#i got stuck on memory lane

[dubioushonour]

Once, when I was in second grade, my whole group of friends deserted me for the entire month of October. They would completely ignore me if I approached them, or even worse, some of them would run screaming at the sight of me. This spread to kids in the rest of the class. I told a teacher, who scolded them, but it didn't do much.

I was a little too young to really understand the concept of "bullying". I just remember being confused, and hurt, and upset. I spent almost that entire month on the playground, alone.

Almost.

A girl from another class approached me in the sandbox during maybe the second week of October. She was new, she was in another class, and she was alone, too. I couldn't tell you her name anymore. It's just been too long. But I remember seeing her and my first thought being "pretty". I wouldn't learn the term "platinum blonde" until I was much older.

She asked if she could play with me in the sand, what I was doing, and why I was alone. I asked her about her old school, if my sister (who was in her class) was being kind to her.

We hung out the entirety of October. Sometimes in other parts of the playground, but we usually stayed in the sandbox because no one else went there. I found out we rode the same bus home. She lived just up the road from me. We started hanging out outside of school, too. We traded toys, and friendship bracelets, and secrets. She showed me an odd birthmark on her thigh, pure white, and said it was an angel's kiss. I showed her a scar on my arm from when I fell on a go-kart engine the year before.

It didn't matter that all of my other friends had abandoned me, because she was there.

The end of October rolls around on a Friday and my old friend group chases me into a bathroom stall, screaming at me and banging on the walls and doors with a fucking vigor. It's one of the scariest moments in my very short life. I go home crying. I am informed on Monday that the ring leader of the group convinced everyone that, since my birthday is on Halloween, I was possessed by a demon and I was going to hurt them if they didn't do something about it.

They apologized up and down, after the fact, but it was very hard to believe they were sorry.

My sandbox friend, who was not at school on Friday, has a birthday gift for me on Monday. It's a little pair of friendship bears filled with goo and glitter. It's not a hard choice to make. I spend all of November with her, instead, because I'm starting to realize that maybe those aren't the kind of people I want to be friends with. (and I was right, because they bullied me the entire rest of elementary school) (but that is besides the point).

The end of November rolls around.

My sandbox friend is moving out of state.

I spend all of the time we have left trying to make that time stretch. We both know that when she moves, we'll never see each other again. That's just how it was in 2003. On our final bus ride home, the last time I will ever see her, we trade toys one last time. She gave me a blue and white unicorn with a ribbon. I couldn't tell you what I gave her. It's been too long. (it might have been a stuffed dog?)

This pretty sandbox girl is not in our school yearbooks. Not even her name. She wasn't in our school for very long. My sister doesn't remember her being in her class, period, even if she remembers most everyone else. But she did exist. Even if just in my memories, and through an old, ragged unicorn, she existed.

I'm not going anywhere in particular with this. It's a stroll down memory lane. I saw a 2000s aesthetic post on here with those exact friendship bears on it and it threw me back in time pretty hard. I definitely don't have those bears anymore. I'm honestly pretty surprised how vividly I remember that one October when I was 7, turning 8, but I guess your friends trying to murder you in a bathroom is a fairly formative experience. I'm 27 now, turning 28. And it's impossible to think about all of that without also thinking about her, and how she made that entire experience something I can still look a little fondly back on.

Do you think she remembers me, as fondly? Or even at all? Did I make the same kind of impact? Did she keep the toy that I gave her? Or was I just another face for a girl who was in and out of schools faster than they could put her in a yearbook?

It doesn't matter, ultimately.

I hope, wherever she is, that pretty sandbox girl is thriving.

(this is not the exact plushie. I found this one on Google and it's very close. One of my younger nieces swiped the real deal a long time ago and I felt very bad trying to take it back...)

[defiledtomb]

I found out about Cayde being "back" thanks to you, so bless you. I wonder how Bungie is gonna fuck with us this time?

I knowww. And past me is just shaking her head saying this was always gonna happen.

But either way, I'm super happy just to have him around again, I missed feeling like I wanted to stuff him into ravioli, hang on the washing line, wobble like laminated paper etcetc

[threewaywithdelusion]

Can we talk about the attack on the Foxes and exactly how many triggers that's going to set off?

How much do you want to bet that Lane swung for Neil's ribs first because he'd mouthed off in the interview and revealed that Jean had had broken ribs? How long until Jean puts it together and blames himself for the fact that he and Neil now share matching rib fractures from the Ravens? (Neil doesn't care. He'd do it all again).

Andrew has a broken collarbone so bad it needed surgery, and he's going to have to wear a sling for several weeks. He's immobilized and unarmed (literally if he can't wear a knife on his injured arm. A knife in the armband of his working arm would do nothing because he can't draw it with one hand). And Andrew has an immense fear of being too weak to defend himself, especially with a broken bone to make him a target.

Kevin. He's finally grown a spine and this is the first time we see him literally fight the Ravens. He throws hands in defense of his Foxes, and Neil in particular, when Kevin from a year before would never have. But he saw Andrew, his protector, his shield, the man he promised he would make Court, with a hand dangling limp and useless at his side thanks to a broken bone. How many hours did it take before they got Andrew into an x-ray and saw that it was fixable? How long did Kevin stare at Andrew's limp hand, memories of Riko and his own broken bones going through his mind?

Allison was off the court, but that's the part that's going to kill her. Only she, Renee, Nicky, and the freshmen were off the court, but the freshman don't count. Allison had to watch through plexiglass walls as her team was hurt, unable to do anything to help, and she probably thought how many times is this going to happen? How many times am I going to be sidelined while my friends are hurt? how many times will I be useless in protecting them from the Ravens? (It's been one year since Seth died. Since Allison let him go out and lost him and she's never stopped wondering if things would have gone differently if she had been there that night.)

Nicky is also stuck outside the plexiglass, watching as Andrew is the first to go down. He remembers Andrew fighting for him outside Eden's, remembers how Andrew never regretted defending Nicky even when it got him put on those hated meds. And he can't help but feel like a useless guardian because he wasn't there when Andrew was attacked at Thanksgiving (he was the reason Andrew was in that house) and he isn't there now. All he can do is watch.

The Foxes have a long road to recovery and they've definitely survived worse. But with so many old scars torn open, this year might be just as rough as the last

[roselites]

bad blood / scott miller x reader

summary: set after twisters. when scott initiates a lawsuit against javi and his new business partners, they choose to take you on as their attorney—no matter that you and scott were once high school sweethearts, that you still have his ring in your closet, or that things between you ended catastrophically six years past. this is business. no need to go down memory lane… right?

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, language, offscreen parental death, one open door scene (unprotected piv), couple angst, riggs is his own walking red flag, questionable legal ethics

word count: 21.6k (sorry, guys 😬)

author’s note: here it is! i tried to rein in the length, but clearly i failed ✌🏼 shoutout to @/hederasgarden and @/sailor-aviator for giving scott his fandom-approved surname. on a final note, i am not a lawyer, i took one (1) business law class in college, so don’t take my word on any of this and definitely don’t do stuff with your ex while he’s the opposing party in a case you’re working (but if it’s david corenswet, i meannnn… should anyone be blamed?)

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

Well-meaning, and with typical Arkansan practicality, Tyler Owens leaned back in his chair and said, “Javi, you need to chill out, man.”

Immediately, you knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“What makes you think I’m not? It's not like my entire livelihood is on the line or anything, so why would I not be chilled out?—Dammit!”

“Actually, lose the tie,” you suggested, having watched him fumble for the last five minutes. You were sure it was nerves that did it, not a lack of dexterity.

Javi sighed and let the two ends hang pathetically around his neck. “I thought I was supposed to wear one…”

“I think that’s only for court,” Kate put in, “like with an actual judge and stuff.”

“Maybe in the 1970s,” remarked Tyler under his breath. Javi glared. “Bro, it’s gonna be fine.”

“We should be out there, tracking tornadoes!” There was a mounted television in the little waiting area, playing a 24-hour news channel on mute. Javi gestured at the weather report. It was March, and Tornado Alley was looking active, “robust,” as the weatherman put it… not that your clients would know firsthand, seeing as they were stuck in a high-rise in the city instead of out in the fields of Sapulpa County. Kate and Tyler were watching the radar images with twin expressions of restless longing. Javi yanked the tie from his neck. “That son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing, tying us up in meetings at this time of year.”

“Yeah, he did,” you replied. “I know it’s inconvenient as shit, but believe me, I’m going to do everything I can to get you back out on the field. There’s no reason for all three of you to be here. I mean, it’s the modern age: some of this could be a Zoom meeting.”

 “You think we’re gonna Zoom in the middle of a storm?” Tyler quipped. Kate turned to him with a chastising look.

She was clearly just about as done as her other two partners, but a lot more level-headed about the fact that they were being sued for everything they had. Which you appreciated. Suits between friends and former business associates had a tendency to turn into mud-slinging wars, and there was nothing you hated more than a client stuck in denial. Kate was the opposite. She was cool-headed, calm. A happy medium between Tyler’s annoyed outrage (“who does this guy think he is!”) and Javi’s frustrated melancholy (“guys, I’m sorry, this is all my fault”).

Right now, Javi was sinking well into the latter.

“Just remember we’re here for you, Javi.” Kate rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “All the way. We know this is personal.”

“Yeah, which means it’s gonna get ugly. I hate the thought of our company going under because I had shitty taste in business partners, you know?”

“Well, you don't anymore. That’s character growth,” Tyler pointed out. “Now, I’m no legal expert, but as far as I can see, he’s got no legs to stand on—”

You held up a finger. “Uh, that’s not entirely true…”

“—and he’s going to come out of this looking like a complete and total tool. Which he is! If he wants to spend all this time and boatloads of his uncle’s money on a belligerent witch hunt, then so be it.”

“You mean our time, our money,” said Javi.

Kate looked at you. “If this ends up going to court, is it likely he’ll win?”

You sighed. “Okay, listen.” You sat on the coffee table. There was no avoiding the sight of three pairs of eyes with varying degrees of hopefulness trained on you, hanging onto your every word. Javi you had known before, but after a brief acquaintance, you’d decided that you liked Kate and Tyler too, had even spent an hour or two watching Tornado Wrangler videos on YouTube, and, while storm chasing seemed, well, kind of unhinged, their enthusiasm was contagious. They were passionate, not in a purely thrill-seeking or overly scientific way. They actually cared. And you wanted them to win. “The whole point,” you explained, “is that we’re trying to avoid this going to trial. If you’re looking to cut down on the cost to your bottom line—not to mention how this could drag on for literal years—it’s best to reach a settlement before this ever sees the inside of a courtroom. Either way, things are going to get a little worse before they get better. But the point is a clean break, right? When all this is over, StormPAR will never have any sort of claim over you. You’ll be free to chase storms, build your doo-dads—”

That got you a trio of chuckles. Good, let them think you were a meteorological idiot; all the better to make them feel like a united front.

“—and it’ll be like Scott and Riggs never happened.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said, that steely determination from his old rodeo days coming through.

Kate gave a nod. “No matter what, we’ll be okay”

Javi put his hand on your knee. “Thank you… for everything. I know this has gotta suck for you too.”

“Who, me?” you asked, feigning ignorance. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hm…”

“Do I not look fine?”

“You look great,” Kate said honestly.

“Miller’s gonna shit his pants.”

“Tyler!”

“Hey, we’re up,” your assistant announced, her fingers not pausing for a second as she typed on her phone. Abby may have the social skills of a polar bear, but her organizational skills were top-notch and you relied on her predatory instincts. Plus, you were sure that her geometrically perfect French bob had magical powers.

Signaling for the others to follow, you made your way down a hallway bordered by walls banded in frosted glass, the sound of typing and muffled phone calls familiar and yet not. This was enemy territory. Having you meet here instead of at the offices of Conway & Fine was a calculated move.

Before entering the conference room, you took Tyler by the elbow. “Please just… try to behave yourself.”

Me? He pointed at his face.

“Yes, you! Don’t provoke him—as a matter of fact, don’t even look at him—don't piss him off unless you want to make this a hell of a lot worse for everyone. Capisce?”

“I’ll be the picture of civility.”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“I’ll be a gentleman!”

You glared. “Tyler Owens, I’m holding you to that.” Adjusting your power suit, you put on your best Professional Face. “Alright guys, it’s showtime.”

Through the glass, your eyes landed on Scott. The temptation to bolt left you breathless, though you couldn’t say whether you wanted to run towards or far, far away. You wouldn’t. You were all too aware of the people standing behind you, counting on you, while Scott himself had been a stranger to you for the last few years.

You owed him nothing; this was simply business, you reminded yourself.

Simply business.

He turned his head and spotted you, and kept his eyes on you as you opened the door.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

You’d been working on the same calculus assignment for the last three-quarters of an hour, the sound of rain lashing against your window doing nothing for your frazzled nerves.  While math was by no means your obvious strong suit, you would have finished by now if you hadn’t spent most of it staring at the wall beneath your windowsill, bouncing your leg, tapping your pencil compulsively against the edge of your AP textbook and imagining all the ways in which your life could go horribly, unfixably wrong. An outcome that now seemed likely.

“You still have time, sweetheart,” your mom tried to say at dinner that night. She smiled at you and patted your hand. “It’s only March.”

“Exactly—it’s March!” you’d wanted to say, but bit your tongue. There wasn't any point; your mom would always believe you were capable of walking on the moon, which was lovely, you guessed. Or it would be, if all your classmates weren't overachievers and if a lot of them hadn't already received acceptance letters and stuck pennants to the inside of their lockers for all the rejects to see.

It was hopeless… you should’ve gotten an answer by now.

Tossing the book and papers away, you buried your face in your hands and tried to hold it together. The sleeves of your sweatshirt emanated a woodsy, clean smell, kind of like rain in a forest, and you breathed in deep to let it ground you.

Slowly, the intensity of the storm outside faded to background noise, no longer angry, insistent—it was only rain after all, only weather. You sniffed, feeling silly, and snuggled into the navy-blue sweatshirt, wrapping your arms around your knees. The gold lettering read NICHOLS ACADEMY ATHLETICS. On you, it was practically a dress, and you’d been living in it all week, ignoring Mom’s teases about how “you’re going to have to wash it at some point!” while your dad watched you pass by, saying nothing, only flipping the page of whatever biography he was reading, not wanting to comment or so much as reference your boyfriend of two years, who played center field on Nichols’s prize baseball team and from whom you’d stolen the sweatshirt after a date at the park.

Try as you might, your dad had never warmed up to Scott, but you thought it had more to do with an objection to Scott’s father rather than to Scott himself. The whole family’s trouble, he said once, prompting a fight that ended with you slamming your bedroom door and not speaking to him for two days, until your mom laid down the law and said she wouldn't have that sort of tension around the house.

He didn’t get it. Scott wasn't like his father��if anything, you saw the way his jaw tensed whenever he heard rumors (whispered, unless intended to get a rise out of him by a school rival) about the private club scenes, the drinking, the reckless gambling, the other women. Of course your straitlaced dad assumed the apple wouldn't fall too far from the tree, but you knew Scott. You trusted him. And, fine, so you were seventeen, but you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him—it happened, didn't it?

Granted, this was why that damned letter was so important. It was the perfect plan… so long as Scott got into MIT, which seemed like a given, and you into Harvard, the culmination of four years of meticulous planning and candle-burning work. But what if it didn’t happen? Could your relationship survive the time and long distance? As much as you hoped so, you didn’t want to find out.

Out of nowhere came sharp rap at your window. Startled, you looked up to see a familiar face peering through the rain-lashed glass, and automatically you sprang to your feet. “Scott! What the hell were you thinking!” you hissed, mindful of your parents, probably in bed at this hour. He paused halfway through the window, pretending offense.

“Wow, okay, here I thought I was making a big romantic gesture…”

“You’re soaking wet! You could’ve fallen and broken your neck!”

As you lowered and latched the window behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible, he defended, “I’m a tree connoisseur. If anything, I’m a that-tree connoisseur and she’s never let me down before. Literally. Sturdy branches on her.”

He had a point there. The tree directly outside your bedroom window had played makeshift ladder to him over the last couple of years—not that your parents were any the wiser. If your dad knew, he’d go straight to the nearest hardware store and buy the ax himself. (What he would do with that ax, having never done a day’s manual labor in his life besides recreational fishing, was beyond you.)

You shook your head, watching Scott drip all over the hardwood. God, he was stunning.

And there was a chance you might lose him forever in a few months.

You felt the sting in your throat and behind your eyes. “I’ll go get you a towel,” you said, averting your face and turning towards the ensuite so you could get a few seconds to yourself. He caught you by the wrist and spun you into his body.

“Wait a minute, kiss me first,” he demanded, a cocky grin on his face. You managed to see a flash of it before his lips met yours. You closed your eyes in spite of everything, melting into the kiss, into Scott, because it was as easy as breathing and just as pointless trying to resist.

His cheeks were cold, his mouth warm. Coaxing. The pressure of his hands on your waist like an anchor in the storm. He was perfect for you. How could you belong with anyone else? It was impossible.

His tongue brushed your bottom lip, and it was a move so practiced, so instinctive, so perfectly well-known, that it made the fear swell in your chest again. You held onto the front of his rain-drenched hoodie, breaking the kiss. Your breathing was ragged. You felt you could burst.

“You’re insane,” you tried to cover, burying your head in his chest. “My dad will kill you if he catches you.”

He took a step back and tilted your face up, gently, by the chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Tell me.”

Instead of answering, you made your way to the bathroom and got a towel out of the linen closet. You could feel Scott’s questioning gaze, but he waited, rubbing the towel across his head, brows knitted together as you hesitated, still trying to hedge. “I just—we have that exam next week and I’ve fallen behind on calc and I think I’m going to have to start over on my AP Civ end-of-the-year project, and my mom—”

“Your mom’s great,” Scott interjected.

“Why, d’you want her?”

He pursed his lips. As soon as you said it, you knew that it had sounded kind of bitchy.

“Fine, okay. She’s great, she’s just… trying to help.”

“Is this about Drexler getting her Harvard letter? Because it’s only—”

“It's only March. Yeah. That’s what Mom said. But I’m cutting it close, right? Some people got their letters in December, Scott—December!” You looked down at your feet. “I’m not going to get in.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, it sure feels like it!”

“C’mere.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“Come here,” he insisted, tossing the damp towel onto your bed and holding your arms loosely, his hands stroking up and down. No matter how much you held onto the scent-memory of him on his Nichols sweatshirt, nothing compares to the real thing. He made everything better; and if not, he made everything feel like it could get better, because he was Scott Miller, and the world bent to his charm or else. “You’re going to get in,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’d be crazy not to have you.” And the thing was, despite being utterly convinced only two minutes before that the worst was inevitable, you wanted to believe him, wanted to convince yourself that everything would settle into place as it should.

Scott dipped his head to brush his lips against yours, a deliberate barely-there sweep that made your eyes flutter closed and your arms lace around the wide breadth of his shoulders. Scott’s hands traveled down your back, pressing into your hips until you were flush against the length of his body. You felt him smile as he let you deepen the kiss, and the little rumble of his almost-laugh pinged all the way down to your toes, warming you from the inside the way only Scott could.

As his mouth moved down to your jaw and then the side of your neck, you slid your hands down his chest and then stopped, feeling something other than the hidden planes of his stomach through the fabric of his dark hoodie. You pulled away. Scott’s face had frozen into a look of mild panic and his hands wrapped around your wrists, holding them loosely, which only made the alarm bells ring louder in your head. That was not the sort of face he would make if he was hoarding old receipts.

“Scott?” you asked. He looked away, exhaled, and let your wrists drop with a resigned expression. You reached into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of white letter paper folded into quarters, carefully and with Scott-like precision. “What…” you began, glancing at him briefly and opening the sheet.

At the top, in cardinal red: Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

You might have gasped. At the very least, one of your hands flew up to your mouth. “Oh my God… Scott…”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Scott! This is from MIT! You got in?”

“It's really not a big deal.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders curved slightly inward.

Not a big deal? “Scott, shut up! You got in!” you exclaimed, aghast.

“You’re not upset?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” You set the letter down to the side, knowing he’d want to keep it—that so much as folding it and putting it in his pocket so he could make the ten-minute run to your house in the middle of a downpour must have been a minor sacrifice on your account. Because he wanted to tell you. Because he wanted you to be the first person other than his mom to hear the good news. “We’ve talked about this. This is your dream school, babe.”

“Yeah, well, it feels kinda shitty celebrating now.”

“Stop.” You reached up and gave him a peck on the lips, stroking his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. “I'm so freaking proud of you. You’re going to be the best, most kick-ass engineer.”

You looked into his eyes so that he’d know it was true, and for a moment you could tell he was letting himself feel the achievement—his shoulders relaxed, he caressed your hands gratefully, but there was something about his smile that signaled not all being well.

“I heard Mom talking on the phone with my uncle today,” he confessed.

“Your uncle Riggs? Down in New Orleans?”

“Yeah. She doesn't want me to know, but I heard her talking about college and…”

You placed your hands on his chest. “Is it that bad?”

He didn't like talking about it but you knew his father had made a few bad investments lately, and from your own dad, who had confided it to your mom in secret one night—not that he saw you lurking outside the kitchen, drawn by the mention of the name “Miller”—you were aware that he had made a truly catastrophic impulsive bet with some Swedish businessmen he’d been trying to impress. Add to that the drawn look on Mrs. Miller’s face whenever you saw her, and the overly sympathetic way your mom referred to “poor Pamela,” and you had enough evidence to assume that Scott’s father had royally fucked up this time. 

“They’ve been talking about selling the house,” he said with a dark look. “I think my parents are going to split up… for good this time.”

“Oh, Scott…”

“So who knows? I might not be able to go to MIT anyway—even with this.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, aware that nothing got his back up more than pity. But you had to ask.

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

This was a side of him you’d never learned how to handle, not even after two years of dating. For all that he was an expert at making you feel like the world was yours for the taking, when it came to his own struggles, he was a tightly closed book. Instead of admitting when he was hurt or disappointed, he resorted to indifference and the kind of dark humor that could put you in a bad mood if you weren't careful.

Right now, all you wanted was for him to know that you were there for him. Nothing you could say or do would make Ray Miller grow practical common sense or an ounce of familial consideration—you weren't even sure that he knew your name, despite being Scott’s long-term girlfriend; he was hardly ever home, and never present even on the occasions when he was. But you could state the obvious, just in case he’d doubted it for a second.

“Hey, I love you,” you said to him.

“I love you, too,” he replied. “Now, no more shop talk—why do you think I risked my neck climbing up here?” And just like that, the matter was closed, the dark look disappeared, replaced by the telltale lowering of his dark lashes as he dropped another kiss at the side of your neck, his arms tightening around you, turning you so that the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“And here I thought your intentions were pure,” you replied, trying to downplay the butterflies in your stomach.

“Darling, there’s no such thing… especially when it comes to you.”

“What an idealist,” you rejoined, then fell quiet when he kissed you again. Without missing a beat, he lowered you onto the bed, hands gliding beneath your sweatshirt with apparent purpose. “Scott,” you protested, “my parents are across the hall.”

“So we’ll be quiet. Or we’ll get caught. What's the worst that could happen?”

“Um, you flying headfirst out that window?”

He pretended to think about it, then, by the warm glow of your bedside lamp, you saw his mouth quirk into a smirk before he dove towards your lips, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a price I’m willing to pay.”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

“The damages your client is seeking are absolutely unreasonable. I would even say they border on the ridiculous—and, quite frankly, even frivolous!”

“Frivolous! Your client founded his new company with StormPAR assets—”

“His assets!”

“—accumulated during his tenure as a business partner to my client. Assets which came out of the pocket of Mr. Riggs as well, might I remind you!”

“We were equal partners!” Javi exclaimed, no longer able to keep his temper in check. You supposed the moment you snapped at Mr. Rankin, Javi figured the gloves were off.

Maybe instead of worrying about Tyler, you should've worried about yourself.

Rankin stabbed a finger at the files stacked in front of him. “Exactly, and Mr. Miller deserves to be compensated for the financial losses incurred from your breach of contract.”

Javi balked. “What, I can’t decide to leave my own company?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want, just not with my money,” Scott said in a dangerous monotone. For the last half-hour you’d been trying not to look at him, focusing instead on his middle-aged bespectacled lawyer, but to say you weren't losing your shit would be disproven by the Montblanc you’ve been fidgeting with since the meeting began. When he wasn’t glaring daggers at his former business partner, you could feel the power of his gaze, daring you to meet his eyes again.

“Oh, you mean your uncle’s money?”

“Javi.” You touched his hand in warning.

“You weren't turning your nose up at my uncle’s money when you were trying to found StormPAR.” Scott gibed. In your periphery, you saw Kate rubbing her left temple.

“Me? I thought we were partners, partner.”

“Like you give a shit! You jumped ship, Javi—you jumped ship, set up shop with the opposition, then hired my ex-girlfriend so you could get away with robbing us blind!”

You gritted your teeth. “Mr. Rankin, control your client.”

“‘Control your client’?” Scott spat out, leaning forward and turning the dial up to ten. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”

“My job, Mr. Miller.” This time you did risk staring him in the face, ignoring the play of light on his cheekbones, the shape of his lips, the triangle of exposed skin at his throat that you used to know so well. “I work for StormLab. You might find my presence objectionable, but that’s neither here nor there as long as my clients choose to keep me on retainer. If you don't like it, you’re free to leave and we can negotiate with Mr. Rankin directly.”

He said nothing. Scott was never at a loss for words unless he was well and truly pissed, the force of his intelligence diverted into barely suppressed anger. You could've heard a pin drop in that conference room. His hands were on top of the table, tense, almost shaking, and the rise and fall of his chest was visible even to you. Against your will, your brain threw up images of those same hands holding yours, threaded through your hair, brushing gently against the small of your back; those same arms drawing you close; the same mouth smiling.

You cleared your throat, shuffled a few papers around, and once again addressed the general room and Mr. Rankin. “Now, if you turn to page 16, you’ll see that Mr. Rivera is willing to formally sell his share of StormPAR for less than he’s entitled—if both Mr. Miller and Mr. Riggs agree to desist in interference with StormLab, which, need I remind you, was founded two-thirds of the way with assets entirely independent from the former. If this action’s purpose isn’t frivolous, then Mr. Owens and Ms. Carter should be removed from this suit.”

“Like hell,” Scott interrupted, prompting Javi to fire back with:

“What, you think we’re not good for it? I’ll have you know—”

“You expect me to believe you started your little company on the merits of an NWS salary and a fucking YouTube channel?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tyler lean forward, ready to pounce. Rankin muttered, “Language,” and pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. You knew he was a personal friend of Scott’s uncle—you could also tell that he would rather be out on the golf course than in the middle of this friend-divorce and embarrassing squabble, one where his input seemed superfluous and his counsel went unheeded even by his client.

Scott went on, full of accusation. “You used StormPAR money, didn’t you?”

“If you want to request any financial disclosures…” you began.

“We’re talking.”

Bitch. “No, you’re berating,” you shot back.

Javi put his hand on your wrist. “It’s fine. Yeah—I guess if you want to look at it that way, if I was making a living off StormPAR and taking Riggs’s money, then yeah, technically my share of StormLab exists because of what we had.”

“Javi.”

“No. Fair’s fair and all that. I don’t want any part of it anymore. Hell, you can have it. But come on, man, don’t pretend you’re doing any of this because you’re broke. Even if I gave you half of whatever StormPAR’s worth, it wouldn’t make a difference. You’re mad that I left. I get it. Let’s settle this, you and me. Leave Kate and Tyler out of it.”

“You stole our data!”

Now, that couldn't stand. “He made the executive decision to share data with Mr. Owens’s team.” Sure, it was a technicality but it was a true technicality.

