kissed her cunt, lolling over her clit, your fingertips pushing against her hole. she yelped again— it was cute, nearly getting an 'aww' out of you. she was perfect. you were drooling, spit smothered against your face as your rubbed your chin up and down her slit, she was shivering and you could feel her tremors. you almost thought she was crying. you could feel your lips swelling, you were so focused, tongue fastening around her pussy, your finger pumping in and out of her. You'd gone wild, your fingers nearly completely sucked into her cunt, you were rapidly moving in and out of her, her walls tightening against your fingers.

her fingers gripped your hair, "close, so close..." she chewed on her bottom lip, her ghostly eyes barely visible as she squeezed her legs around your head, the stirring in her stomach finally reaching its point. she nearly screamed, thrusting her hips against your face, riding out her first orgasm. out of breath, her chest rose and dropped in action, meanwhile, you were soaking wet, she was so damn attractive.

you sat on your legs, spreading her legs, you crossed your leg over hers, your heart dropping as you felt the slight stimulation of her pussy touching your own. "fuck, shenhe..." you were done being as gentle as a cloud, thrusting your hips, your left hand gripped her thigh, keeping her open. you moaned, her whimpers igniting you further. you slapped her tit, your body facing away from her as you used her knee to rock you farther.

"mmph— gonna cum a-again!" you made her wanna thaw into the sheets, her face so hot it drastically changed the color of her smooth skin to a blush red. your clit swabbed against hers, her eyes rolling as her teeth gripped her lips. you gasped, your hips hugging her shaky leg, your cum oozing down your thigh.

shenhe completely melted. moaning into the pillow, her body dropping in exhaustion. she came. the stimulation drove her so wild, she couldn't stop the shaking, heart throbbing so harsh she thought it'd burst through her rib cage.

you sighed with satisfaction lingering in your throat, "you're so perfect, baby."

[sansaorgana]

eek ofc u (and us) gotta respect your time! just wanted to check what you were g with 🙂 condensed brain worms:

- love bimbo!reader for aegon because ya gotta be mildly dumb to look at weed-soaked hentai sweater ass aegon and think that's good boyfriend material

- the crisis aegon would get when he realises he wants to stick around after they fuck makes me laugh

- she could fix him, a la 'i want to be a better man for my girl who sees everything in me', and she would praise him every time he made the tiniest effort which makes him chase more. she can't believe he washed his dick before sex. alternatively, they could both just be degenerates together. both is good.

- yk she's got fire nudes. aegon's got enough to make his own porno mag out of

- she thinks viserys is mid and alicent could do better. will say it out loud.

- she might be scared of insects but her bestie's besties are her besties. she will hold quentin tarantulino or die trying.

- if they were dating, would bedazzle eyepatches for aemond. feels like shes got a hot pirate boyfie at all times. curious to hear your thoughts on this dynamic! haven't thought it through much.

- yk she's lowkey into criston. u KNOW she is.

ty for your patience ❤️ it is a joy to see your posts 😚

thank you for understanding, darling 🤍💓

• I laughed so much at the first part omg hahaha yeah you gotta be a bimbo to love a dude like that hahaha

• when Ageon falls in love, he thinks he's actually sick and the he needs medical help because he doesn't know what's happening to him

• i think she would fix him without realizing, you know? she wouldn't even put much effort in it. she'd praise him because she loves him and it's her boyfriend and there's no philosophy in that for her but for him it means the world

• oh yeah, her nudes would be FIRE and he'd always buy her the prettiest sets of lingerie

• Viserys is a dinosaur 🦖 Alicent can do so much better and our bimbo!Reader says it out loud in front of him. she doesn't care!!!

• oh yeah she'd probably hate bugs but she'd want to be friends with Helaena so badly. once again, not because she wants something. she just finds Hela cute

• she'd be into Criston 1000% and she'd tease Aegon how hot their bodyguard / driver is 😵‍💫

• if you want me to make a post with Aemond and bimbo!Reader like the one I made with Aegon a few days go, send an ask!!! 💓

[kopikokun]

Not My Taste༄ l.dh

↳ Your youth was, to make a long story short, bedazzling. But that sparkle faded long ago, and all that it left is hundreds, thousands, of people asking: What’s next? Thing is, you don’t know either. Washed-up, overshadowed, and still unacclimated to your newfound repetitive life of solitude, your odyssey lacks direction. That is, until a friend of yours materialises bearing a solution: reality TV. Paired with a sunny co-star and a multi-talented cast, maybe this’ll be when the pivotal revelation arc you've been craving starts to take shape.

