#i spend so many time picking songs and putting them in a specific order its actually embarrassing

[timtwylan]

links to my jason and valgrace playlists !!!

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[pradaksj]

ghostin || part 2 (finale). (m.)

all rights reserved © pradaksj

↳do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

❧ summary ⟶  ❝Though I wish he were here instead. Don't want that living in your head, he just comes to visit me when I'm dreaming every now and then. ❞

❧ pairing⟶ seokjin/reader

❧ genre⟶  angst, angst, and angst … did i say angst? + a bit of fluff? friends to lovers.

❧ word count ⟶ 18,000+

❧ warnings ⟶ major character death! sad ending. descriptions of grieving process.

❧ part of the  ⟶ thank u, next series

part 1 || part 2 (final)

“H-He did the right thing,” Jimin stutters, and you were sure he hardly even believed what was coming out of his own mouth,“What he did was selfless,”he declares.

“No he broke my grandma’s heart!” Jia scowls at Jimin, “What a jerk…” she huffs, having been fully engrossed in your story.

“No he’s right,” you say, shocking Jia, “It was an act of complete selflessness and in a sense, I applaud him for being able to do it because God knows I wouldn’t have been able to,” you sigh, “But ask yourself Jimin, in a week from now would you regret it?”

He looks as if he’s about to nod his no, until you add to your question, “How about a year? Maybe two? What about three? Just how sure are you about it?”

He remains silent.

“Tell you what Jimin,” you pause, “Only if you’re one hundred percent sure that you’d have absolutely no and I mean zero regrets about your decision then go ahead and leave,” you say, and he looks at you in a confusing manner, “You heard me, you can get up and leave right now, but,” you add emphasis to the word, “if you have even the slightest bit of a doubt, then all I ask of you is to hear this story till its end.”

Jimin, who by now had grabbed his jacket from the table in preparation to leave, now hesitated. Before you went up to him, he was so sure he wouldn’t regret it… but now after hearing a part of this story of yours… that confidence was long gone. Because if history truly was repeating itself, then he wanted to know the ending to this tale.

And so remaining in his seat, a look of determination covered his face.

“Okay then,” you mutter, ready to continue.

“That night I had cried in that diner for what felt like hours. It wasn’t until the waitress had to tell me that they’d be closing soon that I remembered I was far from Seoul, and so instead I went to my parents’ house and spent the night crying in my mom’s arms. I didn’t tell her right away, but I knew that she had known. Because honestly why else would I cry that hard.

Still though, I kept my mouth shut about it for the week that I slept over there, thinking deep down in my heart that he’d come back and tell me it was all a big mistake. Because if he did, I would’ve forgiven him. Maybe give him the silent treatment for a bit, hell even make him beg a bit, but I would’ve still forgiven him nonetheless.

When I went back to Seoul, I stayed in the same apartment. I paid the same expensive rent despite there only being one person living in there now. I stayed there because every afternoon I’d come back from work with a tiny feeling of hope that when I’d walk in, I’d find him in the kitchen like I always did after work, eating God knows what.

Sadly it never happened....

In the beginning I’d have no problem visiting my parents in their home, that continuous hopeful side in me thinking I’d be able to magically see Jin at his parent’s house. 

In reality the only person I’d occasionally see was his mother, who greeted me the same way she always did, acting as if nothing happened. I’m sure Seokjin must’ve told her through a phone call, but yet like the amazing person she was, she never asked me any questions about it. Never uttered his name around me, instead asking about trivial things like my career and such.

With no update on where Seokjin was, or what he was doing, it was only a matter of time in which I’d realize that things just weren't going to play out like how I imagined them to. The charming prince in my story had truly left.  

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and soon months turned into years. I stopped visiting my parents house as much, and ultimately began to ask them if they could come out to Seoul to visit me rather than the other way around. As going home only served as a reminder for me of what I had lost. No… of what had left me.

And so after about two years of being single, I finally began to date people for the first time in my life, until soon enough I met someone by the name of Seojun. Though it wasn’t exactly love at first sight, it was definitely my first serious relationship since my break up with Seokjin, and slowly I really did fall in love.  

I had successfully forgotten about Seokjin.

At least I thought I did ….

I guess this brings us to where our story begins to end….

1999. 

“My loneliness is killing me,” you whisk the batter of the cake you were making, “and iiiii,” the shiny ring placed on your left ring finger shines even under the kitchen light, “I must confess I still believe,” you pause for a moment, “I still believe,” you horribly sing the ad-lib to Britney Spears’ chart topper of a song, “...Baby One More Time”.

Out of nowhere, the music on the radio is turned down, “I think that’s enough whisking y/n,” your mom chuckles, “any more and you’ll over mix it.” 

Sighing, you follow your mom’s orders.

Today was Christmas, and like every other year, you were spending it at home with your parents. Your fiancé, Seojun, who was out of town to celebrate the holiday with his family as well, would arrive in two days. It was the best compromise the two of you could make, with the agreement that the roles would be reversed for the following year.

Taking out the baked bread she had put in an hour earlier, she immediately sets it down on the cooling rack placed on the table, “You’re going to have to take these to Mrs. Kim right now,” she mentions, while cutting the bread into slices.

Silently, you nod, ignoring the drop in your stomach that you’d feel whenever you had to interact with anything that forced you to remember him. 

Despite you successfully managing to forget about him in terms of your daily life, Kim Seokjin just wasn’t someone you could ever completely forget. No matter how much you wanted to.

Wrapping parchment paper around the pieces, you help your mom tie the cute little pieces of red string around it, her belief of presentation adding to the flavor still ringing true to this day.

She inspects them one more time before placing them into the woven basket decorated with many other Christmas like things, along with the two gifts she bought for the twins, “Make sure you remind her about coming over tomorrow with the kids.”

Nodding, you place your coat on and begin to make your way out, “And tell her I said Merry Christmas!”

Making a motion with your hand that you heard her well, you close the door before she can add anything else.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Ah y/n,” Mrs. Kim greets, pulling you in for a hug, “Merry Christmas,” she says.

“Merry Christmas Mrs. Kim,” you smile at her, handing her the basket.

“Come in, come in,” she insists, and reluctantly you do, “I swear everytime I see you it feels like I’m only getting older,” she chuckles, “You don’t want something to drink? Maybe some wine—”

Laughing at her enthusiasm, you say “It’s fine Mrs. Kim,” while looking around the place. She had done an amazing job at decorating this year, not like she never did, “Where’s Mr. Kim?” you ask in curiosity.

“Ah he’s not coming till later, had some paperwork he wanted to finish up at work,” she explains, and you nod in understanding.

“Merry Christmas!” two voices simultaneously yell, and immediately you're met with a giant hug from the two twins.

Eyes widening at how big they had gotten, a smile covers your face, “Now I’m the one who feels like I’m getting old,” you comment, resulting in Mrs. Kim to laugh. 

The two, who had to be at least 13 years old by now, were definitely going through the phases of puberty by now.

Ruffling their hair, you recall how baby-faced they once were, only imagining how different they’d look in a couple years time. 

Minjun, who now sported braces, was the first to speak, “Woah, it feels like we haven’t seen you in forever!”

Yeonha adds on, “Yeah! You’ve gotten so….” she stops herself from continuing, but you know what she wants to say.

“Old,” you finish for her, pretending to be angry by placing your hands on your hips.  

She awkwardly laughs, scratching her neck, a habit she must’ve picked up from her older brother, “Of course not!” she tries to play it off.

“I’m only 25, turning 26 in a couple of weeks if you really wanna be specific, but that doesn’t make me old little lady!” you scold.

She raises her hands to her defense, while Minjun comes to her rescue, “I think the word she was looking for was mature,” he says, “I mean you’re dressed like those office ladies we see on TV,” and you’re unsure if the comparison was supposed to be a good or bad thing, but nevertheless you change the topic, not wanting to fluster them any more than they already were.

“So any gifts you two are wanting this year?” and immediately Yeonha’s face lights up at the question.

Eagerly she nods her head, “I think Santa,” she sends her mom a mischievous look, “is getting me a new beeper this Christmas,” 

Mrs. Kim playfully rolls her eyes.

“Santa heard from a little birdy that your old beeper wasn’t stolen, but got dropped in water,” Mrs. Kim comments, and immediately Yeonha’s face pales.

She turns to her twin brother and smacks him in shoulder, “Hey!” he yelps, “it wasn’t me!” he scowls, “It was probably Jin,” and even by a single utter of his name, you feel your heart begin to race, “I swear, it’s like you purposely forget what you tell him on the phone sometimes,” Minjun continues to ramble on, clearly upset by the accusation of being the snitch.

“I think I should get going,” you suddenly interrupt.

“Oh but you just got here,” Mrs. Kim says, failing to notice why you were suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Yeah!” Yeonha adds for support, “Jin’s supposed to get here any second now,” she wiggles her brows, even after all these years, still clearly unaware of the circumstances for your breakup.

Mrs. Kim looks surprised at Yeonha’s sudden announcement, “He was supposed to get here at 8,” she mumbles, a wave of guilt washing over her.

You send her a sympathetic look, knowing that it wasn’t her intention to put you in an uncomfortable position, “I’ll see you all soon, I promise,” you say, and Mrs. Kim now barely notices the ring on your finger. A subtle gasp escaping from her lips.

With your hand on the handle, you begin to open the door, “And Merry Christm—”

Stomach dropping at the sight in front of you, you feel as if a semi-truck had hit you, rendering you at a loss for words, “Y-Y/N?”

The first thing you notice about him is the length of his hair. It seemed as if he had grown it back into the mullet he first had when you met him, only this time it suited the mature aura he seemed to have. 

Dressed in a black turtleneck, matched with black pants and dress shoes, you weren’t sure if you were in shock because he was right in front of you for the first time in nearly 3 years or because of how easy it was for him to get your heart racing.

It was weird really, despite his change in appearance, for some reason even now you were sure that he was still the same old Seokjin you’d always known.

Noting that you’d been staring at him in silence for quite a while, you finally manage to spew something out, “S-Seokjin,” is all you manage to stutter under your breath.

The twins share a troublesome look to one another, “Come on you two, Mom made Pajeon,” Yeonha says, pulling the two of you by your respective hands and forcing you both inside, “We can all eat and catch up,” she smiles wide and big, “I’m sure you two would love that,” she winks.

“I d-don’t,” you attempt to say something, but too flustered for your own good, you remain in shock. 

Glancing at Mrs. Kim, you notice the contemplative look on her face, as if she was debating with herself in terms of what to do.

Making up her mind, she announces, “I’ll get the plates ready,” much to your dread. 

Awkwardly, the two of you are seated across from another, the tension in the room only building as you wait for the food.

“Soooo……” Yeonha breaks the silence that fills the room, “What have you two been up to?” she glances at the two of you, waiting for a response.

Feeling a knot in your stomach, you continue to remain silent. 

It also didn’t help that Seokjin’s gaze had remained on you this whole time. It was as if he was studying you, analyzing you the same way you had done to him. He wanted to see if you had changed.

Feigning a cough, he ultimately speaks. “Shouldn’t you already know Yeonha,” he questions her, “unless you haven’t been listening whenever we talk on the phone…”

Her face reddens, “Of course I have! You just went to Taiwan recently to consult for some business company and do those boring analyses you always do.”

He shakes his head, “Then there’s your answer,” he simply states.

“Business? So he really did end up giving up on his dream ….” you think to yourself, a bit saddened at the fact. A part of you always assumed that Jin had left you to be well on his way to stardom, that when he left you that night, he truly was being the selfish person he claimed he wanted to be.

“Y/N? …” the sound of your name being repeated brings you back to reality.

For a moment you look confused, “I said what about you?” and for the first time since your breakup, both you and Jin make eye contact, easily taking your breath away.

Face reddening, you take a while to respond, “I um—” flustering with your words , you continue, “I’m um— the head writer at the same company I worked at years ago,” you force an awkward smile on your face.

“Oh…” Jin says, “Do you like it over there?” and the question brings you back to that first car ride to the diner when you had just moved to town. His delivery of the question still as blunt as before.

“Um yeah …” you reply, fidgeting with your fingers.

He genuinely smiles, “I’m glad,” he says, “really I am,” he adds for extra comfort.

And before you could say thank you, his mother enters the dining room, the plate of Pajeon in her hand, along with other side dishes, “Here you kids go,” she places the things on the table, “Make sure you eat it while it’s hot,” she warns before making her way back into the kitchen.

It’s only until you grab the piece of Pajeon with your chopsticks that he finally notices it.

He finally notices the shiny diamond ring you sport on your left index finger.

“You’re engaged,” he suddenly announces says , face unreadable.

As if the room wasn’t awkward enough….

Gulping, you nod, “Yeah,” you exhale, “it happened a couple of months ago,” you add.

The two of you stare at each other in silence, “I’m happy for you,” he gives you a small smile. Silently patting his mouth with a napkin, he gets up from his seat, “Well I just came back from a pretty long flight so I’m pretty tired, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” he avoids eye contact for a moment, a sign that he was lying, “Jet lag you know?” he awkwardly laughs, “But it was nice seeing you y/n…”

Getting up as well, you decide that it was best you left as well.

“Merry Christmas y/n,” he says one final time before heading up stairs.

“Merry Christmas to you too Seokjin,” you whisper under your breath.

“Since our breakup three years before, Seokjin had never once gone back home for Christmas, which was why I felt so sure that he wouldn’t that year, but of course I was wrong. So when I told my mom she immediately began to panic for me, remembering that she invited Mrs. Kim to come over the next day, and well of course she didn’t want to be rude and rescind her invitation.