“Bullshit!”

You sighed. “Are we getting anywhere here, Rankin?”

The lawyer glanced down at his watch and shook his head almost mournfully. “It’s not looking likely.”

“Wonderful.” You stood up, gathering your things and motioning for Kate, Tyler, and Javi to do the same. “Well, we’re all very busy people and clearly meeting in-person is counterproductive. Shall we agree to make this a video call next time? My clients have places to be.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Scott mocked, staring not only at Javi but at his new partners for probably the first time all afternoon. “How’re your investors doing, by the way, knowing you’re getting sued for infringement, breach of contract and fiduciary duty…”

You wanted to strangle him. In a voice that matched him venom for venom, you turned to your assistant and said, “Did you get that on record, Abby? Please, keep going,” you urged Scott, “you might just win us a dismissal.”

After a moment of charged silence, you told your clients: “We’re done here.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” said the reluctant Mr. Rankin.

You snatched the chrome door handle from Tyler. “Boy, am I looking forward to it.”

Outside, you didn’t stop until you’d turned the corner into another section of the office, not wanting to be within eyeshot of Scott when you gritted your teeth and let the mask of cool indifference fall.

“Well, that went…” Tyler trailed off, leaning against the metal doorframe of Copy Room 3. The smell of toner and ozone was strangely comforting, bringing you back to your professional self now that Scott and his stupid, handsome-as-ever face were out of view. That, and you were noticing that Tyler Owens in a corporate-adjacent setting didn’t sit well with you; you couldn’t decide whether it was the outdoor tan or the in-your-face belt-buckle that gave it away. Regardless, he seemed too big for the confines of a downtown law office.

“It went like a garbage fire,” you confirmed, “which means about as well as I expected.”

Kate crossed her arms. “So we’re going to court, then.”

“I’m going to keep pushing for him to drop StormLab from the suit.”

“That just leaves me,” Javi remarked, downcast, but still willing to take one for the team.

“I mean, Javi, dear, you did abandon the partnership without ironing out all the kinks first.”

“How was I supposed to know I needed to hire a lawyer?”

“Um, literally everyone knows you’re supposed to hire a lawyer,” said Tyler, “especially if you’re dealing with someone like Textbook Type A over there.”

Javi ran a hand down his face, then shook his head. “What can I say? I-I thought he was my friend.”

“I know.” You clapped your hand on Javi’s shoulder. I understand. “But sometimes all that does is make it worse.”

After a bit more commiserating you parted ways with the three, hanging back with Abby to touch base on a few points and clear up the rest of your schedule, which included a deposition in an hour-and-a-half and witness prep at 4:30. Understandably, you were in the mood for none of this and wanted nothing more than to retire to your apartment with a glass of red and a bowl of popcorn as big as your head à la Olivia Pope, but alas… you were trying to make junior partner.

No rest for the wicked and all that.

You released Abby for a late lunch and made your way to the bank of elevators after a brief pit stop at the restroom, side-eyeing the fancy automatic taps and the whiff of something hotel-like emanating from the vents. You’d have to tell the office manager at Conway & Fine to up your game.

Fishing your phone out of your bag, you pushed the elevator button and began scrolling through a frightful amount of emails—there were intraoffice communications and check-in requests from clients, a few items of junk not caught by the email filter, the latest newsletters from PennAlumni and the Oklahoma Bar Association, as well as an invitation to an old mentor’s golden anniversary celebration. You were in the middle of responding to this when Scott sidled up next to you, giving no indication other than the familiar scent of his cologne and the tap of shined leather shoes against the polished tile. Of all the bad luck…

“So what is this, some kind of a decade-old revenge plot?” he finally asked, disconcerting you with the fact that he was standing so close to you that you couldn't glance at his expression without craning your neck. “Maybe I should’ve expected it from you, but Javi? I didn't know he had it in him.”

“Go away, Scott. This is business.”

“Really, is that what you want to call it? He could've hired anyone.”

“Well, he chose to hire a friend.”

“Right…” A laugh. Dry, cynical. “And what's your excuse?”

You stared at the light above the door, willing it to flash green and put you out of your misery. “Believe it or not, my taking this case has nothing to do with you. Forgive me if I thought you could be a fucking adult about it—clearly I was wrong.”

Ding!

You walked into the elevator without looking back. As parting words went, you thought they passed muster. Except, instead of being a regular person and taking the next car, Scott followed you in, ignoring the outrage written plain on your face.

You looked at him as if to say, “Do you mind?” It was obvious that he didn't. Whatever composure he’d lost in the conference room had been regained now that it was just you, and him, and the shared knowledge that you would have avoided being alone with him if you could.

He stood next to you, towering. As the floor number inched downward from 22, you were all too aware of his presence: the Scott smell of him, the warmth of his body, and the brush of his dark linen jacket against your arm. You wished you handed discarded your own in the restroom; you needed armor, and while Scott had donned his as soon as he was able, he had caught you unawares, expecting him to play fair even when all the evidence of the last two hours had told you that “fair” was no longer in his vocabulary.

As if to illustrate the point, you felt him lean in, his voice the closest it had been in over six years. “You always did love making a show of taking the moral high ground. How’s the view, sweetheart? You must love getting the chance to look down on me for change.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Not bothering to contain your disgust, you stepped away from him, clutching your bag in a white-knuckle grip. For a moment you felt struck by lightning. There was a time when you knew the planes of his face better than your own—the slope of his nose, the variations of blue in his eyes; you knew the shade of his hair in every light; how to tell a false smile from the true. But this Scott… the one with the shuttered expression, the see-if-I-care set to his shoulders, “how’re your investors doing, by the way”… It wasn’t like those things came out of left field—Scott had always been capable of a certain amount of pride, petulance, vindictiveness, even. But it was like the best parts of him had been filed away, or else hidden so deep that you couldn't find nary a sight of them when you looked into his face. “What happened to you?”

You saw his jaw clench. “If you want to know, then you shouldn’t have left.”

8…

7…

6…

You took a breath. “That whole last year—you pushed me away and you know it.”

Instead of answering your honesty in kind, Scott hitched up his sleeve so he could glance at the time on his fancy Swiss watch, a present from Good Old Uncle Riggs on the event of his graduation from MIT. “Yeah, well, you made it easy.”

4…

3…

2…

The doors opened onto a vast lobby. Incredulous, you kept waiting for him to take his words back, to apologize, to so much as glance at you, damn it. When you saw there wasn't any point, you swallowed the knot in your throat, stepping out of the elevator car and feeling twenty-one all over again.

This time, he didn't follow you. He leaned against the back handrail, not reacting even when you mustered every remaining ounce of dignity to say, “Go fuck yourself, Scott.” Then you turned on your heel and walked away.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

Once more on your bedroom floor. Scott sat at your back, his arms wrapped around you and his head bent over yours. “Hey, listen to me… we’ll make it work. I’ll call you every day.”

“With a full slate of classes? That doesn't make any sense.”

“I don’t care if it doesn't. Hey,”—he kissed your temple—“it’s you and me. That doesn’t need to change”

“You say that now…”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” You sighed. “It’s the hot nerds I don’t trust.”

You felt him laugh. “You’re a hot nerd.”

“Stop it.” But you smiled anyway, probably for the first time since you’d opened the rejection letter from Harvard. Concerned, your mom had called Scott while you were holed up in your room, ugly-crying into the bedspread, and it was enough to make you regret having been so bitchy about her the week before. She really had been trying to help… not that it mattered now that Harvard had given you the hard pass.

It wasn’t like you had no other options—you’d have been crazy not to line up a contingency plan or two. But Harvard had been your dream since you could remember caring about college. It was your castle in the sky, the thing that kept you going through four years of grueling hard work, a neverending grind of AP and Honors classes, student clubs and extracurriculars. And still it wasn’t enough.

“We regret to inform you…”

Well, not as much as you regretted it.

As if reading your mind, Scott wrapped his arms a little tighter, his tone light when he said, “UPenn’s nothing to scoff at, you know. You’re upset because you got into an Ivy League?”

“An Ivy League in Philadelphia,” you protested.

You didn’t add “and not the one I wanted” because you knew, objectively, that he and your parents and Ms. Andersson, your favorite teacher, were all right. You were incredibly lucky to have gotten into the University of Pennsylvania—the campus was beautiful, it was close to home, and, like Harvard, it boasted its own fair share of Supreme Court Justices and legal luminaries. It wasn’t like your future was in complete and utter shambles. You would still have everything you wanted… except Scott.

You felt him shrug behind you. “So what? It’s just a five-and-a-half-hour drive—or an hour-and-a-half by plane if we’re desperate.” You shifted so you could shoot him a funny look. “I might have googled it,” he admitted, “right after you told me you got in.”

“Of course you did…” The fact that he had started making plans without waiting on Harvard made you feel better; it meant he had every intention of making it work and maybe you were the downer, seeing the situation as near-hopeless when, really, there had to be couples who didn't let physical distance stop them from being together.

Glass half-full. All you needed was a little faith, a little more optimism.

“At least we’ve got the whole summer,” you said, trying to implement this new, sunnier outlook.

You felt Scott stiffen.

“What?” You turned around properly, anchoring your hand on the side of his neck. You had a minor panic when he wouldn't look at you, and at the guilt written on his brow. “Tell me,” you said.

“Uncle Riggs wants me to spend the summer down in NOLA—something about getting to know me better. I think he must’ve worked it out with Mom. She’s finally put the house up for sale, doesn't want me around when strangers start traipsing through and asking about whether or not she’ll throw in the vintage furniture for an extra few grand.”

At last, after years of painful back and forth, the Miller divorce was imminent. True to Scott’s prediction, “poor Pamela” had hired an attorney and filed paperwork on the very week he climbed through your window. So far his dad had been uncharacteristically passive, perhaps figuring he had put his family through enough, or else fearful of the very same Marshall Riggs who had been summoned from the rafters to come through for his sister after a period of long estrangement.

It was Riggs who had retained Pamela’s ace divorce attorney, Riggs who agreed to pay most of Scott’s tuition. Spending a few months with him seemed like the least he could do. You were disappointed. But you understood.

“When do you leave?”

“Two weeks after graduation.”

“So we have a month,” you said. “That’s thirty days.”

“More like twenty-six… and three quarters.” He smiled the same wistful sort of half-smile that was on your face, and you kissed him, savoring the familiar taste of mint on his mouth from the gum he chewed out of habit.

“Then let’s not waste a second,” you answered back.

He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

When he said it, it sounded like a promise that everything would be all right, and in spite of your worries you chose to believe him.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For the last ten minutes you’d had trouble hearing Kate’s voice clearly over the phone, but you figured it was to be expected since she was calling from the middle of nowhere (at least to your urban- and suburban-bred estimation), and really, after almost three months of similar experiences, you’d grown tired of plugging your ear and saying, “Kate? Kate? You’re breaking up!”

On the upside, your cognitive skills had to be getting a real workout from filling in the weather-induced gaps in your conversations. Case in point:

“—bad luck with the last two, but I—feeling—building in the east—”

“Yeah, her Spidey Senses are tingling!” you heard Javi yell in the background.

Kate laughed. “Go away!”

“Ask her if she caught the livestream!” Tyler said, no doubt from the driver’s seat.

It sounded like she had you on speakerphone, so you spoke to him directly. “Ty, need I remind you that I have an actual job.”

“Ouch! Did you hear that?—thinks we don’t have real jobs!”

“I did not—”

The clarity improved, and you could hear the sound of car doors slamming and voices cracking jokes in the background, which usually meant they’d returned to Kate’s mother’s farm in Sapulpa, where StormLab kept a satellite office in Cathy Carter’s barn. It was makeshift, but what you saw of it during one of Tyler’s Facetime calls had a rustic charm completely at odds with the glass-and-chrome offices where Herb Rankin worked.

Actually, now that you gave it a moment’s thought, not even Herb Rankin fit into his office.

“Listen to her, the Big City Bigshot slumming it with the rednecks,” Tyler went on, earning a few spirited hoots and howls from the other Wranglers.

“Kate is from New York!” you objected. You waved an arm in the middle of your dim-lit apartment as if anyone could see you, vaguely aware that you were holding a pair of chopsticks and had probably sent a strand of shredded cabbage flying behind your couch.

This assertion was too much for Javi to bear. “Excuse me! Kate is OK to the bone, New York’s just where she keeps her apartment.”

Kate laughed as she said something you couldn’t catch, then Tyler’s voice came, audibly close to the phone. “Hey, that reminds me, where’re you from, again?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“That is not a Philly accent.”

You were about to say that not everyone in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania sounds like Rocky Balboa when Javi replied, “That’s ’cause she’s from the fancy part of Pennsylvania—but we don't hold that against her.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tyler asked, “Wait, you’re not billing us for all this shit-talking, are you?”

You let out a snort, picked up your phone, and held it close to your mouth. “You know, maybe I should, Arkansas.”

At first you couldn’t work out what the hell was going on when Tyler broke out in “It's the spirit of the mountains… and the spirit of the Delta… it's the spirit of the Caaapitol doooooome,” but by the time the other Wranglers pitched in, with all the gusto of a drunk karaoke night despite being stone-cold sober, you understood that you had been treated to a rare and hopefully never-to-be-repeated rendition of one of the state songs of Arkansas. A short while later you hung up, cheeks sore and still laughing to yourself. The silence in your apartment was deafening by comparison.

Sometimes, you called them just because you lacked company. There wasn’t much to report on the Rankin front—as much as you had tried to negotiate on Javi’s behalf for a less hostile resolution, Scott insisted on keeping Kate and Tyler in the suit and seemed determined to take their tiff before a judge if his terms weren’t met.

Even Rankin seemed fed up.

Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was the two glasses of wine you’d had with dinner or the post-ballad high. Maybe you wanted to be the one to make StormLab’s problem go away. Whatever the reason, after you put the dirty dishes in the sink, you found yourself calling the one person you swore you’d never speak to ever again.

For good measure, as the dial tone rang you poured yourself another glass. When he answered, you nearly choked.

“Can we talk?” you managed to ask, swallowing down a mouthful of Syrah. There was a long silence on the other end. You didn't know if he had your number saved, if he knew who had called him, or whether he’d recognized the sound of your voice. You remembered that the last thing you had said to him was “go fuck yourself,” and added it to the mental list of why maybe you shouldn't have called him after all.

Tyler’s impulsiveness seemed to be as contagious as a rash.

Scott answered: “Not without my lawyer present.”

Okay, fair. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. He sounded clipped, like he’d rather be lowered into a tank of leeches than be on the phone with you. You were reconsidering the wisdom of your actions when he asked, “What do you want?”

Your eyes darted around the living room. Thinking on your feet wasn't new to you, it couldn't be, in your profession. But a part of you knew you’d taken a stupid gamble in pressing the call button, and now that the die was cast, you had to make it count.

You opted for the aggressive approach.

“Rankin says you're being uncooperative.”

You could feel the animus on the other end. “No, he didn't.”

“It was implied. No one wants to keep drawing this out, Scott. So, come off it. What is it that you’re actually looking to get out of all this?”

If he opted to tell you to go fuck yourself, you figured it would be fair play. This really was business, and not having to look him in the eyes made it easier to feel the rush of adrenaline that came with making a risky move in the name of work. You knew that technically, and in the strictest interpretation of the word, reaching out to another lawyer’s client crossed the line into inappropriate, but you were also a couple years beyond green. If you could cut out the middleman and get Scott to come to the table in a serious way, it would all be worth it. And Rankin could go back to playing 9 holes without losing face in front of his old school mate Riggs.

You waited for Scott’s response with bated breath.

“I want StormLab run into the ground.”

The answer came as no surprise but his tone did. Dark, intense, almost as bad as one of the nights he snuck into your room after a fight with his dad. It was the one and only time you’d ever heard him say he hated his father—his lack of control, his thoughtlessness, his inability to keep his word. Afterward he’d pretended he never said it, or rather, he was careful to never bring it up again, but you knew he had meant it.

And he meant it now. He wanted to take StormLab down. He’d succeed over your dead body. Javi and the others were counting on you.

You moved the phone to your other ear. “Right, well… that's not gonna happen, so any other alternatives?” You could feel he was about to end the call, so you tacked on, “Wait, just… hear me out, okay? Forget about Tyler and Kate—this isn’t about them, really, this is about StormPAR. Compromise on this one thing and you have a better chance of being compensated for what went down last year. You and Javi can just… move on with your lives. On paper it's about money, right? Riggs’s investment? So let’s settle this as soon as possible.”

“You and me?”

“And Rankin,” you added, your conscience getting the better of you.

There was a pause before Scott repeated, “You and me.”

“I don’t…”

“That’s my final offer.”

Alarm bells of a different sort rang in your head. On the phone was one thing, but in person, alone? Could you really sit across from Scott and keep your cool?

You had to. More than that, you wanted to prove to yourself that you’d grown up since you were twenty-one, that you were assured and confident and could handle messy things like sitting across from your ex. There were many things you regretted from that time; the one you regretted most was a reluctance to stand up for yourself. What was Tyler always saying? You don’t face your fears, you ride them. Frankly, you still weren't sure what the hell he meant by that, but it sounded a lot like “put your money where your mouth is.” At some point you had to choose to take action.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “When and where?”

“You busy tonight?”

You scoffed, casting a glance at your open laptop and the piles of paperwork lying on top of the coffee table. “I’m busy every night.”

“Perch. In an hour. Don’t be late.”

THREE YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

As a rule you’d been avoiding your hometown for the last three years, ever since your breakup with Scott. It was easier to stay in Oklahoma, where the possibility of running into someone who knew the Millers or would ask “are the two of you still together?” was slim. After your father died, you started to regret being such a coward. So much lost time… although your mom kept telling you that your dad understood the need to have your own life and never held it against you.

You held it against you, and all the more when your mom decided to downsize and move in with a friend.

After requesting two weeks off you got on a plane to Philadelphia and drove south to Park Haven to help her pack. You stayed up late, wore holiday pajamas, filled your hand with paper cuts, and inhaled about four pounds of dust in the attic. It was nice to spend time with your mom. All the old grievances seemed minor in comparison with the massive changes that lay ahead. Always one for sentimentality, sorting through boxes full of clothes, keepsakes, and old mementos put your mom in an especially chatty mood, and you soaked everything in, not having realized before how little you knew about your dad. He was so reserved in life, so buttoned-up, with clear expectations of himself and others that you were surprised to learn about his stint in an amateur dramatics troupe, the year he tried his hand at playing the alto sax, his fear of geese.

“Geese?” you asked your mom.

“Yes, geese. Those fuckers are vicious!” Having never heard your mom swear before, you froze while elbow-deep in a box of photographs dating back to the 70s. All she did was shrug and finish the rest of her margarita while lightbulbs flashed on her navy blue Rudolph sweater. “What do you want me to say? Parents have secrets, too.”

“Well, I think this parent went a little hard on the tequila,” you said.

Your mom plucked a faded Polaroid from the box. “You know… he didn’t look it, but your dad was actually a lot of fun. We both were. Then… life gets in the way, you start caring about PTA meetings and getting the HOA off your back…”

“Fuck the HOA.”

“Right on! Can’t say I’ll miss any of those jerks.” She sighed, and with a little shake of her head, put the Polaroid back in the box. “Sometimes I worry—” She stopped herself and glanced at you nervously.

“What?”

“Sometimes I worry that you think about us, about your dad and me, and that you don’t see us as having ever been in love. Especially after you and Scott—”

“Mom,” you warned.

“I know, I know, me and my big mouth.” She held up her hands, chuckling to herself. Normally you’d seize the opportunity to change the subject, but you were thinking a lot about how you could’ve been a better daughter, all the times you shut the door in their face because you didn’t want to feel scolded or uncomfortable, because you weren’t interested in what they had to say.

Your mom was trying to respect your privacy. The least you could do was not leave her with the impression that you thought she had a “big mouth.”

You reached across the box and touched her arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“All I mean is… I know you’re not dating.”

“How do you know that?”

She grinned. “Mothers have their ways. I just don’t want you giving up, is all. If Dad and I weren’t the model marriage—”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Half of my friends have divorced parents. And even if you were divorced, the whole ‘nuclear family or you’re a failure to society’ thing is so five-decades-ago.”

“Well, good! Because I was happy—I want you to know that. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of romance people write songs about—God knows your dad had his faults. He wasn't perfect. No one is. But when you love someone… it’s less about keeping score and more about what you build. Together.”

She looked off to the far wall, where their wedding portrait sat propped in its frame, ready to be wrapped in old newspapers and put away. You turned around and looked at it, too—at your mom’s curly updo and poofy skirts, the sleeves that looked like pool inflatables, at least to your modern eyes, at your dad before his hair went gray, the sheepish smile on his face like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with the steal of the century.

You’d gotten so used to its presence in the living room that you couldn’t remember the last time you gave it more than a passing glance.

Lit by an alternating flash of blue and purple lights, your mom’s face was cast in an otherworldly glow. Then the spell was broken, and she was your mom again in an ugly Christmas sweater, smiling fondly at an old memory to which you weren’t privy. “For some reason, we brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything we ever did wrong.” And that was that, a twenty-nine year marriage summed up in a few sentences.

You said, “I guess that does sound romantic… in a super-practical, boring, construction-analogy sort of way.”

She laughed and threw a wadded-up newspaper at your head.

“Dad never liked Scott,” you said after a while, rolling the ball between your hands.

“What makes you say that?”

You threw her a pointed look. Her expression said, Oh, alright.

“He wasn’t disapproving, exactly. He was worried about you. Who wouldn’t be? Your first boyfriend, your first love… I don’t think he was quite ready to see his teenage daughter all head over heels over some guy on the baseball team. And the Millers, well… they had their issues, as a family. Maybe your dad didn’t want you becoming collateral damage. But, oh sweetie,”—it was her turn to touch your arm, Rudolph’s nose squished against the cardboard—“it was never about Scott. When you told us you were engaged, we were so pleased for you! And then a few months later… just like that…”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. How much time would have to pass before you could think of Scott without a tidal wave of sadness hitting you square in the chest? Collateral damage, that was one way of putting it. “I guess Dad was right, after all.”

“He never said ‘I told you so,’” your mom pointed out, “and he never would’ve wanted to.”

You squeezed her hand. “Yeah, I know.”

A phone call from your mother’s friend Rose prompted a break in packing. She went into the kitchen to discuss sideboard dimensions, and you went upstairs, where you were slowly going through your childhood bedroom and putting things in boxes marked Keep and Donate, or else in bags to be discarded when trash day rolled around.

You were almost finished, the walls empty of medals and photos, the corkboard of mementos lying in the recycling bin outside. Already it felt like a bedroom that had belonged to someone else, and while you were sad to know that, after the house was sold, you would never step foot in it again, the process of taking things down one at a time had given you a sort of detachment. There were items, like the snowglobe your friend Tash gave you when she got home from a skiing trip in the Alps in the seventh grade, that you had once thought you could never do without. But now Tash lived in LA with her wife and kids, and you hadn’t spoken much since high school except for a few text messages now and then.

You’d decided to keep the globe but you knew it would live in a box in your closet, a relic rather than an everyday part of your life in Oklahoma.

Speaking of closets, you tackled the wardrobe next, marveling at how many items would be considered “trendy” now that the fashion cycle had taken a turn—or God forbid, “vintage.” There were stuffed animals shoved into the top shelf, your old 50 State quarter collection, debate club certificates, a landscape picture from your senior year mock trial, and a shoebox falling apart at the seams.

You took it to the stripped bed with shaking hands, knowing you’d been dreading this most of all but that it had to be done, so why not now.

After you broke your engagement off with Scott, you’d gone home to lick your wounds. This was before you found a job, before you decided to move to Oklahoma on the literal toss of a coin, knowing only that you couldn't stay in Pennsylvania and that you needed a fresh start. Left with no other options, home had been your best bet, even though the weeks spent living with your parents and avoiding their worried questions had seemed at the time like cruel and unusual punishment. When you moved out you had left something behind, hidden beneath seashells and baubles and silly notes you had passed during class, movie stubs, train tickets, an inexplicable piece of gum, the collar that had once belonged to Clover, your old childhood dog.

You lifted a school ribbon and found it: a blue velvet box with a golden clasp. Your heart pounded in your ears. You took a deep breath, let it out again before lifting the lid… and there it was, glinting in the light of late afternoon.

“Honey, Rose wants to know if you’d like to join us for dinner at her place!”

Box, ring, and all tumbled onto the hardwood. Though you were alone, your mother calling to you from the bottom of the stairs, you felt incredibly guilty. “I’ll be right down!” you yelled back. You got on your hands and knees and slipped the ring back in its cradle.

It felt dangerous somehow, like a live grenade. But you couldn't get rid of it. When you went back home at the end of the month you packed it at the bottom of your suitcase and it’d been living with you ever since, moved from closet to closet, unseen but never quite forgotten.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

The jewel twinkled in your hand, an oval diamond surrounded by small clusters and set in a ring of yellow gold. It was one of a kind. Scott told you he found it at an antique jeweler’s who dated it to the summer of 1880; it was a genuine Victorian piece, and for nearly four months it had been your most prized possession.

The same foolhardy impulse that made you call Scott and agree to meet him made you dig it out of your closet, right after you spent twenty minutes agonizing over what to wear and the state of your hair. This isn’t a date, you kept reminding yourself. If anything, it might be a trap. He was, after all, Marshall Riggs's nephew.

Letting your lesser sense win out, you slipped the ring on your finger and watched it catch the light. It truly was a beautiful ring. And it was sentimental, as though its selection revealed a hidden truth about Scott.

Its weight on your hand, present and comfortable, calmed your racing thoughts and the nerves roiling in your belly. You kept it on as you dressed and got ready, then chalked it up to a desire for punctuality when you rushed to the elevator, through the lobby, and into your waiting Uber still wearing it. The driver’s presence snapped you out of your momentary lapse in sanity. They were chatty, and the more you talked about work and the weather and what you liked doing in the city, the sillier it felt to be wearing your ex-fiancé’s engagement ring. Before getting out, you stuck it in the pocket of your linen duster… which was also, admittedly, kind of a stupid thing to do.

(You blamed Tyler for all of it.)

Located at the top of a fifty-floor high-rise, Perch was a bar and restaurant with full views of the city and a James Beard Award-winning chef. The atmosphere was relaxed and unfussy, the lighting unobtrusive, and the cocktails reasonably priced. At the door, the vest-clad host directed you through the assemblage of diners and beyond a decorative glass partition to the tables reserved for business meetings, minor celebrities, and men who didn’t want to be seen with their mistresses. Scott was there in rolled-up shirtsleeves. You watched from a distance as he rubbed his stubbled cheek and his pointer finger came to rest at the seam of his lips.

You would not stare at his mouth or let your eyes linger anywhere on his person. This was business, goddammit.

But hell if he didn’t look good. You hated that after all this time you still found him maddeningly attractive.

“Seriously?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio in your arms.

“Well, this isn’t a social call.”

“By all means.” He gestured at the seat in front of him, mockingly formal. You glanced at the coupe waiting on your side of the table, a cheerful yellow with a perfect white foam on top and a twist of lemon peel. “I took the liberty of ordering your usual.”

You sat down and set the portfolio to one side, adopting an air of casual indifference. “Actually, it’s not my usual anymore.”

“Really?”

“But thanks anyway. So, from previous conversations with Javi—”

“What is this mythical new usual?”

“Are you kidding?” you balked, narrowing your eyes.

“No, I’m just curious.” He propped his chin in his hand. Maybe lying had been a petty move on your part but you’d be damned if he forced you to backtrack and you came out of this looking a fool.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but at some point you’re gonna have to learn to live with uncertainty. Anyway—”

“You don’t have a new usual.” Scott smirked. “It’s still a gin sour and you’re just being difficult.”