pairing: lee donghyuck x celebrity!reader (fem)

featuring: ten, jaehyun, johnny, winwin, mark, yangyang, taeyong, wendy (rv)

genre: fluff, angst, fake dating!au, celebrity!au, reality show!au, baking competition!au, enemies to lovers, co-workers to lovers, suggestive

warning(s): intense argument, negative media attention, public pressure, feelings of inadequacy, living in someone else's shadow, self-deprecation (yn's just going through it lmao), expletives

word count: 4480 words

author's note: this is far from perfect but i had loads of fun with it and it was a great change of pace. despite its imperfections/shortcomings, i hope you get something out of it! feedback/constructive criticism (either positive or "negative", so long as it's constructive) is always appreciated ♡ let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for future installations!

☆༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: 1692 (cottonwood firing squad) ✧ cigarette daydreams (cage the elephant) ✧ freakin' out on the interstate (briston maroney) ✧ fluorescent adolescent (arctic monkeys) ✧ hazey (glass animals) ✧ holiest (glass animals, tei shi)

EPISODE LIST # 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

← BACK TO NAVI.

# EPISODE 1: Five Star Shit Show

Growing up, when your father returned late from table reads, your mother would cocoon you in your feather duvet, kiss both temples, and whisper the same tale to you, word-for-word each time. Souls draw lots to determine their life's odyssey, she'd murmur. They huddle around an iridescent goblet—its mouth a gaping black hole—and draw strips woven from rainbow; seven colours on every tape, yet none the same shade. Her eyelids drooped as she spoke, lashes brushing her cheekbones, tinted golden from your bedside lamp. She always mumbled gratitude for her lot—for her husband's success, for her healthy daughter, for the roles you already had flooding in—as she fell asleep before you, soothed by her own stories.

Though you listened, you never believed, because while the notion is fantastical, it's depressing too. If everything was predestined before you could even seize your first breath, effort would be futile. Your achievements wouldn't be earned, they'd be assigned. So, perhaps out of spite, you believe everything—every single damn thing—that's happened in your life is a consequence of your actions, not because fate strummed her strings or some ridiculous goblet spewed prophetic rainbows.

But now, standing in this lurid kitchen setting with a camera crew and nineteen strangers, your mother’s philosophy sounds tempting, because there's no way in hell your choices landed you here. A reality show.

“Hey,” someone whispers, elbow jabbing your side. It’s Ten, the assistant floor manager, your friend, and the reason you're here to begin with. “How is he? You two get along well?"

The ‘he’ is Lee Donghyuck, another ingredient in the reasons for your presence. He's in hair and makeup, eyes lidded as the stylist pats his face with powder. "He's fine. Nice smile, contagious laugh." You pause. "And he's cute."

"'Course you'd say that." Ten rolls his eyes.

"Can't help that I have eyes. And I'm sure everyone here's thinking the same thing."

"So, are you glad you agreed to join this season's cast?" Ten's lips quiver with a smile.

"I only came because you threatened me."

Reality TV is for spectating, not participating. It’s something consumed when there’s nothing else to watch and you just want the day to end. When you watch Masterchef—or Masterchef Junior when you’re disinclined to Chef Ramsay’s degradation—you never think Wow, I wanna be in this. But here you are—not in Masterchef but in World’s Worst Bakers, where the worst of the worst unite for the most disastrous bake-off imaginable.

"I did not threaten you," he pouts.

"You said you'd vomit in my shoes the next time you get drunk, and you do that like every other day. Pretty sure you were drunk when you threatened me too."

"I was stress drinking! You're just jealous I didn't invite you." Bingo. He's absolutely right. "But, seriously, thanks for being down for this. I thought I was totally doomed when Donghyuck's partner said he couldn't make it."

Your cheeks warm. "It's whatever, Ten. It's not like I've got anything going on for me right now." And you're not exaggerating. Since moving out, the vapidity of your day-to-day constitutes daily deja vu. If not for your phone, you doubt you’d even know today’s date. You look back to Donghyuck. According to Ten, he's just one of the contestants who manually applied. “He really isn't one of the celebrities the casting director snagged for the show?” Ratings had tanked last year, a far cry from the first season's monumental success. The crew hoped the inclusion of a few illustrious names would restore the show's declining popularity.

"Nope, just some kid," he says, though Donghyuck's only a few years younger than him. "But he's a natural, isn't he?"