And so I told my mom that it was fine. Whether Seokjin decided he wanted to come over or not, I’d be just fine. At least that’s what I tried convincing myself of…”

“Seokjin, we’re going to be headed our way now,” Mrs. Kim yells over the blasting music. God, did Jin feel like a teenager again. “If you change your mind well … we’ll be right next door!”

He hears her footsteps going down the stairs, signalling that she was gone.

Engaged …. You were really engaged ….

The image of the ring on your finger was the only thing that remained in his mind the night before, and it was what was haunting him even now. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, you were happy, you had found love in someone else just like he’d hoped for years ago. 

He should’ve been ecstatic for you … but he wasn’t.

Several questions pondered in his mind once he saw it. Who was the guy? How did you meet? When were you sure you loved him? Was he treating you better than he ever did? Could he give you the future you always wanted? Just how happy were you?

Sighing, he gets up from bed, not wanting to sulk for any longer. 

He had to do something, anything, for the meanwhile that he was back home to get his mind off of this. And so grabbing his jacket, he prepares to leave, unsure of just how long he could be in the same proximity as you without doing something he’d regret.

The sounds of crickets chirping fills the air, a wine glass in your hand as you look at the stars above in the sky from the comfort of your front porch.

Inside, your parents were talking about the most mundane of things with Jin’s parents, while the kids were busy preoccupying themselves playing with their newly gifted Nintendo 64. And after getting tired of constantly losing to them, here you were, taking a break from the chaos going on inside.

Seojun was arriving tomorrow, from there you’d only be here for the remainder of the weekend and then back home to your apartment in Seoul, as if nothing ever happened. Ever since yesterday, something was eating at you. You just weren’t sure what. And the only thing you could look at to ease your anxiousness was the ring on your finger, a solid reminder that you had a future to look forward to and that the past was buried six feet under.

Taking a gulp of the drink in your hand, you mentally curse Jin. Why did he have to return? Out of all years, this had to be the one he chose to magically come back in? “Damn you Seok—”

“Y/N?” you look up to see the person you were just damning, car keys in hand. It looked as if he was originally planning on going somewhere, but must’ve walked over here once he saw you sitting here by yourself.

“Seokjin,” you say, a mixture of both shock and displeasure evident in your voice.

Relief washes over him when hearing your response because unbeknownst to you, from afar you looked as if you were completely knocked out, a result of the position you were in while you were deeply thinking. Immediately he eyes the wine glass in front of you, everything beginning to make sense.

“You looked um—” shaking his head, he disregards what he was going to say, “Sorry I’ll just get going.”

And maybe it was the wine talking, but rather than keep quiet and watch him leave, you call out to him, “You can—” you hesitate to continue, “You can sit here if you want,” you say, “that’s only if you want to of course, I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to because I’m not exactly physically capable of doing that and—”

Jin interrupts your tipsy rambling by sitting at an appropriate distance from you, a soft chuckle escaping from his lips, “You always did like getting drunk off wine,” he whispers under his breath, a small smile on his lips.

For a while, the two of you remain in silence, simply staring at the view above. That was of course until you asked him a simple question, “Where were you going?” you mumble.

Bringing his attention towards you, his eyes soften, “Just wanted some fresh air,” he simply answers, being completely truthful.

Silently you nod, “Mm that’s good,” you say, your cheeks a soft tinge of red because of the wine.

“So…”

“So…” you mimic him, causing him to playfully roll his eyes.

“How have you been?” he attempts to break the ice, “I realized I didn’t really ask you that yesterday…”

It was funny really, the two of you truly had become strangers in a sense, just like how he said you two would be that night. But in a way, it also made things more interesting, it was as if he was getting the chance to know you for the second time in his life.

“I’ve been..” you hesitate to find the right word, ultimately deciding on the simplest one you knew, “I’ve been good,” you say, “I’m doing something I love, have an apartment I completely adore, and I found someone—” you stop yourself from continuing.

“You found someone you love?” he says for you, and silently you nod, remaining silent for a moment.

“Why did you—” you pause before continuing, “Why did you become a businessman?” you ask, the question having been on your mind since the day before.

Casually, he shrugs, “There was no future in the world of entertainment for me y/n,” he states, “so I went back to college, worked my ass off, and got a degree in financial accounting. From there the job offers came pretty easily and now I’m a traveling business analyst.”

“Did you do it because of your da—”

He’s quick to nod his head no, “I did it for—,” and at the last second he changes what he was originally going to say, “I did it for myself,” and you feel yourself getting angry.

“But it wasn’t what you dreamed of, it wasn’t something you loved!” you unintentionally shout.

“Hey hey hey,” he places a hand on your shoulder, “any louder and the whole neighborhood will hear you,” he attempts to joke around, and you feel your face get redder than it already was.

Letting go of your shoulder, he looks back up to the stars, his voice becoming soft, “The night I told you about wanting to seriously pursue becoming a director, you told me that if I failed, the real question would be if I’d be able to accept it…” your gaze falls on him while he continues to look up into the sky, “At first I wasn’t able to… I was too ashamed to admit to failure, but—” he smiles, “when I finally did, it almost felt liberating. And so I realized sometimes you have to give up the things you love, for a better shot at a future.”

Bullshit.

Complete bullshit.

That’s what you want to say to him.

And so you do.

“That’s complete utter bullshit Seokjin,” you mutter, taking a sip of your drink, “because if it isn’t then that makes you a selfish person, and you’re the farthest thing from selfish. So that’s just bullshit and you know it.”

He laughs, “It is, isn't it?”

Not expecting him to agree, you look at him in shock before grouchily looking away, focusing your gaze on anything but him.

Failing to hear the brief sharp hissing sound of his zipper being pulled down, you suddenly feel the placement of his sweater over your shoulders. You furrow your brows in confusion, “You’re shivering like a chihuahua,” he explains, scratching his neck like he always did whenever he was nervous.

Crossing your arms, you attempt to hide your face which you were sure by now was as red as a tomato. What the hell were you doing? Sitting here talking to your ex boyfriend of 6 years while your fianceé was probably well on his way here… it was wrong, it was inappropriate. So then if you knew that then why did it feel so … you brush the thought off before you could complete it.

“Because he was your friend first and as much as you hate to admit it,  he'll always mean something to you…” you tell yourself, feeling guilty at the thought.

“Y/N?” he says your name, bringing you back to reality.

You look at him, wondering why he said your name out of the blue.

“Do you—” it was now his turn to hesitate, “Do you hate me?” he finally asks, and immediately your mind says no. You could never hate him, even if you wanted to.

He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response.

“No I don’t.” you simply say, not bothering to elaborate any further, but for Jin that was enough. It was enough to tell him that you still …

“Seojun…” you whisper under your breath, a car pulling into the driveway of your house, a look of surprise on your face. Immediately you push off the jacket from your shoulders, catching Seokjin by surprise.

“So this is who he is…” Jin thinks to himself, watching the handsome man come out of the car, a grin on his face as he locks eyes with you.

Walking towards him, Jin watches as you lovingly greet the man with a kiss to the cheek, the two of you then walking towards him. “Seojun this is Seokjin, his parents are the neighbors,” Seojun offers his hand out, a polite smile on his face, “Seokjin this is Seojun, my fianceé,” the two shake hands. Your past and present finally meeting.

“Seokjin which means to be a great treasure,” Seojun attempts to make small conversation.

“He’s a linguist,” you explain, awkwardly chuckling, noting the fake smile on Seokjin’s face.

“Mm I see,” he mumbles, bitterness in his voice.

“I thought you weren’t coming till tomorrow?” you ask your fianceé, still surprised by his sudden appearance.

He shrugs, “What can I say, I got bored,” he laughs, “So I said my goodbyes early, and decided why not come here to surprise you,” he kisses your forehead, and Jin feels the green eyed monster making its way out.

“Well I should get going,” Jin states.

“You sure?” you widen your eyes at Seojun’s sudden question, “I mean I love your dad y/n but it’d be nice to have someone else to talk to,” he chuckles, “and well I definitely wanna hear about what y/n was like as a teenager from someone who isn’t one of her parents.”

You and Jin both make awkward eye contact, unsure of what to say. “Maybe some other time,” Jin manages to say, “I have to um…” he flusters, “um..”

“Finish typing up that business report you were talking about,” you make an excuse for him.

He snaps his fingers, pretending that that was what he was trying to say, “Mmhmm yeah!” he scratches his neck, “My job just doesn’t want me resting, not even for the holidays, you know how it is...” he adds on, coming for the Actor of the Year award at next year's Oscars.

Seojun surprisingly believes it, “Damn, that’s too bad,” he scratches his chin, a sign that he was thinking of something, “Well are you coming to our engagement party? Maybe we can talk then,” he says, and if your eyes weren’t already wide enough, by now they were well on their way to falling onto the floor. Seojun was just too kind for his own good.

Jin practically chokes on his own spit, “I um—”

Realizing that you probably forgot to invite him, Seojun interrupts before Jin could feel any more embarrassed, “January 12, at the Lotte Hotel in Seoul, 6PM sharp.”

Feeling his face get red, Seokjin nods, “Yeah I’ll be there,” he forces a laugh.

Patting his shoulder, Seojun smiles, “I look forward to talking to you then,” he says, beginning to make his way inside, with you following closely behind, a guilt-ridden look on your face.

Now by himself, Jin silently cursed to himself. Damn him! Seojun wasn’t at all the asshole Seokjin made him out to be in his head. But damn did he want him to be one…. then it’d be much easier to hate the man, and it’d make him much less guilty for what he was planning to do….

“After that night, I’d go to sleep scared. Not because I was in danger in anything, but because I was scared about the feelings I’d repressed for so long now starting to return. I was scared of looking back…”

Patting down your black fitted cocktail dress, you look at yourself in the mirror for a final time, “Everything is going to be just fine,” you whisper to yourself, having cooped yourself in the ladies restroom for quite some time now. 

You couldn’t help it, the moment you saw the twins walk in with Jin’s mother, you knew it was only a matter of time before Jin walked in.

Ever since that Christmas weekend, his sudden return into your life had been eating you alive. You had gotten over him, you were sure of it. No … you are over him. Point. Blank.

This ring you wore on your finger signified that you were over him, that there was a different future to look forward to now. That whatever was meant to be in the past was no longer an option for you now. Right?

The door suddenly opens, “Y/N, there you are!” your mom comes in with an upset look on her face, “the host of the party can’t just disappear whenever she wants to,” she scolds.

Staring at her with a doe eyed look, you want to tell her everything. Everything that you were currently feeling, every question, every doubt that was crossing your mind since Jin’s return. But instead you just look away, making your way out.

“Taiwan huh? I’ve always wanted to visit there,” you hear your future brother-in-law, Hoseok, say. 

He, along with Seojun, Seokjin, and some other guests were currently discussing God knows what in a social circle.

“Y/N,” Seojun calls out to you, a grin on his face.

Immediately you make eye contact with Jin, feeling your every movement being scrutinized under his gaze. 

Sucking it up, you plaster a smile onto your face, reminding yourself that in a couple of hours you’d be in bed, with the only other times you’d have to see Jin being your rehearsal dinner, which was the night before the wedding, and the wedding day itself. And even then he would just have to be another face in the crowd of guests.

Seojun places a kiss to your cheek, “Jin was just talking about his adventures in Taiwan, I’m thinking it might be a good destination for our honeymoon,” he says with genuine excitement in his tone. Oh how naive he was…

“Oh…” is all you can say, struggling to keep the smile on your face, “um yeah, I guess that would be a nice place to go, wouldn’t it?” you attempt to stay engaged with the conversation, and it seemed as if it was enough to fool Seojun because soon he was talking about something else with another guest. 

But clearly it wasn’t enough to fool Jin, as he currently had his gaze fixed on you, occasionally taking a sip out of the glass of whiskey in his hand.

“I think I’m gonna go out and get a breath of fresh air,” you whisper to Seojun’s ear, and silently he nods, distracted by the conversation he was currently having.

Going out, you make sure not to be seen by your mother, knowing that she’d only scold you again for trying to leave. And so like the cowardly person you were, all you could do was hide and wait in the hotel’s little garden, sitting on the stone bench, the smell of the flowers somewhat relaxing you. 

God, did you just want this night to be over already…

“You shouldn’t have come here,” you suddenly say, feeling the presence of someone behind you, but you knew exactly who it was.

“You looked sad,” you hear Jin say, genuine concern in his voice.

You remain silent.

Sighing, he sits next to you, the moonlight framing his face in such a way that he almost looks ethereal. “Originally I wasn’t going to,” he says, understanding the double meaning to your words, for you meant that he shouldn’t have came to this event at all, “But I needed to see it with my own eyes, confirm that it wasn’t just some—”

“What? Some joke?” you scoff, “Some wretched attempt at getting over you…”

Now it was his turn to remain silent.

You shake your head, “3 years Seokjin,” you say, “3 years you were gone and you just had to come back the year I get engaged,” you bitterly chuckle, wishing you had a drink in your hand, “funny how life works huh?”

Silently he nods, agreeing with you, “I guess it was just a natural sense,” he attempts to joke around, but you remain silent, “I’m sorry,” he randomly says and you look at him confused, “For coming back,” he elaborates on the apology, “if I’d known beforehand I wouldn’t have come back to town for both of our sakes,” he chuckles, being completely honest.

“Hand me that,” you motion to the drink in his hand, and without question he does. Taking a giant gulp, you then finally say something, “I’m getting married in 6 months Seokjin,” you remind him of your future fate, “it was going to happen before you came back, and it’s happening even after,” you turn to face him, wanting to make sure he understood that at this very moment you were placing a line between you two, one that you hoped was unbreakable.

He returns to stare, “I know y/n,” he simply responds.