“Difficult… Wow, okay! We”—wagging your finger in the space between you—“are not together anymore, so these mind games you’re trying to play are highly inappropriate and also kind of a dick move—”

“A dick move!” he repeated.

“Yeah, a dick move! Which I know is, like, your whole personality now—”

“Is it?” he laughed.

“—but I’m trying to settle this like an actual grown-up and all you’ve done for three months is make that very difficult for everyone involved!”

He rolled his eyes. “This is such a fucking boring conversation.”

Incensed, you had the fleeting thought to throw your drink in his face, but people only did that in soap operas. “You were the one who wanted to do this in person!” you fired back, shrill and drawing the attention of a server who promptly beelined to a different table and pretended not to hear. Which only made you wonder what sort of clientele frequented her section.

“And you were the one who called me,” Scott pointed out, “not the other way around.”

His being right made you even angrier. You had thought you were prepared, that magically you’d be able to have a civil conversation that settled the matter in a way that left you with your pride intact and StormLab the clear winner on the side of good. Clearly, you’d miscalculated. “You know what… fuck this.” After downing half your cocktail in a single gulp, you gathered the portfolio in your arms and made to stand before deciding that, actually, you wanted to get a few things off your chest first so that abandoning your PJs would be worth it. “I am so over this whole… fucking… stupid… mess. I’ve had actual divorces that were easier to mediate, Scott. Whole marriages—and not short ones either! Just take the fucking shares! Please… take the shares and go back to Riggs and leave us all the hell alone. We’re tired, okay? This is just… so unbelievably tiring. And fuck you, by the way—yes, it’s still a gin sour.” You finished yours, figuring that if Scott was paying, you might as well.

And now I’m ready to leave, you thought.

But Scott had other ideas.

“You spoken to your mom lately?”

“What?” You gaped at him, wondering if you were losing your mind. Was he? Was there a dimensional shift happening that you weren’t aware of?

“Pardon the observation,” Scott went on, “but you don’t seem… well.”

“Are you being for real right now?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

And how else could you mean it? was on the tip of your tongue. But the look on his face made you stop. No bullshit, no smug provocation. He was serious. Somehow, that was more unsettling than when he was fucking with you. It brought back too many memories.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

He looked you straight in the eyes when he said it. You wanted to burrow into a hole in the ground—into him, if you were being honest. It didn’t matter how many years had gone by. A part of you was still twenty-seven and glancing at the door wondering if maybe, just maybe…

“Oh, I’m gonna need another one of these,” you whispered to yourself, stunned back into a seated position. The server came around and eyed your empty glass, asking meekly if you would like anything else. “I might as well,” you answered, sounding patently glum. All the while Scott kept a neutral expression, even waited until you had another drink—and a glass of water—in front of you, giving the server a soundless thanks before she scurried away.

Probably off to the kitchen to tell her coworkers about the crazy lady at B25.

“I thought about showing up to the funeral, actually,” added Scott when you had regained most of your composure. “But I didn’t know if I’d be welcome. Mom, being a firm believer in Emily Post, thought it’d be better if we skipped it. She sent flowers, though.”

“She what?”

“She sent flowers. Your mom never said?”

You shook your head. She must’ve been trying not to upset you. But you had been upset anyway, thinking about how Scott should’ve been there, how you had always expected him to show up and make things better.

All this time you had used his absence as yet another example of how little you must’ve mattered in the end. Which made no sense, because you were the one to break things off—and yet, that entire winter’s morning, you had bargained with yourself that if he showed up through those chapel double doors you would forget everything and beg him to take you back. It was too late for that. But knowing that he’d thought about going loosened a painful knot in your chest that you weren’t aware you even had.

You cleared your throat. “How’s your mom, by the way?”

“She’s doing all right. She’s part of a sewing circle, believe it or not.”

“Please tell me that isn’t a euphemism.”

“God, I hope not.”

You smiled involuntarily, picturing Pam Miller in her sweater sets and pearls. “I’m glad she’s doing okay. Your dad…?”

He picked up his drink, a Macallan on the rocks. It was his uncle’s drink, too. “I haven't heard from him in years. Guess neither of us ever saw the point.”

“Scott—”

“How’d you and Javi become an ‘us’ anyway? He never said.”

Fair enough. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to talk about his dad, let alone with you. But talking about Javi? When an hour ago he had admitted to wanting to bankrupt Javi’s company?

“I’ll be on my best behavior for the next”—he looked down at his watch—“fifteen minutes. Promise.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s better if we table all the personal talk,” you hedged.

“Better for whom?”

“Better for my clients. And better for me, too. We’re not friends.”

“We’ve never been friends,” Scott pointed out.

“Exactly. So why lie and pretend like we are?”

“Call it a term of this negotiation.”

“Scott…” Already this night was going nothing like how you’d planned. Your defenses had all the strength of a thin paper bag; he was in front of you, all dark-haired, blue-eyed, 6’4” reality and you weren’t unaffected. You wanted to keep talking to him, make the moment last… and all the more because you knew it had to end at some point. Scott would never be yours—not again. You’d made your peace with that a long time ago. But he has a right to know. Maybe if you could convince him that there was no grand conspiracy against him, he would be more amenable to Javi’s offer.

This is business, you reminded yourself. Redirect, bring it all back to StormLab.

“Fine,” you decided, settling in to tell the story of how you and Javi first met. “It happened maybe a year after I moved to Oklahoma City… I was out with a new friend and she took me to this bar after dinner to meet a bunch of people, one of whom was Javi. We get to talking, he tells me all about this new company he’s starting with a friend of his, says it’s a lucky coincidence or maybe fate having a twisted sense of humor because—”o

You broke off. You hadn’t considered how to broach this particular detail in the story. Obviously, Javi had no idea at the time how messy your backstory with Scott was. He had only thought to poke fun at his friend and seemed delighted to have solved a long-standing mystery for himself.

“So you’re the girl!”

“Come again?”

“The girl, you know. He has a picture of you in one of his old notebooks from college. What a small world!”

“What?” Scott prompted. You felt your face heating up and took a sip of water to hide it. You couldn't well omit the rest having already begun, but the knowledge that Scott had kept a photograph of you, whether by accident or otherwise, made you flustered then and it flustered you now.

You settled for: “He said he recognized me, and that he thought we might have a friend in common. Obviously, he meant you. He was dating one of Christa’s friends at the time—”

“Rachel.”

“Yeah. So he’d show up, be around… You know how Javi can be.”

“Like a persistent terrier.”

“Sounds like your kind of business partner.”

Scott looked away.

Not wanting to push things further in that direction just yet, you explained, “I work a lot, so it’s hard for me to make friends. Javi seems to make them wherever he goes. It’s nice having people like that in your life, to open you up, remind you there’s more to all this than billable hours and senior partner tracks. But we never talked about you. Not until this whole thing happened.”

“What thing did he say happened?”

Tread carefully now. Scott was watching you intently—if you said the wrong thing it might start a new argument between you and make his relationship with Javi a hell of a lot worse. In polished business-speak, you recited: “Just that you had a fundamental disagreement about the direction of the company.”

Your reward was a skeptical laugh.

“Also, that he might have left you on the side of the road during a tornado… which he feels bad about, by the way.”

“Not bad enough.”

“Scott, you can’t really want to ruin him, can you? I mean, this is Javi we’re talking about.”

“That’s not part of this discussion.”

“Okay?” you shot back. “I don’t remember agreeing to that condition.”

“You’re still at this table.”

“And that can easily be fixed!”

“All right, calm down.” Maybe it was you in danger of starting another fight. Scott, holding up his hands in a show of good faith, said, “I thought we were playing nice here, being civilized, acting like adults… What else have you been up to?”

“You want to know about my life?”

“Like I said, I’m curious. And seeing as this is a momentary parley, I plan on making the most of it.”

Again, you took in his face in search for any signs of subterfuge and found none, only the barest hint of levity in his eyes at your willingness to argue. It reminded you of the old days, when Scott would delight in teasing you for the sole purpose of seeing what your reaction would be. “Fine. But it’s going to be quid pro quo,” you demanded. “Call it a term of this negotiation.”

His mouth curved into a smile. Then he held out his hand across the table and waited for you to take it before saying, “Term accepted, counselor.”

In the end, playing nice with Scott turned out to be a lot easier once you’d established a few ground rules, mainly the stipulation that either of you could say “pass” if you weren’t willing to answer a question.

You went through the whole gamut of discussing your first jobs after college, gossiped about the old Park Haven crowd, the who-married-who and the who-got-divorced of it all. It turned out that, like you, Scott hadn’t returned to Pennsylvania much in the last few years. StormPAR kept him traveling through the Great Plains for most of the spring and summer, and during the rest of the year he lived in New Orleans, where Riggs and his mother lived. You got the sense that his life revolved around work, and that StormPAR, while not the be all and end all of his professional fate, had been an important part of it until Javi called it quits. You figured this explained, in part, why he took the loss so personally, and though you kept your thoughts to yourself you lamented that his one attempt to branch out for himself and away from his uncle—if you could call taking a major investment from Riggs “branching out”—had gone badly.

Either way, by the end of the evening you felt you’d been a little hasty in believing the old Scott had left the building for good. You exited Perch in higher spirits, glad to see that the night was clear and that the air felt good on your cheeks. When he asked if you were getting a car, you shared your desire for a long walk and he responded with mild horror until you explained that you didn’t live far. “Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty at most.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he insisted. You didn't argue because you were secretly pleased. The only thing you had to guard against was the urge to take his arm as you used to do. You felt giddy with it, which you were sure had to be the alcohol, but it was also the fact that Scott was here, in the flesh, that you were cracking jokes and sometimes even pulling smiles from his otherwise deadpan expression. You’d forgotten how that could make you feel like you’d won the jackpot.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re going to take this the wrong way,” you prefaced while walking backwards on the sidewalk, “but I have a really hard time imagining you as a storm chaser.”

“Excuse me!”

“I mean…” You stopped and full-body gestured. “I mean, look at you!”

“What?”

“Even your slacks are pressed!”

“Objection, why are you studying my slacks like a degenerate?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you replied, and fell into step beside him, if only to keep him from seeing that you were embarrassed by the implication that you might’ve been checking him out. “All I meant to say was—”

“That I don’t look like a rugged adrenaline junkie? Maybe ‘Rodeo Clown’ is more your thing these days.”

“Don’t—Tyler’s actually quite decent, you know.”

“But you knew exactly who I was talking about.” Scott snapped his fingers as if to say, Gotcha! as you ruefully shook your head. Something about Tyler Owens tended to evoke a Neanderthal-like competitiveness in certain men—Scott, being competitive by nature, fell for it all too easily.

“This is me.” You pointed at your building. It was a relatively new construction with climbing greenery and pop-out balconies where you’d lived for a year-and-a-half after a not inconsiderable raise, and the reason why you worked sixty hours a week.

“Can I come up?” Scott asked.

You whipped your head so hard that your temples throbbed. “That’s…” A no good, awful, terrible, ill-conceived, perilous idea?

Scott seemed to find your distress highly entertaining. “Jesus, would you relax?” he said. “I’m not asking to tuck you in—unless, if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” you hurried to say.

“Oh? How come?”

The knowledge that the man with whom you were formerly engaged was inquiring as to the current state of your love life with all the breeziness of do you have the time? was enough to make you believe in karmic punishment. “Like I said, I’m busy,” you managed to eke out, which only made him lift his shoulders as if to say, Then, what’s the big deal?

Scott Miller was good at that, getting his way.

“Fine,” you caved. “But only for ten minutes! Fifteen, tops!”

“Scout’s honor.”

In the elevator car you stuck your hands in your pockets, searching for your keys only to find the cold hard metal of your engagement ring. You looked guiltily at the oblivious Scott, who was staring at the floor display with a contented expression and was none the wiser about your having worn it earlier in the night like some kind of weirdo. Should you give it back? At the time he’d wanted nothing to do with it, but was keeping it the proper thing? Was it good for you to even have it?

At last you found your keys at the bottom of your purse. You opened the door, trying to remember how well you’d tidied after dinner as he walked in, inspecting everything. You watched as his gaze traveled over the open-plan kitchen and living area—the work files, magazines, and old mail stacked on various side tables; the midcentury beechwood couch you got for a steal at a secondhand warehouse when you first moved; the shelves, filled with books and framed photographs and trinkets you’d brought from home; and the view from your window, which wasn’t nearly as spectacular as the one from Perch, but it faced west, and if you were home during golden hour you could see the other buildings lit orange and gold.

“Yeah, this is exactly how I pictured it,” Scott mentioned at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you,” he answered. Your stomach turned to knots. He made you feel seen like nobody else could, not least of which because you’d let him back when you were younger and less guarded. Your heart kicked wildly in your chest, urging you to go to him, go to him, explain everything, get him back, because he was the one. Then Scott looked away, pointing at a sad fern that sat on a pedestal next to your mounted TV. “You still can’t keep a plant alive worth shit.”

“Rude,” you fired back, grasping at levity in order to shove the other thoughts away.

Scott drifted back to your bookshelves, seeing a few paperbacks he must’ve recognized from your old room at Park Haven. “And yet you keep trying. Do you actually use any of these?” he inquired, motioning towards the half-dozen board games you kept piled on an open top shelf. There was Clue and Monopoly, Candy Land, Sorry!, Scrabble and Life.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “when I have friends over. Which hasn’t happened much this year, if I’m being honest.”

“Let’s play.”

You laughed. You didn’t believe him. He pulled one of the boxes out and took it to the coffee table and all you could do was stare, incredulous, as he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, actually sitting on the floor and looking expectantly at you to join him.

“You want to play Life with me?” you challenged. “Doesn’t that seem a little…”

“And you call me uptight.” He waved you over, determined not to take no for an answer. “Come on, hotshot, live a little.”

Despite your better judgment, and after a moment’s panicked hesitation, you lowered yourself next to him. He still smelled the same, like rain and sandalwood and pine. You wanted to curl into his side and feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, like you’d done on the nights he spent hidden away with you in your room. You had never gotten to live together; all you had were countable memories of waking up next to him and thinking, One day… one day we’ll have this every day.

As he set up the board, all you could do was stare at his hands.

SIX YEARS AGO NEW ORLEANS

Marshall Riggs greeted with you a double-kiss at the door, one on each side of your cheeks. Then he held you at arm’s length so he could look you up and down. “Would you take a look at that,” he said to Scott, “pretty as a picture! I suppose this is the part where I welcome you to the family?”

It was midsummer in Louisiana, on the hotter side of balmy and with the cicadas out in force. Shortly before you graduated Scott traveled to Philadelphia and asked you to marry him. Saying yes had been a no-brainer. You were in love, had put up with four years of distance and near-breakups, and now here was the culmination of all your compromise, communication, and hard work. For a second there you’d thought it would end badly; you were both in highly-intensive undergrad programs, there was only so much you could hash out over phone and video calls, and you were young. The question of “do we really want to make a life-changing decision at twenty-one?” had crossed your mind. But upon further reflection you realized that the answer was yes—had always been yes. And Scott seemed to agree.

In the absence of his father, “meeting the family” entailed paying court to his Uncle Riggs, a man you had spoken to a few times, at holiday parties and summer outings hosted by Pam, now settled in New Orleans and much happier than you’d known her before. But all those other times, you’d met Riggs as Scott’s girlfriend. Now you were his fiancée, with a fancy law degree and a diamond ring and everything, and while you would’ve preferred keeping your distance you knew this was important to Scott—that Riggs was important to him.

So you put on a smile and indulged the old man. Do it for Scott, you said to yourself. You’ve come this far. No point faltering while you were at the winning stretch.

You bowed your head. “Thank you for having us, Mr. Riggs.”

“Please, just Riggs,” he laughed. “Or Marshall—but only my ex-wives call me that.”

You soon found he had a way of twinkling his eyes that made you feel like you were sharing a joke. As he pointed out the features of his home—the old tapestries, the mural commissioned by Candice, his second ex-wife, the wall he knocked down because he wanted to “open up the space”, and his plans to expand the front garden, which, as it was, made the house look like it was in the middle of a tropical rainforest—he regaled you with stories about the people he knew, going off on tangents and bringing it back to the topic at hand. He was genteel and witty, and though he carried himself with Southern indifference there was no doubt he had power: he cocked his head, and a woman in an apron appeared with a tray of mint juleps; Scott held onto his every word; and when you were led into a dining room that might’ve fit forty or fifty at least, it was taken as a matter of course.

He pulled out your chair and sat you at his right hand because it was “the place of honor,” and Scott smiled encouragingly. You were doing so well.

You only wished that you could feel it.

“So, you want to be a big-deal attorney,” Riggs announced, digging into a perfect roast chicken. “What kind? Criminal?”

“Oh, no,” you replied. “Civil all the way. I’ve got a few offers but I want to shop around, make sure I’m making the right first move.”

“The right first move!” He pointed his knife at you. “I like that. By any chance, are you a chessplayer, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say that I am. My family are more into board games, really. Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?” you explained.

He got a kick out of that. But he was partial to chess. “Opening moves—if you look at the big picture, they don't seem all that important. But well, in that case, why the hell’re there so many of ’em? Napoleon Opening, Greco Defense, Bled Variation, Balogh Defense… Sometimes how a thing starts dictates how the rest of it’ll unfold, from midgame all the way down to the end. If you're gonna do something, might as well do it right the first time or so I always say. Don’t I, boy?” He turned to Scott for confirmation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yessir…” Riggs chuckled, spearing a roasted sprout. The ends of his bolo tie shifted on his neck. A turquoise the size of an acorn sat between his collar, and he was dressed to the nines—for your benefit, the guest of honor’s.

Nevertheless, there was something of the austere in his eyes. You couldn’t shake it when he put down his fork and sat back, looking from you to Scott, nodding like a king about to give his blessing to a pair of kneeling courtiers. “Pretty as a picture…” he repeated. “Look at you both—young, on the cusp, and none too hard on the eyes, if I do say so myself. A real golden couple on our hands! To opening moves”—he raised his glass—“may we always know when to make the right one.”

You raised your glass to be polite.

Scott leaned across the table. “Before you ask, yes, he is always like this.”

His uncle laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and called for “champagne! To my nephew and his beautiful bride!”

As the night wore on, you convinced yourself that any discomfort was all in your head. You worked your way through three dinner courses, all impeccably cooked, and by the time the doberge was served you decided that you had judged the man too harshly. Sure, he was old-fashioned, but he was also jovial, polite, and he clearly doted on Scott.

“How nice it is to spend some quality time,” he remarked when Scott left the table, saying Pamela was on the phone. She wanted to know what plans you had for the rest of the week, whether you were still on for the garden fête on the 25th, and what dates you were considering for your engagement party, whether that would be here or in Pennsylvania, but I really do think you’d better do it here.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he said to Riggs, leaving you alone with his uncle. Now he had focused all of his attention on you, the full glare of his eye-twinkle and magnetic allure. He wasn’t a handsome man; it wasn’t about his looks—which were well past their prime—but about the knowledge that he could get almost everything he wanted simply by wanting it.

“It’s a shame we never did this sooner,” he went on. “Why do you think that is?” You shifted guiltily. The truth was, Riggs had always made you a bit uneasy. He had a reputation as a difficult man—ruthless, exacting, guileful, hard to please, and he liked doing business in the gray, always legal but never quite on the up-and-up.

Over the last four years, you may have avoided him on the grounds of self-righteous principle, but you couldn't admit to that if you were trying to leave a good impression.

You hedged, “I’m afraid law school doesn't leave much time to spare.”

“Very true… Not that I would know—it was always too much book learning for me, I’m a man of action,” Riggs explained, sipping his whiskey and looking happy as a clam. He had polished off two slices of cake earlier, but only because we’re celebrating. “Now, my nephew… he’s a bit o’ both, isn’t he? Either way, he’s got too much of his mother in ’im.”

You frowned, wanting to say a word in defense of Pamela. Riggs waved you off. “Don’t mind me, I’m just a silly old man with too many opinions. It tends to rub people up the wrong way—don't think I haven't noticed!” Another laugh, another narrowing of the eyes that could have been humor but which you felt like a lightning strike down your back.

He knows and you’re making something out of nothing struggled for dominance within your head, and still he kept on talking, forcing you to pay attention and leave the question unresolved.

He pointed in the direction where Scott had gone. “That nephew of mine—I don’t have any children of my own, did you know that? It never happened for me. Four wives and nothing to show for it—imagine that! But that boy… good thing his father never knew what to do with ’im—smart as a whip he is, and like a dog with a bone once he’s got an idea in his head. That part I’d say he got from me,” he said with a chuckle, wagging his finger in the air. He gave your hand a few avuncular pats and then kept it there, meaty and warm.

“I can see that you love ’im… I can see that you really love ’im. What bright, young, sensible girl wouldn't? You should see him ’round the office! He breaks hearts left, right, and center wherever he goes—a real catch, my secretary always says, and she’s been with me since Scott was yea-high. He’s got his mother’s looks, which I’ll say not to sound too self-serving, heh!” A slight tug on your wrist. You kept your objections to yourself, saying, He’s just a strange old man. As your discomfort grew, stretched to its very limits, he removed his hand and was back to being an innocuous grandfatherly man again. He seemed a little sad, wistful, even. Almost frail.

“I don’t know what I would do without him,” said Riggs, staring at his empty plate. “I really don't. Oh, here! before I forget—I have something for you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his cream suit jacket, extracting a long envelope which he slid across the table with a paternal expression, his gaze warm. You began to object, and, “Go on, now!” he insisted. “I don't hold with false modesty! Nothin’ but a waste o’ time in my book. Open it! Call it a graduation present to help you get started. Scott said your old man was taking some time off from his job, feeling under the weather.”

You opened the flap to find a check with more zeros on it than you could’ve reasonably imagined, payable to your name and typewritten in official font.

“Mr. Riggs, this is…” Your hands shook, you felt too hot in the enclosed dining room. Where was Scott? What was taking him so long? You slid the check in the envelope and tried to push it back to Riggs’s side of the table. “There is no way I can accept this,” you said. “It’s too much money, and while I appreciate the gesture—”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure and I won’t hear no can’ts or won’ts about it! I want you to know how well Scott’s been doing here since he finished school. He’s flourishing, all my business associates love him. I can’t possibly make do without him now.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, a pit growing in your stomach.

Once more Riggs pinned you with that twinkle in his eye. “I think you do, a smart girl like you. A man should sow his wild oats while he's young. I had a pretty young wife when I was his age. Marjorie, her name was. My first. It's true what they say—you never forget your first… By God, she was beautiful! and we had all these plans… so many plans! Dreams, really. But mine were always just a little too big for her, you understand, and at first that didn't matter much—we were in love. But then… the kids never came, and Marjorie had too much time on her hands—at the very least, she had more time on her hands than I did, that’s for sure! That gets to a woman sometimes.

“I know you won't have that problem, big city lawyer and all,” he said to you, as if in you he had the fullest confidence and he was speaking about other, less distinguished women. “But really, even if Marjorie’d been an ambassador to the United Nations she’d still have had a compunction about something or other… Ambition’s a hard pill for most folks to swallow.

“Now, you seem like a nice girl… really, I like you plenty! But let’s talk facts here for a minute. You are not the girl for Scott—not when he’s trying to become the man that he’s trying to become. The boy’s got the instincts of a killer. Really! All I’ve gotta do is stand back and look at him! But you, my dear, you’re nothin’ like him. You’ll never be. For most of my life, I thought the perfect woman would be someone to ‘balance me out,’ as they say. It’s taken me almost fifty years to find out that ain’t nothin’ but bullshit made up by Hallmark or whoever to sell us some cards. There ain't no use fighting one’s true nature. You and Scott are doomed to fail—if not now then in five years, if not in five then in another ten! You’ve seen the cracks, haven't you? He’s not the boy you met in Park Haven. He’s becoming his own man. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

You were almost too stunned to speak. Between the casual misogyny, the callous worldview, and the envelope that lay between you on the table like a coiled snake, you felt like you had left reality—there was no way this conversation could be taking place with Scott just in the other room.

“Let me get this straight,” you began, willing your voice not to shake, “you’re offering me money to break up with Scott because you think I’m not good enough for him?”

“No, no, no!” Riggs drew in close to you and took both of your hands, his face earnest and pained. “You’re getting this all wrong. I’m not some mustache-twirling villain trying to thwart the course of true love! You’re a wonderful girl, I’m sure Scott’s been very happy with you. But everything has its season. The time for moons and Junes and Ferris wheels is over. You can leave him to me now.”

“With all due respect, you’re out of your mind!” You slid your chair back, making an angry scrape along the tile. Riggs closed his grip around your hands.

“Sittdown before you wreck the boy’s life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did Scott ever tell you about his old man? How he squandered the family fortunes and left him and Pamela all but bankrupt? Now, me, I’d have done the decent thing—put a pistol to my head for all my sins—but the man has his pride, though I don’t know where-all he gets it from. You see Pam now, up in her French colonial sunning her face and drinking cocktails like the belle of the ball?” He pointed to his chest. “I did that. Scott’s shiny new diploma from M-I-T? Right again! Now, I don't believe in somethin’ for nothing. Everything in this here world has its cost, sweetheart. Everything. I have invested in that boy—not just money, but my blood, sweat, and tears! I won’t abide a loss. I won’t abide it.”

“Scott isn’t an investment,” you shot back. “He isn't yours to own.”

“And yet it would seem he’s worth more to me than he is to you. If he marries you, he and Pam won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter. I’m telling you I would throw my own sister out on the street for him—my own flesh! Can you say the same? Could Scott? Would he choose you over his poor, silly mother? Now, I highly doubt that.”

The crazy thing was, he seemed genuinely aggrieved by this predicament of his own making. In his face you could see him imagining the scene—him in his black town car, driving past Pam. And yet he remained immovable. Either you gave up Scott or he would make good on his threat.

It was callous, immoral. I have invested in that boy.

The sound of Scott’s shoes came up the hallway. Riggs folded the check into your hands and said, “Don't make a scene. Think about it.”

“What did I miss?” Scott stopped to kiss the top of your head before resuming his seat. You felt nauseous, your hands clammy around the paper you hid in your lap. To you, Scott seemed like he belonged in another world, another time—a Before-Time.

As you tried not to cry, Riggs smiled at him broadly and said, “Oh, nothing much. But I have a little present for you.”

He pulled a box from the bottom of his seat, crimson leather and beautifully stitched. Scott lifted the lid. Inside was a silver Patek Philippe, the watch he would wear when you saw him six years later, sitting across from you at a conference table with a strange coldness in his eyes. He showed it to you, beaming with pride, and while you couldn't remember what canned response you gave, you did recall that he pulled Riggs into a hug, and said, “Uncle, you really shouldn’t have…”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For nearly an hour you and Scott sat on the floor of your living room, playing at marriage and midlife crises and how many babies you would have, which on any other occasion would have made you hysterically laugh or, as Javi said on the night you met, remark upon the universe’s odd sense of humor.

But you were strangely levelheaded. If anything, you felt slightly out-of-body and yet entirely in your body, if that made sense.

You were aware of every piece put on the board. You watched the spinner turn in a rainbow of colors, the clack of the spokes sounding faster and faster before it slowed and then drew to a stop. You felt the couch cushions at your back. Scott’s shoulder brushed against yours sometimes, when he reached for one of the tiny bright pegs that went on top of the tiny bright cars. It felt like you were inside of a dream, and because dreams didn’t matter and had no consequences unless you let them, you started to ease into surrealism.