You nod. Just moments after Donghyuck capered in,  people swarmed him like ants to sugar. His presence overshadows even the actual celebrities on set.

There’s a single beep—sharp and blaring—before Ten turns to scurry away. “Showtime,” he grins, tossing you a cheeky wink.

Shit, you’re really about to do this. Everyone at home's going to see what an atrocious baker you are. There's three ways this could unfold:

People will coo at your ineptitude, deem you quirky and hilarious. You'll be loved, not in the way your father is—a respectable figure in the field—but as the cooky, skittish friend whose failures are inexplicably funny.

People will boo at your ineptitude; deem you incompetent and spoiled. She can't bake because she was coddled growing up, they'll say. All she knows how to do is drink and sleep around.

Nothing happens. The show's a flop, and so are you. The media writes a few lazy articles about you at parties from weeks ago, or an ex starts shit. They’ll call you a wild card again. You'll be nothing but washed-up, a has-been, only recognisable as a vignette of your father's glory.

The final option is the best. Zero media coverage means people'll forget you. They'll stop badgering you about your next upcoming project when there is none and their expectant stares will shift elsewhere. You'll be a nobody, just like everyone else.

You don't want your parents uncovering what you've been up to since moving out either; that a reality TV baking competition is the most productive you've been since then. Your mother had only relented to your request of moving out after insistent persuasion. Your father hadn't been very keen either, but eventually he'd laughed and said, She'll be fine. The next time we see her, she'll be an A-list actress, in all the latest movies, plastered on all the billboards we drive past. We'd probably get sick of seeing her face everywhere. You'd laughed too, but guilt thrashed violently within you, tearing at your conscience. How would your parents react if you told them you wanted nothing to do with the limelight anymore? That you didn't even know what you wanted to do anymore?

You shudder the fret away. Worrying before a competition never did anyone any good.  Ten weeks will zip past, and once again, life will adopt its monotonous course, as it should.

“Hey!” Donghyuck’s voice punctures your internal monologue. It’s ecstatic, like he’s known you forever, when you've only spoken once or twice before. “Ready, partner?”

No. “Not really.”

“That’s fine,” Donghyuck grins. “More fun when you’re unprepared.”

What does that even mean? “Uh... sure.”

“It’ll be fun! Don’t sweat it.” One of the crew members waves wildly, gesturing you to your station. Don’t sweat it? Just wait till I lift my arms.

Donghyuck’s affable, his elation virulent. Sure, you aren't friends, but maybe you could be. He looks like he'd be a great drinking buddy too.

Your life is your own, and you—not some shiny goblet—have decided that you're going to have fun.

Spoiler for episode one of World’s Worst Bakers: it was not fun.

It commenced flawlessly, at first. The sprightly young host, Liu Yangyang, had revealed the judges, each with their own introductory quip. As they sauntered in, you had tried to ascertain their respective cooking-show-judge archetype: the nice one, the funny-in-a-dad-kind-of-way one, and finally, the you-fucking-donut one. You’d hoped that since the competition’s meant to display the worst baking monstrosities comprehensible, the latter was exempted from the panel range.

Your efforts proved fruitless however, the saying ‘you can’t judge a book by its cover’ prevailing in the end. The panel consists of retired bakery owner Johann Wiles, prodigy baker Lee Taeyong, and home-baker extraordinaire Son ‘Wendy’ Seungwan. None of them fit into any one cliche, actually, they all possessed each quality, just in different measurements. Wow, who would've guessed people are multifaceted with many layers to their personality?, you chide yourself.  Have you learnt nothing from Shrek? Now, in the final fifteen minutes, you wished you had mentally prepared yourself instead of judging people by physical appearance. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be encrusted in wet flour, sweating your ass off because your buttercream frosting won't retain its shape.

You and Donghyuck stand shoulder-to-shoulder before not a whimsical goblet, but an array of cupcakes; his arms akimbo and yours crossed.

“Why do they look like that? Why are they all melty?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, mussing his hair, wedging clumps of flour between the strands. “They look like...”

“Wet shit,” you mumble. He nods.

You tilt your head back, shoulders creaking with an ache. The other contestants seem to be doing fine. Why wouldn’t they? This first round is supposedly the easiest, meant to wean you in to the next nine weeks of baking. The judges had even distributed a recipe to minimise catastrophe. So, what on Earth had gone wrong?

“You two doing okay?”