“Do you?” your face twists into a frown, “Because I know you Seokjin and something in my gut is telling me that—”

“Y/N I know,” he repeats, “but just answer one thing for me…” he pauses, contemplating on whether to continue but does so anyway, “Do you really love him?”

And just as you’re about to respond, he interrupts, “But I mean genuinely y/n, enough where you really can picture the rest of your life with him with absolutely no regrets, no what if’s…” he adds.

Could you? You ask yourself. Could you really imagine being with Seojun with no regrets…..

To Jin, your silence was enough of an answer, but before he could get a word in, a voice suddenly interrupts, “Y/N!” Seojun calls out, “There you are,” he exhales a relieved sigh, “We’re about to cut the cake,” he glances at Jin, nodding as a way of saying hello.

“Oh right ...” you get up from the bench, a black cloud hanging over your head, “I’ll see you at the wedding Seokjin,” you look at Jin a final time, the statement ultimately acting as your answer.

“The six months went by in the blink of an eye, but each and every night when I went to bed, it ate me alive. 

The lies I was telling my fianceé, the lies I was telling myself, everything was just becoming too much. 

And as the date loomed closer and closer, it was only getting worse. And so the night before the rehearsal dinner I finally came clean…”

Staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, you’d become accustomed to the sleepless nights for the last six months, faint lines beginning to form under your eyes. 

In less than 48 hours you’d be a married woman, welcoming a future you’d always wanted. So then why was it now, you still couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

“Wedding jitters?” you hear Seojun whisper beside you, and you find yourself shocked that he was still awake. Usually he was quick to fall asleep, a deep sleeper as well, so to find him awake was pretty unusual.

You remain silent, hoping he’d just fall asleep, but like the caring person he was, he softly nudges you despite knowing that you were ignoring him, “Seojun, go to sleep, it’s late,” you mumble in the darkness, reminding you of a memory from long ago.

“Something’s bothering you,” he says, now turning to face you, and he nudges you a second time, “You know you can tell me anything…” he adds, wanting to reassure you.

This was your chance, your chance to tell him everything before it was too late. It was speak now or forever hold your peace, and so sighing, you position yourself to sit up, turning on the bedside lamp.

“Seojun I haven’t been completely honest with you…” you announce, now avoiding eye contact. “And well you deserve to know the truth because you’re an amazing person who deserves nothing but the bes—”

“Y/N,” he interrupts you, a soft laugh emitting from his lips, “I know Seokjin is your ex, and I know he still loves you,” he drops the bombshell of news on you, and you could’ve sworn you felt your jaw hit the floor.

“W-wait w-w-what?” you manage to breathe out, and it only makes him laugh again.

He now sits up, nodding his head, “I knew the moment you introduced his parents as the neighbors rather than calling him an old friend,” he chuckles, “you were trying to make it seem a little too platonic,” your face squirms, “and well you’re not exactly the best liar,” he pauses, “Plus your mom isn’t exactly a quiet speaker so when I heard her rambling to your dad about the situation, I sorta just knew.”

“T-then why didn’t you call me out on it?” you immediately ask, but before he could respond, you continue to ramble, “God, I’m so sorry Seojun,” tears well up in your eyes, “I love you, I really do,” you say, completely truthful, “but I-I-I—” you struggle to continue.

“But you also love him,” he completes for you, a look of understanding on his face.

Immediately you nod your head no, “No I don’t it’s just—”

“Y/N it’s fine,” he says, grabbing your hand, but you still refuse to admit it.

“No Seojun, you don’t get it. I love you, I do, more than you ever know and I’m ready to start our future together but—” you look away, “as much as I hate to admit it I’m always going to feel something for him because he was my first love,” you whisper the last part, “but you’re my last,” you reaffirm.

Seojun smiles sadly before sighing, “I know, which is why I sorta just let it be that night at the engagement party because well... I figured that if you were able to make it to the aisle without turning back it meant that you truly did love me,” he pauses, “Because even now you have the choice to turn back y/n, you do understand that right? I won’t be mad, I won’t be too sad, and I won’t hate you for it because I understand,” he says and you feel a teardrop fall from your eye, “that night I overheard him ask you if you really loved me and though you didn’t immediately say yes, you also didn’t flat out say no. And so it seems you’re at a crossroad… ” he whispers.

“Seojun…” 

He squeezes your hand, “When you step on that aisle then I’ll have no doubt that you’ve completely unregrettably chosen me,” he says, “and if you don’t then I’ll know you were just never meant to be mine,” he smiles softly.

A silence follows.

“Tomorrow he’s going to the rehearsal dinner, and I’m assuming it’ll act as his hail mary. His final attempt at getting you back,” he suddenly says, “and so it’ll be your time to make a decision … a future with me or a look back at the past with Seokjin,” and he kisses your cheek, his way of saying goodnight before making himself comfortable in bed again, quickly falling asleep, and leaving you in the same sleepless state you were already in before.

He was right, knowing Seokjin tomorrow he was going to do something because you were 100% sure that he would never grow the balls to object to the matrimony in front of everyone. And so as the clock kept ticking, it was only up to you to decide your future.

“The next night came quicker than expected. After all of the guest greetings and pretentious conversations I had to make, it was time for the guests to make a toast. By then I had already made a decision in my mind, I just didn’t expect everything to happen the way it did….

For over the last 50 years I’ve constantly looked back at that night and have asked myself where it went wrong, what could’ve gone differently, what if this, and what if that… as it was never meant to escalate to the point it reached...

But it did … and as much I would love to go back in time and change everything, I can’t. And that’s just something I’ve had to accept, no matter how much it hurts…”

Clink. Clink. Clink.

You eye Jin as he gets up from his seat, his glass of sparkling water in his hand. 

You’d been avoiding him like the plague the whole night, just wanting to get to the wedding day as soon as possible.

You attempt to remain calm. 

He wouldn’t do it, not here in front of everyone. If he really cared for you like you believed him to, then he wouldn’t. 

You knew Jin, and he was the kind of person to pull you to the side or find you alone like at the night of the engagement party in order to tell you something. Never would he stoop so low to do something like this…

Feigning a cough, he speaks, “I want to make this as quick as possible, don’t want to take too much of everyone’s time,” Jin’s mother glances at yours, the two of them unsure of what was going on, “So where do I begin…” Seojun looks at you with an impassive expression, your conversation from the night before coming to fruition, “Ahh I know,” Jin snaps his fingers, “So for anyone who doesn’t know, I actually dated y/n first…”

“Seokjin,” his mother attempts to stop him by harshly whispering his name, but he relents.

“We dated for about 6 years actually, to a point where we sure that we’d spend the rest of our lives together,” he scoffs, “but then I ruined that by breaking up with her,” he reminds you and everyone else around you of the fateful night, “which I know is shitty of me to realize just now how much of a mistake it was. But I mean what are the chances that I come back the year you’re about to get engaged, I mean that has to mean something right?” he rambles, almost as if talking to himself, convincing himself that this was the right thing to do.

Everyone sits in shock of the words spewing out of his mouth, certain that this was only something that happened in movies, never imagining that it could actually happen in real life, “I’m only saying this now because I realize it’d be even more of a dick move of me to object in front of everyone,” he chuckles to himself, “And so I’m doing this now, in front of everyone y/n…” he locks eyes with you, “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “but this is our last chance, a final shot at the future you’ve always wanted... with me.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

Slowly you get up, a heavy feeling weighing down your chest as you clear your throat before speaking, “I know this is a lot to ask but if everyone can get up and momentarily leave the room, I’d really appreciate it,” you announce, “I’d like to talk to my friend privately for a moment,” you look down to Seojun who nods understandingly.

Without question, Seojun begins to lead everyone out, until ultimately it was only you and Seokjin standing by yourselves, a scene all too familiar to you. 

“Y/N…” he begins, but you’re quick to cut him off, your hand placed on your temple.

“Why?” your voice breaks, any emotion you’d been withholding beginning to unravel, “Just why?” is all you’re able to ask.

“Because you don’t love him y/n,” he whispers loud enough for you to hear, and it’s at hearing that, that you feel a shift in mood.

“But I do Seokjin!” you yell, seeing nothing but red now.

Silence momentarily lingers in the air, until you scoff.

“What were you thinking, Seokjin? That you could just come back into my life and I’d welcome you back with open arms?” you ask, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall with every word you got out.

He shakes his head, “No but—” he hesitates, walking closer to you, “what are the chances y/n? What are the chances I come back to town the year you’re getting married—”

“The only reason I’m getting married to someone else is because you left me!” you interrupt him, reminding him of the choice he made years ago.

He looks away, “You don’t get it y/n,” he mumbles under his breath, beginning to grow frustrated.

“What’s there not to get Seokjin?” you push at him, now yelling, “If I hadn’t gone looking for you that night, I would’ve been left with nothing but a goddamn note—”

“I was doing what was best for you!” he yells in return.

“For me?” your voice shakes, “Leaving me at a diner in the middle of the goddamn night with some poor excuse wasn’t the best for me! Leaving me to cry in bed, by myself, for almost 2 years straight wasn’t the best for me! Leaving me, not knowing where the hell you were for almost 3 years wasn’t the best for me!” you finally explode, years and years of anger now revealing itself.

“Everything I had felt, the sadness, the anger, the frustration, everything … was finally being released…”

“I begged for you that night Seokjin, begged!” you emphasize, the tears that had been building up, now falling hysterically.

“I was just trying to do what was best for you,” he says, completely and wholeheartedly honest, because it was true. At the time he really was doing it all for you, and you understood that now, truly you did.

“But I just couldn’t let it go… I was still hurt, and that hurt was what was holding me back. That hurt was what was preventing me from walking out the back door with him, ready to finally start that future with him I always wanted…”

“I didn’t need you to do anything for me!” you yell, “I was a grown woman Seokjin! Capable of making my own decisions, just like I am now!” your heartbeat slows down, “I gave you my heart that night Jin!” your voice cracks, not only feeling your heart break for the second time in your life, but all by the same person, “It was you who left me! Not me, you!”

“Because I didn’t want to hold you back y/n,” his voice breaks, “Because at the time I couldn’t give you the things you wanted.”

“And I told you I didn’t care!” you cry out, “Because for me all that mattered was being by your side…” a silence follows, “You were my first love Seokjin,” you breathe out, “the first boy to make me feel completely and unconditionally loved and so for that I thank you,” you say, “I really do…” you grab his hand, “but this—” you struggle to say the words.

“But this is the end,” a tear falls down from his eye, and you can only stare at him in sadness.

“I’m choosing Seojun, completely and unregrettably,” you whisper, placing a final soft kiss to his cheek, “I’m sorry,” I’m sorry for being unable to let go, is what you want to say.

“So then I should go,” he quietly says, and silently you nod, letting go of his hand in the process.

And he watches you as you walk away, “Y/N,” he says your name for a final time and you turn around, sadness still etched in your face. 

There’s a brief silence before he continues.

“Live—” he hesitates, “Live a life you’ll be proud of,” he reminds you, and to that you send him a small smile. A chapter in your life coming to its end.

“And so the next day was the wedding....” 

“How are you feeling y/n?” your mom comes up to you from behind, practically feeling just as nervous as you were.

You pat down your dress, sighing in the process. Ever since last night, there was a churning feeling in your stomach that had been bothering you, but you reasoned with yourself that it must’ve been due to the events of the night prior, “Nervous but I should be good to go,” you respond, and your mom gives you a smile of reassurance.

Curious to see how many guests had arrived already, you look out the window of the room you were in, which gave a perfect view of the venue. Scanning across, it seemed like everyone was here except… 

“Where’s Mrs. Kim?” you ask, “and the twins?”

After last night’s events, Mrs. Kim had gone up to you frantically apologizing for her son’s behavior, rambling about understanding if you didn’t want her at the wedding anymore, but you were quick to tell her that it was fine. That just because Jin did what he did, didn’t mean you didn’t want her attending. Which was why now seeing her seat empty along with the twins’, you were not only confused but a little hurt.

“Maybe they’re stuck in traffic,” she reasons, “they did leave quite late,” she adds.

Deciding it was best not to dwell on it too much, you push it to the back of your mind, “Let’s get this show on the road,” you ultimately say, ready to get married.

“You have to remember that in the early 2000’s, not everyone had mobile phones yet because of how expensive they were. People were still used to calling a house phone by memory and crossing their fingers that you’d pick up. You couldn’t just send a text message to absolutely anyone whenever something of importance happened…” you explain, your voice beginning to shake, “you couldn’t inform someone of an emergency until God knows when,” a tear falls from your eye, “Because if you could, then—” you let out a heart wrenching sob.

“Grandma?” Jia says in concern.

“Then I would’ve never gone through with that wedding…”

Seokjin was tired, no … he was exhausted. 

God, was he such an idiot. What the hell was he thinking doing that? You were right, did he really think he could just waltz back into your life and everything would just go back what it once was? And to see you cry like that only made him realize even more of what a complete selfish asshole he was.

But at least, you both found closure right? That was all that—

The sound of Seokjin’s car engine making an ugly noise breaks him away from his thoughts. Almost immediately, he pulls over to the side of the road, purposely stopping near a payphone for reference.

Grabbing the flashlight from his compartment box, he gets out of the car and lifts up the hood of the car.

“Hmm...” he hums, nothing seemed wrong. It was probably just his car’s way of saying that it needed to be replaced by a newer model soon. 

He smiles, tapping the hood once he placed it back down. He’s had this thing since his first year in college, it being by his side almost as long as you had been, if not more.