You played the game, and gradually your body began to relax. This was familiar to you—Scott taking it way too seriously, you poking fun at the furrow between his brows, the way you alternated between cold-hard strategy and chaotically negligent gameplay just to see a reaction flicker across his face. He stretched his legs out beneath the table, threw an arm across the seat-edge of the couch; sometimes, you would recline further back and your neck would touch his arm. You did it a few times, feeling embarrassed at first. But when you saw he didn’t mind, you let your head fall back, waiting as he picked a card.

Something was building beneath your skin. You felt restless, and a little reckless. Despite the law you laid down at the restaurant, you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering. It lingered everywhere: on the hollow of his throat, the shape of his nose, the play of light across his cheeks, his mouth, the spaces where his white shirt gapped between the buttons and you could see his bare chest underneath. Oh, you’re in trouble… you said to yourself, and yet it didn’t matter. You didn’t care. This was a liminal space, a void where you could be honest and unafraid of the truth.

Even when Scott caught you looking, all he did was look back. He let the tips of his fingers touch yours when sliding a card from your hands, knocked his knee against yours. There was a time—or maybe you imagined it—when you felt his hand stroke your shoulder and you almost did something out-of-line. Because there was a line, blurred, but it existed; you kept within the bounds because you knew it was the sole condition to prolonging this state, so you bought owner’s insurance and traded in stocks, changed careers, had twins, repaid a loan (with interest) and made your slow and steady way to retirement at Countryside Acres.

At the end of the game, after all the remaining play money had been counted, it was Scott who said, “Looks like I win,” and all you said was, “Why am I not surprised?”

Then you glanced at the clock. “It’s late.”

“And we haven’t killed each other. How’s that for a détente?” Scott began putting all the parts away, pulling the pegs out of the cars first, sticking each one inside its appropriate little plastic bag. You would’ve thrown them straight in the box and not had a care in the world about it, but you liked that he did.

It was a Scott thing—patient, methodical, kind of annoying, and mostly well-intentioned. You sat back and watched him do it.

“Wow… they teach words like that at MIT?”

“They tried it out with our class—apparently, word was going ’round that STEM nerds lack empathy.”

You smiled. “Now where would they go and get an idea like that?” His eyes flicked down to yours. Having finished, he went back to reclining against the couch, one arm draped over his bent knee.

His gaze on your skin felt like a physical touch, and when it stopped at your lips, a shock of heat went through your body, from the crown of your head down to your toes. You watched him swallow. The urge to kiss him was vicious, urgent and unrelenting, and when you saw his mouth part, his tongue emerging to wet his lips, you thought, Now now now, but then Scott stood so fast he almost upset the table.

“I should go,” he managed to say, his voice ragged. He sought sightlessly for his discarded jacket, found it lying over the top of the couch, and he couldn’t escape fast enough. Frustration rolled off him in waves.

“Scott!” You scrambled to your feet. You might have touched the very edge of his sleeve, but he held up his hand to stop you coming any closer.

“This was a mistake.”

You went stock still. The spell was broken—this was no longer the dreamworld where nothing mattered, this was the Real World. The one where everything had been broken, not least of which because of you, and it was all a mistake. Calling him had been a mistake, meeting him had been a mistake, thinking that you could control anything you felt about him had been a mistake.

And now there was this: Scott raking his hands through his hair, turning in the middle of the room, almost a decade’s worth of anger and disappointment and confusion and, why not, maybe a little hatred thrown into the mix.

“You never trusted me!” he threw in your face. “And I mean never—even when we were in high school, especially not in college—”

“Why are you talking about college?” you demanded, your voice rising to meet his.

“Every time I called, it was like you were expecting me to tell you it was over. Every girl I so much as spoke to when you came to visit—”

“I was eighteen! What the fuck do you want me to say? That I was insecure and kind of an idiot? Yeah, no shit! I thought we’d moved past that!”

“No, we didn’t move past it because it never changed! Maybe it stopped being about other women, but then it was about work, about the time I spent shadowing at my uncle’s company. Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to keep having to convince you that I was all in? And what, somehow we went from that to ‘you’ve changed, Scott, I don’t think I like who you are anymore, Scott’—?”

“What the fuck? I never said that!”

“The night we had dinner at my uncle’s—the night you left! And again in the elevator—”

“Can we not do this?” you plead. “I thought we weren’t going to do this. We agreed!”

“Well, maybe I'm changing the terms.”

“Then this ends right here.”

There was silence. You knew it was coming, and yet it still hurt like a freight train hitting you square in the chest when he looked you in the eyes and said: “What else is new?”

You flinched. You felt your whole body recoil, your eyes sting. Your fault. The one who couldn’t stand up for herself, couldn't commit, who ran at the first sign of trouble. You and Scott are doomed to fail. Riggs had laid down his vision for the future and you had believed him, had chosen to believe him more than you had ever believed in Scott, or in yourself.

You’re not the girl for him. You’re nothing like him.

Hadn’t you always told yourself the same in the darkest recess of your mind? Hadn’t you, in truth, been just a little bit relieved when you packed your things and moved back to Park Haven, play-acting ended, no more trying, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“I’m sorry.” Scott took an immediate step towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” you shot back with more vitriol than you intended.

“Don’t do that—don’t pretend to know how I fucking feel.”

“You forget, Scott. I know you.”

“I thought the whole point was that you didn't! That I was so… unrecognizable!”

“Well, you are!” you exclaimed, shouting again. “Suing Javi? Trying to take down his company? Being Riggs’s, what, fucking loyal dog—”

“Oh, spare me the hysterics…”

“Did you say it?” you cut in. “Did you really say you didn’t care about that town full of people?”

Scott froze. You watched his jaw clench, and you knew in that moment that he'd been counting on Javi’s discretion on that score.

If your intention had been to preserve any goodwill between them, that was all going up in flames now. Hell, after tonight, you and Scott might be incapable of being in the same room together, let alone working towards a peaceful resolution to a civil suit.

“You weren’t there,” he ground out. “There were other things going on.”

“Did you say it, Scott?” It was obvious that he had. The shame kept him from saying another word when you finally stepped around the coffee table. “But God forbid I say a word against Marshall Riggs, the undoubted patron saint of Tornado Alley. I'm sure his real estate empire only exists so he can share his considerable wealth with the downtrodden and needy!”

“What do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to apologize for who my family is? I'm sorry if you find my uncle objectionable, but he is the only reason I ever made something of myself—you ever consider that? I’d be nothing without him—nothing! You think my father could have lifted a finger? Riggs is the only reason Mom and I made it through that summer. I owe him everything! So he makes business decisions you don't agree with—”

You scoffed.

“—but Javi knew exactly where all that money came from. He wasn't duped, I didn’t trick him… he made a choice. He made a choice! And then, what, Kate Carter comes along and he grows a fucking conscience? Give me a break…”

“And where the hell is yours! You think I give a shit what Marshall Riggs does? I care about you, you fucking idiot! Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’re happy? That it… that it feels good to know you’re suing your best friend, that you seemingly have no other friends, that you’ve hitched yourself to your uncle and the most you can say is you’re doing it out of obligation? You used to want more for yourself, Scott!”

He laughed at that. Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he regarded you with a derisive humor.

“Tell me, how’s the trust fund going? Your dad—he was always a pretty shrewd investor, right? and your mom’s family… they’ve got those boutique hotels along the eastern seaboard, the ones that get their pictures in the magazines and all over social media? It’s pretty easy to talk about wanting more for yourself when your father didn’t sink your family prospects on a deck of cards. I do what I have to do. Not that you’d ever understand.”

Money—had it been this big of an issue the whole time? Had you ignored it all the years of your relationship? Money… and jealousy of your father, Scott’s resentment towards his. You felt so blind, so stupid. The “cracks” Riggs had referenced had been there all along, and instead of talking about them you had stuck your head in the sand, worried that if you said the wrong thing all your insecurities would be proven right. That Scott would leave.

Scott… Did you ever stop to consider the damage that leaving him alone with Riggs might cause?

“You only think you can’t make it without him,” you dared to say. “But he doesn’t care about you.”

“What, not like you do?”

“No,” you affirmed. “Not like I do.”

Scott frowned at you. He appeared almost childlike, vulnerable. A boy calling “no fair!”, probably with Riggs’s voice in the background saying, Life isn't fair. “You don't get to do that. You don’t get to do that after all this time… you—you fucking left!”

“He offered me money. Did he ever tell you that? How he tried to buy me off to leave you? You talk about my trust fund, and it’s true—I grew up lucky, but we never had Marshall Riggs Money. There’s rich and then there’s capital-R Rich, the kind you only get when you’ve turned being a ruthless son-of-a-bitch into an art form.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes—you know I’m telling the truth. I never liked him. What's more, he could tell I didn't like him, and he couldn't have that… no, not Riggs. He’d gotten used to you being his right-hand man and he wasn’t about to lose you. So he waited until you left the table—”

“I’m not going to listen to this.”

“—he waited until you left the table,” you repeated, almost toe to toe. You forced yourself to continue, even in the face of Scott’s patent distress. You couldn't live like this, not anymore. Keeping secrets, taking the biggest share of the blame. “‘If he marries you, he and his mother won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter,’” you recited. “Those were his words. I’m not lying to you—I wouldn't, not about this.

“He was never going to let us be together. Obviously, I didn’t take the money, but he was dead serious about his threat. And I was angry. I thought if only you’d stood up to your uncle before, if you weren’t blind to what he really was, I would never have been put in that position. So I took it out on you. I blamed you. And I said things…”

You faltered, remembering the night you returned to the hotel. You couldn’t stay, not with Riggs’s check in your pocket and the memory of his hand gripping your wrist. But Scott didn’t understand. He didn't know what had made you so upset, why you were throwing your clothes into your suitcase and talking about flights and returning his ring and about how it was time you stopped pretending. And, yes, you took to heart what Riggs had implied about other women. You weren’t picky. You weren’t careful. You just had to leave.

You were ashamed of it now. The knowledge of how you’d acted lodged in your throat like a stone you couldn’t swallow down. Scott remembered it, too. His eyes flickered this way and that, recalling, wondering how much of it was true.

“I said things to you that I wish I’d never… that I still think about, and I still regret, because I love—” Your voice broke. You placed your hands over his chest, then cradled his face, willing him to believe you, willing yourself to be brave. “I still love you, Scott. I love you. I should’ve told you the truth, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“No… you left,” he said weakly, bracing his hands around your wrists.

“I know I did… I know, but he can’t have you.” You kissed his mouth, once, twice, as many times as he allowed, and all the while you said the things you should’ve said that night in New Orleans. “I won’t let him have you… not this time… not again.”

Scott turned his head and the heat of his tongue met yours.

One second he was all coiled tension and the next he was all over you, walking you back towards the couch, kissing a trail down your neck, one hand tangled in your hair while the other was already up your skirt matching his strokes to the curl of his tongue. He laid you down on the couch, settling between your thighs, and even clothed the weight of him felt familiar—the pass of his hand up and down your leg, the way he liked to tease you by wandering just close enough to where you wanted before pulling away, distracting you with a searing kiss or a shallow roll of his hips.

In the past, there were times when he would draw it out for hours, taking you to the brink and back until you were sure you wanted to curse him.

At a friend’s New York wedding, he made you come three times before he entered you, and you weren’t too proud—now, with the real Scott on top of you, all over you, soon to be in you if there was any justice in the world—to admit that you had replayed that night in your head sometimes when you were lonely. When a bad day at work or an ill-advised night of drinking too much ended with you trying to chase sleep on the heels of an orgasm that was never as satisfying as the ones you got with Scott.

Even when you managed to make yourself come—really come, that full-bodied electricity-followed-by-deep-silence feeling—you had been all too aware of his absence. What was the point, you had wondered, if you couldn’t curl up next to him or listen to the steady flow of his breathing or hear him sigh into your neck when he wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep? What was the point if, upon waking, you wouldn't have Scott and his early-morning voice, the clarity of his eyes, the smell of the coffee he made in his stupidly expensive espresso machines? (God, you missed that coffee.)

It was Scott… it was only ever Scott.

The couch was a perilous place to be doing any of this. You weren't sure that he fit in it, for one, and for another, you were mildly worried about the potential costs of fixing a broken midcentury piece of furniture. Oh, well, you thought, life’s too short. Not bothering to undress, you pushed aside articles of clothing, hands bumping into each other, scraps of fabric pushed aside, belt buckle rattling as it landed on the floor, until finally he surged into you, gripping the side of the couch and burying a curse against your neck as you stretched around him.

He slid a hand below your hips and fixed the angle. The sex was hurried, messy and it had nothing of grace; it was imperfect and rather cramped, really, but all that mattered was how he felt. He felt like home. As you came, he entwined his fingers around yours, and then he finished, trembling, prolonging a wave of pleasure that took your breath away.

Don’t go, you want to say into his heaving chest.

Somehow, he turned you on your side so you could stretch along the couch. He wrapped his arms around you, stroking feather-light touched along your arm as his breathing slowed. You felt tired, hollowed out, but not in a bad way. In a quiet-before-the-storm way, when you can smell water in the air and the breeze picks up, and the world sits on the cusp of being new.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I miss you too.”

After that, there was a silence so long it made you think he’d dozed off, but then he spoke again, painfully honest and a little scared. “I don't think I can do what you need me to do. I’m not… that’s not who I am anymore.”

“I think you are,” you said back. “I think he’s who you’ve always been.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were enjoying a rare weekend off from work. Figuring you could do with some real time off the clock, you’d let the office know you’d be holding all work calls and emails until Monday. Abby’s eyes had nearly popped out of her skull in a rare show of feeling, but after the emotional turmoil of the last few months, you knew you needed to walk around the city, have a massage, touch some grass, maybe eat a pint of ice cream in front of a frothy period drama—a true-blue staycation.

The morning after you and Scott slept together, you’d agreed that it was in everyone’s best interest to let things be. He needed time to think about a few things, and regardless of your shared history, you were still Javi’s lawyer. You distracted yourself by doubling down on other cases. It helped that dealing with Mrs. Richardson-Burkhardt and the four Barone siblings was as eventful as watching an HBO television series—between the scathing one-liners and last-minute twists, there was little bandwidth left over to think about Scott.

And yet you always managed.

For better or for worse, Scott had always been good at making you hope for things. Even when you wanted to err on the side of caution, expect the worst and thus avoid disappointment, just the fact that he loved you made you feel like anything was possible, like you could make things happen.

“We brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything your father and I ever did wrong.”

At a department store downtown, you watched across the way as a young couple studied a tray of rings at the jewelry counter, diamonds sparkling in the light. The woman grabbed her partner’s arm and pointed at one of the selections as if to say, “That one!”, and for a moment they were in perfect sync. The salesman offered up the band with elaborate flourish, the groom-to-be took his bride’s hand, slipped the ring on her finger, and they admired it together, the play of white gold on her black skin.

The woman beamed. So did he.

“Looks like we have ourselves a winner,” the pleased salesman declared.

After lunch and an overpriced iced coffee, you arrived home with a gift for the Travises’ golden anniversary party, a pair of gold-accented crystal champagne glasses you hoped would survive the flight. It would be nice to see your mom again, to reunite with your old college friends, and revisit old haunts.

The thought of going home no longer filled you with dread—for which, even if nothing came out of your night with Scott, if he decided that upending his life was too much for him to handle right now, you would always be grateful. For years, your idea of a worst nightmare was running into him and having the truth spoken aloud, plainly, and for both of you to hear. Nothing will ever be as bad as this, you told yourself.

But it was a half-lie. Not seeing him again would be worse.

Already, you felt his absence like a hollow in your chest.

On the kitchen counter, you saw that your phone began to ring. “Javi, how’s the weather looking?” you asked, putting him on speaker as you poured yourself some water.

 “She’s a fickle mistress, I’ll tell you that! Hey, I just wanted to let you know… Scott called this morning. He says he’s dropping the suit.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t sound too surprised. Any of that you're doing?”

“No,” you replied, picking up your phone, “that’s all Scott. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, actually.”

“Well, he sounded different. Still Scott, but a shorter stick up his ass, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I know a part of how everything went down was my fault—business is business, as my Ma always says. I sold him my share of StormPAR, which means I also have to pay back some of the money we took from Riggs. That’ll hurt like a—well, you know… I’m not the guy’s biggest fan these days. But if I don’t have to hear the name Marshall Riggs ever again, I’ll count myself lucky and say it’s a price well-paid.”

“And Scott?” you ventured to say.

“Honestly, I think he’s done with the whole thing. Sounds like he’s closing up shop, which makes sense. He’s a damn good engineer but kind of hopeless as a chaser.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Are you okay?”

“Me, or me and Scott?”

“Both.”

To Javi’s credit, he took a few moments to actually think about it. “Yeah, I’m good. You know me… I never stay down for long. Man with a thousand plans. Me and Scott? Man, I don’t know about that one… I did leave him by the side of the road. Ruined one of his immaculately pressed shirts.”

You snorted. “God forbid.”

“Yeah, God forbid. Listen, if it were up to me, I’d just let bygones be bygones. Life’s too short, you know. Shit happens… I don’t want to be a guy who burns bridges over money.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“What I mean to say,” Javi spoke over a sudden burst of wind, “is that if Scott ever wants to give me a call, I’ll answer. You can even tell him I said that.”

“Me?” You set your glass down with a clatter, heat rising to your face.

“Yeah, you! I’m not an idiot, hotshot, that history’s not gone ancient yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm… Anyway, the wind’s picking up. Kate’s off reading her dandelions.”

“You know, I kinda wish I could see her doing that…”

“Watch out, we might make a chaser of you yet!” Javi crowed.

You shook your head, said, “I wouldn't hold my breath,” but you were smiling. The sun streamed through your open windows and anything was possible.

Once Javi ended the call, you stared at your phone, wondering… And then you decided to be reckless one more time. Call it a calculated risk, you thought instead. You held the phone up to your ear and listened to it ring. The dial tone sounded a few times, and then it stopped.

He’d answered.

“Scott, it’s me,” you said, trying to relax the thrumming in your heart.

There was a pause and then you heard his voice: “Did Javi tell you?”

“Yeah, we just got off the phone.”

“Open your door.”

You made a face, glancing at the screen and holding it against your ear again. “What?”

“Open your door, UPenn!”

You dashed to the entryway, patting your hair, blotting your face, wondering if your shirt was wrinkled. When you pulled the door open, you saw Scott in full view, in the middle of the day. Not wearing white. The blue of his shirt brought out his eyes, which looked tired but less burdened, too.

He seemed lighter, if not happy then trying to get there.

“Thought I’d skip out on being a sore loser this time.” He gave a half-shrug.

“I don’t know, Miller… from here it doesn't seem like you're losing.”

He smiled at the floor, almost shy. And when he looked into your face you saw the boy you fell in love with at Nichols Academy, the one who took baseball too seriously, who loved Hemingway and your mom’s apple crisp, the one who sang bad Sinatra and got into fights and thought James Watt was something of a god. It was like the worst of the last few years had gone away, leaving only space for something new to grow, to be built—together.

“All I want is you,” promised Scott, taking you into his arms.

You stuck your hand in your pocket, extracted the ring you’d kept there for almost a month like a talisman, like a good-luck charm, and held it up to Scott. He stared at it, and then at you, with something like shock.

Something like awe and wonder.

“Don’t you know? You've always had me.”

And in that hallway, Scott Miller, a man who’d never cop to having a romantic bone in his body, spun you around and kissed you and wouldn’t have cared if your neighbor at Apartment 424 had noticed or if one of his investors appeared. Maybe there was something to Tyler’s corny catchphrase, after all: If you feel it, chase it—no matter the odds, no matter the obstacles in your path, because feeling it was purpose and inspiration and direction when you lost your way.

It took you a while, but you understood it now.

[stayteezdreams]

How they surprise you for Valentines Day: SKZ Hyung Line

Plot: How they surprise you for Valentines Day

Pairings: Bang Chan x Reader (est. relationship); Lee Know x Reader (friends to lovers); Changbin x Reader (friends to lovers); Hyunjin x Reader (est relationship) *all Gn!Reader Inserts

A/n: These aren't going to be super in depth. I originally planned on writing multiple fics for Valentines Day but my motivation has failed me. But I wanted to get something out, so this is what I was able to do lol

Warnings: Gifts include jewelry, but I kept it vague so it could be anything really.

Words: 1.3k

((Maknae Line))

Ateez Version; Hyung Line; Maknae Line

Chris: Proposal

Chris would definitely be a 'day full of surprises' person

Starting with the classic, breakfast in bed.

He would make heart shaped pancakes (or waffles if you prefer), he would cut up strawberries into shapes of hearts as well.

All your favorite breakfast sides would be included as well as some of your favorite flowers.

Once you were up and out of bed, you would exchange gifts.

You got him a new watch, a cute stuffed animal, and some tickets to an event he really wanted to attend.

He got you a cute plush as well, a set of matching couple sweatshirts, and a piece of jewelry designed by him that he knew you would love.

Even though you offered to help with Valentines plans, he insisted he plan everything.

Though you were nervous, you let it slide, forgoing the anxiety surprises gave you.

Chris didn't plan anything over the top, and it ended up being a very cute Valentines Date.

You had lunch at one of your favorite spots, and then you went to a variety of stops both of you enjoyed and knew well.

The arcade you went to you on your first date, walked through the mall you first met at (introduced by mutual friends), you took photos at the photobooth he first asked you out in (to capture your reaction in physical form)

It was a walk down memory lane, going through the different phases of your relationship.

As the day progressed you began to grow suspicious he had something big planned.

And you were right.

When the evening came, you had dinner on the rooftop at the same place you celebrated your first anniversary.

After you ate, he presented another bouquet of flowers to you, before giving you a heartfelt speech, and getting down on one knee.

Even though you knew he had something planned, you didn't let yourself think too much about a proposal. But that was exactly what it was.

He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you. And you of course, wanted the same.

Lee Know: Camping/Get Away

You and Minho were not dating, but instead, close friends (who were secretly very in love with each other)

Both of you were not too excited about being around all of your lovey-dovey couple friends, so when Minho invited you to join him on his camping trip, you said yes.

It was a bit late that you realized you would be stuck together with the guy you had had a crush on for years. So you were struck with nerves a bit too late to back out from.

Unbeknownst to you, this was his plan.

You were staying together in one large glamping area, large tent, proper beds, tv, etc.

The first day, you walked and explored, made food for each other, and star gazed.

All the while, you noticed Minho was acting a bit softer to you, and finding excuses to be closer to you.

The second day (Valentines Day), you figured out why.

You woke up that morning to find Minho gone. He had gone out early and cooked you breakfast to surprise you with.

And he even presented you with a bundle of hand-picked flowers, the same ones you had pointed out and admired the day before on your walk together.

You were bewildered and very touched by this and asked him why he bothered doing it.

Though he tried to give his normal Minho straight-faced demeanor, you could tell he was a but sheepish when he said, that 'since you were here together, that you should be his Valentine.'

Not wanting to assume anything with his words, you thanked him somewhat jokingly, until he added on:

"Since you're my Valentine, we should be dating too, right?"

You were so stunned that he laughed at your expression before he confessed his feelings to you.

Minho is not great with heartfelt speeches, so he was quite straightforward, but this was better you thought, since it was more believable.

So even though you left on a camping trip single and annoyed by Valentines Day, you came back with a boyfriend and a very cute Anniversary date for the future.

Changbin: Cute Date In

You and Changbin were best-friends and had spent Valentines Day together for the last few years.

Buying all the cheesy stereotypical candy and foods, and watching a lot of stupid movies together.

This year, it was the same plan, at least for you. But to Changbin, it was going to hopefully be the first Valentines Day you spent as a couple and not just best-friends.

When he showed up to your house with flowers, it was a bit of a surprise, it was the first time he had brought you some.

The two of you would often exchange cute stuffed animals or weird cards instead.

But the flowers were beautiful and romantic, which was exactly what he wanted you to think of them.

He did bring you a card as per-usual, and inside, you expected to find the normal array of cheesy puns.

But this time, instead, it was a love letter, to you.

When you were done reading it, you looked up at Changbin with teary eyes, having never expecting the guy you had feelings for to return them.

He wiped your tears and admitted that he was afraid to say everything he wrote to you in case he messed it up.

After you confessed your own feelings, you spent the rest of the night having an actual Valentines Date with your now boyfriend.

The evening was spent nearly the same as the previous years, but with many more cuddles, shy glances, and yes, some kissing.

Hyunjin

You and Hyunjin each planned half of your Valentines Day together, wanting to try and pick something you each thought the other would like.

You booked an event at an Art Museum, where you went with your date, had a variety of drinks and foods, while painting each other.

It was casual, and fun, and you even made a few new friends.

Hyunjin's painting of you was beautiful and made your heart flutter. He titled it "My Muse"

Whether you were a good painter or not, no matter how your painting of Hyunjin came out, he would cherish it forever.

If it was a bad painting, he would love it because it made him laugh and cherish it because of how hard you tried.

If it was a good painting; he would hang it in his office, framed and all, and love that you painted him so well.

In between your chosen events, you went on a walk through a park hand-in-hand, talking, joking and just enjoying each other's company (and having some ice cream or other sweet treats).

For the second half of the date, Hyunjin had set up (with the secret help of Felix and Chris) a picnic on top of a building with the perfect view of the sunset.

The area was set up with twinkling lights, cute balloons, flowers, and a blanket with a bunch of cushions.

The food was a mix of both of your favorites, as well as some new dishes to try out.

Even though you had agreed no gifts, he did it anyways and gifted you a piece of jewelry before showing you his matching one.

(You also got him a gift anyways, it was a set of nice paint brushes he had been wanting, that you surprised him with later)

After you had your fill of food and watched the sunset together, you danced together to music, and star gazed while cuddling, talking about how happy you were.

You ended up falling asleep in his arms, and he let you rest for a while while admiring you, silently reminding himself just how happy and lucky he was that you ended up being such an important piece in his life.

He also decided that next year, he would propose on Valentines Day (if he was able to wait that long)

xx

Sorry they were a bit basic, I still hope you enjoyed them!

🌼 Taglist Form 🌼

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@pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @nikisfmine, @shymexican, @stillwjk-channie-lixie, @alexxavicry,

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Changbin: @lieutenantnLee Know: @hongjoongsprincessHyunjin: @dear-dreamie

[solecize]

  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (5)

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a ㅤㅤㅤ year of a death of a thousand cuts because, no matter what comes your way, saying goodbye is never an option. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. extra warning for violent acts in a relationship (throwing objects at the wall) ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next

stop, you're losin' me

i can't find a pulse

my heart won't start anymore

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: new kbs variety show announced - first mc revealed to be s.irens' novaㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   january 2017

the memories of bora bora stuck to you like maple syrup on your hands for years. it was a haunting notion to consider the trip the beginning of the end. you remember the way the golden sand stretched out across the water for what felt like forever, as it shimmered and sparkled under the relentless sun. you could hear jungkook’s laughter echoing in your ears like a melody of a song that looped in your head. the sharpest image of that week glared at you angrily - the first serious fight that you ever got into with your boyfriend.

it was a given that you and jungkook butted heads like any other long-term couple, but you found yourself stomping away to nayoung’s hotel room at the end of the third night with a bundle of clothes in your hands and tear-stained cheeks.

when she swung the door open, her heavy lids indicated that she was about to burst into a complaint about you waking her up. instead, nayoung’s eyes jolted open when they read the expression on your face. 

“what happened?” she asked.

you fought a wail, making sure to shove any sort of crying down your throat because god knows you would never stop if you started. nayoung frowned and opened the door wider, gesturing for you to come in. 

her room was always messy at the dorms and you weren’t shocked to find her hotel room in a similar state of disarray. however, it beat the way you trashed the room you’d been sharing with jungkook.  clothes on the floor, random objects hurled at the wall, and even a lamp abandoned on the floor. the anger you felt was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. you admitted this to nayoung, who looked at you like you had two heads.