Chef Lee’s voice is mellifluous, like spun sugar. He exudes an air of genuine concern, eyebrows bunched. One of the cameras pivots to you and it takes all of your remaining energy to not flinch.

You shake your head, while Donghyuck says, “Our frosting’s liquified, Chef.”

“Just Taeyong. Chef makes me sound pretentious,” he says, waving dismissively. Man, so you don’t even get to bark ‘Yes, Chef!’? What’s the point?

Taeyong bends forward, laser-focused on your pathetic cupcake. It was palpable from the get-go, but up close, you really marvel in how attractive he is—and how young too. How old did Yangyang say again? 25? 26? In fact, there’s an appalling concentration of attractive people here, from the unfairly gorgeous judge panel to the celebrity contestants, even Ten, a crew member, is pretty good-looking. You glance at Donghyuck, eyes roving his figure. And him. He's just... some guy. Why is he so stupidly attractive? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try to be a little more than drinking partners.

“How long has the cream cheese been out of the fridge?” Taeyong’s flinty gaze latches onto you. God, you look abysmal right now, and you're being recorded in the same frame as two beautiful men, one of which is staring at you in a room full of equally attractive people. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, hoping to efface any smears.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes?”

Taeyong raises a brow. “You’re sure?"

“Uh... yes?” In your peripheral, Donghyuck frowns. Did you say something wrong?

Taeyong cocks his head to one side, lips pursed, before reaching down to cup the bottom of one cupcake. “Ah,” he smiles, “did you let the cupcakes cool before frosting?”

Your heart plummets, fizzes in your stomach acid. Cooling was mentioned in the recipe, but you’d skipped it in favour of time-efficiency. You’d even told Donghyuck you’d let it cool when prompted, thinking it’d been a beneficial decision. Evidently not. “...No?”

“You need to let them cool completely on the rack before frosting, or else, well, this happens. Scrape off the buttercream. It should take about ten minutes to cool.” He sets the cupcake down, beginning to walk away. “Good luck.”

You bury your face in your hands. Ten minutes? That only leaves three, at most four, left for piping and plating. You’ll need more than luck. Then, just give up. There's nothing to lose, right? That's a dumb question, of course there is. What will people think if you can't even make it past the first round?

The cameraman lingers, and you’ve half the mind to swat it away to save face when you inevitably yank your hair out. You know you're still being filmed for the drama, reality TV thrives off of it after all. The editors will add in a tense instrumental, rich with dissonance and key changes, cut to a confessional they'll have you record tomorrow, and really milk the suspense. Maybe you should yank your hair out; higher ratings, possibly higher coin. You shake with a silent laugh. It probably looks like you're crying. That would definitely get a few clicks. What a drama queen, would be the consensus.

“Hey, hey, hey,” whispers Donghyuck, lips centimetres from your ear. He's muffling the lapel mic with one hand, the other on your shoulder. He must be frazzled, but like the excellent partner he is, he remains poised. It assures you. Maybe he’s leaning in to murmur encouragement. “Don’t you dare panic. I’m not going to lose this competition because you fucked up."

The fuck? You swivel to gawk at him, faintly aware that his lips are now centimetres from yours. “Excuse me?" you whisper, smothering your own body mic. “You’re being a dick.”

“I will be when there’s money on the line,” he hisses. Where’d that sweet guy go? The one everyone was fawning over forty-five minutes ago? The kind stranger with the lucent smile and boyish laugh? “Now, get scraping," he spits.

Then, as quickly as it erupted, his anger dissipates, eyes creasing and smile shy. He removes his palm from your shoulder and cradles your chin, thumb—which is more calloused than expected—swiping the corner of your lip, so delicate your skin prickles. You stare as he dips the digit into his mouth.

“You had some frosting on your face,” he says, uncovering his lapel mic so his pretext doesn’t go unheard. He turns to start scraping.

Your index and middle finger hover over where Donghyuck’s thumb had been. Unfortunately, there’s no time to dwell, so you stiffly resume your duties.

But you’re distracted. Your eyes keep wandering to Donghyuck, and though you pry them away, they always crawl back, more tenacious than before.

When the timer buzzes and you’re standing before the judges, your eyes are on him. When you’re presenting your cupcakes and answering questions about them, your eyes are on him. When you’re thrust to the bottom two and narrowly evade elimination, your eyes are on him. When you’ve wrapped up for the day and are reminded about recording confessionals tomorrow, your eyes are on him.