Yawning, he gets back in the car, the need to fall asleep becoming a little too overwhelming. Placing the key back in the keyhole, he turns it in order to turn on the ignition, but to his surprise the car refuses to start, “Come on LadyBug,” he says, the name of the car being something you and him both made up on a drunken whim, it sticking ever since.

Deciding to be stubborn tonight, LadyBug relents. 

Sighing he grabs his Nokia phone from the glove compartment, the giant words of “NO SIGNAL” only making him sigh more. He just wanted to go home and sleep already.

Getting out of the car once more, he walks towards the phone booth, inserts a quarter, and dials the number of his parent’s house phone. As much as he hated to ask for help, desperate times called for desperate measures, and his dad should be home.

“You have reached the voicemail box of 45x-7x8-87xx, please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeep,” the automated voice instructs.

Seokjin groans, maybe his dad was asleep, “Hey dad, I’m sorta stranded out here with a car that doesn’t seem to want to start and well … I think Mom is still at the rehearsal dinner with the twins,” Seokjin begins to ramble, “She’s probably on her way back home, but you know her,” he chuckles, scratching his neck, “she still refuses to get a mobile phone so there’s really no way of calling her till she gets home,” despite his father not being on the line, he still felt awkward asking him for a favor, “I’m on interstate 6, you know … the usual route to get from Gwacheon to Seoul. Well, I’m gonna try calling someone else just in case you’re asleep… bye,” he hangs up the phone, disappointed that he was going to be stuck here longer than he hoped for.

Who else could he call, hmmm.

Ah! Yoongi! Hell maybe even Taehyung or Namjoon! Though it’d been a while since he last saw them, he was sure they’d be willing to do him the favor.

Quickly dialing their numbers one after another, he’s met with the same automated message of, “We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check your number and try your call again.”

“Damn, they probably changed numbers,” Seokjin mumbles to himself, unsure of what to do.

Glancing at the time in his watch, he realizes just how late it was. Who else could he call….

The image of you appears in his mind, but he’s quick to shake his head no. He was the last person who could call to ask for a favor, but damn was your number the only number he had left in his memory. 

And it wasn’t like he could sleep in his car for the night, that was only an invitation to get robbed on the side of the road. 

He needed some kind of help, and quickly at that. And the chances that you were already home were pretty high, never being much of a partier to begin with.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, promising himself that this would be the last time he ever asked you for anything. He could only hope that you still lived in the same apartment….

“We should really start heading back home,” you whisper to Seojun’s ear, the rehearsal dinner having only awkwardly resumed about an hour or two ago. Things were barely beginning to get comfortable again among the guests, not like you could really blame them, they had just witnessed something that looked like it came out of a movie.

“Y/N,” he chuckles, “Have some fun,” he says, as this was probably your 10th time saying this in the last hour, “You deserve it,” he tries to convince you, your whole mood having gone sour since the whole mishap.

Sighing, you look away shyly, “I don’t know Seojun—”

“Come onnnn,” he teases, gently pulling you into a hug, “Just one more hour.”

You roll your eyes, “Hm fine,” you say, easily convinced, “but only one,” you reaffirm.

He nods, “only one.”

“Hello, we are currently either sleeping or—Jin I’m making the message for the voicemail thingy majiggy—” the sound of a high pitched laugh in the background is heard, and Jin remembers how he had been poking fun at you for using your “I mean business” voice, “as I was saying, we are currently either sleeping or at work! Sorry we couldn’t reach your call at this time, but please please please leave a message after the beep and we’ll make sure to get back to you as soon as we can! You ready? Beeeeeep!”

Jin laughs at how silly you sounded, surprised that you hadn’t changed the message in the last 3 years. It probably meant you had no reason to, considering it was pretty rare that you didn’t pick up a phone. 

Meaning maybe you weren’t picking up on purpose….

Jin shakes his head, reminding himself that he was calling on a payphone and that there was no way you could see it was him. It was just self doubt getting to him.

“Hey y/n it’s me um Seokjin,” he awkwardly laughs, “I know I don’t really deserve to be asking you for a favor right now, but um,” he exhales a deep breath, “I’m sorta stranded right now and well I tried calling everyone else I could think of at the top of my head, I swear, but no one picks up,” he wants to make sure you understand that you really were his last option, “I promise that after this it’ll be the last time you see or hear of me, but I’m just really tired and well I just wanna go home and sleep. So if you can, I’ll be on interstate 6 with LadyBug,” he chuckles, “Um …” he’s unsure of how to end the voicemail, “I’ll see you soon then… bye ….”

Sighing, he walks back to his car, deciding he was going to try one more time before officially giving up. Twisting the key, he could only cross his fingers that it’d start up.

Vrooom.

A toothy grin appears on Jin’s face as he childishly celebrates, “Oh thank God,” he whispers to himself, rubbing his eyes and preparing himself for the drive ahead.

“Y/N,” your mom calls out to you from the dance floor, a shock ridden expression on her face, “Y/N!” she yells again, this time grabbing your attention.

“What is it mom?” you ask, unaware of the severity of what she was about to tell you.

“We need to go outside, I—” she seems out of breath, “I need to tell you something,” her voice shakes, and an immediate concern covers your face.

“Right now?” you ask, confused as to what could be so important that she needed to tell you at this very moment, in the middle of your wedding reception.

Silently she nods, leading you outside, her hand intertwined with yours. Your dad, with a solemn expression on his face, follows not too far behind.

“Something’s happened y/n…” she begins, voice wavering, “It’s about Seokjin…”

Inaudible words are spoken. 

And soon you fall to the ground, the shock paralyzing you in such a way that you were sure this had to be some cruel nightmare, the sound of silent muffled sobs escaping your lips and filling the air. 

A tragic story coming to its end.

“He died that night driving,” you hauntingly say, “A car had swerved into the opposite lane, and he was just too tired,” your voice shakes, “He didn’t see it in time,” tears fall down your eyes, “He died that night thinking I didn’t love him when in reality I loved him more than ever before. I was just too prideful to admit it,” you wipe the tears from your cheeks.

Jimin and Jia were at a loss for words, shock running through their veins, their eyes wet with their own tears, “You-You’re lying…” Jimin’s voice breaks, unable to comprehend what you had just told them.

“His mom didn’t get the call from the police until she got home, and even then she immediately rushed to the hospital, clinging onto the tiny bit of hope that he’d be just fine,” you shake your head, lips quivering at the recollection of everything, “She told my mom the next by calling my dad’s travel phone, felt like as a close friend … I deserved to know.”

“Grandma…” Jia says weakly.

“I always ask myself what if I hadn’t agreed to stay that extra hour that night. What if I had gone home like I should’ve and heard that voicemail? Because if I had, I would’ve gone to go get him without even a second thought. But like I said, I’ve just had to accept that what happened happened, and there’s nothing I could do to change that.”

Seojun gently knocks on your bedroom door, dressed in an all black suit, “Y/N…” he softly says your name, “Today’s the funeral… you,” he pauses, “you have to get up…” his voice is gentle, but firm, “You—” he hesitates, “You have to go y/n, you have to say goodbye,” he whispers.

He hears you attempt to muffle your sobs, just like you had been for every night of the last month. But in a room full of utter silence, it was almost impossible not to hear you. 

“Y/N…” he slowly enters the dark room, heart breaking at the sight of you aimlessly staring at the ceiling. Sitting beside you, he begins to gently run his hand through your hair, an effort to comfort you.

But the heartfelt action only makes you sob harder, reminding you of the person you had lost, “I—” you barely croak the words out, “I just want to sleep,” you whisper, because you knew that it was only in your dreams that this wretched reality no longer existed. It was only in your dreams that he still… existed. It was the only time you were truly happy.

But by going to that funeral, it meant coming to face with the reality that everything was indeed real. That Kim Seokjin was truly dead.

“I know you do y/n…” he frowns, “but you have to say goodbye,” he repeats his words from earlier.

Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.

Didn’t he understand? You didn’t want to say goodbye! You weren’t ready, and you weren’t sure if you were ever going to be.

“I don’t want to,” your voice cracks, face feeling moist because of how much you’d been crying.

“I-I know y/n but—” he’s unsure of what to say. What the hell could he say? You were mourning, you were heartbroken. The man you loved more than the world itself was dead, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

“I have to say goodbye,” you quietly mumble into space, the phrase echoing inside your mind, “I have to say goodbye,” you repeat for a final time, an empty look in your eyes.

The rain pours as you watch the casket get lowered, almost as if grieving itself.

There’s a haunting emptiness in the atmosphere, everyone still in too much shock and disbelief to believe that this was all real.

All you could do was blankly stare at what was in front of you, trying your best to tune out Mrs. Kim’s raw sobs, the sound being too much to bear. 

She had lost her very first born. The child she learned how to nurture, the child whose job was for her to protect, the child who was one of her greatest joys in this world, but most importantly the child she had no doubt loved unconditionally. And so to hear her cry with such a deep hysteria…. it was just too much….

Your mom squeezes your hand tightly, knowing that no words could take away the pain that you were feeling. She had first hand witnessed the love Kim Seokjin had for you, watching it go from a faint crush when you two were teenagers to a love so strong she was once sure it was unbreakable. You were going to get through this dark period in your life, that she was sure of, but the real question was when exactly would you come to accept it.

The clergy makes the final cross motion, ending his eulogy with God knows what because right now everything was just a big blur for you. Because even now with the sight of his casket being lowered six feet under and seeing both his mother and siblings cry like never before, it just didn’t feel real.

Slowly members of his family begin to leave after bidding their final goodbyes, with the occasional number of them stopping to give you their condolences, only making your heart wrench even more. You weren’t his wife, so why were they treating you like some widow? You didn’t deserve their consolation because you didn’t choose him. Like the horrible person you were, you just watched him leave that night. If it weren’t for you—

“Y/N?” a familiar voice interrupts your thoughts.

Turning, you feel your body go cold, “Y-Yoongi?” and beside him were none other than Namjoon and Taehyung, all three of them having tear stained eyes. 

With sad eyes, they give you a small smile, clearly hurting themselves at the loss of their dear friend.

Soon you’re embraced in a hug by them, your body still in disbelief at the sight of them. It had been so long since you’d last seen them, years in fact. Never did you imagine your reunion with them would be here.

“W-we would’ve gotten here sooner but we caught traffic,” Taehyung says with a weak voice, eyes on the verge of spilling more tears.

And for the first time in a month, a small smile appears on your face, “You’re—” you sniffle, “You’re such a bad liar,” and he pulls you in for another hug, this time allowing those tears to fall.

The four of you soon stand in silence, words not having to be exchanged in order to understand what you were all feeling.

Namjoon suddenly speaks, “The last time I saw him was was the day he first came back into town, Christmas,” Yoongi smiles at the memory, all three of them being there, “He stopped by our apartment before going back to his mom’s, said he wanted to say hi,” Joon continues, “even apologized for just disappearing out of nowhere.”

“Tch that idiot,” Yoongi mumbles, “he said the first place he wanted to go was the diner but that they were closed,” Yoongi’s eyes glisten, trying his best not to cry.

“He then promised that for the next time he saw us, he’d to treat us to a meal and some soju,” Taehyung feigns a laugh, “We never got to take him up on it though...” his eyes lower.

“But the thing I’ll remember the most was his horrible attempt at finding out how you were after all those years,” Namjoon shakes his head, a dimpled smile appearing on his face.

Yoongi’s face lights up, remembering just how much he teased Jin that night, “You should’ve seen him,” he chuckles, “Not only were his ears red like how they’d always get but his whole face as well,”  tears fall from Yoongi’s face as he laughs, “He looked like a tomato.”

“Ah and the mullet,” Taehyung reminds them, and soon the clear image of the Jin you’d fallen in love with when you were seventeen appears in your mind.

And for the first time since their appearance, you speak, “He—” you softly chuckle, “He was always convinced he’d bring them back in style,” and the boys feel a sudden sense of happiness in seeing you talk about him.

“Yeah he was—” Namjoon suddenly stops speaking, the boys and him now staring at something behind you.

It was Mrs. Kim, who was now walking towards the four of you, a box in her hands. A solemn smile graces her face.

One by one, she hugs each one of them, turning her attention towards you last, “I was—” she pauses, “I was hoping I could talk to you, privately,” she says, the boys silently nodding and bidding a silent farewell to you, glad to have made you smile, even if it was for a temporary moment.

She leads you to a bench, not too far away from his grave. 

By now the rain had stopped and the sky was now a gloomy shade of gray. 

Placing the box on her lap, for a small moment both of you simply stare at the view in front of you in silence.

You hadn’t talked to her since the night of your rehearsal dinner, not because you didn’t want to, but because looking at her reminded you so much of him. It reminded you of that first day you met him, how she had forced him to show you around town, not knowing that the two of you would be head over heels for one another years down the road. She, along with your mom, had always been your guys’ number one fan, always rooting for the both of you.

“He really did love you,” she stares off into the distance, “up until his very last breath, I’m sure,” she whispers.

You lower your gaze, unable to look at her.

Oddly enough, there was a peaceful aura in the air, both quiet and serene. Just like he would’ve loved it to be. He never did like seeing people cry.

“Whenever he’d come back home to visit, you should’ve seen the way his eyes would light up when he’d talk about you,” she smiles, “always eager to talk about what you were doing with your career,” she fiddles with her wedding ring, “Sungjin would get peeved but Seokjin wouldn’t care,” she chuckles, “he just loved you that much.”

At the mention of his father, only then fo you realize that you hadn’t seen him at all the entire service, “Where’s—” you’re hesitant to ask, not wanting to push boundaries, “Where’s Mr. Kim?” you croak. Yeah, he and Jin didn’t have the best relationship, but did that really matter now? Did any of it matter at this point?