“yeah, we fought and i may have knocked some things over. . . “

your temperament was definitely an issue to be discussed, but in your eyes, there were more pressing problems to address. when nayoung made room for you to sit on the left side of the bed, you immediately tucked yourself under the covers and let a few tears stream down your face. 

she frowned. “what were you guys fighting about?”

“jungkook thinks that i’m always too focused on work,” you explained, swiping at your face. “he said i don’t make enough time for him.”

at this point, you were four years into debut and permanently stuck in the fast lane. a few major events occurred in your career recently that changed the trajectory of your group’s popularity - the first being the departure of miseul. it was an unfortunate situation, as she requested the termination of her contract to go back to her hometown, where her grandmother was ill. the company then replaced her with a new girl, cara, who you did not get along with. there was no choice in the matter, though, and your group’s first comeback with the new lineup happened earlier that year.

another signficant dynamic change was nayoung’s quick rise to stardom as an actress. she’d starred in a drama that was one of the most popular of all time on mbc and as a result, grew in popularity that arguably surpassed your group. she had endorsements and jobs coming left and right, which was prioritized by your company over the group’s endeavours. 

it was a bitter feeling, being overshadowed by both your own group mate and boyfriend, but you instead focused on working harder and taking on every project you could. even with bts’ growing status and schedules, you found yourself making less and less time for jungkook and his argument was that he always did more for the relationship than you did.

“focused on work? we’re literally on vacation.” nayoung sighed, coming into bed with you. “i’m glad you’re here, though, y/n. i feel like i haven’t seen you since we landed.”

agreeing to the bora bora trip was a reluctant decision, as it was originally just supposed to be a composition of your and jungkook’s friends. you only wanted to bring nayoung and sooah, until the latter convinced you to ask cara to tag along, since they didn’t want to leave her out. the trip was intended to be the time for you to bond with jungkook, but you were now put into a position to also bond with your group members, especially since things hadn’t really been the same with the girls since miseul left. 

“nayoung, we’re still friends right?” you asked meekly, feeling pathetic even as you said it.

her shoulders dropped and she pulled you into an embrace. “of course we are! why would you say that?”

“ever since we stopped living with each other and since miseul left. . .” you trailed off, tearing away. “i feel like the group sees each other as just coworkers or something.”

you were now twenty years old and experiencing life independently. the same was said for your group mates, as you were all now off doing your own things and only reuniting once or twice a year for a comeback. at some point, you considered these girls sisters. now, those feelings felt miles away. even the bora bora trip felt forced. 

“y/n,” nayoung’s tone grew serious. “i’m always going to be here for you.”

this would be the last time that s.irens would spend time together outside of work. sooah and nayoung’s relationship soured over the years to the point where they no longer spoke by 2020 - a result of merely growing up and growing out of childhood friendships. you also began building resentment against nayoung, who would become the country’s it girl in no time and stopped publicly acknowledging that she was in a girl group. you eventually no longer considered her a friend, deciding you did not want her arrogance in your life. miseul only texted you once a year to say happy birthday. this was the breakdown of the only support system you had. 

when morning came after staying up until dawn with nayoung, you found yourself sneaking back into your and jungkook’s shared hotel room. you were surprised to see that he was not in bed, but felt a salty breeze stream in from the balcony.

  you stepped forward and saw jungkook sitting down, eyes fixed on the aquamarine of the beach ahead. when you opened the door wider to let yourself out, he already knew it was you.

  “i’m sorry, bug,” he immediately said, too ashamed to look at you.

  you were convinced that it was your hothead that drove the majority of the argument and his apology made your heart sink. you were the one who threw things at the wall and spiralled without looking back. he shot back with his own words, but you knew that you were the one who started it.

  without warning, you sat right beside jungkook and wrapped your arms around his back. you put your chin on his shoulder and he physically relaxed, as if he’d been carrying sandbags for days. you whispered an apology against his neck and held back tears.

  “you’re right. i’ve been a horrible girlfriend.” you hated how bitter the words tasted. “i’m going to do my best to fix my work-life balance. you try so hard for me.”

  TOP HEADLINE TODAY: the 2017 edition of the idol star ahtletic competition now filming in goyang!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤjanuary 2017

  you never felt at fault for your hot temper when jungkook’s jealous eye followed you like a lost puppy. it was just as much as a problem as your own shortcomings and it always felt like a battle of who’s more in the wrong between you two.

  everyone looked forward to each year’s edition of the idol star athletic championsips, a kind break amidst the hustle and bustle of a regular schedule. some of the more active idols took the games quite seriously, but for you and the rest of s.irens, it was several days of filming that were ultimately far more chill than any of your regular promotional activities. coming off the bora bora trip, a little relay race was next to nothing in terms of effort. 

  your group’s event was the last of the day, which left you and nayoung wandering around the goyang gymnasium for the meantime. you were texting jungkook to see if he was also free, when nayoung was called over by some individuals. 

  it was in a tent area away from the view of the spectators and cameras, which you were grateful for at an event where fans watched idols like hawks.

  “nayoung! and nova!”

  exo’s leader was known in the community to be charming and well-spoken, which didn’t surprise you when you found yourself struck immediately. you’d seen him around and of course watched him on television and online, but you could now see up close just how different the aura of a top boy group was. beside him was his fellow group members and participants for the archery event later that day, who were sehun and chanyeol.

  “y/n, this is junmyeon and sehun and chanyeol,” nayoung introduced, beaming. it seemed like her rise in popularity meant that she had begun rubbing elbows with a-list idols like exo.

  you mirrored her smile. “nice to meet you all. y/n is fine, just call me that,” you insisted, as the three of you exchanged bows.

  unlike your fellow group members, you didn’t find yourself to be much of a social butterfly. you hung out with them and your boyfriend - occasionally your boyfriend’s friends. yet, somehow, others knew you. sehun asked if you were doing archery again this year, which you weren’t. junmyeon complimented your group’s last release. chanyeol mentioned running into miseul at the airport the other day. 

  as the pleasantries were made, the floor rumbled with the roar of fans across the stands. in the middle of the arena, the rhythmic gymnastics event was set to begin and all eyes were trained on the competition. that is, all eyes except junmyeon’s, whose own eyes remained fixated on you. it was a foreign sensation to feel your heart leap. 

  “excited for the day ahead?” strained chanyeol, struggling to be heard over the mcs talking. 

  nayoung replied, “yeah! i think our group has a good shot at the relay event!”

  that was false, since you knew sooah was prone to tripping and falling, but you kept that to yourself with a muffled snicker. 

  “it’s definitely going to be a long day. . .” sehun said, yawning. 

  nayoung blew some hair out of her face. “at least it’s only one day of filmng this year.”

  you enjoyed participating in isac each year, as it was mostly fun and games, but it was stressful knowing that cameras were constantly on you. each day of filming felt like the equivalent of a week when you anticipated random fancams of you on the internet the next day, probably doing mundane things like saying hi to a member of exid.

  junmyeon spoke, “it’s going to be a long day, but there’s a thing happening at kc lounge tonight after filming and a bunch of our team is going to be there. chanyeol reserved a whole section for us - you should come.” it took you a second to realize he was now boldly holding out his phone. 

  although the words were meant to address both you and nayoung, he was directly facing you and only looked at you when he asked. you were caught off guard, having trouble finding the words to respond. junmyeon’s eyes were soft and his smile was inviting - you weren’t an idiot. you knew when an invitation was beyond friendly. even nayoung was side-eying you, following the inquiry.

  “uhm - “

  “i’d love to see you there.” it was hard to miss the once over he gave you, as his boys let out a low whistle at his suaveness. you couldn't help but notice the pink tint spreading across your cheeks. 

  the attention felt nice. you’d never been approached so boldly by a senior idol before. and he was hot. you didn’t know what to say, except that you were lingering in this conversation for way too long than acceptable.

  thankfully, the vibration of your own phone interrupted whatever sentence you were to form next. with a glance at the screen, the picture of you and jungkook stared back at you and you were left dumbfounded. why was he calling you in the middle of a live event? 

  you said, “sorry, i think i’m being called.”

  nayoung nudged you, prompting you to turn around and see that jungkook was staring directly at you from a few tents away. his expression was stone-cold and eyes burned in your direction. realizing what it looked like to him with junmyeon basically asking for your number, you groaned. 

  “you think it’s safe for me to walk over there?” you muttered into nayoung’s ear, ignoring the curious stares of the three exo members in front of you. junmyeon had now slowly retracted his phone away, now also noticing jungkook looking your way. 

  nayoung looked around. “maybe if you walk behind the tents, up against the wall,” she suggested, not missing jungkook either. 

  it wasn’t too bad of timing either, since the competition was mid-event and most individuals were preoccupied with that. you wouldn’t have approached him in public otherwise. 

  junmyeon seemed to understand what was going on and he only offered a small smile. “well, let me know. we’re stuck here all day, anyway,” he chuckled.

  you thanked him and excused yourself, following nayoung’s direction to discreetly make your way over to jungkook’s tent. 

  other than him, a few members of bts lingered around the tent, presumably warming up for their event later on in the day. well, that’s what you thought they were doing before, as they were now looking towards you and jungkook, probably witnessing the same interaction as your boyfriend. jungkook’s arms were folded across his chest when you approached and you were already not in the mood.

  “meet me in that hall,” you said as quickly and loudly as you could, not wanting an audience. 

  you turned around without waiting for an answer and jungkook waited several beats before trailing behind, just in case. the two of you found yourselves in the tunnel leading into the main stadium area, which was thankfully empty. 

  you were surprised that jungkook’s fuse was triggered, as you two just shared a nice dinner date the night before with no issues. however, the more you thought about it, his jealousy issues were rising recently - from one wrong stare at a party by a monsta x member the other night to being asked out by a music producer that worked with s.irens.  each interaction was met with rage.

  “are you alright?” you questioned, once you were out of earshot and eyesight from anyone.

  “were they being weird to you?” jungkook instantly replied, jaw clenched.

  you furrowed your eyebrows. “what? no,” you said. “they were just being friendly - “

  “you should stay away from exo, i wouldn’t trust a lot of those guys.”

  “isn’t taehyung friends with some of them?” you dryly shot back, but he ignored your sentiment and continued ranting about how male idols weren’t to be trusted.

  obviously, you and him both knew what he was actually annoyed about. you stood your ground, as you knew you didn’t do anything wrong. it was a harmless interaction and you didn’t expect the entire idol community to know that you and jungkook were dating - well, actually, you kind of did and it was a little bit weird to get the invite in such a flirtatious way, but you were not going to take part. it was shut down immediately, but here you were. 

  after another minute of jungkook going on about the interaction, you interrupted him by abruptly placing a kiss on his cheek. he froze.

  “stop it. i’m fine. he was just being nice,” you sighed, looking around to make sure nobody was hiding in the shadows. “now, can we go back to our jobs, jungkook?”

  though your boyfriend was normally quite relentless about these things, your words did snap him back to the reality in which you were putting your very careers at risk to even have this hushed conversations in the shadows. isac was all fun and games, but you were on the clock with cameras in every corner possible. your slight touch of affection seemed to also help, as jungkook visibly eased when you kissed him on the cheek.

  he adjusted his sweatshirt and sighed. “alright. i’m sorry.”

  and that was the end of that conversation, but another faded memory lost in the chaos of 2017.

  TOP HEADLINE TODAY: the 2017 bts live trilogy episode III (final chapter): the wings tour to commence next weekㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤfebruary 2017

  the bland eggshell walls of the bighit entertainment headquarters didn’t faze you. at the very beginning, it was unsettling just how hollow the corridors and nooks appeared to be, as if the surroundings belonged in a prison. you’d been in and out of the hallways over the past years, albeit often for very few reasons that were pleasant. though it was a huge maze, you memorized the path on floor seventeen.

  upon hearing the loud ding and the metal doors sliding open with ease, you stepped onto the said floor with nothing less than pure anger bubbling in your veins. you clearly made your way up here — through traffic and past the security at the front desk who always mistook you for a crazed fan — with a purpose. you weren’t going to rest until you gave jeon jungkook a piece of your mind. releasing a long sigh, the employees who took a glance up and saw the infuriated expression on your face didn’t even bother stopping you. this had become routine.

  the distinct voices of his group members, combined with one of the group’s tracks amplified through speakers and footsteps squeaking on the hardwood floors in immaculate unison, were enough to tell you that he was here.

  “jeon jungkook.”

  the chorus to ‘spring day’ came to a sudden halt. hoseok was the first person to take notice of you and stopped dancing when you appeared at the doorway. the others noticed fast and when jungkook finally looked up, someone had already stopped the music.

  the look shared by his group mates seemed to read that they knew exactly what he was in trouble for. the prompt end of the music seemed to indicate so. a scared expression flashed on jungkook’s face upon reading your own stone-cold one.

  last time this happened was when you found a pack of cigarettes in one of your boyfriend’s jackets, after he swore up and down to you that he was quitting nicotine. another time was because of him forgetting that you had a date that night. today, the rage running through your veins was due to something new.

  jungkook visibly winced every time you said his full name aloud and here, he nearly shuddered at the sound. his head hung low, like a puppy. he knew what he did wrong this time.

  “i’ll be right back,” you heard him mutter to namjoon who could only nod empathetically, arms folded across his chest as he observed the scene.

  for jungkook’s sake, the group broke out into forced conversation to distract from the two of you. seokjin pretended to ask hoseok for help with the choreography and taehyung wanted to suddenly show the rest of the group a video on his phone. meanwhile, the youngest of the group wordlessly followed you out into the hallway.

  “where were you last night?”

  the question was immediate, not even waiting for jungkook to shut the door behind him. he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

  jungkook asked, “did you really have to come all the way here to have this conversation with me?” exasperation laced his words like a bow, but you were unfazed.

  “well, clearly i don’t know when and where you’re busy,” you shot back, “so i had no choice but to come here.”

  he opened his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off by raising your phone to eye-level. on the screen was the private instagram of cha eunwoo, who posted several slides of content of cheonsa lounge in gangnam. the very first picture was him and jungkook, clutching a shot glass of dark liquor in one hand and a vape in another. upon scanning the screen, where you proceeded to move through the instagram post - one picture of jungkook posing with eunwoo and the bottle girls from the club and the next being jungkook holding a bottle of champagne - silence filled the air.

  jungkook’s shoulders drop in defeat. “i’m sorry, it was a last minute thing - “

  “how last minute?! i called you at ten last night, asking if we could have a movie night in,” you cut him off, “and you said you were feeling sick! you don’t look so sick in these photos, huh?”

  “i was feeling sick, i swear!” he exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “the boys called me an hour after that and guilt-tripped me into coming - “

  “oh, please.”

  jungkook huffed. “i’m telling the truth!””

  if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea that jungkook’s boys did, in fact, drag him out to the club the night before. regardless of that, you were more upset with the fact that he declined you, but said yes to his friends. 

  “is a night in with me too boring for you now?” you questioned, jaw clenched. “if you were going out, you could have at least asked me to come!”

  “you don’t have to come out every time with me, y/n, i need time with my friends,” he replied and sighed once more. 

  this made you even more mad. “when did i say you can’t have time with your friends?!” you didn’t like the fact that jungkook was making you out to be such a control freak.

  jungkook groaned. “i didn’t say that!”

  nothing had been the same since the bora bora trip earlier that year. sure, you and jungkook fought like any other couple, but it was never this bad and this frequent. it was as if the fight in the hotel was the first domino to a cascade of falls. coupled with your increasingly exhausting schedules and other factors affecting your relationship, such as your career-driven mindset that was prioritized over everything and bts’ rise to international fame, it was only natural that you and jungkook would only drift farther apart.

  yet, neither of you were ready to walk away. as you and jungkook continued your back and forth for several more minutes to come in the darkened hallway of bighit entertainment, you could hear the opening notes to spring day once more - his fellow members presumably giving up on waiting for him to return before resuming practice.

  i miss you, was the opening line to spring day and it physically hurt your heart to listen to, as jungkook stood just a few feet away from you and still seemed so far away. the two of you gave each other the silent treatment for the next week after.

  TOP HEADLINE TODAY: s.irens fans grow restless as the group's comeback is pushed once again, allegedly to accomodate main dancer go nayoung's filming schedule for mbc's 'far away' dramaㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   september 2017

  for once, you and jungkook were not getting hazy heads amidst the lights of a nightclub or a packed party, but a charity ball. held at the spacious estate of a member of the family behind hyundai, it was a sight to behold and made jungkook forget that he was in the middle of seoul. he found himself in the back gardens, underneath a marble gazebo that overlooked the lush flowers and twinkling lights of the area. they shone like stars, string lights that hung all around the gardens, and jungkook wished he could share this sight with you.

  things were fuzzy with you, but jungkook held out hope that you would be able to pick up the pieces and fix things soon. after a string of fights the past few months, you had finally reached your wits’ end. it was an imploding, inevitable time bomb that was going to set off sooner rather than later. you and jungkook were beginning to butt heads more than not and one random thursday night, it was d-day.

  there weren’t too many places in the city that would be safe for even just a normal stroll with your boyfriend, which was an unfortunate truth that jungkook had to swallow for years on end. more than anything in the world, he wanted to flaunt you to the whole world to show everyone just how lucky he was. he was so in love with you and that was never going to change.

  from the moment he met you, he was smitten with your beauty and the nail in the coffin was your addicting personality that he was so naturally in sync with. to have someone so incredibly bewitching as his best friend, all jungkook ever wanted to do was scream to the world that you were his girlfriend. 

  instead, your date nights since the turn of your early twenties consisted of outings like secluded nature walks, friends’ homes, long drives, and if you were careful, the corner store at night. maybe that was why jungkook loved enjoying the seoul nightlife with you - it was a safe space where you could be with each other and with each other, the most important thing other than pounding music and letting alcohol wash away your worries.

  your last date was no different, as jungkook suggested to take a walk along the han river. you had no qualms about the suggestion - though, evaluating the place as a date wasn’t the catalyst to your agreement. you knew that there was a conversation to be had and you could have done in anywhere at that point. it’d been over two weeks since you last saw each other, as missed opportunities sipped from your fingers to sit jungkook down and have a talk about your relationship with him.

  jungkook saw you from a mile away - it was hard not to when you were literally wearing one of his hoodies. even though it’d felt like forever since the dna promotions began taking over his life and you were off filming a drama, he could always spot you in a crowded room in just seconds. you were waiting by the water, looking off into the seoul night skyline. a black baseball cap hid most of your face and you were smoking a cigarette - a habit that you eventually picked up from jungkook, despite initially chewing him out for the unhealthy habit. you eventually decided that you were also too overworked to not have a vice.

  on the other hand, jungkook had been cold turkey for a whole month. he’d grown disappointed of himself for giving in so often on ruining his health, especially as a singer. a frown tugged at his lips when he approached you, just as you were finishing up.

  your eyes always brightened when you saw jungkook, but tonight, you saw something in his own that prevented it. offering a small smile, you walked closer up without a hint of a light in your eyes.

  “hi kookie,” you whispered and pulled him into a tight embrace. jungkook always loved your scent - a strong cinnamon and vanilla smell that warmed his heart, even on breezy autumn nights like this one.

  his face was in your hair, holding you just as tight, when he realized something. something odd.

  jungkook stepped half a foot apart when the hug concluded, examining your features. “there’s something wrong, isn’t there?” he asked, as the anxiety came to settle in after you chose to hug him instead of kiss kim.

  your lips pressed into a thin line and he knew. you insisted that you two hold hands during this walk, which he wanted to refuse, but eventually decided to remain quiet about it. hands clasped, you two began to stroll south of the river.

  for a bit, you and jungkook bantered about how you stole his hoodie without him even realizing it. then, an uncomfortable silenced emerged, as you both could only listen to the light stream of the han and the passing cars nearby. 

  it was jungkook that said something first.

  you let him speak freely because on any other day, it would be a battle marked by avoidance and stonewalling. jungkook had suddenly come to a stop in the middle of the path, after the silence became too grand for him. he reached his limit, too.

  “we should take a break.”

things had been getting weird for a while now between the two of you. you were always fighting and when you weren't fighting, it was when jungkook was overseas, away on the wings tour.

  that’s when your heart began racing. “a break? you want to separate?” 

  “we obviously can’t be together. this isn’t working out. we clash too much and we’re always screaming at each other and we’re risking our jobs and - fuck, i’m sorry.”

  the rant was cut short when jungkook, after pacing back and forth as he spiralled with each word, paused in his tracks at the sight of tears streaming abundantly down your cheeks. he stopped and immediately felt the ball of anxiety at the bottom of his stomach transfigure into a heavy dread accentuated by guilt, weighing heavy on the inside. his chest began hurting and apologies fell from his lips, as he took you right back into his arms.

  “i love you, i know it’s been hard, but we can’t break up,” you hiccuped in between each short breath, barely audible when your crying face was pressed up against jungkook’s chest. “do-do you really feel that way?”

  jungkook rapidly shook his head, not even taking time to think about it. “no, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry!” he cooed, rocking you back and forth.

  after a moment of just crying from the two of you, you were finally able to catch your breath and rubbed jungkook’s back, hoping it would help him catch his. his breathing eventually slowed back to normal.

  “but, i think you’re right. . .” your voice suddenly emerged, barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to lose you. . .but we need space.”

  “i’d do anything to save this relationship,” jungkook replied and the statement brought you an unknown feeling, spreading across your mind. “whatever you think is best. i can’t lose my best friend - let’s take some time and come back stronger.”

  and that was the agreement. it had been just about a month since it happened and there was no progress since. your and jungkook’s schedules were busier than ever and it was only a coincidence that you both ended up at the same charity ball.

  for the first time in a long time, seeing you felt like remnants of a far away memory - shattered glass pieces of your relationship dancing in the air that, if jungkook tried hard enough, could be grasped at and remembered. your hair was now blonde and made longer with extensions, brushing just above your tailbone. you wore a periwinkle evening dress, soft satin mirroring the chandeliers on the high ceilings and fanned out into a flattering mermaid tail shape. jungkook hadn’t seen you with such makeup before, as you wore a cherry red lip and a sharp cateye. you looked different. . .good, but different.

  jungkook saw you in the foyer, mingling with some chaebols and looking bored. jungkook noticed that you came with sooah, presumably to represent s.irens or your company as a whole, but neither of you so much as looked at each other. jungkook grew worried that you were slowly isolating yourself from your friends. he was also worried that your bored eyes were instead tired eyes from such a hectic schedule.

  there wasn’t any way that jungkook was going to get your attention in that moment, so he instead carried on with his night as normal. he greeted friends, looked for opportunities to network, and helped himself to the fine wine. after an hour, he wandered outside to get some fresh air. then, he looked out at the beauty of the gardens and thought of you, as he strolled down the cobblestone path with a glass of red in one hand.

  he wasn’t sure how long he’d been pondering for under the gazebo, until he saw the time of his watch and realized that it was probably time for dinner to be served. jungkook sighed, stepping out of the gazebo to make his way back inside the manor, sneaking one more look at the calming moon and hoping to run into you at the party. 

  jungkook’s wishes were met sooner than expected, as he spotted you by a tucked away corner, smiling from ear to ear. he was taken aback to see the source of your giggling, being some guy he knew from the korean national football team. one of their best players, actually, as jungkook was quite a fan. he was one of the most popular athletes in the country, it was no surprise that he’d be brushing elbows with other a-listers at this charity ball. jungkook hand clenched into a fist, watching the two of you flirt away from everyone else.

  throughout your years together, jungkook was always a bit of a possessive type. in the way you were far from perfect, he also understood his own flaws. i mean there was quite a lot, like anyone else - he was also bad at communicating his feelings, often shutting down, and cared a lot about appearances.  

  none of that mattered in this moment, as he began walking straight toward you.

  in your defense, you genuinely believed that space meant that you were single. had you been the one to make a fuss about breaking up? yes, but. . .well, there was no but. it’d been years since you were able to prance around without the worries of a relationship and although you wanted jungkook back, it was admittedly freeing. 

  bae sejoon was the striker on the men’s national team and had been eying you since you walked into the estate. the two of you previously crossed paths at a lounge in gangnam a few months ago and now seeing that jungkook was not presently attached to your hip, he made the first move. it was hard to ignore - his coy smirk and athletic build that exuded masculinity. however, your only intentions were to simply ravel in the attention sejoon was willing to give to you.

  as soon as you arrived to the event, sooah already left to go greet some of her model friends in the main dining room. she didn’t ask you to join - you’d been drifting apart since the beginning of the year and moving out of the dorns. meanwhile, you planned to politely mingle with other guests, given that you were technically here because of work - despite wanting nothing more but to lay low and keep to yourself. 

  “well, maybe we should go together. can’t believe you’ve never been to the best cafe in all of seoul.”

  instead, you were batting your eyelashes at sejoon, who’d been going on about some french-style cafe that just opened up in the city. you didn’t think he was a particularly interesting guy, but he was cute. a cute distraction. 

  you said, “that sounds fun.”

  except, sejoon didn’t know that you stopped drinking coffee two years ago. he didn’t know that you found little coffee shops pretentious and too hipster-y for your liking. you forced a smile. 

  jungkook always got you pastries straight from one particular bakery. he remembered your matcha order word for word. he made fun of coffee shops that tried too hard to be different with you. he. . . . he was now right in front of you?

  you made it known to jungkook that you loved seeing him in all black. as the first kiss of autumn dawned upon seoul, he donned a long sleeve dress shirt and slacks. tailored and in the consistent shade of all black, the sight lit a fire in your stomach and you found yourself in a haze of how good he looked. 

  jungkook never hid how attracted he was to you, even after all these years of being together. he scanned your appearance from head to toe, licking his lips. it was as if there wasn’t a whole third person in your presence, as explicit images ran through both of your minds. it’d been so long since you saw each other and the tension in the air was like molasses. 

  “hi y/n,” jungkook greeted, not even looking sejoon’s way, until the other male cleared his throat. “am i interrupting something?” the glare jungkook sent sejoon was sharper than a blade.

  sejoon rolled his eyes, already realizing his defeat. “yes, actually,” he replied. 

  your eyes remained trained on jungkook until that moment, where you had to physically shake it off. 

  “jungkook, you know sejoon,” you began reluctantly, noticing jungkook’s hard planted feet.

  he only grunted in response, still not caring enough to say anything to sejoon and acknowledge him. 

  at this point, sejoon was over it. he looked at you and then at jungkook’s menacing figure, arms crossed and glare still fixed. it was as if you watched him calculating his odds during this conversation and decided there was no winning.

  sejoon turned to you, a crease in between his eyebrows. “nice chatting with you,” he said and solemnly walked away.

  you would have otherwise rolled your eyes at such a dramatic reaction if it weren’t for jungkook standing in front of you. everything about him was so mesmerizing, as the time away truly made the heart grow fonder. the smirk pressed against his lips showed that jungkook knew exactly what kind of effect he still had on you.

  “i’ve missed you,” were the words that fell out of your mouth, almost instantly, and you wanted to kick yourself. how pathetic.

  jungkook eyed you. “didn’t look like it just now,” he tried to be casual, but the sharpness in his voice was loud.

  “still as jealous as ever, huh?”

  your initial tactic was to play hard to get - even if you and jungkook had been together for years, it’d been so long since you could just flirt and tease him. it was a spark that’d been missing for quite some time now. a smile played mischievously on your lips.

  truthfully, this was what jungkook needed. he was initially despondent upon your agreement to give each other space, sulking for several days until work got too busy to be dwelling on emotions. the time away and seeing you look at another man sparked something in him, too. his lids grew heavy.

  he said, “so, this is what space means for you, huh?”

  jungkook sounded as angry as he was hungry. it set him off, as his gaze lowered further and further down your body. on any day he would be ticked off, but his feelings of frustrations today instead felt warm and inviting. you froze when he stepped closer towards you, close enough that you could simply speak in secrets. 