It’s only when the losing pair are sent home—a father son duo—that Donghyuck hauls you away and finally, his eyes are on you.

“What the hell is your deal?” he whispers. “You’ve been staring at me for the past half-an-hour.”

You blanch. He’s done it again; that abrupt personality flip. Just moments before he’d laughed and joked and flushed pink at praise, but now he’s snarling in your face like you’ve cussed him out. And honestly, you’re considering it.

You clench your jaw, relishing in the screech of teeth abrading teeth. Heat pulses in every crevice of your body, gripping the gummy flesh of your innards, seeping into your blood, fuelling your every thought.

Ten had been wrong. Donghyuck must have some sort of background in acting, because wow, can the bitch put on a performance. Unbeknownst to everyone here, his entire persona’s been a facade. He isn’t a kind, endearing stranger, no, he’s a conniving, sly, little prick. No, you’re not mad. You’re pleased, pleased that he’s shown his full colours, pleased that you’ve dodged a bullet. You’d been intending to exchange numbers. Imagine that! It would’ve been devastating if he’d only shed his charming glaze after you’d grown attached. You would’ve gone out for drinks, confided in him after a few, and he would’ve laid every dirty secret bare for the public to scarf down, telling the media: I never really liked her anyway.

Cuss him out. No, what would he think of you? But then again, you’re strangers. It’s not like he’s afforded you an ounce of chivalry, why should you? He doesn’t deserve even a morsel of pity or remorse from you.

“My deal? What the fuck is yours? Fine, I screwed up back there, but you didn’t have to be such a bitch about it. What happened to having fun?”

Donghyuck looks at you like you’re a moron. “Of course you think having fun means fucking about. I didn’t mean for you to disregard the steps to the recipe. It explicitly said ‘let rest until completely cooled’. You said you’d let it cool. You lied! You could’ve ruined our chances! I was being nice when I said that, but look where that got me.”

“You? Being nice? You’re the furthest thing from it.” You groan. “You’re just making a fuss out of nothing. We didn’t get eliminated and we’ll be moving on to the next round. What’s the big deal?”

“The ‘big deal’ is, that isn’t the only thing you fucked up. How about the butter that you forgot to put in?”

“I did not forget that. You did. The butter was not my fault. I told you to add it in during mixing after I left it out to thaw. Don’t try to pin your faults on me.”

Donghyuck flushes, and you swell with righteous pride. “Alright, fine, but that’s only because I was too busy picking up after your messes.”

“Picking up after my messes?” you scoff. “I’m not a child, Donghyuck. I was making no messes.”

“Holy shit,” he laughs, bitter and indignant. “You didn’t even realise that I saved your—our asses, did you? ‘No messes’? What about the frosting?”

God, does he ever quit? “What about the frosting? You upset I didn’t milk a cow and make the butter myself?”

“You forgot to put it in the fridge.“

You weave your arms across your chest. Yes, you’d prematurely made the buttercream, but it was an accident. And besides a minute or two squandered, it hadn’t reaped any severe  repercussions. “No, I didn’t. I took it out from the fridge. It wouldn’t have been there if I had forgotten, now would it? I definitely remember putting it in.”

“Of course, that’s how you remember it.” He rolls his eyes. “I put it in the fridge, not you. If I hadn’t been aware of my surroundings or neglected common sense, our buttercream would’ve been unsalvageable. Your mistake would’ve single handedly gotten us eliminated. So, yeah, no big deal.”

“Okay, fine, I get it, Donghyuck. I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? You’re being so dramatic. It’s not like getting upset’s gonna change what’s already happened. Why’re you still so pissed?”

“I’m pissed, because when I win, I’m going to have to split the money with someone who did nothing but drag me down the whole way. A freeloader, riding on the coattails of my effort. I’d tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it seems like everyone was right about you.”

You bristle. Freeloader. How many times have you heard that before? And what had he heard about you? Everyone? Who else in this room, on this set, in the cast, has something against you? A bottomless chasm of pent-up resentment behind smiling masks? Do they whisper about you behind your back? Does Taeyong? Wendy? Ten?

“The fuck does that mean? Don’t act like you know me when we only met two hours ago! Nothing? I did nothing? Are you so far up your own ass that you didn’t see how I was helping you out the entire time? So what I made a mistake? Surprise, surprise, I’m a shitty baker, Donghyuck! You are too! That’s why we’re on the show!” Your fists are curled, nails piercing the flesh of your palms. “You’re so full of yourself for thinking you pulled all the weight. You prance around smiling and laughing, bluffing about who you really are, pretending like you’ve not got a bad bone in your body, when really, you’re full of shit.”