She bitterly smiles, “He’s grieving in his own way,” she says, her voice breaking and her eyes still watery, “Those two had a tough love relationship,” she feigns a laugh, “but—” her voice cracks, “I always secretly knew that Seokjin was Sungjin’s favorite,” she sniffles her tears, “he just wasn’t good at showing it.”

You try your best not to cry, too physically and emotionally exhausted to sob any more. To you, it was just better to be numb than to feel every single emotion heightened, but God was it so hard. Everything just had to be so fucking hard. 

Tightly, you grip the bench with your fingers, biting your lip in effort to suppress your emotions.

Slowly, she begins to open the box, pulling out what seemed to be childhood photos of Jin. 

A genuine smile appears on her face as she begins to show you them, wet tears splashing onto the squared photos, “I—” she stutters, “I wanted you to have these,” she begins to explain, handing some of the photos off to you, “I tried looking for the photos and videos he’d take when you two met but,” she frowns, “but I don’t if he threw them away or—” she begins to ramble, “so I brought you these instead. I’m sorry they’re not of the exact memory you have of him,” she feigns a chuckle, “you know Seokjin,” she scratches the back of her neck, reminding you of exactly where Jin got his mannerisms from, “he never did like taking pictures.”

She flips through more of the photos, “I’m sorry there’s not that many,” her voice shakes, “I just—”

She needed to keep her memories of him too, is what you know she wants to say. 

You notice that she’s also thrown some of Jin’s favorite things in the box, his denim jacket, the original little Mario figure he had always kept on his bed stand and his favorite Mariah Carey album, Daydream.

“I understand Mrs. Kim,” you softly say, “Thank you,” you whisper to her, embracing her in a tight hug.

“I should be the one thanking you,” she says in return. Thank you for loving him, are the unspoken words that linger in the air.

“I should—” you lower your gaze, “I should get going,” you say, feeling as if the world was spinning, your breathing now becoming rapid.

With the cardboard box in your hands, she watches as you hurriedly leave, only hoping that rather than haunt you, things could one day get better for you.

Running as far as you could, you hide behind a pillar. 

It was all too much. 

Everything was just too much.

Finally, silent sobs escape your mouth as you squat against the cement pillar. Grabbing his jacket from the box, you sob into it. 

You just couldn’t let go.

As much as you wanted this all to be some horrible nightmare, you knew deep down it wasn’t. This mind numbing pain was all too real and unbearable for it to be some dream. You weren’t going to be waking up and finding Jin by your bedside, you weren’t going to hear his high pitched laugh ever again, and you weren’t ever going to be able to tell him just how much you still loved him.  

Because Kim Seokjin was never coming back.

Your Jin was never coming back. 

And it was completely all your fault for it. It was all your stupid miserable fault. If only you had—

“Y/N?” Seojun crouches down to face you, genuine concern on his face. “You’re—” he stutters, “You’re gonna get sick standing out here,” he wipes your snotty nose with his suit’s handkerchief.  

Seojun was trying. He was trying to be as supportive as he could, and you understood that, truly you did. But just looking at him was a reminder of your choice because at the end of the day he was the person you chose over—

“It’s going to get dark soon y/n,” he whispers, “I-I think we should get going.”

You stare at him in silence and then turn to face the direction of the grave.

He wanted you to say goodbye.

But you just … you just weren’t ready to.

Because there lied the boy you were once so certain you’d have a future with. The boy who was capable of making you laugh even on gloomy days like this. The one who loved you on your good and bad days. The one who stood in a room full of people just to tell you how much he still loved you, something you knew he was probably so nervous about. 

And so you just couldn’t let go.

But knowing you’d couldn’t stay here forever, you had to do the most humane thing you could possibly do. You had to live on.  

“And so I did, all for him…”

“Yeojin!” you grab your mischievous 4 year old from the waist, stopping her blatant attempt at touching the stove, “What did I say about trying to touch the stove,” you scold her, and all she does is giggle, clearly unaware of the potential consequences of her actions. 

Sadly you couldn’t be too mad, she was still learning right from wrong, but when it came to things like this, it was hard to keep your patience.

Carrying her up the stairs, you continue to scold her, “Remember what I said about it being hot,” you remind her, “you don’t want to end up with your fingers all red, do you?”

She nods her head no, “Of course not mommy.”

“Then,” you sigh, placing your little girl on her bed.

“Daddy said I’m in-de-struct-ible,” she sounds out the new word she’s recently learned, “Like Spiderman!” she mimics the superhero’s web shooting ability, the movie she just saw recently still clearly still in her mind.

“Okay Spiderman, I think it’s time you take a nap,” you say, and she mumbles something inaudible in return, “Hey hey, don’t go giving attitude now little lady,” you hide your smile, “it’s too early for all of that.”

Though not wanting to sleep, she allows you to tuck her in, already planning to get up and play with her toys once you left.

Taking note of her grumpy attitude, you place a kiss on her forehead, gently combing a hand through her hair, “I love you,” you coo.

“I love you too Mommy,” and before you knew it, her eyes were closed, the little girl now “sound asleep”, or at least that’s what you thought.

Sighing, you leave the room, gently closing the door. 

That girl was a handful, most definitely, but she was everything you had in this world. Your symbol to keep moving forward, despite that constant need to look back.

Going down the stairs, you hum Mariah Carey’s new song, “We Belong Together” , the famous singer’s latest comeback single having topped the charts these days.

“When you left I lost a—” the smell of something burning gathers your attention, the intense scent of cooking oil alarming you that something was wrong. Your mind goes back to when you grabbed Yeojin from reaching the stove, her arm clearly outstretched—

Boom!

The kitchen illuminates an intense shade of red, a fire now starting from the stove, “Oh my—” immediately you run up the stairs because despite your mind being in utter chaos, one thing was clear: you had to get Yeojin out of here.

Frantically turning the knob to her door, you come to realize that it’s locked, “Yejin!” you yell.

“Mommy, I’m playing!” she giggles, oblivious to the danger you both were in.

You practically begin to punch the door, “Yejin I need you to open the door!” your breathing becomes heavy, panic now flowing in your veins. Smoke was beginning to reach upstairs, signaling to you that this fire was moving fast, dangerously fast.

Taking a deep breath, you take a couple of steps back from her door, “1..2…” using all your force, you ram into the door, effectively opening it in the process.

Without a second thought you grab Yeojin, wrapping one of her blankets around her body and face, immediately running down the stairs as fast as you possibly could. 

By now the whole entire living room and kitchen were in flames, and you could hear Yeojin begin to whimper, confused as to what was going on.

“Everything’s gonna be okay baby,” you soothe her, your hand regrettably grabbing the door knob.

Immediately you hiss in pain, retracting your hand, “Oh God,” your hand felt as if it was sizzling. 

There was no way you could get to the window, not without risking your daughter’s safety.

Preparing yourself for what you were about to do, you mentally reassure yourself, completely grabbing the door handle and twisting it, withholding the screams you desperately wanted to let out until you were out.  

Running out, you place your daughter on the neighbor's front yard, the family immediately coming to assist you.

By now the whole neighborhood was standing outside their houses, concern and worry evident on their faces, “Oh my God y/n,” your neighbor notices the burn on your hand, “Go grab the kit in the basement!” she instructs her son.

By now, your breathing was erratic, a result of all the smoke you had inhaled, “T-The f-fire de—”

“We’ve already called them, they should be on their way. I’ve called Seojun’s job as well—” she immediately reassures you, “You need to relax y/n,” she tells you, but immediately your mind goes to something inside your house that was irreplaceable.

Mrs. Kim’s box.

Getting up from the lawn, you hear Yeojin call out to you, “Mommy!” she yells as you begin to run back to the house, focused on one thing and one thing only. 

Getting that box.

“Y/N!” your neighbor tries to get you to come back, but by then you were already making your way inside, using your shirt as a cover for both your mouth and nose, a measly attempt at having more time inside the house.

Running up stairs, you barge into your room, immediately looking to the spot in your closet where you always had the box, but to your shocking surprise… it wasn’t there.

“What the…” you mumble to yourself, your lungs beginning to feel heavy again. 

Without a second thought, you begin to ravage the room, knowing your time in here was limited. The fire was going to reach up the stairs at any moment, and once it did, it was over for you.

“What the fuck!” you yell to the empty room, feeling as if you were on the verge of an utter mental breakdown. It had to be here! There was no way you moved it, and Seojun knew better than to touch it. Putting a halt to your search, your eyes widen when you come to realize something.

What the hell was Yeojin playing with?

The Mario figure.

And in the blink of an eye, you run out the room, only to find the hallway now engulfed in flames, making it almost impossible to get into her room, not unless you wanted to burn to death.

“No…” you say under your breath, refusing to believe the box was in there. Your vision was beginning to get hazy and your head was pounding, now unsure if it was because of the fire or if it was because of the state of shock you were in. Tears begin to fall from your eyes as you hear the sound of the firetrucks nearing the house.

“Seokjin…” your voice breaks, realizing that the final things you had to remember him by were now gone. But despite your state of grief, your body knew it had to move on its own. Because by staying here, you’d inevitably die, and he wouldn't want that, not because of something like this.

Lifting up the window in your bedroom, you begin to slowly place your body out, trying your best to work with one hand. The fire was beginning to get to your bedroom, and you simply couldn’t afford to wait for the firemen to come with a ladder.

Sucking the pain up for one final time, you place your injured hand onto the ledge as well, now dangling outside the window, a scream of pain coming out of your mouth.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” you hear Seojun call out to you, “I’m gonna get you help, just hang on!” he yells, immediately running back to the front yard to presumably tell a fireman.

But the pain on your hand was just too much.

You needed to let go.

Even if it meant getting hurt in the process.

And soon you feel the impact of the floor, your arm taking mosting of the hit, most definitely dislocating. The last thing you see being the paramedics.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look what I made for you with all the other kids who were visiting their mommies and daddies!” Yeojin eagerly shows you the scribbling piece of art she created from her car seat, a toothy grin on her face.

“It looks amazing Yeojin,” you feign a smile, trying your best to act normal. Today you had been discharged from the hospital after about 2 weeks of getting your hand and arm treated along with having multiple tests ran because of the amount of smoke you inhaled.

Now, with bandages wrapped around your hand and a heavy cast, which the doctor said would take about two to three months to completely heal, you were on your way to your new (temporary) home. The fire had ravaged absolutely everything, sparing not a single thing in its sight.

It was your fault really, you shouldn't have had the cooking oil so close to the stove, especially without its cap on.

You turned your attention to Seojun, his quietness during the whole car ride not going unnoticed by you. It seemed as if whenever he did talk or laugh, it was unmistakingly fake.

Deciding you weren’t going to press him on it in front of Yeojin, you tell Yeojin to go upstairs to her room once you arrive.

Sighing, you place your things on the dining table, your free arm now feeling sore from its now constant use. 

You attempt to make small conversation with your husband, “The insurance company called me at the hospital, said almost everything was covered…” you bring up, but he remains stoic.

You try again, “Yeojin seems to have made a lot of friends, with the way she was rambl—”

He finally breaks his silence by interrupting you, “Why did you do it...” he mumbles, causing your eyebrows to perk up, “Why did you run back into that fire?” he asks, trying to contain his anger.

You feel your body freeze for a moment before answering, “I told you already, I wanted to get the papers in the sa—”

He’s quick to cut you off, venom in his voice, “Stop lying,” he grits his teeth, “There was—” he shakes his head, “There was only one thing in that house that I’m sure you’d risk your life for Y/N, so let’s stop acting dense here…”

You lower your gaze, silence filling the room.

“You could’ve died y/n,” he whispers, and your silence only peeves him, “Died!” he repeats, wanting you to understand the possible severity of your actions.

Narrowing your gaze, you scoff, “You think I don’t know that,” you spit back, not exactly fond of how he was treating you, as if you weren’t a grown woman capable of understanding the consequences of your actions.

“No I don’t think you do,” he retorts back, “Because if you did then you wouldn’t have ever gone back inside that house to begin with!” his voice becomes louder.

“You’re going to wake her up,” you refer to Yeojin, who was probably taking a nap in her room.

It was now his turn to scoff, “Like you care.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you growl in return.

“You almost left her without a mother!” he finally yells, “All for that goddamn—” he stops himself midway, unable to finish the sentence.

You glare at him, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, your eyes already getting watery at the thought of it, “Say it,” you challenge him, “Say what you’ve been wanting to say for all these years,” you mutter.

“He’s gone y/n…” he tiredly whispers under his breath, maintaining your gaze, “He’s been gone for 4 years now!” he cries out, and you feel your face twist in anguish.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“It’s time to accept it y/n, you can’t keep letting him haunting you, you can’t keep being in deni—”

“Just shut up!” you yell but he relents.

“Life has moved on y/n,” his voice breaks, “it’s time that you do too!”

“But I have! Can’t you see?” tears are uncontrollably falling down your face by now, “I stayed with you despite it all!” you scream, now heaving in anger, “I had a kid with you, we bought that big old house you always wanted—”

“And why is that y/n? Why did you stay with me after his death, huh? Why?” he asks you, his questions ringing in your head, making you feel as if you were going insane.

“Because I made a choice that day!” you yell loud enough for your voice to echo across the room, everything coming to a haunting silence, “Because I chose you that night, when I could’ve chosen him,” you cry, “And I can’t bring myself to regret that choice, not anymore at least, because regretting you would mean regretting her!” you glance at the stairs, signalling that you were talking about Yejin, “And I just can’t bring myself to do that. I chose you, and I have to deal with that decision for the rest of my life. I got up from that bed years ago and went on with my life all for you—”

He shakes his head, “No you didn’t…” he frowns, “You didn’t…”

You did it for him.