  “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all that could come out of your mouth in a heavy breath, too mesmerized to make any further attempts at wit.

  he was now just about nose to nose with you, but you couldn’t muster up the strength to meet his eyes.

  “you’re nervous.”

  “no, i’m not,” you said, edge in your voice.

  lying right through your teeth wasn’t the best strategy when jungkook could see past it like glass. you were happy to flirt and dish it out, but being so close to jungkook so suddenly left you at a loss for words. you forgot where you were for a second and when you realized that the two of you were in public, your heart began beating like a butterfly’s wings. despite this, he was bold. he didn’t move an inch, willing to risk it all. 

  jungkook let out a low chuckle. “you won’t look me in the eye. you’re nervous, baby.”

  “what do you want, jungkook?” you asked slowly.

  his gaze trailed back to where sejoon walked off to. “what was all that about?” he said.

  the answer was glaringly obvious to you, as jungkook innocently brushed a hair from your eyes and you resisted the urge to shudder at his touch. nothing in the world compared to this feeling.

  “honestly?” you began, as identical smirks began to form on both of your faces. “nothing. nothing at all.”

  that was all that needed to be said. jungkook, without tearing his eyes away from you, wordlessly took his phone out of his pocket and made a call. he licked his lips as he spoke and everything else in the world faded to grey. jungkook was a cascade of the colours of the rainbow, illuminating brighter and brighter like the sun until you were blinded from seeing anything else. he was a kaleidoscope that shone in front of you and you were emerging from a place with no light.

  it took you a few moments to realize that jungkook was calling his driver. however, as far as he was concerned, the night wasn’t over - it was just getting started.

  jungkook finally stepped away and you somehow felt so cold. “i’m going to leave out of the west wing doors. my car is there. leave out the east wing doors and walk around to meet me.” his directions were precise and somehow not commanding. tone soft and a gentle hand on the small of your back, it was the worst feeling of all.

  familiarity. comfort. home.

  all you could do was nod, your chest growing louder with excitement. both of your synergies were one and you both knew what idea came to mind. not much else needed to be said and there wasn’t a single part of you that could say no. his knowing smile was haunting.

  after parting ways in opposite directions - as if a conversation didn’t even occur -  you eventually ended up in the back of a limousine with jungkook.

  time moved oddly in between those two moments, as the only thing you could think of was jungkook. it was an addiction no different than chips across a roulette layout or a cup of espresso at the same time everyday. 

  thankfully, the driver’s partition was already up when jungkook opened the door for you, because he immediately captured your lips before you could even sit down. like second nature, your fingers found themselves in the crown of his hair and his hand held your neck like a trophy. you both stumbled, now sat - at least he was. you were already straddling his lap. he tasted like red wine and you could have indulged for forever. 

  “mph, that’s what i fucking thought,” he mumbled against your lips and you took his as an opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth.

  his hands began hiking your previously eloquent gown up, enough that he could grip your thighs from underneath. your own hands found the buttons of his shirt, as the limousine began to speed off in what were probably going to be circles until jungkook told the driver to stop. 

  being in love was a vicious cycle that proved to be endless. this pattern would only continue from here on out. no matter how deep your passions for each other ran and no matter how addicting each others’ touches were, it only grew worse from here. more fights than lasted weeks to only be swept under the rug with a fuck and make up or a bottle of whiskey shared between you both. growing issues that were overlooked because that was your best friend. 

  your heart was no longer in it - it was trapped. all you could do was forget and forgive. all jungkook could do was beg and shower you with love. the night at the charity ball was one of many roots that eventually grew into deep seated resentment.

LATEST HEADLINE TODAY: hotel azure: what is this up and coming spot for idols in south korea and why is it so special?ㅤㅤ

[claggorstuff]

I NEED a claggor x reader where the reader is sent to the other dimension with ekko, and like ekko and powder, claggor and that dimensions reader have an established relationship. What would his reaction to us acting weird, being that the last time we saw him was under a pile of rubble. Would he catch on, or would he only realize once we finally leave with ekko through the portal device? Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Hehe, I have time to do this now

I can't make up a title for this so let's just go with what you said

I shot up, surroundings now entirely different from before, I was all of the sudden in a new room, new home, and surrounded by these odd gadgets, all growing some sort of flower or plant.. it smelt like lilacs, oddly. I stumbled through the home calling for jayce or ekko or even that little furry fellow, in stumbled... him. A face I could recognize but just barely, the memory of his eyes, void of light or life, it was stuck in me forever..

"Y/n.. are you good? 'Nother nightmare or...?"

"Y-You.." I felt sick to the stomach, his goggles were on a desk filled with petals and roots and liquids unkown

"Me...?" His voice was gruff and tired, full of natural confusion

I stared as if he were a stranger, but in my guilt and sorrow, I lunged into his arms as if he'd disappear before my eyes. He held me warmly, rubbing my back, ignoring the confusion he had about why I was acting in such a way. I looked up at him. He'd become so different, so beautiful, and clearly, he'd become an inventor, fitting for a mind as large as his.

"Any reason for all.. this?"

"..I uh.. you just.. looked tired."

"Ahh.. right.. sorry, I pulled another all-nighter. I just can't get them to absorb the-"

"It's ok.. don't apologize, I know how hard you work, claggor." The name left my mouth for the first time in ten years. It stung like a hornet to say it, but he just gave me a soft and appreciative smile.

"Thanks y/n, besides- I made a new flower just for you this time-! And it's my best yet, wanna see it?"

"Sure..sure.. but uhm.. where's ekko? I think I need to speak to him first."

"Well, he's probably back at benzos still, we can go there and then come back for the thing, c'mon let's go."

He took my hand, pulling me along the lanes, which were.. cleaner, than I remember. Not a brothel in sight, and when we got to benzos, I could see ekko stumbling out looking just as confused as I was. I ran over and yanked him out of sight before claggor could yell over at us to wait up, and he was in a state of disarray

"What the hell happened?!" I yelled, agitation in my voice as if it was he who brought us here

"How the hell would I know. JINX is in there, but she's not jinx shes- she's powder and benzos in there and.. nothing is right here.. I'm just glad I'm not crazy. That I'm not the only one who knows there's something wrong.. are you okay though..?"

"I'm just.. he's.. he's here, and it hurts. It hurts so damn bad.. but I'll be okay, we gotta figure out a way to get home." I crossed my arms, squeezing my wrists, holding back the tears that begged to come out.

"We'll figure this out.. I'll figure this out. You just go back to him.. enjoy the time you got with him." He gave me a nervous smile, I could tell he was worried for me. He knew this is what I longed for all these years that claggor has been gone. And I knew that too, but I can power through the pain. The longing. The grief.. he walked back out so that we didn't look so suspicious, claggor walked over and slung his arm around my shoulder chuckling

"What're you two up to now? You better not be telling him about my stuff so he wins the innovators comp!"

"No.. I'd never." I fake giggled, conveying my confusion about what he was even talking about. He kissed my cheek, sending fire through my face.

"So, I've been having trouble with the infusions of the grey clearing system the flowers have, any ideas?"

"Grey..clearing.. flowers..? Uhhh.. not a clue."

He stared seemingly bewildered by this answer, as if I tend to have all the answers, he chuckled and nodded

"Making me figure it out myself again I guess?"

"Yep."

I walked with him down to what used to be the room he, Mylo, powder, and vi slept in, it had been turned into a lab of sorts, you could tell they'd all moved out, but Vander always liked to have visitors I suppose, I guess that's why claggor converted it into a lab for him and powders little habits of invention. I saw many flowers, big and small, many colors, many beautiful forms.. but on his desk laid a great beauty of a flower. It shined with a spectrum of colors reflecting off each petal almost like oil, it's petals curved at the base and twisted at the tips into spirals. I stepped closer to it to investigate perhaps what he named this marvelous thing, only to see.. it shared my own name.

"Oh uh.. yeah, I forgot to show you my latest little project... your birthday was coming up and I couldn't just give you some boring necklace or flower.. so.." He put a hand over it and pulled the lever at the top emitting a gas onto it that it seemed to absorb and grow, it's petals curling as if to breathe.

"That's.. for me..? You made a whole new species of plant for..me..?"

"Well- you know I got a knack for these things n.. I really don't think its all that yet, it doesn't even compare.."

He stared down at it seeming disappointed, I've not the slightest clue how he could be, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.. it had function in its beauty, one of his plants that live off of the carbon emissions of fossil fuels it looked like.

"...I think it's more than enough for me." I opened the little window to touch it, he sighed and shook his head

"Not possible, REALLY not possible." He murmured, smiling a little as he watched me play with the flowers spiraled outward petals, to think that this is what I could've had from him.. this is what I could've had if..

"...Are you.. crying..?" He quickly crouched to my level to put an arm around me as I wept. He doesn't know that I'm not the girl he loves or ever did love, it pains me to know I can't stay, that I have to go back to visiting his grave in the underground, the city full of smog and sewage that this version of him wouldn't stand for.. I could barely speak, unknowing of how to explain why I wept.

"I just.. I really love it, claggor. I do.." I croaked out, he rubbed my cheek, wiping away tears and picked me up gently

"Well, I'm not finished with it yet, so be patient!" He nervously spoke, I could tell he was trying to calm me down.

"Alright.. if I have to." The mask of this different me went back on as he carried me up to Ekko, Mylo, and Powder. We conversated for a while until powder and ekko left to visit vi, I'd wondered what she looked like here, but I was too reluctant to leave Claggor to go see. As the days went by, Ekko and Heimerdinger seemed to be finding a way back home, and it got harder to hide who I was. Claggor seemed to be catching on slowly to the fact I wasn't telling the full truth of why I would seem to be lost in his eyes, why I would just have fits of crying and grief late at night next to his sleeping body, he didn't know how much it looked like his cold corpse shining in the blue light of the moon.

The night of the innovators competition, Claggor danced with me to the music played at the celebration.. but I could tell something was off. Later on Ekko had taken me to where he'd been working on his stuff with Heimerdinger and Powder, Heimerdinger was tinkering with his machine excitedly as Powder and Ekko cautioned him. I knew it was time to go, and it was time to leave this world behind. Time to leave claggor behind. When I heard a call from the entrance.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

I swiveled around when suddenly it happened, me and Ekko were separated from the bodies of these different versions of ourselves. Heimerdinger had disappeared, Claggor rushed to hold the woman he loved, and I could only stare and smile. She was meant to be with him, not me. But before we left, he stared up at me. He stared up at me and gave me one last smile before he disappeared for the rest of my life.

Sigma Sigma on the wall.. who's the skibidiest of them all...

Freaky...

[intheupside]

Sidney Crosby was his usual humble, appreciative self on Thursday morning after being informed that he was the Penguins' nominee for the Bill Masterton Memorial Trophy, awarded annually to the player who best exemplifies the qualities of perseverance, sportsmanship, and dedication to hockey.

No, he's not overcoming a terrible injury or health issue, and he didn't have to battle adversity off the ice. But with the work he puts into his game, there's nobody else that best exemplifies a dedication to hockey. With his role as a leader on the team, an ambassador to the game and just an overall great human, nobody else best exemplifies sportsmanship. And with him having the season he's having at age 36 -- 39 goals and 45 assists in 76 games, on a mission to drag the Penguins into a postseason spot at any cost, he's a model of perseverance in his own way.

While Crosby may not quite agree with his own nomination -- the second nomination of his career, after he was a finalist in 2013 after his bounce back from concussions -- his teammates sure think he's deserving.

"It's everything he stands for," Rickard Rakell said. "It's about the leadership on and off the ice, the time he puts into getting to the top of his game. It's obviously well-deserved."

"It's the way he carries himself," added Marcus Pettersson. "He represents the game, in a way. He doesn't only represent us, for a long time he's been the face of hockey, too. The passion that he brings, and the love for the game that he brings, he's a very, very well-deserving nominee."

As far as sportsmanship, Crosby is a model of that both on and off the ice. Off the ice, he's an ambassador to the game. He never turns down media, and is almost always available to speak in the locker room after games and practices. He's generous with his time, as exemplified in a story Brian Boyle recently shared of Crosby spending nearly an hour playing bubble hockey with Boyle's young son Declan after a game when Boyle's family was in town during the 2021-22 season, and taking the time to FaceTime with Boyle's kids when they were back home in the Boston area. He's accessible to fans, with Mike Sullivan noting that he's never seen Crosby turn down a kid seeking an autograph or looking to meet him.

"Some of the small gestures for me are the ones that mean most," Sullivan said. "Not everybody gets a chance to see that side of Sid."

Crosby is just a giver too, whether it be for teammates or complete strangers. I've seen him before in front of me on the drive into PPG Paints Arena for game nights, and he's cut across lanes approaching an intersection to get next to the median to give money to a homeless person. One of my favorite stories about Crosby came courtesy of Joseph Blandisi, who recalled what Crosby did for Adam Johnson after Johnson's NHL debut in Nashville in 2019.

"I remember that the day after (Johnson's) first NHL game," Blandisi told me after Johnson's death in October. "Crosby had his tailor in the dressing room and got Johnny a suit from his tailor as a congratulations for his first NHL game. That's a story I always tell when people ask me how it was playing with Sid, I always tell the story that he bought Johnny a suit after his first game. That always stuck with me."

Crosby reflected on Letang's win last season on Thursday, after he succeeded him as the Penguins' nominee.

"Given the fact that he had gone through (the stroke) once before, and then having to go through it again and seeing over the years how hard he's worked and what he's gone through to still be playing to a level that he is, it's really impressive," Crosby said. "It was much more deserving, probably, than my nomination."

sid for masterton 🥹

[marzipanandminutiae]

Ranking My Childhood Barbies: Mid-Millennial Edition

I was born in 1993, near a turning point in Barbie styles- from the enormous sparkly eyes and poofy skirts of the 1980s and 1990s to the sleek, sophisticated look of the early 2000s. I was also VERY MUCH not a Barbie kid in the classic sense- I did not have a passion for fashion until I discovered fashion pre-1918 as a teenager. My heart sang for American Girl dolls and every princess and nominally historical fashion doll it could find. If the Haunted Beauty line had dropped in 2001, I would have lost my 8-year-old mind. Which means my nostalgia may be a little to the side of everyone else's, so join me for a walk down memory lane as I rank every non-Disney fashion doll I owned in my childhood. Because I'm 32 and still not over dolls. also bored.

(I'm including release years, but most of these I had a year or longer after they came out)

13. Vols Cheerleader Barbie (1999)

I grew up just outside of Nashville and I won this as a family Easter egg hunt prize when I was...like 7, I think? I knew the prize was a doll. I did not know it was a Sports Doll. My disappointment was immeasurable and my Easter was ruined.

12. Ruffle Fun Barbie (1994)

She was my reward for being toilet trained when I was 2 or 3, and I am told I selected her myself. What tiny Marzi was thinking, I will never know. But she was the first, and that counts for something.

(the "fun" was that the ruffle could go on the neckline or the hem of her dress. truly minutes of mind-blowing play, there)

11. Barbie Sweet treats (1998)

She wasn't a princess or a historical lady, and that lost her Many Points. But she came with fun tiny accessories- I thiiiiink you were supposed to use her "cake molds" as cookie cutters and there was a recipe? I never did, though -and had a very pretty face. Not ideal, but not the worst either.

When I was diagnosed with tourette syndrome at age 7, I remarked that the electrodes they stuck on my head looked like "Barbie spoons." I meant the spoons from this set. Somehow that's a bit emotional to think about.

10. Hula Hair Barbie (1996)

Why did I want this Barbie? DID I want this Barbie? How did she enter my life? No idea. Maybe she always existed at the bottom of the plastic bin in my closet, legs splayed and missing her tinsel skirt, never getting played with. She had pretty hair, which I did like, and at least had a dress-type outfit?

9. Olympic Skater Barbie (1997)

Definitely Not Tara Lipinski Barbie! I loved her extra articulation and sparkly costume. Short skirts lost points for me, but she was An Athlete. She had to be safe on the ice. Babby Marzi understood and respected this. (Also there was a Ken. I did not want the Ken. I had zero Kens, actually. Make of that what you will.)

8. Jewelry Fun- My First Barbie (1996)

Now we're getting into the heavy hitters. Long hair? Check. Pink dress with gauzy off-shoulder sleeves? Check. CROWN (that I could never make stay on)? Big Check. She was not my first- Ruffle Fun Nighmarescape up there took that prize -but she was an early favorite. However, short dress and molded-on shoes? Come on. Amateur hour, Barbie!

7. Princess Barbie (1997)

Yes, she was a princess. But I only got her because my friend had her and I was following the crowd. I called her Purple Princess Barbie for years, and really wasn't overly fond of her. Something about the obvious lipstick and very tanned skin + platinum hair on an obviously white doll made me think of a teacher or a news anchor. Not a princess at all.

"I only got her because Maddy had her," I thought. "that was dumb. I should have gotten a doll I wanted on my own." And a valuable lesson was learned that day.

6. Crystal Jubilee Barbie (1999)

My grandma got her for me as a New Millennium holiday gift, and I thought she was the meanest-looking doll I'd ever seen (until Bratz came along). She was beautiful, yes, but it was the cold beauty of an iceberg or a diamond. She reminded me of Meredith in the Parent trap. I could see her marrying some poor little girl's daddy and getting her shipped off to boarding school. My friend Kiyo genuinely convinced me that this doll was out to kill me in my sleep, and only my other dolls were protecting me from such a horrible fate.

...but like, pretty dress and prettier tiara. Also in hindsight, her face isn't even that mean. Come on, babby me!

5. Butterfly Princess Barbie (1994)

the magnetic rose wand made the sparkly butterflies on her huge also sparkly ball gown flutter

are you not enchanted

4. teen Skipper Fashion Party (2000)

"why is a modern fashion doll so high on the list?"

oh ye of little knowledge. this was not teen Skipper Fashion Party. this...was Nikki

I first saw this doll at a friend's house and I was ENAMORED. her knowing aquamarine eyes. her long, soft hair. her blend of sweetness and strength. Liberated from her Fashion Junji Ito outfit, she could be the perfect warrior priestess of the moon goddess, or a princess who rode dragons (and also had fancy ball gowns sometimes), or a sorceress deep in the mystical forest of the Fair Folk. She had PROMISE. So I got her at FAO Schwarz here in Boston while visiting my sister at college, and a doll love for the ages was born

...until I cut all her hair off and drew black eyeliner and lipstick on her in my 12-year-old Pop Punk phase. Oops.

3. Barbie Princess of the Nile (2001)

my only non-Disney fashion doll of color growning up, and I'm not proud of that, but in my defense I was scared of taking a doll that a little Black or Latina or Asian girl might need to feel Seen. (probably because my mother explained Black Barbies in catalogues as "for little Black girls to have dolls like them," meaning no harm by it). but I guess I figured there weren't any little Ancient Egyptian girls around, so it was fine

besides, Ancient Egypt was so cool! and she was so Shiny! and her hair was all tiny braids, like Brandy the Objectively Prettiest Cinderella! Historically accurate she was not, but she was close enough for me to fawn over.

2. Children's Collector Series Rapunzel Barbie (1997)

that bitch in the pink dress can step off. Movie or no movie, this is the superior Rapunzel Barbie. Fight me. Look at her sweet face. Look at her gown that shimmers as if made of moonlight. Look at her bold divergence from 1990s Barbie's All Pink Always color scheme. I saw this exact photo in a catalogue and fell madly in love. She is still at my parents' house. I still love her dearly. I still get annoyed that even other Millennials only remember the pink-dress movie-having Rapunzel Barbie.

the gold-tinsel-crossed undersleeves. I'll be in the corner sobbing with inexpressible joy.

Princess of Ireland Barbie (2002)

this is not a stock Princess of Ireland Barbie

this is MY Princess of Ireland Barbie (her name is Joan)

with the custom porcelain BJD I had made of her, because I ADORE PRINCESS OF IRELAND BARBIE

this doll was a revelation. for starters, I'd never had a pale white doll before. white Barbies always tended to be tanned, which I thought was kind of weird- my mom and sister weren't tanned. It made sense that my Esmeralda doll and Egyptian Barbie were tan-skinned, because I knew about pretty ladies with naturally dark skin, but not my many blue-eyed blonde Barbies. Joan had this amazing ivory skin, which contrasted gorgeously with her deep red hair and lips. I used to pretend she was actually made of ivory, with emerald eyes and ruby lips (ignore the doll logistics there)

also, cape???? she had a velvet cape??? C A P E. I loved that cape.

I didn't know what "Mackie Face" meant yet, but I loved her intelligent closed-mouth smile; she seemed to have a more interesting expression than the then-common toothy Barbie grin

Joan was the star of my childhood Barbies, and she still has a hold on me even now- with her crown fallen off, her shoes missing, and glue leaking through her rooting holes and making her hair all gummy

[unholyhelbig]

i would love a one shot of nat interacting w ronnie! maybe r is caught up doing a job for nat and nat has to pick ronnie up from school and domesticity w r ensues?

Title: The Carpool Lane [an Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: You get caught up while running an errand for Natasha and aren't able to pick your daughter up from school. You ask Natasha to do it and she has to grapple with some big feelings.

[a/n: Hello! I promise you all that the last official chapter of the Oversight is going to be posted soon. It is a very heavy one so here is some fluff in the meantime! Also, I'm opening my requests again, so feel free to send some my way.]

Warnings: None that I can think of other than horrible grammar, but please let me know if I need to add any!

Check out the full Oversight universe

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven]

The air in the home office had become sticky and cloying. It often did when the sun decided to shine as strongly as it did. Natasha kept her books clean and clear of dust but often times there was only so much she could do. Large particles floated in the crossfire of a golden glow. It almost pained her to wrench the window open and disrupt the flow.

It was difficult for Natasha to keep focus when she could hear the sounds from outside and feel the soft breeze on her skin. She was often known for her dedication, for her focus and her ruthlessness. But on afternoons, she was stuck doing mountains of paperwork when she’d much rather be doing you.

Natasha often drifted into hazed memories of the whimpers that escaped you, your breathless swears interlaced with the intoxicating way you moaned her name. She liked teasing you until you begged for her, until you needed her more than you needed breath, until you arched your back and cried into the thousand thread count sheets.

Of course, her favorite thing was to bring you to the very edge with her just her delicate touch and her sultry words. You’d come undone underneath her, coated in sweat and ready to please as an orgasm rocked through- an annoying ringtone.

Natasha had shoved her phone into the bottom drawer of her desk to gain some focus. It clearly wasn’t working. Her nails scratched across the rich oak of the desks surface before she pawed around.

Yelena had set her ringtone to the loudest, most obnoxious blowhorn she could find. She claimed that Natasha was losing her touch and often couldn’t hear anything past her own thoughts. And so, what if that was the case? Natasha quite liked her thoughts lately.

“Romanoff,” She drawled, voice dripping with annoyance.

“Hi,”

It took one breathless word from you and everything else was forgotten. There was worry in that single syllable and it made Natasha’s world spin for only a second before she got her bearings. She could do this. She was in charge.

“Tell me where you are.”

“You know where I am, you sent me here yourself.” You chuckled in a low whisper. Natasha had sent you to collect rent from your usual charges. She knew your pattern and could hear the low hum of the row of washing machines behind you.

While she prided herself on her ability to train you into the perfect protector with a quick hand a vicious tongue, she wouldn’t dare change a thing about your soft spots. You had particular one for the family that rented the apartment above the Soapsuds laundry mat and ran it seamlessly.

It was nearly impossible for you to say no to the elderly woman that took up residence with her son. She’d make you tea and you’d indulge in cookies as she regaled you with her charming stories from the 40’s.

“She’s a trained killer, ma, she doesn’t have time for this!”

Natasha heard the son’s accented voice muffle it’s way through the phone. She scoffed, and switched her phone to her other ear. You must have put your palm over the receiver because you were garbled too.

“I absolutely have time for this Miss Vazquez.” You returned to your conversation, voice whispered once more. “I don’t have time for this, Nat. I don’t want to break her frail heart. Could you possibly… pick Ronnie up from school?”

Natasha had been rendered silent, which wasn’t a feat that was often achieved in a shocking manner. Usually, if a Romanoff was quiet, they were busy calculating and it was better to avoid the storm brewing behind their eyes. This wasn’t the same kind of soundlessness.

She had to pick her jaw off the floor. Veronica was your entire life, and though Natasha came in for a close second, you would do absolutely anything for that child. You’d walk through fire, and it was testament to your growing trust with Natasha, having her pick your daughter up from school.

“Nat, baby” your voice came through the phone “did I lose you? If it’s too much I can get Darcy to take a later lunch. It’s not a problem at all. I shouldn’t have asked, you’re a busy woman and-“

“I’d love to.”

“Huh?”

“I can pick her up, y/n, really.”

Her palms started to sweat, and Natasha never sweated. She stood up and started to pace the length of her office, entering and exiting the large stream of light that vented in through the window. She listened carefully as you told her word for word how to enter the car line, and what mothers to avoid entirely.

“I’ll call ahead, let them know you’re safe to pick up Ronnie. Thank you for doing this, Natty. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, biting her thumbnail. She stopped at the window and peered out at the newly installed swing set at the edge of the property. So many little things had changed in Natasha’s life over the last year. There were children’s books strewn over the tables and art supplies that Ronnie loved to draw with. This was an extra step. This was the extra step that made her fingers itch for the ring hidden in the false bottom of her desk.

“Darling! Would you like to hear about the night I had with Robert Kennedy?”

“I would love to, Miss Vazquez!” You called back, lowering your voice once more. “I love you, I’ll see you at home. Dinner is on me.”

You had hung up the phone a few moments ago but Natasha kept it against her face for a few moments as if it were an anchor. She had to pick up Ronnie. She had to pick up Ronnie. Natasha was on her feet now, searching the large living room and foyer, and even the nightstands by her bed before she grasped at her keys and sprinted out the door.

Veronia was a girl of very little words, but she was comfortable enough around Natasha to curl into her side during movie nights, little fist clenching onto the fabric of her shirt. Most of the time, she’d fall asleep before the end of the film and Natasha would stare affectionately as you scooped her up and took her to her room.

Now, Natasha sat in the parking lot of the school with blood rushing past her ears. Somehow, the gaggle of mothers that lingered by the release doors were scarier than anything she had ever faced before.

She’d been shot at least four times and had survived them all. She had pulled the trigger herself more times than she could count, but all of curious eyes landing on her sleek black car made her nearly sweat through her t-shirt.

Natasha stalled as long as she could before taking the tentative steps across the asphalt lot. There was a small patch of green grass that seemed to be overwatered if it still held its vibrant color during a late heated day.

Her sunglasses were down over her eyes and she feigned looking at her phone, though she eyed each and every parent that lingered. They were openly staring at her, and she heard a few hushed whispers, absolutely no attempt to muffle their judgements.

“Don’t pay them any mind.”

Natasha startled, not noticing the woman that had sidled up next to her. Her skin was pale, her hair a pitch-black color that must have heated her up on a day like this. She stuck her hand out and Natasha took it carefully, shaking it. “Jessica Jones.”

“Natasha Y/L/N,”

The woman was apprehensive to use her own last name. While she kept a mostly low profile, there were still some people who would clock the name as something familiar. The last thing she needed was someone targeting you, or God-forbid, Ronnie. The words fit perfectly into her mouth like a sweet candy.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, and apparently neither have the vultures with the way they’re circling.”

She couldn’t help but smile “I’m… new. My partner got a little tied up at work and asked me to pick up her daughter.”