Hurt shadows his face, but the flames of his ire are quick to extinguish it. He’s not tall, but in this isolated moment, he towers over you. “If being full of shit is what wins me this competition, then so be it. You might have come here because you’ve got nothing else to do, and hey, if you win, there’s a bit of easy cash and publicity, but there is no ‘if’ for me.” His cadence is feral, convulsing, voice cracking as if he’s trying to emphasise every word. His breaths are manic. Each syllable strangles him, pressing tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s frantic, pupils dilated, almost... terrified. “I didn’t come here—didn’t take money out to audition, didn’t spend weeks in anxiety waiting for a response, didn’t take days off my job—just to lose. So, start taking this seriously, or don’t. Get. In. My. Way.”

He’s so close; it’s suffocating. The air between you is congested with all the words  uttered, so many that there’s no room left for oxygen. They taint your trachea black, shrivelling your lungs. Your exhales are stifling. The room seems to shrink. The ceiling begs to cave in. It’s claustrophobic. You want to claw at your throat, but instead, you tip forward, glaring, your voice low and vicious, “I hate you.”

Donghyuck smiles, crooked, sadistic. He stoops lower, so close you can taste his rage; tangy and sickly saccharine. “Then hate me,” he whispers. Your gaze flickers to his lips, the way he enunciates each word with escalating menace. His eyes skim your face, before he rights himself, tongue prodding his cheek. You shudder with an exhale. Asswipe. He beams, and it’s only now you notice that it’s stretched too far to be sincere. “See you tomorrow.”

Nothing happened during confessionals the next day. You had expected overt hostility, but Donghyuck was insouciant. He smiled, conversed effervescently, and met your gaze despite your blatant aversion, as debonair as before. You would’ve been piqued by his nonchalance, but yesterday’s outburst had wisened you. Lurking beneath that sunny pretence was, unmistakably, irritation; you only had to learn where to look, and yesterday’s ordeal had been a spectacular lesson in the matter.

Though he approached you with a skip in his step, and a lilt in his laugh, it tormented him more and more every time. The cracks in his charade were laughably transparent when he’d talk to you. From the too broad smile, the too high giggle, the twitch of the jaw, the dart of tongue over upper teeth, he hates being around you—despises it. Well, that makes two of us. Partner.

Now, four days since you last saw him, you smile just reminiscing about his distaste. Obviously, he’s not as unbothered by you as he tries to exhibit. Good. He can pretend as much as he’d like, but you know from experience that bottled-up aggravation is going to simmer to a boil, and just one teensy turn of the gas knob is going to make him go boom. And luckily for him—

No, this isn’t a matter of luck, this is the result of your doing, because you—not anyone or anything else—have decided you’re going to turn up the heat.

Your phone rings, buzzing on the dresser. It must be your mother, harassing you to contemplate moving back in again. Or maybe your parents found out about the show. It had just aired yesterday. Shit. You roll over in your bed, face mashed into the mattress as you blindly reach for your phone.

You clear your throat, and answer with your chirpiest voice, “Yes?”

“Why do you sound like that? Are you sick?”

“Oh, it’s you.”

“At least try to sound enthusiastic,” Ten mutters.

“Yay.”

He grumbles. “I called to ask if you’d seen the episode yet.”

“No.”

“Typical,” he groans. “Do you really not give a shit about it?”

“Should I? Why? Do I look bad?”

“When do you not?” he asks. Silence. He cackles at his own ingenuity. You can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Anyway, check your texts. I sent you a link. Really, I had no idea you were into guys like that.”

Guys like what? But Ten’s already hung up. Curiosity nips at you, so for once, you immediately enter the Messages app after Ten’s told you to. Hopefully, whatever the hell he’s done now won’t afflict you.

He’s attached a single link; an article. An article with your face on it. Your heart lurches, palms beading perspiration at the sight of yourself. The choice of colour and font of the article is garish, something only a tacky gossip column could get away with. What are you doing in a gossip column? You’ve abstained from anything remotely scandalous for weeks since moving out, refusing to supply any ammunition your mother could use to justify you staying home. So what had soured?

‘BITTERSWEET ROMANCE?