“Y/N he’s dead…” Seojun repeats, his heart still wrenching for you even years later, “it’s time you let go and begin to live for yourself. Not for him, not for me, not for her, but for you,” he grabs your hand, squeezing it in the process, “It’s time you let go.”

You pull your hand back, refusing to accept it, “I just—” you muster up your tears, “I just wanted to save what was left of him. Because without it he just existed in my memory and—” your voice shakes, “and now he really only does. Because now he’s really gone,” you sob,“ Can-Can you really blame me?” you weakly say.

“I can’t,” he says, “but I also can’t keep doing this anymore,” he murmurs, “I’ve tried y/n, I really have. But I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, and I have to prioritize Yeojin first and so I think—” he struggles to continue, “I think we should get a—”

“Divorce,” you scoff, tears still flowing down your face.

He gulps, “I’ve been talking with a lawyer for about a year now, we’d get joint custody, with no need for court because I don’t see us having to make this a longer process than it needs to be.” 

“You’re not taking my daughter away from me,” you clench your teeth. 

“I know I’m not and I wasn’t planning on it because damn it y/n, you’re an amazing mother. Truly, you are. But—” he pauses, “But until you find closure and acceptance then I think—I think she should stay with me for the meanwhile, until you’re ready that is.”

Until you’re ready to let go.

By now you were fully sobbing again because not only were you unable to control your emotions, but because you knew he was right. Ever since Seokjin’s death, he was the one who had to hear you silently cry at night, the one who had to accept that no matter what Seokjin would always be the one dearest to you, and who secretly hoped that with time it’d be something you’d get past.

Had it been anyone else, and you were sure they would’ve left you the day Seokjin passed. But Seojun was different, Seojun understood. But he couldn’t prioritize you anymore, not with Yeojin now in the picture.

You feel his arms wrap themselves around your frame, comforting you for a final time, “I’m sorry, for everything,” he whispers.

“Me too Seojun,” you hum in return, “Me too.”

The smell of the fresh rain hitting the concrete headstones fills your nose as you make your way to the resting place of the person you once loved the most. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, too in denial to ever really visit.

It had been three months since your separation with Seojun, your arm now fully healed. Currently, you were staying at a small apartment near your parent’s house, still unable to bring yourself to stay at their place. Not with the amount of memories it brought on.

The last you’d heard, Mrs. Kim had also moved, and you assumed it was for the same reason you couldn’t bring yourself to go back home. It was just too much.

Placing the red roses on top of the headstone, you make yourself comfortable by sitting on the grass, not caring if it was moist from the rain.

You just wanted to talk to him.

“I’m getting divorced, you know?” you begin, deciding to catch him up on recent events, “Things didn’t seem to work out between me and Seojun,” you chuckle, staring at your now naked ring finger ,“Not that you hadn’t predicted it already.”

Silence.

“We had a daughter together,” you mention the hyper little girl, “Her name is Yeojin, I think you would’ve loved the name,” you say, “She—”already you feel tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “She sorta laughs like you, that same kind of laugh that unintentionally makes everyone around her laugh,” you begin to ramble, “she seems to like Mariah Carey as much as you too, she’s the only artist we’ve noticed that can get Yeojin up and dancing. I’m sure she would’ve loved to dance with you,” tears begin to fall from your eyes.

The soft sprinkles of the rain surprisingly soothe you. 

“God, I’m such a crybaby,” you mumble, remembering how Jin would tease you for your sensitivity to things, “It’s just so hard, you know? Sometimes it still feels like you’ll walk through the door with a VHS movie you just rented in your hand, talking about how excited you are to see it after hearing reviews,” you laugh, “or that you’ll come in the room to tell me to fix your hair after cutting it crookedly.”

You place your hand on his headstone, softly grazing your palm against its rough surface, “You know scientist theorize that there’s possibly billions to an infinite number of parallel universes out there,” you chuckle, “I learned about it in my introductory course to Physics my first year in college, I don’t know if you remember me babbling about it,” you continue, “But it means that there are cosmic patches which are exactly like ours where everything has happened exactly like this one, meaning somewhere out there there’s someone exactly like us, except they have the possibility to do things different. And so... I wonder in which universe did we get our happy ending?” you solemnly ask, “I—”

“Y-Y/N?” a familiar voice says your name from behind, and immediately you turn to face the person.

“Mr-Mr.Kim?” you say in disbelief, as you hadn’t seen the man in years. Not since the final year you were still with Jin. 

You scan his appearance, wrinkles and gray hairs now more prevalent on him, but yet he still looked like the spitting image of his son. He just looked more … tired.

He places the flowers in his hands next to yours, silently taking a seat next to you. You were still staring at him in shock as he was the last person you would’ve expected to see today.

“It’s—It’s been a while,” he says, and originally you were unsure if he was saying it to you or his son, that was until he turned his attention towards you.

Silently, you nod, unsure of what to say, “Yeah,” you mumble.

“Do you often come here?” he asks.

Ashamed, you nod your head no, “This is actually my first time since the funeral,” you confess.

He hums a response, not in a place to judge, “Nothing to be ashamed about little girl, we all have our own ways of grieving and coping with a loss,” and you’re surprised to hear such comforting words from him. In the years you’d known him, you couldn’t recall a time where you had an actual genuine conversation with him. It was depressing that it had to be now.

“Do—” you hesitate, “Do you?” you gulp, “Do you often come here?” you repeat his question. 

Coughing first, he then responds, “Every Friday since his funeral,” his fingers tremble, and you were unsure if was because of his age or because of the topic he was currently talking about, “I do it to catch up with my boy, keep him up to date with the things you young people are doing,” he explains, eyes now glistening, “it’s the least I could do for him,” he mumbles.

A silence follows after.

Feeling bold, you ask him something you’d been curious about for a long time, “Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

He stares at the headstone, “I—” he sighs, “He was my first born, my first son, my—” he hardens his jaw to prevent himself from crying, “The night it happened he called the house, asking me to go pick him up. I had been tired from work that night, so I went to sleep early,” you feel your heart twist, “If I hadn’t overworked myself that day, I could have picked up that phone call and told him to stay where he was, that I’d be there in no time because at the end of the day he was my son who I loved like no other, even if we had a rocky relationship. He still called his dad for help, and I—” he takes a deep breath in, feeling himself lose control, “I let him down,” he ultimately says, “And so I let the guilt eat me alive, to the point where I felt like I didn’t deserve to go to my son’s funeral.”

You stare at him in silence, understanding exactly what he felt. For you had felt that same guilt all these years.

“I quit my job following his death, and fell into a deep depression like no other. Yerin and I were even close to getting a divorce, the loss of our son adding a strain to our marriage,” he explains, “She had managed to accept and let go of her pain, but for me it was just too much. I couldn’t accept that he was gone,” he pauses, “I just couldn’t let go.” 

A single tear falls from his eye.  

“I was breathing , but no longer was I living,” he continues, “And so I needed to learn how to live for myself. I needed to accept that he was gone. I needed to say goodbye, even if it hurt to do so,” he smiles solemnly to himself, “because once I finally did, it was liberating.”

“And it was in that moment while talking with Mr. Kim that I’d come to realize that in order to start living for myself, that it was time to let go, that it was time to say goodbye.”

Getting up from the grass, you stare at Seokjin’s grave for one final time, for it was time to accept the cruel fate that had been given in this awful tale. One day you’d be back, that you were sure, but for now all that was left for you to say was....

“Goodbye Seokjin,” you whisper, ready to begin again.

Jimin and Jia stare at you in silence, both having dried tears and disbelief written on their faces. This couldn’t be how the story ended, right?

But it was.

“So you really have nothing to remember him by?” Jia asks, and you point to your forehead.

“Sadly all ll I have is this,” you say, “but for me that’s more than enough.”

You turn your attention towards Jimin, “And so here I am, having told you this story in order to teach you that you shouldn’t let your fears get in the way of allowing yourself to be happy, ” you say, “Because then you’ll live a life of nothing but regret,” and immediately he gets up from his seat.

“Where the hell are you—” Jia’s about to ask him something until you raise a finger, signaling to her to let him be.

“I’m-” he stutters, “I’m going to get my girlfriend back,” he breathes out, squeezing past Jia, “T-Thank you Ms. y/l/n. I mean it,” he says, and you only smile in return.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you whisper to yourself, watching as he hurriedly leaves the diner.

Placing money on the table, Jia smiles at you, “Come on Grandma, let’s go home,” she hugs you once you get up, making a new vow to herself to appreciate those around her and never take anything for granted. Just like Jimin had learned, she had to live for herself.

“Finally! I know I told you that you could stay out as long as you wanted but I didn’t think—” Yeojin is interrupted by the embrace of her daughter arm’s. Confused by the sudden act of affection, she narrows her eyes, “If this is some trick into getting your phone little—”

“Shhh,” Jia complains, “I can’t hug my mom?”

Allowing her skepticism to pass, Yeojin returns the hug, “Movie night?” she asks her daughter and immediately she nods.

You smile at the sight, making your way up the stairs and into your room.

Slowly, you crouch under the bed, pulling out a worn out box from under your bed, grabbing a small flash drive out of it in the process.  Placing the now vintage item into the plug-in of your TV, your mind flashes back to that last conversation you had with Mr. Kim. 

“Wait,” Mr. Kim stops you from leaving, pulling something out of his suit’s breast pocket, in what seemed to be a flash drive?

Handing you the small item, you look at him confused, “I found it in his room when we moved, not too long after his passing, I’m guessing he must’ve converted it before breaking that old camera of his and well I always carried it around just in case—” he pauses, “Just in case I ever bumped into you.”

You furrow your brows, why was he telling you this now? Why didn’t he look for you instead? 

As if reading your mind he says, “Because you’ve finally said your goodbye,” he smiles, “watch this when you’re finally allowed to look back. " 

Pressing play, you stare at the screen in front of you.

“Seokjin!” the person behind the camera sighs, “Seokjin!” Mrs. Kim yells again, and the camera begins to shake, presumably because the person was now going down the stairs.

The camera soon pans to the twins, both of them giggling at the cameraman's antics, “Say hiiii,” he cooes. And soon the door he’s recording opens and the camera pans to a 17 year old you, an awkward expression being worn on your face.

“Woah,” he whispers, zooming in on your face.

Your eyes begin to water as you watch the recorded memory.

“Seokjin, but you can call me Jin for short,” he introduces himself, the camera now recording the wall beside him, probably because of how he was carrying it in that moment.

The scene then changes.

“Come on, you know you wanna smileeee,” Jin sings, he closes the camera to your face, ultimately making you smile.

“Well cheers to a new friendship,” Taehyung announces and Jin records you all lifting your hands in the air.

The scene changes again.

“This is her first time eating kongguksu everyone,” Jin announces.

“Who are you even talking to?” you roll your eyes, grabbing the noodles with your chopsticks.

“To the people of the future!”

And you recall how Jin had winked at you that time, causing your crush on him to begin to grow more intense.

Your face gets red as he continues to record you. Taking a slurp of the noodles, you try to cover your face.

“Well what do you think?” he asks.

Your face twists, “Mmmm I don’t know,” you mumble, the taste not exactly being your favorite.

“Boooo!”

You flash him the middle finger.

The scene changes.

“Y/N” the camera begins to move around, and your giggles begin to get louder, “Hand that back to me!” the camera begins to move in an up and down motion, probably because whoever was holding it was running.

Soon the person gets tackled, but not before panning the camera onto Seokjin’s face.

“And the recorder finally gets recorded,” you laugh, and Jin attempts to cover his face, but you’re quick to remove his hands. He awkwardly avoids eye contact, allowing you to record his face.

You feel your breath hitch. It was Jin… the Jin you knew, the Jin you fell in love with. Right there in front of you.

Looking at the camera he quickly makes a kissy face, making you shriek in excitement. “There you have it folks,” you tease him, “Kim Seokjin being the model he is…”

He rolls his eyes, now attempting to reach for the camera.

“Okay okay, that’s enough,” he groans as you relent.

“Smileeee!”

The scene changes for a final time, and you see Jin sitting in his room, facing the camera you presumed he had set up. 

“Hello!” he awkwardly waves to the camera, “If you’re watching this it means one, you’ve been snooping around in this room or two, you’re Y/N.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, and your body going numb.

“Ah I don’t know how to start this,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “When I first met you, I thought you were really pretty,” he begins, “and I knew I wanted to be your friend! What I didn’t think was going to happen was that I’d end up really really realllyyyy liking you,” he laughs, “I’ve been trying to tell you for some time now,” his voice cracks, and immediately he begins to cough, trying to make himself sound as manly as possible, “So I thought why not tell you the best way I knew how … through film! That way I’ll let this video do all the work for me,” he smiles.

You laugh at how endearing he was.

“Hopefully you like me too because if not then I feel really bad for the future Jin who’s probably attentively watching your reaction and crossing his fingers. I made this collage of memories using the shitty editing programs we have at the school library so sorry if it’s not exactly the best, but …. I hope this is something you can look back on in the future and be glad I recorded, even if you complained all the time.”

Look at him, predicting the future.

“So… I’ll leave it to the future Jin to handle the rest,” he laughs, “Byeeee!” he waves to the camera. His final goodbye.

5 years later.

“Mom, slow down!” Yeojin instructs, worried about how fast you were trying to walk.

“If you can’t keep up with me, an 80 year old lady, then that should be a concern for you, not for me!” you continue with your daily walk, enjoying the spring weather. 

“If you’re not careful you cou—” Yeojin suddenly stops speaking, now having caught up to you. “Mom?” Yeojin asks, concerned as to what you two were staring at with such a shocked expression on your face. Following your gaze, she notices a man staring at you a little girl tugging at his shirt.