“Ah, so you’re that Natasha.” She must have flushed awkwardly, nervously, because Jessica seemed to backtrack. “Nothing bad. There are moms like the women over there who put their entire being into making everything perfectly beige. Then there are moms like y/n and I. Imperfect.”

Natasha’s eyebrows lifted. Each woman that flocked towards the front of the glass doors, waiting excitedly for their children to spill out did have the same look about them. They all wore leggings and different colored pastel shirts. Each one had the same highlights and haircuts, and apprehensive stares.

“We’re out here a lot together, and it was pretty obvious when things started to change for her. With you around, the smile actually reaches her eyes you know?”

The statement warmed Natasha greatly and made the box in her desk weigh heavier on her mind. Of course, she didn’t want to think too much about it, but she also wanted to make sure that you were happy, something you reassured her of over and over again.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the barrage of tiny feet on the sidewalks and grass. There was a sea of runny noses and crinkled papers slathered in different primary colors.

A small boy with dark ringlets of hair crashed into Jessica’s legs clumsily and she let out a large huff of air in response, scooping him up into her arms. He had the most startling blue eyes like his mother and gave Natasha a gap-toothed-goofy smile.

Natasha was searching the crowd for your daughter. It wasn’t like she would call out, that was much too vocal for her and Natasha didn’t blame the girl in the slightest. Through the sea of kids, her eyes locked on Ronnie’s and she gave her an encouraging smile and a small wave.

Veronica’s expression lit up as she dashed the few feet that was separating them. Natasha had the foresight to lean down enough to dampen the impact of her hug. It was quite the rare occasion to be embraced by her, so she savored the spring scent of her.

“Your mama got caught up at work and asked me to pick you up.” Natasha explained, leaning back on her heel, she brushed a strand of hair behind Ronnie’s ear. “What’s that?”

Natasha gently pointed to the picture that was in Veronica’s hand. Her chest welled with pride at the drawing and she would say that it was miles better than any other kid she saw run out with their artwork. Yelena had been right; Ronnie had a beautiful gift that Natasha would pour everything into for as long as she wanted to call it her craft.

This particular scene was a rendition of the large house, too big to fit within the confines of the paper. There was six figures that vaguely resembled each person Natasha knew and loved. A clear grouping had been established.

Kate was smeared in a purple color with dark locks of hair.

Yelena had been drawn next to her, hand and hand.

Clint stood close to them- but not too close- with his signature deep look.

What called to Natasha the most was how Ronnie had grouped her. There was a figure by the edge of the page that was clearly you, down to a tea, and a shorter figure right next to you that was unmistakably Ronnie. The two figures held hands; and on the other side, with her signature deep auburn hair and green eyes, stood Natasha. Her fingers were wrapped around Ronnie’s in the photo, too smudges of color that made the enforcers heart thrum harder than it ever had before.

“This is beautiful,” Natasha breathed, struggling not to let the water that built up in her eyes drip down her cheeks. That would be weird. It would freak Ronnie out. “I love it.”

“You do?” The girl asked.

“I do. In fact, it’s getting framed and hung up immediately.”

It was rare for Ronnie to speak, but it was a prize each time she did. Just like you, Natasha had begun to understand her body language and everything she said with her eyes. It was something she would grow out of, or maybe she would speak with just her art.

Either way, Natasha read her loud and clear.

It was well past ten pm by the time you had pulled yourself away from the laundry mat. You ended up eating dinner with the family despite your repeated refusal. It was some of the best food you have ever eaten and though you missed the quality time with Natasha, the vodka coating on the pasta would have you reeling for weeks.

The house was mostly dark by the time you returned, and you were careful when you let your keys drop into the dish by the door. A soft golden light streamed down the hallway, leading to the kitchen.

Natasha would often partake in a glass of red wine, a record playing softly in the background. It was her time to unwind, to do the dished from dinner and breathe out the stress of the day. Just like any office job. Sometimes she’d use the time to scrub away blood from under her nails as you waited patiently and took sparing sips from her glass despite denying wanting one of your own.

The sink wasn’t on, and the kitchen was mostly silent save for a faucet drip here and there. Natasha leaned against the counter and stared at the moonlit swing set in the yard. It was bathed in just enough pale light to make out the shapes drifting in the light breeze.

You came up behind her, snaking your arms around her waist and resting your head on her shoulder. She shivered against the coolness of your skin, but hugged you tight against her center with a comforting and raspy hum.

“Thank you for picking up Ronnie today,” you mumbled into the side of her neck, “And getting her to bed. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Natasha turned in your arms and had a bit of a pout to her expression that you weren’t expecting. You lifted an inquisitive eyebrow at her. You wanted to kiss that frown right off her lips. You wanted to lull her into a state of content after the long day you’d had.

Almost timidly, she said “We’re a family. That’s what we do.”

God, how long you’d wanted to hear that. This time, you didn’t hesitate to close to the distance between you both. You kissed her softly; you kissed her with so much love that it left you dizzy.

You’d scared away partners before with the prospect of having a daughter. Most of the time, you wouldn’t’ even bring it up until a third date, when you were close to sure. But even then, you’d be left at the restaurant, or the bowling alley, or the movie theatre by yourself once the words left your mouth.

Nothing about your relationship with Natasha had been conventional, however, and each day she shocked you with her tenderness and care for someone she had no responsibility towards. Just letting you and Ronnie move in had been enough. Parenting her? Loving her? It felt beyond reality.

She chuckled into the kiss, running her fingers down your jaw. “I love you too, detka.”

“Mm, seriously, thank you.”

“Do you want to see something?”

You lifted your eyebrows suggestively and earned a light-hearted smack to the shoulder. She wormed her way out of your embrace and crossed the large kitchen to the fridge. When you’d first moved in, it was blank. There was a single wedding invitation tacked up with a magnet for joining the Murdock and Natchios families in matrimony, but even that had been years old.

Now there was something new.

Something that had unmistakably been crafted by Ronnie. The photo was a beautiful mix of colors and mediums and at the very corner in, in blue crayon, were two words; My Family.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

could you possibly do a platonic gladers thing where reader was the first to come out of the box? like they came up with the note like teresa but “the first” if that makes sense 😭 anyway the reader is just sort of a parental figure to everyone? whatever gender you’d like to put and scenarios, the thought just popped in my head. ofc do this only if you’d like to!! pls don’t feel obligated!! love ur work <333 /p

HI LOVE THIS!! Thank you for the request ❤

Everyone loves Y/n

Platonic gladers x gender neutral!reader, set during tmr (movieverse)

3k - longish fic but worth it if you love platonic love 🫶

Warnings: discussions of Newt's suicide attempt; but more like the recovery after it, still please take care everyone, also language warning

1. Alby

You're the first one. Welcome.

You stuff the crinkled note back in your pocket just as you've done so many times before, re-examining it and hoping for some clue as to why you're stuck in here alone.

Except- you're not alone anymore.

The boy stands beside the Box, staring around the same way you did when you first climbed out, exactly 30 days ago.

Come on, Y/n. Time to go. You take a deep breath, resolving yourself, and you step out from where you'd been standing hidden in the trees.

The guy notices you immediately and takes a defensive stance, understandably hostile and scared. "Who are you? Don't come any closer!"

"Woah, hey," you raise your arms nonthreateningly, continuing to move slowly towards him. "It's alright."

"Where am I?" demands the boy.

"To be honest, I haven't got a clue," you tell him. "But you've got no idea how happy I am to see you."

His eyes narrow. "What?"

You shrug. "I thought I'd be alone here, forever."

At his silence, you continue. "So I've been here for a month. I was sent up in this Box, like you, with a bunch of resources and... hey, they've sent more stuff," you say happily, peering into the Box.

"Alright listen man," you say. "I don't really have answers for you, but I did start developing a routine for how to live here, and I'd love for us to work together."

The boy holds your gaze for a second, before giving a single nod.

You let out a sigh of relief. "Great, wonderful. I'm Y/n, by the way." You stick out your hand to shake. "Oh- memories. Your name is all you get, everything else is gone. But hey, let's make new memories here, together." You flash a cheesy grin and clap the guy on the shoulder.

You don't know how someone conveys sarcasm in a single look, but the new guy manages it just fine.

2. Minho

"Here, this way- shit."

You turn the corner and see the wall sliding into place, sealing off your exit.

"Which way now?" asks Minho, fear evident in his voice.

"Uh- that was already my backup route," you say honestly, backing away from the closed wall. "Just follow me, we'll find another way back."

You start down a lane, moving faster now, admittedly guessing your way through the paths and taking turns on instinct, aiming for the vague direction of the Glade.

Somewhere across the Maze a Griever lets out a screech.

"Yeah, okay," you mutter. Shuck. "In here, quickly," you direct, pushing Minho ahead into a smaller lane.

"Alright, here's the deal." You squat down, forcing Minho down with you, and keeping your voice low. "If I'm right, we're close to the Glade now. There should be a right turn at the end of the path next to us now, then a left and a straight shot back to the Glade."

"What if you're not right?" hisses Minho, wincing at the Griever's screech.

"Then we're dead," you say flatly. "Cause that Griever's in the same direction we're going. By the sound of it, we'll be running the path right beside it's lane."

"What."

"Look, Minho. Do you trust me?"

He hesitates, before; "Yes, fine. Let's go."

You shoot him a grin, patting his shoulder. "Perfect. Follow me, stay close."

You run through the route you'd explained to Minho, feeling your blood chill as you get closer to the Griever, its screeches becoming deafening.

You turn to check on Minho, who gives you a firm nod despite the terror you can see in his eyes.

The two of you turn into the final stretch, separated from the Griever by a single wall, and you sprint back to the Glade, heart pounding in your chest.

You collapse into the grass, breathing heavily as Minho falls in beside you.

"What the hell happened to you two?" demands Alby, running up to you and Minho.

You sit up. "Maze changed, and there was a Griever near the Glade," you explain. "Too near."

"Bloody hell," says Newt, hands balanced on his hips. "Are you sure this was a good idea?"

So far you and Alby have been the only people to enter the Maze. Today was meant to be a beginner's run for Minho, your newest Glader and technically the Greenie even though he's never acted like it. You wanted to build a team of Runners, to see if more people could help with searching for an exit.

You look to Minho, still bent over in the grass. "Let's talk in the hut," you say, patting his arm.

"What did you think?" you ask, after you've both gotten water and a few minutes to let the adrenaline fade.

Minho flicks his gaze up at you, before dropping it. "I freaked out. I don't think I'm cut out for this Runner klunk."

You hum softly, tapping on the table Gally had lovingly built and sanded until it shone. "Do you think everyone was immediately good at their jobs?"

"Running is different," responds Minho, dodging the question.

"You were fast," you say. "I think you'd beat any of us in a race if we bothered to test it out. And you've got a level head, which is the most important thing when you're in the Maze."

You lean forward. "But you also need the guts to set foot in the Maze in the first place. And Minho, you were the first volunteer to run with me today. That's exactly the bravery we need in Runners."

You're met with silence. "If I asked you to be a Runner," you say quietly. "Would you say yes?"

"You could be asking the wrong person," hedges Minho.

"I don't think so," you say.

"I- why? Why me?"

"Because I believe in you," you say simply. "I think you could do it."

The silence stretches as you wait for Minho's response. Then; "Okay, I'll do it." He gives you a nod, expression resolving.

You sit back, a mock-thoughtful expression on your face. "I mean, I said if I asked you, this was really more hypothetical-"

"Y/n, I swear-"

You let out a laugh, and Minho rolls his eyes at you, grinning.

3. Newt

Overtime, the Gladers have grown into a wider community, with new jobs and groups slowly added.

Alby steps into the leader position and you move into your gardening job, as well as mentoring the Medjacks on the side. You tend to pick up a little of every job, passing what you know to newly formed groups until they can develop on their own.

Minho's grown far beyond what you could have expected from him, moving on to memorising routes, constructing a scarily detailed Map, and hand-picking the new Runners.

Newt becomes a Runner too, and you almost lose him.

They're some of the worst memories you'll ever have, that day Minho ran in in the freezing morning, screaming for help. The Medjack hut was finished literally a day before, and the Medjacks themselves were barely trained to patch up the Slicers. So everyone turned to you... And you were so, so, out of your depth.

You'd built a temporary brace for your own twisted ankle from your first month alone in the Glade, but for this you were completely unqualified and unprepared.

It’s been months now, with Newt slowly healing overtime. You worked with the Medjacks to set up a few movement drills, but it’s been painstakingly slow progress.

“I want to try walking again.”

You lift your gaze to Newt in the dark. “Now?”

“I wanna go outside.”

You hesitate.

“Come on, Y/n, I barely got five steps in today before Jeff made me sit down again. I’m fine, I promise.”

“You’re fine when the Medjacks say you’re fine,” you reply.

“The Medjacks don’t know shit,” retorts Newt. “They’re just making stuff up as they go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

“I trust them,” you say steadily. “Alby and I chose them for a reason.”

“Y/n, can you please just let me outside.”

You let out a breath. “Fine. Take your crutches.”

You don’t go far; the ground is too uneven and the crutches slip in the grass. You end up dropping them near the top of a hill.

“Here, let’s sit.”

You reach a hand out to Newt, which he thankfully takes, letting you help him down so you’re both lying back on the grass, facing up at the night sky.

“It was a good idea,” you say, breaking the silence. “I get why you wanted to come out.”

"Yeah," says Newt. He jerks his chin upwards. “The stars, they’re what I’m here for.”

You tip your head back, following Newt’s eye line. “You know, my first night here, I hadn’t built a place to sleep. I just lay on the ground like this, looking up at the stars.”

Newt shifts, moving one hand to point upwards. "I recognise most of the constellations," he tells you.

"Really?"

"Yep. That's Orion, right there. And over there is Gemini. And that star is Sirius, in Canis Major."

You search your mind for a hint of a memory, trying to call up knowledge you might have had before being put here.

"It's all bullshit," says Newt.

You turn to him in surprise.

"The stars," he says, still staring upwards. "None of them should be arranged like that, the constellations wouldn't be that close, or even in the same area, if this was real."

"Oh," you say, voice soft.

Newt lets out a flat laugh. “I don’t know why they let me keep this knowledge, when they’ve taken everything else away.”

He sits up, eyes flicking down to you. “…sorry.”

You shake your head, sitting up and turning to face him. “It’s okay. I’d rather you say this stuff than keep it bottled up.”

“Right,” says Newt. “I guess we should… get back to the hut.”

Neither of you move to get up.

“Newt,” you say. You face forward, resting your arms loosely around your knees.

”Yeah?”

“Please stay with us,” you say, voice quiet. You turn to him, letting go of your legs to gently take his hands. “We need you, I- we- okay, let me just-” You take a deep breath. “Listen, we’re gonna get out of here some day. And I want to sit with you under real skies, with real stars, so you can tell me each and every constellation you see. Cause I know your nerdy ass studied all of them in another life, and I don’t know, when we run out, we can just... make up new ones? I think that’s something I want to do with you.”

“Yeah, okay- yes. Okay.” Newt’s eyes are wet, and he squeezes your hands right back.

“And talk to us,” you continue. “When you’re struggling, or hurting, or… anything. Just talk to us, Newt. Please. We need you, and we care about you, so much.”

“I’ll try, I’m trying.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say.

“God, okay,” you start, after staying there under the stars for a while. “Look at us. Let’s get back in the hut, c’mon.”

You help him up, handing him his crutches.

“So, we’re trying,” you say, looking Newt in the eye.

“Yes, we’re trying.”

You get the smallest of smiles from him, and count it as the biggest win.

4. Gally

"First he breaks all our rules, then he tries to convince us to abandon them entirely? These rules have held us together for years, why are we questioning them now?"

You frown slightly, taking in Gally's words from your seat at the back of Council Hall.

"If Alby was here, he'd agree with me, and you know it."

You watch pain flicker across Newt's face for a second, before he speaks. "Let's take a break. I want Minho, Gally, and Y/n in here, the rest of you just give us ten minutes."

As the others clear out, you join the three in the centre of the room.

"Newt, this really isn't complicated. That shank broke our rules, and he needs to be punished," says Gally.

Newt sighs, and you notice how tired he looks. He needs Alby. "You're not wrong, Gally, but..."

"Y/n, what are you thinking?" asks Minho, jerking his chin at you as Newt trails off.

You raise your eyebrows. "You know I have no say in this, Min. I'm not a Keeper, or any kind of leader. I'm pretty much just here to watch the meetings."

"Seriously, Y/n?"

"Fine," says Newt. "Then suppose we're asking you as friends asking a friend, not as a council leaders or Keepers."

"I don't-"

"Just speak, Y/n," says Gally exasperatedly.

"I- alright, the idea that Newt's having right now, mine's the same."

"Well, we'd love to hear it from your mouth," says Minho drily.

"Yeah Y/n, what am I thinking?" Newt crosses his arms, lifting a brow.

You sigh. "Punish Thomas for breaking the rules, but make him a Runner."

"You can't be serious," says Gally immediately.

Newt shrugs. "They're right, that's what I was thinking."

"I'm down to train him," says Minho. "I think he'd make a good Runner."

"Good. Call the Council back in then, we'll make the announcement."

"You're making a mistake," says Gally angrily. "Tell the others without me." He storms out as the rest of the Keepers file in.

"Gally-"

"Nah, Fry."

"I got him," you say, nodding at Frypan.

"You're alright," you whisper as you brush past a stressed-looking Thomas. You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, and he gives you a small smile of gratitude.

You shut the door behind you, chasing Gally down as he storms into his hut.

"Gally wait-"

"I don't want to hear it, Y/n."

He slams his door shut, closing you out. You sigh, and let yourself in.

"Get out of my hut, Y/n."

"Stop, Gally," you say sharply. "Just listen."

Miraculously, he stays quiet, leaning back on the wall and crossing his arms.

"I... I know you're scared, Gally."

"What-"

"Oh my god, just hear me out," you huff, rolling your eyes. "Okay, so yes, we just got attacked by Grievers, right here in the Glade. And yeah, it's probably linked to Thomas. And- yes, making him a Runner and letting him pretty much just fuck around and find out could put us in danger. ...But he's also the closest we've ever been to understanding the Maze and this whole place. I think he's the key to getting us out of here."

You sit down on Gally's bed, gesturing for him to sit down beside you. He lets out a huff, but reluctantly takes a seat.

You look him in the eye. "Gally I've been here for three years, and it's great. We've built a structure, a life, a goddamn society. But I really, really want to see the outside world."

Gally scrubs a hand over his face, dropping his gaze. "Yeah, I know, Y/n. I'm just- I'm trying to keep everyone safe. Newt and Minho are blinded by this hope, they're believing too much in one guy who's been here for literal days."

"I know, I know. But we need to take that risk, if we want to get out of here, alright?"

Gally sighs, then nods. "Yeah, fine."

"I'm gonna help Thomas, and Newt and Minho in whatever plans they make."

You hold out your fist. "Promise me you'll follow the plans we make, and stick with us. Don't... you know, make your own group and stay here and get killed, or whatever you were planning to do."

Gally rolls his eyes at you, and reluctantly brings his fist up to knock against yours, following through with the handshake the two of you used to do after building something, back when you used to help out with the other jobs. "Yeah, yeah, we get it Y/n. You've been here the whole time, you know us sooo well, you can read our minds."

You grin widely. "Damn right I can."

5. Thomas (everyone loves Y/n)

"Do you think this'll work?" asks Thomas, chewing on his lip worriedly.

"Of course it will," you say. "Have a little faith in your plan, Thomas. You don't need approval from me."

Thomas huffs out a laugh. "Thanks. It's nice to hear you're confident, though."

You raise your eyebrows, smiling a little confusedly. "I mean, I'm glad my support motivates you."

Thomas squints his eyes at you. "Y/n, you know you're like... super respected, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, everyone looks up to you. You don't notice the way people turn to you in tense situations and stuff? You're kinda like an understated leader, I guess."

"Ah, right." You smile at him. "It's cause I was the first person here, which I do get credit for, I don't know why. Totally underserved, Alby's the one who built this place."

"Bullshit." You turn in surprise as Minho walks in, Newt following behind him.

"What?"

"Undeserved credit, my ass," says Minho, crossing his arms. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be a Runner."

"Yeah," says Newt, coming over to your side. He props an elbow on your shoulder, grinning at the frown you send him. "And you know what," he says quietly. "If it wasn't for you, I might not even be here."

You smack his arm. "Don't even say-"

"Gally, tell Y/n we love them," interrupts Minho.

"Huh?" Gally lifts a brow, before nodding. "Yeah, everyone loves you, man. Don't take it personally. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't even be on board with this plan right now."

"Ugh-" you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Thomas leans in. "Told you so."

"God, let's just do the plan. Let's go, everybody out," you say hurriedly, shoving Newt out, ignoring Minho's snickers.

You stand between Minho and Gally as Thomas and Newt explain the plan to the Gladers, feeling yourself surrounded by friends; family.

Time to get out of here.

The end chapter is cheesy but I love it thank you for reading <3333

[ayeyolooo]

Memory lane

2,000+ words!😓 pt 2

Yo yall what ever happened to that y/n girl?"connie asked leaning back on his chair. Eren just chuckled.

"Mann I don't know but I couldn't stand her." Eren laughed. Armin just shook his head. "Okay what did she do to y'all though?" Armin asked feeling bad about the way they used to treat you.

"She used to be a big ass snitch." Eren chuckled out. "Okay well we're grown now all that was kiddie shit." Connie said shaking his head. "Yeah I felt bad for her." Mikasa said sitting in cross cross apple sauce. "Yeah me too." Armin said,playing with his rings.

"I wonder what she's doing now." Mikasa lifted her head from Connie's lap and fixed her hair. Everyone shrugged. "Y'all know her mama the principal of our school right?" Sasha asked shoving noodles in her mouth.

"Word?" Connie asked sitting up. "Yeah ms. L/n??" Eren nodded. "Ohhhhh shiittt that's where I remember her last name from." Connie said placing his fist over his mouth.

You laid your baby hairs as paris and london sat on your bed waiting for you. You finished and put all of your hair things back onto your vanity. "Your hair is cute ma." Paris said winking and leaning back on her arms. You just smiled as you got dressed.

You took your shirt off leaving you in your bra. Your nipple piercing poked from your bra. "Bro y/n did that hurt?" London pointed to your nipple piercing. "Kinda." You chuckled as you pulled a shirt over your head, you slid on some black biker shorts .

You went in your closet and grabbed your black ysl sandals . Your shirt showed your back tattoo and your biker shorts showed your thigh tattoo.

Your speaker began playing 'what I like' by famous dex. You leaned on your bed and you began to twerk. "AYE AYE AYEEEEEEE." Paris recorded and slapped your butt. "DONT GIVE EM TOO MUCH NA Y/NNNNN." London. "You turned around to the camera and looked it up and down and stuck your tongue out showing your tongue piercing ,before turning around and twerking.

All of y'all just laughed and you stopped. You pulled your shorts down and grabbed your jacket. "Can we post it n/n?" They asked at the same time. "Yeah sure." You smiled. They mean mugged eachother. "There you go copying me again." They both said it at the same time.

"STOP COPYING ME LONDON."

"STOP COPYING ME PARIS."

The both of them said at the same time. You just laughed before facepalming.

"Alright y'all done?" You smiled. The both of them rolled their eyes at eachother before nodding their heads.

"Damn..who ever this is gotta fat ass." Connie's eyes widened at the post made by the 'londonparistwins.' Armin's head whipped over to Connie's phone so fast that he could've caught whip lash. He looked at his phone and his face grew red. Eren and Sasha looked.

"Gyatttt." The both of them said at the same time. "Aye she looks familiar." Mikasa said walking over to the group. "Right.." Eren said.

He reached over Connie's shoulder and he paused it when your face was showing. "It's bothering me that I know her face I just don't know her name." Eren whispered,with his breath fanning on Connie's ear.

Connie whipped his head around and smacked eren in the forehead. "Move bitch." Armin and Sasha started laughing loudly. As eren groaned and held his face. "School bout to start in a lil bit,y'all wanna go see what they got in the mall??" Armin nodded,"yeah sure." Everyone agreed. They all walked to their rooms and got dressed.

Armin wore a white compression shirt with a grey nike jacket and matching sweatpants and his white air forces. Don't worry they were clean. Unlike Sasha armin made sure to keep his shoes clean Mikasa walked out of her room wearing a mini skirt with a cropped top and some hightopped heel boots.

Armin's face just scrunched up as mikasa walked out into the living room. "How the fuck yoy walking in them??" Mikasa just laughed. Which showed off her smiley piercing. "The same way you walk in your slides." She shot back. Armin just chuckled and waited for everyone to finish getting dressed.

As everyone got into erens car he drove to the Nearest mall. They parked and everyone got out. They walked around getting stuff em for school. Making sure that it was appropriate. But that only applied to Sasha and mikasa.

Yeah real sexist school if you'd tell me. Anyways the group walked around with eachother. Their bags started to multiply as they went in the variety of stores. "Okay I'm hungry as shit." Connie said as everyone passed the food court. "Yeah I wanna eat something." Mikasa shrugged. Everyone made their ways to the different restaurants and orders their food. Connie and Sasha went to McDonald's, eren ,armin's and mikasa went to Panda Express.

As everyone orders their food armin looked out of the restaurants window and seen a group of girls passing by. They all were laughing with eachother  as they went into  a nearby shoe store.

Armin's eyes squinted. He noticed that them was them twins and that girl that he seen on Connie's phone. He just cleared his throat and moved up in the line. He ordered his food and stood to the side.

"Yo armin." Eren said catching armin's attention. "Yeah?" Armin replied. "I'm gonna go sit with the group out there." Eren pointed to the table where Connie, Sasha and mikasa are all sitting at. "Okay." He replied and waited for his food.

"Yeah gurl they look like them kids that made me leave from titans middle." You whispered to paris and london. Paris just mean mugged the table as you all walked into the Panda Express.

"It's okay though cause I met you all." You said smiling and wrapping your arms around the twins. They just laughed and walked up to the line.

"Hello what can I get you today?" A worker asked smiling at you. "Oh can I get  um a steak bowl?" You asked looking at the menu. "Of course! The steak is now going on the grill, do you mind waiting?" She worker asked tapping on the screen and looking over to you.

"Of course!" You smiled. She smiled and asked you to move to the side where one other person was standing. As you walked over you were on your phone not paying attention.

You stood in the line as armin looked around the store trying to see if there was anything he missed while he was waiting for his food. Armin looked at you and his heart dropped down to his butthole. "Y/n?" Armin called out.

You lifted your head up from your phone and your head jerked back trying to see who called you. You looked infront of you and you seen this tall fine white man.

His undercut was messy,and he had nice plump pink lips. He had an arm sleeve tattoo and a nose piercing. His hands seemed to have some type of ink on it. His blue eyes started down at you with dead eyes as you looked at him. "Armin..?" You asked. "Hi y/n." Armin said smiling and tucking his hands in his pocket.

"ARMINNNN!!" You ran and jumped on him as he caught you. "Hi y/n." He chuckled out placing his tatted hand underneath your plump butt. Your slide fell off as you wrapped your legs around his small waist. The bystanders eating their food all awe’d at the wholesome moment infront of them.His arms flexed as he held you. He gently placed you down as you slide your biker shorts down and hopped over to your shoe since you didn't want your foot touching the ground. Armin seen that you were trying to get your shoe so he bent down and slid your shoe on your foot.

You held onto his shoulder as you balanced. "So how have you been?" He asked smiling down at you.

"I've been good." You chuckled slowly. He nodded. "That's good." He said looking at you. "I'm so sorry how we left off." Armin apologized. "Boy please that was long ago ion care bout that we was kids." You chuckled. Armin just looked down in guilt as you laughed.

"Boy relax you good I promise." You laughed and covered your mouth.