'Just last Friday, the world of reality TV was shaken to its core when the first episode of season three of World’s Worst Bakers aired. The show pits the worst of the worst against one another in an ultimate bake-off to find out who will succeed as the best among them (is that really something to be proud of?). The show itself boasts an impressive cast from rising actor Jung Jaehyun, gorgeous part-time model Johnny Suh, award-winning traditional dancer Dong Sicheng, singer/heartthrob Mark, prodigy baker Lee Taeyong—’

Yeah, yeah, whatever. But why is your face on an article titled ‘Bittersweet Romance’? You scour the page, eyes bulging when you discover what’s been written about you.

‘...the former child star and daughter of esteemed actor seems busy on the show; busy with love that is. Introducing Lee Donghyuck, indiscriminate and humble, perhaps lacking in notoriety, but certainly not in looks. The two seem to have struck a passionate romance, seen in the clip below sharing a tender moment together as Donghyuck soothes his lover’s anxieties about the competition, even slipping in a swoon-worthy gesture. Allegedly, the two were so enamoured by each other, they were nearly eliminated! Ah, young love. Sources say they witnessed the young couple’s hurried departure for privacy the moment filming ended, and we don’t think we need to spell out what probably happened next. Though reports state the couple seem end-game, is that really a possibility considering our darling lover girl’s history? It’s public knowledge that she’s quite a wild card; who knows how she’ll break this poor boy’s heart, if it ever comes to that. Her ex-partners—’

You refuse to read further. Nausea clings to your stomach. A mixture of mortification and abhorrence batters your skull. Passionate romance? Tender moment? Enamoured? Love? And what are they implying with ‘departure for privacy’? That you and Donghyuck had a quickie while the entire crew was milling about? If only they’d heard the berating the two of you had dished out, then the article would probably be singing a drastically different tune. Temper Tantrum: Former child star lambasts her baking partner! They’d regale and call you bitch instead of censoring themselves with ‘wild card’. Wild card. Even in an article claiming you’d found potential true love, they’d wormed it in. Would they be calling you wild card even in seniority? You snort. Imagine that: an eighty-year-old you plastered across gossip columns. Maybe they’d find another washed-up star instead. They probably would. They always did.

Your phone chimes again, screen alight with a new text from Ten.

Looks like we’ve got ourselves a pair of stars.

You scoff, tossing your phone back on the dresser. Yeah, a pair of five star shit shows.

[lins-fandom-hub]

sunrise

“It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Alanza’s eyes were wide as she looked out at the sunrise over the Black Lake, lights dancing over the rippling surface of the water like sequins on a dress. Clara only smiled and nodded at her words, humming in content.

“Yeah. It is.”

The two girls spread a large blue blanket beneath them and sat down, wrapping their school robes over themselves to keep warm. The air was still chilly, the night winds nipping lightly at their cheeks, but their smiles were just as bright as the first rays of sun that beheld their vision. It was a rare opportunity to see the sunrise over the lake right on the shore, especially when most students would rather take this time to sleep in until breakfast called their name. The peace and calm of the atmosphere draped over them like a light veil, obscuring most of the past as they drank in every second of the present.

"I'll have to say, this is probably my favourite place at Hogwarts," Alanza finally said after a few moments of comfortable silence. "You rarely get the chance to revel in such a vast open space where you can reach every possibility if you tried. Of course, any area can be vast and open if you think of it to be. In Castelobruxo, though, we don't have many wide vast spaces like this."

"It can't be that hard to see a sunrise in Brazil, though," Clara pointed out quietly.

"Oh, it isn't, but with so many things in front of you, the sun feels so far away," Alanza said. "But here, it's like you're up close and personal with everything going on in the sky. If I could grab a broom right now and fly right through the skies, I'd be content."

To this, Clara gave a light laugh--a genuine happy laugh, one she had not given since the incident. "It would feel like you'd be a part of something bigger indeed."

"And to think that you can just reach up and touch the clouds and the first rays of light every day if you had the chance. That would be splendid, don't you think? A real brilliant way to start every day."

All Clara could do was nod, smiling encouragingly at Alanza. She'd grown very used to her talking by now, she didn't mind in the slightest that she was taking over most of the conversation.

"One of my friends, Chiara...when we became friends, she gave me a photo of a sunrise at Hogwarts," Clara recalled fondly now. "It was passed through quite a few hands, but all for the same reason: to remind ourselves that no matter how bad the night gets, the morning will always come. That no matter how bad the past could be, there's always a tomorrow to look forward to. But not everyone gets to even live to tomorrow..."