“Daddy! I wanna play on the swings!” she pouts at the lack of attention her father was giving her. Immediately you recognize the woman sitting on the bench behind them, remembering her once crying face which was now replaced with a grin as she carried a second (younger) child in her arms.

Slowly the man raises his hand, waving at you with a warm smile on his face.

A single tear falls from your eye as you wave back, your heart swelling at the sight.

And as quick as the moment was, it ended just as fast. As slowly, you began to walk away, while he went on to play with this young daughter. Two strangers crossing paths for a final time. 

“Do you know that man?” Yeojin cluelessly asks, confused about the exchange that just happened in front of her.

You nod your head, a smile still on your face, “No,” you chuckle, “No I don’t,” you ultimately say, continuing with your walk.

a/n: whew ! & that’s the end ! if you’ve made it this far then i want to personally thank you! i don’t really expect this story to get many notes well because it’s sad and well ik i personally don’t normally click on major character death fics haha. if you enjoyed this fic then (if you can) please please please leave a comment/review/like/reblog (whichever works best for you) and you can always hop in my ask box for any questions or comments :) im thinking of making an alternative ending for this one day, maybe after i finish the whole tun series, but we’ll see haha. ill see yall next time ! <3

[sapphire374]

Soy Sol: Chapter 5 (Lighting Up in a Rainy Town)

Wattpad Link

Ch. 1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.6 / Ch.7 / Ch.8 / Ch.9 / Ch.10 / Ch.11 / Ch.12 / Ch.13 / Ch.14 / Ch.15 / Ch.16 / Ch.17

Luna and Matteo stunned by the announcement stare at each other with worry and unease. “What do you mean the Jam and Roller is shutting down?!” Luna blurted out right before Simón and Ámbar came rushing in. “Ok I think this is all a misunderstanding everybody. You see the Jam and Roller isn’t shutting down, here’s just a…. guy who does finances and is just checking up on the place. I think what he meant to say was that the Jam and Roller will shut down if nothing is kept in order with the payments, which it obviously has been cause I have my binder with all the receipts in them. So, no need to panic alright; everything is ok,” Ámbar announced to the gang pulling the man with the suit, who now has a confused expression on his face.

A wave of uncertainty is felt in the room. “Luna I’m worried this doesn’t add up right. The guy never mentioned any of those reasons. He said he came to do the final paperwork cause the Jam and Roller is closing,” Nina whispered to Luna. “You’re right Nina, this doesn’t add up. I think it’s time for Watson and Holmes to get on the case.” Luna and Nina each give each other a smirk cause the dynamic duo is back into investigating on a new mystery.

Matteo grabs Luna’s hand, takes her away from Nina, and pulls her out the door. “Where are you taking me, Chico Fresa?” Luna asked curiously. “Remember I told you I had a surprise. Well, it’s in the car.” Matteo and Luna walk to his car and stop at the Black Lamborghini in the parking lot. He opens the trunk and reveals a pair of shiny new skates. The pair is glittery pink and are laid on top of their box. Luna gasped at the thoughtful present Matteo displayed to her. “Matteo I... I…. I LOVE IT,” Luna exclaimed before running up to Matteo and giving him a bear hug. “And that’s not even the best part. The wheels light up. I purposely got this cause your Luna and Sol. Eres la luna y brillas como el sol. You’re Luna (Moon) and you shine like the sun. So, whenever you roller skate, the glitter will shimmer while the wheels light up just like you. Te quiero Chica delivery. I love you,” Matteo professed to Luna. Luna was in awe of Matteo’s gift and how he still remembers the exact same words he told her right before he kissed her at the Sky Concert. As tears were slowly falling on her cheek, she gave another hug to Matteo right before he kissed her.

Ámbar flips through the multitude of pages in her binder as the guy in a suit looks at her with a stern look in his face. “Sorry sir but are you sure we can’t wait any longer. Maybe we can still negotiate a deal with Vidia.” The guy immediately shakes his head and states, “I’m sorry but that’s not possible. Vidia doesn’t want to be a part of the Jam and Roller anymore, they have other ideas in mind for the future and those ideas do not include this place.” Simón holds Ámbar’s hand when he notices her teary eyed as she puts her other hand over her face in disbelief. “Look I’m sorry Ms. Smith but the deal is done. The Jam and Roller is now in the market to be purchased,” the guy responds to Ámbar. She swiftly looks up. “Mr. Tobias, What do you mean the Jam and Roller is up for sale? I thought Mr. Trabeck was going to buy it to turn it into a club and bar. Also, you can call me Mrs. Álvarez from now on.” Simón and Ámbar glance and give a smile to each other.

Mr. Tobias thinks for a second and replies, “Mr. Trabeck pulled out his offer and decided not to purchase this place so it’s currently up for sale.” Ámbar and Simón immediately look at each other with hope in their eyes. Yeah, the Jam and Roller is being sold but maybe, just maybe, the owner can preserve its originality and keep it the way it is.

Luna dashes inside with her new roller skates in hand. Nina notices and approaches her. “Luna are those new skates? They look beautiful!” Nina compliments. “Thank you, Nina. Matteo bought them for me! I’m so happy right now. He got me specific ones just for me and the words that he told me inside reassured my trust for him. I love him and he loves me. Ooh I can’t wait to try them on. I’m planning to head to the rink right now and skate in them so I can easily break them in and get well acclimated,” Luna stated to Nina with exhilaration in her voice. “Alright than I’ll leave you to it. See you later Luna. It’s getting late and I want to go home quickly so I can read the book that’s been waiting for me!” Nina gives Luna a hug and heads towards the exit as Luna runs to the rink with her new pair of roller skates in hand.

“Jim, I think we should go back to school so we can finish packing up our things to bring them back to our apartment,” Yam said to Jim. “Really…. Can we please stay a little while cause I’ve been dying to skate.” Yam shook her head in response to Jim and replied, “We shouldn’t, the quicker we get it done the quicker we can come back to roller skate tomorrow.” Jim nodded in agreement. “I can drive you guys back since I’m also going to head out,” Ramiro stated. The three amigos (friends) headed out the door.

As Matteo closes the trunk of his car, he notices at the corner of his eye Gastón walking towards him. “Hola Matteo. Wow nice car, didn’t know my buddy was already going to spend some of the cash he earned from his big sold-out tour.” Matteo laughed at Gastón’s compliment. “Originally I wasn’t planning on it, but I decided to treat myself after seeing how huge of a success the tour became to be,” Matteo boasted with excitement on his face. “Makes since, you totally deserve it.” Gastón than showed a worried look on his face. “Que te pasa? What’s the matter,” Matteo asked. “The thing is Nina got a call from Eric today. She’s planning to meet up with him tomorrow morning. She said they’re only friends, but I know Eric. He’s probably still heartbroken that Nina broke up with him. What if he tries to get her back? What if he's still not over her and tries to steal her away from me? This is not good! I should’ve told Nina that was a bad idea for her to agree to have a meeting with Eric,” Gastón pondered right before freaking out.

Matteo looked at his distraught friend. “Don’t worry too much about it. Remember Nina broke up with Eric because she didn’t have feelings for him in the first place. She’s always been in love with you. If your still super worried about her than… maybe… spy on them. See how the date goes,” Matteo suggests. “Spy on them? Heck no I’m not going to do that. What if she catches me,” Gastón immediately rejecting the idea. “If you do it right, she won’t find out. I once spied on Luna when she did that music video for Sebastian Villalobos and she never caught me. Trust me bro you’ll be fine.” Matteo’s advice calmed Gastón down as he contemplated on whether or not he should spy on Nina.

The phone in Matteo’s pocket starts ringing. Matteo picks it up. “Yes hello…. Oh hi Viviana…. Yeah I’m a little busy does it have to be right now…. Alright fine I’m on my way.” Matteo hangs up the phone and says goodbye to Gastón. “It seems like I have to go. Viviana apparently needs help with this song. I can’t reveal much other than the fact that she wants to release a collaboration soon. Rafael thinks it’s a great idea, so I have to help her,” Matteo revealed to Gaston. “Like I said before, I think Viviana is bad news and you should try to stay away from her as much as possible. I understand that your manager keeps pushing for you too to hang out more frequently but don’t trust her,” Gaston advised Matteo. “It’s ok. She means no harm and I only see her as a friend. Plus, now that my tour is over, I can finally hang out more with Luna.” Nina comes running to Gaston. “I’m ready mi amor.” Gastón and Nina say goodbye to Matteo as they all head to their cars and leave the parking lot.

Simón enters the rink and sees Luna skating with light up, shimmery roller skates. “Hola Luna! Love the skates. They finally glow just like you,” Simón cheered to Luna. She skates towards Simón and gives him a hug. “Oh, Simón I am just so in love with these skates! I won’t lie I still prefer my other ones, the pink and orange ones since I have so many memories with those, but I don’t know these new ones give me hope. Maybe someday the Roller team can get back together. I know we’re all very busy but who knows! It is the summer, and anything can happen,” Luna bubbled to Simón. Simón scratches his head and swallows hard. He feels bad keeping a very important secret from Luna but doesn’t want to break her heart. He knows how much the place means to her and doesn’t want to bring her down. “You never know Luna. Maybe Juliana comes back, or maybe when we have time, we can enter a competition,” Simòn swallows hard. “Oooh that would be incredible Simón. Truly a dream come true, but I guess I have to wait to see everyone’s decision, but I will propose it to them. Hopefully they say yes,” Luna gushed. “You never know.”

Pedro comes walking in with Delfi. “Simón, it’s getting late and me and Delfi are really tired. We just came back to say goodnight and don’t forget to lock up,” Pedro reminded Simón. “Yes of course Pedro. Buenas noches! Goodnight,” Simón replied. Everybody told each other goodnight and left the rink. Simón heads over to Ámbar in the cafeteria while Luna heads to the lockers to grab her stuff.

Simón sits down over to where Ámbar’s table is at and talk about the Jam and Roller. “Mi amor I don’t know whether to feel hopeful or worried that the Jam and Roller is for sale on the market. What if someone buys it to only remodel the place and get rid of the rink? Keeping this secret is just too much for me knowing how much this place means to all of our friends.” Ámbar holds Simón’s hand after admitting what’s been worrying her. “I know exactly how you feel but hopefully someone does buy it to keep it the way it is and don’t shut this place down. We just need to keep having hope and faith alright.” Simón caresses Ámbar’s face and hugs her as she lays her head on his shoulders. Little did they know Nina had entered and overheard their conversation.

Nina secretly sprints to the lockers to get her journal and sees Luna there. “Luna you would not believe what I just heard. So Simón and Ámbar were talking and apparently the Jam and Roller is up for sale and they may shut it down!” A terrified look is plastered on Luna’s face hearing Nina’s big news.

[btsandvmin]

hi i really love reading your posts!! thank you for taking your precious time to write about my favourite pair <3

ok my first ever question: (sorry if you’ve been asked this already). what do you think about jimin and jungkook having the most screen time in the memories of 2019 dvd? we’ve seen how close vmin were in 2019 but there was only a very very few vmin moments edited in the whole 10 hour dvd.. the longest vmin interaction being when jimin pointed out a mistake tae made on stage and tae basically said: i admit but don’t exaggerate it. from the lack of seeing vmin together on the dvd, i was thinking if a new army were to watch it, they’d think vmin aren’t as close and cute as jimin and jungkook. whereas they showed us jimin and jungkook rehearsing, goofing around, eating, arriving and leaving together in their car in every part. i understand jimin and jungkook like to spend time together but they could’ve shown us the other members a little more including vmin.. what are your thoughts?

First of all I do think we did get Vmin moments and that often perspective on these things can vary a lot just on how you experience something. Here is another person who thought we got a lot of Vmin in memories 2019 just as an example.

It’s a bit the same as with people calling Vmin dead despite everything we might get. And I think comparing is sadly a big factor in this. But once again, one ship having more or less moments shouldn’t be an indicator of their status or closeness as long as they clearly show signs of still being close. Which Vmin always have done. We should also remember that shippers spread moments and the amount you see things might make it feel like it’s even more than it is. I am not saying Ji/kook don’t have a lot of moments, but they might feel like even more than they are. If we compare maybe they have similar amounts of moments with less popular ships, like Jin/kook, but we don’t hear about it as much. (In memories I also think most of those 10 hours won’t be ship moments in general.)

I think for the most time when we see something it’s because that’s what the members are doing. We should also remember their individual personalities, and that some members might show up more simply becuse they spend more time doing fun things in front of the camera.  I think Jimin, Jin and JK tend to get a lot more Bangtan Bomb time because they do “more interesting things” for example. Meanwhile Tae might be seen sitting on his phone in a corner or Namjoon might be resting etc.

I think using screen time to try an prove a ship won’t work on it’s own, but that screen time is a clear indicator of the bonds we see being genuine and that Ji/kook spend a lot together and are very close. But I don’t think lack of screen time definitely means the opposite. There can be many reasons we see more of various pairs. For example we also see a lot of Jin/kook, but their shippers aren’t as loud so we might not take note of it as much. We also get a lot of Vmin in other things like Bon Voyage, but that doesn’t mean that suddenly Ji/kook is dead. I really don’t think comparing is going to do anything good. I also think many ships get promoted in various ways, like being together for photoshoots or commercials etc. But for all we know they might partly get to choose themselves. Or it simply brings in good money to put some pairs together more etc. But even if there is a PR strategy or reason behind what we see, I doubt it has to do with a ship being real or not.