Oh my she's so cool.. and her nails are beautiful.

"Aye..who armin talking to??" Connie looked into the Panda Express window and seen you and armin talking. "Wait shit who is that!!?" Eren asked squinting.

"Why should it matter who it is?? If armin wants to tell us then he will stop being weirdos and spying on him." Sasha brought her Big Mac up to her mouth and took a big bite.

Connie just mean mugged her. "Okay ms.disco ball." Sasha just rolled her eyes and chewed her food before swallowing. "Ya mama.." she said rolling her eyes.

"Your ankles." Connie shot back as Sasha just waved him off and brought her milkshake straw up to her lips and drank some.

"Yo mf granny." Sasha said mean mugging him and sipping more of her milkshake. "Where your man at?" Connie asked mugging her. "Cause obviously Niccolo ain't putting in work cause yo ass still built like a door." Mikasa choked on her sprite as eren covered his mouth and Jean choked on his chicken sandwich.

Mikasa just bursed out laughing as Jean and eren joined her. "Bald head bitch." Sasha said mugging him and cracking a smile. 

Armin stuffed his hands inside of his pockets as the both of you talked. "I haven't seen you since middle school." Armin said as you nodded.

"Yeah,I needed to get away." You said with a little smile. "Y'all wasn't very nice to me." You said with a closed lip smile. "I'm so sorry for that,we was all dickheads and if I'm being honest all of us had a crush on you." Armin admitted.

You choked on your spit as he just chuckled out. "Even mikasa?" You asked. "Yes,even mikasa." He said with a pearly white smile.

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Oh." You said cracking your knuckles. "Y/n! Armin!" One of the workers called both you and armin. The both of you looked towards the lady and walked.

The both of you traded instagrams and followed eachother back.

You grabbed your food and Armin grabbed his. "Do you want to go and see them?" Armin asked as you shook your head no. "Nah not yet." You said smiling and holding your food. Armin just licked his lips and looked you up and Down slowly.

"Boyyy don't be looking at me like datttttt." You said covering your mouth. "My bad ma." He said. "Can I get your number?" He asked,and you placed your hand up to your chin tapping it almost as if you were in thought. You were obviously joking. Armin just shook his head and laughed.

"Yeah." You said as armin handded you his phone,and you handed him your phone. You were cheesing real hard as he was also smiling with a lil red on his cheeks.

"Ight imma speak to you later?" Armin looked at you. "Yeah." You said. He brought you into an hug and rocked you from side to side. You pulled away and waved at him before catching up to paris and london.

Everyone watched as armin walked back to the table with a neutral face,the only reason he wasn't cheesing real hard like he was in the inside was because he didn't have time for them being all in his business.

"Soooo who was that? She was fine as hellll." You would be surprised.

"Why yall in my business?" He asked sitting down and opening his steak bowl and taking a spoon full. He looked up and seen the whole table looking at him.

"Who was it?" Sasha asked. Connie sucked his teeth. "Werent you the one talm bout 'oh leave him alone that's his private life.' Connie said in a high pitched voice,mocking Sasha.

"Haha funny dickhead." Sasha sarcastically said and rolled her eyes at him. "She's an old friend." He simply said and sipped on his drink. "Why you always lyinggggggg." Jean started off. "Ohhhh my Godddddd." Connie sung. "Stop fucking lyingggggg." Sasha finished.

"Listen ion gotta tell y'all everything that I do." Armin said standing his ground and staying quiet with his answers.

Eren just sipped his straw as he scrolled through Instagram. "OHHH SHIT." Eren suddenly shouted drawing the attention of other shoppers. "Fuck y'all looking at?" He shouted as the quicky turned their heads.

Sasha quietly giggled as Connie chuckled and shook his head. "I found that shawty that he was talking to" eren said finding your tag on instagram. "They tagged her in the corner and I found ittt." Eren said tapping on your profile. He sucked his teeth. "It's private." He said as everyone but armin groaned.

Armin just smiled and bit into his straw. "Ohhh so his behind over there laughing cause he following her." Connie said cutting his eyes at armin. Armin just shrugged and stood up. "Ight I'm finna go home." Armin said clapping everybody up and leaving.

As he was leaving a short petite girl came walking into armin's way. "Hey." Armin just looked down at the gurl with a straight face. "Yo." He said. "Can I get your Instagram? So we could talk? I find you really attractive." She said. Armin sipped his drink. "Nah." He said before walking off.

Mikasa,and Sasha winced from afar and slightly cringed at the awkwardness flowing their way

I’m sorry if it was boring and too long😓. Are they too long 😖? Anyways Jesus loves you ml🫶🏾!

[sparklingcid3r]

wut are the milestones that pony reaches that make darry cry? like what was ponys hs graduation day like? i feel like when it comes to pony graduating or something he kind of becomes like luke from gilmore girls and just cries without any self-consciousness.

Obsessed with every hc where Darry is a proud big brother of Pony, hanging up trophies and being better than any cheerleader at track meets.

My hc is that Darry didn’t cry at Pony’s graduation, he def got misty-eyed and it was a great time, Soda and Darry stood and yelled at the top of their lungs when they heard their kid brother’s name get called, and Soda was crying up a storm, but Darry didn’t cry.

And you gotta hear me out, but the only reason Darry cried as he was leaving Pony at college was because Pony was the first Curtis to go to college. He’s doing what none of them were able to and he’s so proud. Sure, maybe there is some envy, but it’s not malicious. He’s seeing all the accomplishments that are suddenly within reach for Pony and he’s so proud that his kid brother stuck it out for as long as he did to get to this moment.

But it’s a bittersweet moment. It’s the first time Darry’s remembering vividly all the moments they spent as brothers, every little milestone a young Pony hit—his first day of elementary school, his first broken bone, his first sleepover, his first A, his first track meet, his first trophy. It just gets bigger and bigger until Darry’s remembering the day Pony opened his college acceptance letter and the explosive joy that erupted in their house at the first word, “Congratulations”.

And the rush down memory lane makes Darry emotional enough to cry in Pony’s shoulder during what’ll be their last hug for a while. Pony just lets out a wet laugh and pats his back, saying “Don’t get sappy on me now, Superman.”

“Who’re you calling sappy?” Darry retorts, pulling away and swiping away tear tracks to make room for the new ones.

Pony grins. “Love you, Darry.”

Darry shakes his head, but he’s smiling wide. “I love you too, honey.”

He manages to mess up Pony’s hair one more time before he can duck away yelling and flipping him off.

[t1red-twilight]

go ahead and cry

summary: reader and spencer bond over daddy issues.

content/warnings: gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, slight fluff, cursing, trauma, daddy issues on both ends (spence and reader), no use of y/n, mention of self harm, ptsd, dissociation, lmk if i missed anything

notes: i have daddy issues (rip), and i wrote this as a way to cope with that (rip). so, this could be seen as being trauma dumping (do not read if you’re not comfortable with that). i wanted to acknowledge this in a separate section other than just the warnings. otherwise, this fic is very personal to me. i hope you enjoy it! ily!<3

word count: 2k

masterlist s. r. masterlist

you were driving spencer home from work. the air between the two of you felt tense; it had been this way since the second half of the work day at the office.

he couldn’t remember when you had started acting differently, just that at some point after lunch you started acting more melancholic. you had gotten so good at hiding this aspect of yourself that nobody noticed, or at least nobody that knew you as well as spencer noticed.

the soft hum of the music from the radio filled the silence, but the sadness emanating from you wafted throughout the car. he didn’t know how to address the situation at first, so he just sat and puzzled his mind for any sort of way to talk to you.

you, however, noticed that spencer was stuck in his head. “hey, are you alright?” you glanced over to him quickly then back to the road. you clicked the signal down and changed lanes. the clicking could be heard over the radio.

“uh, yeah? are you okay?” he fiddled with his hands in his lap and looked over at you. the sounds of his rigid breaths thrummed in your ears. you squinted at the lines on the road.

you paused before responding to his question, “yeah! why wouldn’t i be?” your voice was filled with false happiness, and was followed by an even more awkward laugh. this did not go unnoticed by spencer.

you don’t know why you thought you could hide anything from him, but knowing this didn’t stop you from trying to.

“you just seem…off.” he hesitated before continuing. “you’ve felt off for a little while today, actually.”

you hesitated again. “it's not a huge deal, you don’t need to worry about it.” looking over at him, you moved your hand from the wheel to place it in his lap on top of his. you smiled over at him again. he knew it was fake.

the remainder of the car ride went without any speaking. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but the silence felt unwanted on your end at least. spencer’s voice was the only thing keeping you from floating away from the moment.

you were mindlessly driving for the rest of the way home. the world was fuzzy and hazy. muscle memory kicked in and you got home safely despite not being aware of your surroundings or that anything had even occurred.

you were supposed to be going to spencer’s for the night, but you had ended up at your own apartment. “oh shit. sorry, i can drive us back to your place. force of habit, i guess.” you tried to blink off the haze that was cocooning you.

spencer watched you rub your eyes with the tips of your fingers and his brow furrowed. “no, it’s fine, we can stay here tonight. i love your apartment.” he moved his head so that he was looking into your downtrodden stare. he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. the scent emanating off of him was the same clean, linen scent that you had grown to love and gain comfort from.

your hand squeezed his back before you opened your door and grabbed both of your things. you lightly jogged over to his side of the car to open his door, holding out your hand to guide him out of it. once out, you locked the car and you both walked up to the entrance to the lobby.

when you were both in front of the elevator, he turned to you and sighed. “are you sure you’re okay? i don’t want to push you or anything, but you don’t have to feel bad about talking to me. that’s what i’m here for, you know?” the door opened, you copied his sigh.

pushing the button for your floor, you adjusted your hold on your’s and spencer’s things. he kept his head turned looking at you. his big doe eyes were pleading. he just wanted to help you. you had done so much for him, he just wanted an opportunity to return the favor.

he inched his pinky on his right hand over to your left hand. he laced your two pinkies together. your breathing halted before you unlaced your fingers to wipe a solitary tear from your cheek. you took your hand and reunited it with spencer’s, this time you interlocking your hands completely. his pleading seemed to get even more desperate, if possible.

“i just-” you cut yourself off and inhaled deeply. you felt the thin lines of scar tissue underneath your clothes burn. you desperately wanted to itch at them. “my dad called me on my lunch break today.” you stared off into the distance and clicked your fingernails against each other.

it seemed as if both of you stopped breathing for a moment. spencer was about to say something, then the elevator dinged. the walk to your apartment door made room for the silence to temporarily return. the floor creaked as you both approached your apartment.

the click of the your front door shutting prompted spencer to pull you in to a emphatically tight hug. it was the type of hug that filled your soul with warmth and quenched your thirst for closeness. you attempted to choke back your sobs, but when he held you tighter you broke.

you didn’t hug him back from the start, but quickly you dropped the jacket and bags that you had been holding and held him back with an equally powerful squeeze. your emotions took hold and coursed through you wholly.

“go ahead. you can cry, i don’t mind.” you pressed your cheek against his chest and sobbed. the wetness of your tears dampened his shirt. he placed one hand on the back of your head and held it close to the side of his neck. it was a precise movement, but it was not forceful in any way.

“do you want to talk about it?”

“what he said isn’t important. it just made me feel shitty. I can’t think about him without remembering everything- without feeling everything that he did.” you picked at the folds of fabric on the back of spencer’s shirt. the way that he was rubbing circles into your back provided grounding so that you didn’ float away again like you did in the car.

he made his breathing more pronounced and you understood what he was communicating. it wasn’t overly dramatic or mocking at all. your breathing began to match his. he pulled away and looked at you. “do you want me to distract you?”

“if it’s okay, i think i want to talk it out a little bit.” he offered a soft smile, one that you did not have the energy to return. he removed one arm from you back to reach behind him and take off his shoes. you pulled away from him completely and took off your shoes and your sweater you were wearing over your button down.

he motioned towards the couch. you sat next to him on it, and he grabbed your legs and swung them over his lap. you scooted closer to him so that you could lean on him but still look at his face. to an onlooker, this position might have looked awkward and maybe even a little strained and strange. you and spencer often found yourselves sitting like this. it provided everything necessary: a closeness that wasn’t smothering but gave the comfort that you two loved.

he took his left arm rested it around your waist while his right hand sat on your knee. “i know that he’s just trying to be a dad, but he isn’t my dad. he never was; he lost that privilege. he always finds a way to make me feel bad about something, or say something fucked up.” you paused.

“i know you don’t want me to say that i’m sorry, but i am. i’m sorry that you aren’t able to have that relationship with him that i know you once craved.” he took a breath, thinking about what to say. “i do think, however, that it is fantastic that you’re dating me. one, because i love knowing you and knowing that you feel the same way; seeing as you’re beautiful, smart, and incredibly well spoken. two, because i have felt similar things in the past. i don’t know many people that come from broken families and have inoperable paternal relationships.” he tapped his nose on yours. when you looked at him, he gave you a small, wistful smile.

“how do you do it?” you asked him. he hummed in response. “how do you not let him control your life? i mean, how does he not affect you?” he rubbed your knee. you could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“he does,” he said matter-of-factly. “well, i mean, the things that he did and said are instilled into who i am and have permanently impacted how i react and perceive things.” he took a deep breath, he was staring at the footrest at his feet. he looked back up at you. “i’m not perfect. some days are better than others. but, in the end we’re just children longing for the affection we were never given.”

the silence that surrounded you both as you thought of a way to respond was different than the one that held you both in the car. it was a silence that you were familiar with, it was saturated with the trust that you felt for him.

you laid your head down on his shoulder. the fabric of his button-down was stiff, but it was soft (once you had complained that spencer needed to invest in a better clothing softener. he abided).

spencer and his aura imbued your senses. he smelled and felt of comfort. you were acutely aware of how he gently and faintly rubbed his cheek against the top of your head.

“even though i can’t get back the childhood he took from me, i don’t ever stop wanting it.” your voice shook minutely. “i don’t have any faith that my father is a good person, or that he will ever change to become one. i don’t think i’ve ever looked at him and not seen the horrible ways he changed me. but i don’t ever stop wanting him to be better. he won’t be, and i know that to be a fact. but i know that he once had the potential to be something great, and i guess that gives me the faint underlying of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll do something to make up for what he did to me.”

spencer kissed the top of your head. you swore that you felt him crying but did nothing to question him on it. there was no need for him to respond that time; you just listened to his heartbeat. you payed attention to your breathing and tried to steady it.

after a few minutes, he said something. “i love you, and i’m sorry.” the simplicity filled the void in you, even though you knew that it was nonpermanent. you would eventually long for his comfort and repeat this dance again and again.

your voice was almost reduced to a whisper. “i’m sorry that sometimes i’m a mess-” he tried to cut you off but you spoke over him. “i’m sorry that i can’t ask for help when i need it- but i won’t stop needing you. i love you. please don’t leave me. i have no clue what i would do or who i would be if you weren’t with me.”

“i was trying to say that you aren’t a mess,” you could hear the watery smile in his tone, “you aren’t a mess. and i’m not going to leave. i could never do that to you. i am going to stay as long as you’ll have me stay. okay? as long as you’ll have me, i’ll be here. with you.”

and so, you sat like that. and for a moment, while spencer held you, you existed as one. the line blurred between you. you were two broken children finding solace in each other.

[dixons-sunshine]

Imagine this…. for the young daryl X young reader au

Reader has a camcorder which she carries around when her and daryl go on little trips and they end up finding it again after years for whatever reason and it’s a nice little fluffy scene where they relive earlier times together before everything

A Trip Down Memory Lane | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: While unpacking your things for your new apartment with Daryl, you stumbled across an old video camera you had used to film little moments between you and Daryl in your teen years. A visit down memory lane gives Daryl the push he needed to ask you something important.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.5k

A/n: This request was so cute! I hope you don't mind that I paired it with another idea I had. It just seemed like it would fit perfectly. And I made Daryl romantic in this because he's a romantic deep down.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Dear god, what the fuck was I thinking? That style was horrible!”

Daryl laughed at your comment, pulling you closer into his side. “I think ya looked cute. Kinda like Minnie Mouse in a way.”

“That doesn't make it any less horrible. Polka dots and frilly pink headbands are not my thing,” you laughed, skipping to the next video on the video camera you had found.

You and Daryl were in the midst of unpacking the boxes with all of your things. The two of you had just recently found a cheap enough apartment to rent and were busy organising everything when you had stumbled upon an old video camera that you had used when you were teenagers. Everything else was quickly forgotten as you and Daryl sat in the middle of what should be the living room, surrounded by a bunch of boxes as you took a trip down memory lane.

“Fuck, please tell me tha' ain't me,” Daryl groaned when a younger version of him appeared on the screen. “Jesus, buddy. Ya ever heard of sunlight? It'd do ya good to work on yer tan. Ya look like a fuckin' sheet of paper.”

You chuckled at the comment, nodding your head in agreement. “You do kinda look pale in this.”

“Looks like I needed at least 50 blood transfusions. M'surprised I didn't drop dead back then,” Daryl agreed, shaking his head in disapproval of his former self. “Can't believe s'already been a decade. Feels like jus' yesterday when we were back in yer mom's trailer.”

“Time flies. Now we're moving in to what is hopefully our last apartment for a while. You've got a great job down at that motorcycle repair shop and I've got a great teaching gig,” you replied, placing the video camera down next to you.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm,” he agreed, before giving you a playful smile. “Dun' know 'bout yer gig, though. Those five year olds are gremlins. They're gon' eat ya alive when ya start on Monday. Ya dun' stand a chance.”

You faked an offended gasp and shoved him lightly, eliciting a laugh from him. “I'll have you know, Mr Dixon, that I'm more than capable of handling a couple of five year olds. I've been doing it for two years.”

Daryl smiled and pulled you closer into his side, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah, I know. S'those high schoolers yer plannin' on teachin' one day tha's gon' eat ya up. Teenagers are the real ones ya should look out for.”

“Luckily that won't be for a while. I'm quite content on just teaching the little ones for now,” you responded, nuzzling your face into his chest. “And teenagers aren't that bad. Most of them are just misunderstood. Some of them are in situations a lot like—”

Despite cutting yourself off, Daryl knew exactly what you meant. If it were any other person, Daryl would've gotten pissed, but it wasn't just any other person. It was you, the love of his life, the person who's stuck with him despite everything, because of everything. He wouldn't fault you for one slip up. God only knows he'd said so much worse a couple of years ago, but you forgave him.

You were amazing to him like that.

“Situations a lot like wha' I went through,” Daryl finished for you, letting out a deep sigh.

“Sorry,” you hurriedly apologised, pulling back slightly to look into your boyfriend's eyes. “I didn't mean to bring it up. I—”

A tender kiss to your lips shut you up instantly. When Daryl pulled back, he gave you a reassuring smile. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he'd get mad at you for one minor slip of the tongue.

“S'alrigh',” he reassured you. “M'not mad. And yer righ'. There's way too many kids tha' go through wha' I went through. Tha's why any highschool would be lucky to have ya. Ya could help a lot of kids in situations like tha'. No, ya will help a lot of kids in situations like tha'. Jus' like ya helped me.”

You smiled and gently cupped his cheek, bringing him into a sweet kiss. “I love you,” you whispered when you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“I love ya too. More than ya'll ever know,” he responded, before pulling away and reaching for something in his pocket. “But maybe this will give ya a glimmer of how much I love ya.”

You gasped in surprise, happy tears welling up in your eyes. A choked up laugh escaped you, ecstasy flooding through your body as your eyes flickered between the man you loved and the small, round object he held delicately between his fingers.

A ring.

“I know this ain't the most expensive ring out there, and it dun' have some big diamond in the middle tha's worth more than this apartment, but m'hopin' s'enough. If I could get a better one, I would, and I will someday. Someday when I finally get promoted and yer teachin' high schoolers, when we dun' have to worry 'bout rent and shit like tha'.”

You smiled through your tears, another small laugh escaping. “Daryl—”

“Nah, please let me finish 'fore I chicken out,” he cut you off. When you nodded, he continued. “Ya've always been there fer me. Ever since we were twelve and ya started joinin' me by tha' river. When I needed ya the most, ya were always there with a reassurin' smile and a willin' ear. Then ya became my girlfriend ten years ago, and despite everythin', ya've stuck with me. Despite my outbursts, my baggage, my brother...”

You laughed at that. “I really don't like your brother.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. “I know, but ya stayed. Fer ten years now, ya've been by my side. Yer my best friend, my partner in crime, the love of my life, and there's no one I wanna spend the rest of my days with than the beautiful, kind, funny, smart woman right in front of me. Yer my ray of sunshine, the one who always manages to make me feel better.”

Daryl adjusted himself until he was on one knee in front of you. Your breath got caught in your throat, and you scrambled to sit on your knees, your eyes sparkling in wonder as the ring glinted in the light.

“Sunshine, would ya do me the honour of bein' my wife?”

Words completely eluded you at that moment. You quickly grabbed his face and brought him into a kiss, that particular kiss conveying more than words ever could. When you pulled away, you smiled softly at him.

“Yes, I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask.”

Daryl let out a sigh of relief and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, tha' was nerve wrackin'.”

You laughed as you pulled away from the hug. “I bet. You know, for a man of few words, that speech was kind of incredible. It definitely beat the one I had planned for you.”

Daryl frowned in confusion. “Wha' speech fer me?”

Nervously, you reached into your own pocket and pulled out a silver band. Daryl's eyes widened in surprise as you showed him the ring you had.

“I was kinda getting fed up with waiting for you to pop the question, so I was gonna take matters into my own hands.”

Daryl let out a laugh of surprise and shook his head. “Wow,” he mused. “Gender roles be damned, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you agreed, before motioning to the ring in his hand. “You can slip the ring on my finger, Mr Dixon.”

Complying with your request, he slipped the ring onto your finger. Before you even had to ask, Daryl extended his left hand to you. You smiled and slipped his own ring onto his finger.

Looking at the ring, Daryl smiled fondly. “Ya continue to surprise me everyday, Mrs Dixon.”

“I'm not a Dixon yet,” you reminded him, allowing him to pull you into his arms for the millionth time that day. “But I could be one soon. Maybe tomorrow, even.”

“Ya suggestin' we elope?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the idea—an idea that sounded absolutely perfect to him. “Yer mom would kill us if she found out.”

“Well,” you began, admiring the ring on your finger. “It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, we don't need some elaborate wedding to show how much we love each other. All we need is each other, and someone willing to officiate. We can go to the courthouse tomorrow.”

“Tha' sounds absolutely perfect,” Daryl agreed, pressing a kiss to your head.

“By the way, if you buy me another ring in the future to replace this one, I will be pissed. This ring is perfect.”

“Whatever makes ya happy, Mrs Dixon. I love ya.”

“I love you too.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Stone Heart AU: Scar pt I

As much as Yuu tried, she still ended up in trouble in trouble sometimes. Be it with Ace and Deuce, or just running late from acting as Crowley’s unofficial gopher, it was something. The punishments usually weren't that bad though, sometimes even relaxing.  

Like right now, it was a little bit of a trip down memory lane as she scrubbed the statues down on Main Street. It was odd, having the dreams that she did that painted the Great 7 in shadows instead of light, but it felt...right. Balanced.  

A story about a maid who would be going to a ball was the current dream cycle, though she didn’t get the feeling this one was going to relate to any upcoming overblots. While they didn’t happen as often, she occasionally just dreamt of things like this. While there was a lot to ruminate over, like the stepmother and Professor Trien, right now it was just a catchy little song sung by the fairy stuck in her head.  

“Put it together-” The King of Beasts statue wasn’t in bad shape at least, “and what do you got-” Just had to get the moss out of his eye, “Bippity Boppity Boo!” 

The eye blazed green, cracking open with a clap of thunder!  

Yuu fell, catching herself with her hands. Shit! Did she break it? Damnit, she couldn’t afford- 

Wait. It looked fine. Just a wet statue.  

“Maybe I just need to finish this up.” She muttered. “Lack of sleep must be getting to me.”  

The atmosphere had changed, the tension of a storm about to break open. As she finished the King of Beasts, she clocked her progress and ran, feeling like eyes followed her until she turned the corner.  

Malleus must be in a mood, she thinks, watching the dark clouds forming and the green smoke that seems to be spilling out the fence of Ramshackle. It isn’t the right shade of green though, more muted and not as...saturated? The gate creeks ominously and it doesn’t take her long to notice the figure sitting on the porch of Ramshackle.  

He is hunched over, a shawl tossed over his head that was once bright with color and design, now faded to grays, browns and darker reds like blood. His left eye is as green as the Diasomnia mage crystals, clear and unclouded, and the right faded as the green smoke around him. A gnarled staff is gripped in his hands, a gourd tied to the top with a handful of what might be rib bones along with some sort of dried fruit she thinks.  

This isn’t a harmless man, her instincts can say that much, but...he doesn’t feel like a threat. He could be. He’s choosing not to.  

“How can I help you?” Yuu asks, getting a bit closer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you a teacher here?”  

He chuckles, making the pointed beard shake, but it’s not cruel. “I suppose that depends on you. I think you are in need of a teacher. And I am in need of a place to stay.” 

“What do I need to learn?”  

“Magic.”  

“Ha!” Yuu can’t help it, barking a laugh. “You are mistaken. I have no magic of my own.” 

“No, cub, you have magic, just not Wonderland magic. You have the Old magic, older even than General Lilia, the same as I. These teachers cannot help you, but I can.”  

He removes the shawl’s hood from his face, revealing a pair of brown lion ears and a mane that puts Yuu’s hair to shame. Even braided in parts to keep it out of his face, the long black hair stretches all the way down to his curved spine. A tail thumps against the dusty steps,  

“Afterall, you freed me, didn’t you?”  

It takes some explaining, a quick meal shared on her dining room table that feels even more rundown than usual with actual royalty sitting down. Thank the Seven that Grim was asleep beforehand, his new Spelldrive practices tiring him out in the evenings.  

“So, are the others...the same? Petrified?”  

“Yes, though you aren’t ready to free us all just yet. I was an accident, correct?” 

She flinches, nodding. “I mean, I guess? Sometimes I have dreams. Alternate tellings of the stories around here it feels like, or added details? Most of the time they follow an Overblot, but this one just felt like a non-threatening one. I don’t have these as often.”  

“Precognition is a dangerous magic, especially with no guiding tools.” 

“I dont know if-” 

“You dreamt of mine, did you not? Leona Kingscholar? The Phantom still was a part of me, drawn from my form and magic.”  

Yuu blinked, shrugging. “I mean, it didn’t stop it.” 

“No, but you were more prepared. You were willing and ready to accept Leona’s trauma and show compassion because you witnessed me make the exact follies and look at how that ended.” he huffed, taking a sip from his water. 

She hadn’t considered that really. It just felt natural, to show them kindness after all of it. But they were alike. Really alike. And the actions Leona had taken paralleled his perfectly.  

“Do you think if somebody had done so with you, you would have listened?” 

“Oh cub!” He laughed, and this one felt harsher. “I would not have. I was far too hardened. But Leona...he will be better.”  

“Well, I better try and at least get a bed ready for you.” She said, taking both of their dishes. “What do I call you though? King of Beasts is a bit of a mouthful.”  

He tilts his head, as if considering. She gets the dishes loaded and leftovers put away before he finally answers.  

“Taka. My Mother’s Son.” he says. “That’s who I wish to be now.”  

Yuu smiles, sticking out her hand.  

“Nice to meet you, Professor Taka! I look forward to learning from you.”  

For just a moment, he sees Simba, and Nuka and Kovu and Vitani. He sees Shenzi, Banzai and Ed. He sees naive and friendly and believes in him, for as little he has to offer, and still finds him worthy.  

He shakes her hand and hangs his stone heart to air out.