She trailed off, eyes lingering on the sunrise as tears began to brim in her eyes again, burning as they blurred her vision.

"I really wish I got the chance to know Rowan," Alanza murmured. "She sounded like a wonderful friend."

"A friend, a helper, and...someone who made a difference in everyone's lives," Clara agreed. "Rowan and I went much farther than that, though. We met in Diagon Alley before we started at Hogwarts. Only a bit later in our first year did I think to call us 'tree twins'."

"Tree twins? Why's that?"

"Rowan used to grow up on a tree farm with her family. And my last name in Chinese actually means 'forest'."

"Wow. I have no idea!"

"Mhmm. Every moment with Rowan was always so truly special since then. We shared such a close bond."

And as Clara reminisced over Rowan with Alanza, and as the other girl listened intently, the sun began to bedazzle them as it slowly inched its way higher up through the sky, the warm scarlet tones now turning into a brilliant yellow hue. The higher the sun rose, the lighter Clara's heart felt as bit by bit she shared her memories with Alanza, reliving her happy carefree past where everything wasn't so complicated.

"You know you can always count on me too, if something goes wrong?" Clara finally asked. "I mean, I know Dumbledore assigned me as your tour guide and to help you get settled down, but if there's anything you want to talk about, I'm all ears."

"Me too," Alanza reassured her. "After all, you did tell me about the Circle of Khanna. Now I know of the legacy that inspired the name. She'll be so proud of you going through life one sunrise at a time."

"I'm just happy that you're here to share this sunrise with me, Alanza," Clara finally said with a grin. "And with it, a fresh beginning to a new day and a mew friendship."

One day, R would get what's coming for them. But for now, she was ready to heal and be, with Alanza by her side.

[cricketcampbell]

Once Cricket's confident the glue is set, she looks back over her shoulder to the source of the huffing and puffing and can't help but roll her half-bedazzled eyes at the blonde's stubbornness.

Knowing she won't just ask for her help, she sets her tweezers down and scoots from her own position on Lorelai's floor towards the center of the room. A hand is held out for the bottle of polish, while the other reaches for her hand.

"I thought you asked him to Sharky's tonight?" Cricket's eyebrows furrowed, both in confusion and concentration as she began to apply a careful coat of the color. "Isn't he like the vampire to your vampire slayer?"

There were no ways in which that could possibly end poorly tonight. Cricket wondered if she should maybe warn Atlas about just how sharp that stake prop actually was...

"Obviously." Her and Keo had actually been friends before the reveal, but not so much in the days after. It'd been Cricket's doing, as it tended to be in situations like this, something she feels the stirrings of guilt about in the pit of her stomach up until Lorelai shares just why he was relevant to the conversation. "Wait, what? You slept with Keo?"

She attempted to run back through her mental calendar to locate when that family barbecue might've been. Last month? August?

"But that was, like, two months ago! Why didn't you--" tell me, Cricket started to ask, though the time she'd taken to start the question was enough for her to answer it, and it had everything to do with the 5'7 sized Floridian elephant in the room.

Right.

Slowly taking Lorelai's hand back to her lap, Cricket began to polish her next nail.

"Well?" Her eyes flicked up after a second to meet Lori's. "Was it good at least?"

@lorelailewis

Lorelai is sat with her legs crossed in the middle of her bedroom, an opened bottle of Chanel nail polish in the shade Rouge Noir placed carefully beside her so it wouldn’t be knocked and spilled all over her boucle rug.

With one set of nails already painted, Lorelai is careful not to smudge the still wet coat as she begins painting her other hand. There’s an irritated huff of her breath as she tries painting her nails with her non-dominant hand, wiping any excess nail polish away with a cotton wool soaked in nail polish remover.

“So…” Lorelai repeats impatiently, glancing up at Cricket through her lashes, wondering where she was going with this. She could tell by tone-alone that Cricket was approaching something sensitive, which set Lorelai’s teeth on edge.

“We didn’t make up,” Lorelai clarified with a long suffering sigh, “Your cousin was the one with the issue.” She added stubbornly. Throughout the time Atlas had spent giving her the cold shoulder, Lorelai had remained adamant that she hadn’t done anything wrong—they weren’t exclusive, she was free to sleep with whoever she wanted.

If Atlas didn’t like that then perhaps their arrangement had ran its course—though she hopes it hasn’t.

“Remember the ex I told you about that ghosted me out of the blue?” She blew on one of her nails to dry the coat of nail polish. “We slept together at one of my families barbecues.”