I think we see Ji/kook spend the most time together because they are together the most when they are surrounded by cameras. I think what we see is mostly what is happening. Because suggesting Big Hit editors are paying extra attention to any certain ship like showing them more or cutting away specific things based on only what members it involves would suggest an agenda. I recently talked about it in my post Can shipping turn into conspiracy theories? but once we start to question things being bent to deliberatly fool us it may allow us to take much bigger logical leaps. That’s how the narrative of Tae/kook being sepparated leads to them being more likely to also call other things fake or played up to hide tae/kook. If we add intention behind a moment we create a narrative, and in the end the more we assume and add beliefs into facts the further away we might end up from the actual truth.

My theory has always been that if a ship is real they would likely be careful and they might have their own reasons to act certain ways. Like Vmin seemingly being a bit nervous about being alone together. It’s still a theory of course, but I am always going to be much more careful with things that come from Big Hit and point it out as an agenda to create a certain image. For example saying Big Hit are forcing Vmin to stay apart or not do Vlives or put Ji/kook together more to “hide a ship with a ship”. Or even that moments in music videos are put there on purpose to either try to show a real ship or hide another etc.

For example if we assume the editors are cutting away Vmin on purpose I personally think we end up with a lot more problems. Like for how many people would know about Vmin? If editors and camera men and directors that might shift quite a lot all know to be careful about a certain ship, that is basically like outing them.

If there is video of them doing things “not fit for camera” that certainly means they aren’t very careful and would rely more on editing than just plainly being careful themselves. Which I personally see more signs of. If editors get instructions to treat one ship differently I personally think we would have much more rumors flying around. The more people know the harder a secret is to keep. So if there is a real couple in BTS I don’t expect general staff to know.

That’s also why I see it as more unlikely a real couple would openly live alone together, only share a car with each other or openly speak about being engaged etc. Of course this is all just me guessing as I am sure whatever strategy they might use could be very different depending on a lot of things. But at least looking at Vmin vs other ships there seems to be a carefulness in certain moments, and I think that has more to do with themselves rather than what Big Hit would force from them. Any relationship is basically a threat to BTS and their careers, of course they too would be aware of this. And I personally think they would put being careful above wanting people to know about them being a couple. At least watching Vmin and their personalities that’s what I think they would choose. Aka, not sending a lot of hidden signals for fans to pick up on. I think Tae might do it to some extent, only because he tends to get more frustrated and tend to sometimes express things even though he maybe shouldn’t. But even then it seems carefully done. Like the Christmas song to me was such a moment when he wanted to share his frustration. But the second time he mentioned it he didn’t mention Jimin at all. Or the way it took years for us to hear from Taehyung’s own mouth about 4 o’clock being partly about Jimin. I think they thread carefully not only with how they come across to fans, but also staff. That being said of course I do think that they can get away with a lot and that they probably are more comfortable when they know they aren’t being filmed or if there is an option to edit. I just don’t think most staff at Big Hit would know about a ship being real and work to present it in a certain way on purpose by order from Big Hit.

I think we see ji/kook together a lot because it’s easy and fun and comfortable. I am not saying they can’t be real, but I do ask why Vmin at the same time does seem to act careful and possibly even avoid certain things.

I don’t like to speculate about the moments we don’t get, because the reasons for why could be too many. For me I doubt the editors (and even less the captions) in BTS material are put there with an agenda. I think the editors view the material and pick what they might think is fun, though they likely also have their own bias and might be affected by what they see. For example I think Vmin being labeled as friends in captions has more to do with them and BTS calling them friends all the time which then editors pick up on and use.

Saying Vmin or any other ship is cut out to me opens a can of worms that lead down very dangerous paths. Paths we have seen other shippers walk. I also know that all ships have these “why are they the only ones edited out” or “why is this moment cut” agendas. Ji/kookers too say that we got to see Vmin and Tae/kook in bed in ITS but not Ji/kook because it would be “too much/obvious”.

I think we should go by what we see, but that we also shouldn’t make a big deal out of what we don’t see. So basically, seeing less Vmin won’t really change Vmin’s bond. That’s why I say looking at even small moments are a great indicator. We shouldn’t focus so much on amount, for any ship. But most importantly we shouldn’t assume amount is an indicator of Big Hit having an agenda. 

Let’s say Vmin get cut out and the effect is people wondering if Vmin is fake. Why would they create this problem to begin with just to have Vmin release Friends which in turn make more people ship Vmin? To me it’s always too flippy floppy. Like why would Big HIt hide Tae/kook but then have them do the dance in DNA together or leave in other moments “just to keep interest up”.

Again, I try to not add reasons behind things we can’t know much about, but for me I think editing and cutting away moments from a ship as a strategy would be weird looking at the full picture of BTS and what we actually do get to see. I could be wrong, but I also know the slippery road I could end up on if I start to suspect Big Hit trying to fool us on purpuse on such a big scale. In the end that would basically mean anything could be real or fake, which is the point I sadly see some tae/kookers believe. They think tae/kook has been edited out and kept apart for years, and still won’t trust they simply might spend less time together even after ITS. 

So, again, I think Vmin might act careful on their own to some degree, and I think Ji/kook and Jin/kook etc. like spending time togehter and also do things that are likely more interesting to show, like joke around or tease each other. Which then leads to more moments between them.

Thanks for the ask, and I hope you see what I am trying to say. I would have loved to see more Vmin, but we still got a lot of good moments if you ask me. Also, I am sorry for the messy state of this answer, but I will definitely talk about similar topics more in proper future posts. Thank you so much for liking my blog, and I hope you still do. 💜 (Also sorry for the late answer. )

[sylvie-writes]

Bad (2): What Happened?

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: What went down that fateful night...

A/n: I got carried away, and kinda forgot about the real plot lol. So there’s more fluff than angst... I think. 

Disclaimer: this chapter is sort of a filler before we get to the real shiz. 

Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, poor writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist 

Picking up from where we last left off: About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change… 

They always say to choose a job that you love. Something even your own parents had drilled into your head as a young child, trying to prevent you from their own mistakes. It was known then, that if you chose a job you didn’t love, you would be metaphorically chained like a prisoner bound to the wall, or in your case, the job. 

Well, you followed their advice, and chose a job you were passionate about, something you didn’t mind studying about all those years ago in college. It’s not that you didn’t love your job, but you were tired, very tired. Life was fast paced and you were running out of fuel, so to say. So this morning when your work offered you an exclusive week off, you took the offer, worked quickly yet precisely, and flew out the door, before it was dark. Normally, you’d work more than the normal 9-5 shift, it was more like 9-7 for you, anyway.

Ransom was supposedly off today, and you wanted nothing more than to kick off your break, by eating a nice lunch with your husband. While you gave your holiday wishes to your friends, you shot Ransom a quick text asking him to call you. 

So, just as you drove down the highway, your phone steaming your favorite playlist to the car’s stereo, Ransom’s name popped up on the large screen, a picture of him in college, showing up. (yeah, you liked to tease him about his college years, when he thought he was all that and a bag of chips.) 

“Hey Gorgeous! What’s up?”

“Well… you interrupted my carpool karaoke.”

Your husband laughed along with you, before you dropped your surprise on him.

“Other than that, my work gave me the week off. No biggie though.” 

Being married to Ransom and having known him for many years, has given you a real sense of sarcasm to say the least.

“That’s amazing! You deserve it, my love.”

“Ohh, quit trying to butter me up, Ran.”

More laughter from his end, making a large grin grow on your face. Only you could ever make Ransom laugh at the stupidest things, that’s just the kind of bond you two shared. 

“Anyhoo, I was wondering if you wanted me to come pick you up for lunch?”

“Sounds great, love ya.”

“Love you too.” The rest of the drive to your house was enjoyable. Today had been spectacular, something that hadn’t happened in ages. As you continued to drive, all the amazing occurrences from today settled with you in the car, a permanent smile on your face the whole way.  

You pulled into the driveway, opting to stay in the car just to keep the warm air flowing from the vents, sending Ransom a quick text.

A few minutes later, the man himself came out, his brown suede trench coat on, your own raspberry pea coat slung over his left arm. 

The passenger door popped open, and Ransom’s warm lips pressed slowly against your cheek, instantly warming you up.

“I figured you might be cold.”

A deep laugh resonated in his stomach as he reached over the console to hand you the jacket, the one you had forgotten this morning. 

“Thanks, hon. So, where do you want to eat?”

You looked over to Ransom, whose eyes had been lovingly glued to you since he’d gotten in the car.

“How about that little sandwich shop in town?”

A bright and sweet smile graced your lips, stunning Ransom with its effect on him. His own eyes crinkling up as his frowning lips slowly formed into a content smile.

Once you had reached town about twenty minutes later, Ransom rushed out of the car the minute you had stopped the engine. His actions leaving you confused when suddenly a blurb of tan suede halted and revealed the missing man, who was now pulling your door open.  

“Wow Mr. Drysdale, since when did you become such a gentleman.”

You teased Ransom, wrapping your arm around his, embracing his warmth, and playfully kissing his nose. 

“Since you became Mrs. Drysdale.” 

His little quip caught you off guard as you weren’t expecting a response from the man. As a result of that surprise, your cheeks slightly warmed, causing you to shyly look down. It was a given, what had just happened, as Ransom knew your reactions like the back of his hand. 

That arrogant jerk knew very well what he had done and slightly leaned over to kiss your bowed head.

Confidently, Ransom spoke up, and without even looking over at him, you just knew he was smirking. 

“Still have that effect on you, huh?” 

Before you could banter back at him, your arm interlocked with Ransom’s was tugged, prompting you to look up. 

Apparently, when you were just mindlessly walking to the restaurant, Ransom had another stop on his list. One full of eye-catching flower bouquets. Blood red roses, yellow lilies, variegated tulips, you name it, they littered the glass window of the flower shop. 

As you stepped into the shop, the distinctive smell of baby’s breath filled your senses. You were still interlocked with Ransom, so at this point wherever he walked, you went. Also meaning he’d dragged you to the counter despite your words of defiance.

“Ransom, you don’t need to buy me anything. All I want is to eat lunch, with my husband.”

“And that you’ll get.”

Just when you’d thought you’d won this argument, the man continued.

“Along with the bouquet of carnations and baby’s breath please.

Your husband spoke up just a bit louder, so the man behind the counter could hear his order while also making it known to you that you were indeed gonna accept these flowers. 

Ransom quickly paid for the bouquet, coming back to lock arms with you and hand you the flowers. It was a simple bouquet yet the meaning behind the choice a lot stronger. Coral carnations ideally intermixed with the snow-white baby’s breath. The soft aroma from earlier, now in a bouquet held by your cold hands. 

When you were young, your grandmother would always buy carnations for her home, specifically the coral ones. She’d tell you about each flower and how they were all unique, capturing your curiosity. As you got older, you became more versed in floral design and structure. Soon, you were going every other day to buy fresh carnations for your grandmother. When you had first brought Ransom to meet her, she told him about the story behind carnations and when you were always buying them. 

To this day, Ransom remembers, and the carnations have since then become your flower.

If it weren’t for the constant wind, the temperature would have been enjoyable, but now your hands were slightly shaking and Ransom noticed. Taking your free hand in his, he then put your conjoined hands in his coat pocket.

Just a few more blocks and you had finally made it to the humble little sandwich shop, one Ransom had actually introduced to you. 

Mr. Miller, the owner of the shop happily greeted you both. Over the years you’ve lived in Massachusetts, you and Ransom have become regulars at this shop. It may have been a small place, with seating for only thirty people, yet the food was outstanding. Especially Mr. Miller’s Monte Cristo, your’s and Ransom’s favorite. To no surprise, that is in fact what you ended up ordering. 

As you sat at the booth, the two of you laughing and enjoying the time spent with each other, never once did it cross your mind that this was it. That this was not gonna be the normal anymore. It’d become a memory you’d end up savoring for the years of the future.

Because little did you know, that was the last time he’d ever buy you flowers, the last time he’d ever laugh with you…

The last time he’d ever really love you. 

That very next day, you woke up early to pack your bags for the unbearable flight to come. You absolutely hated the airport, but then again, who doesn’t? It was a constant marathon and by time you make it to all your gates, you’d probably lose ten pounds from running so much. There was no peace at the airport, especially with the holiday rush and you dreaded it. If only your husband could have come, it would make things ten times better, but he can’t and you aren’t going to miss this opportunity. It’s been a few years since you’ve been able to go home, and truly relax for the holidays. The years before, you’d only get to spend the weekend, but now you have the whole week and in the end, it’d be worth the living hell at the airport. 

By 10:00 am, you were all ready to go, Ransom carrying the bags to your car, sulking as he did so. He really wanted to go with you. Believe it or not, but Ransom would love to spend all his time with you if he could, except Harlan really needed his help to finish up a few things. 

With everything packed, it finally came time for you to bid goodbye. Sure, it was a week away, but this was your first Christmas as a married couple, and you couldn’t spend it together. Had things been different, you could have, but Ransom understood you missed your family. For once in his life, Ransom Drysdale thought about someone else’s benefit beside his own. 

The car running, you flung your arms around Ransom, who stood at the door, coffee in hand, balancing it as he reciprocated the hug.

He could feel your tears on his neck, running through his sweatshirt. Your head was buried in the crevice, and your sobs made his heart shatter. Ransom couldn't bear it anymore, because soon he’d be the one crying. A warm hand, ran up and down your back while soothing whispers rang in your ear.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.”

Your sobs that racked your body soon ceased, Ransom pulling back to give you his best attempt at a smile. His eyes worriedly scanned over your red ones before pulling you into a soothing kiss. Releasing your lips, Ransom once again gave you a comforting smile, handing you the coffee, knowing you had forgotten your own. 

“Go on, you’re gonna be late, my love.”

On tippy toes, you pressed your lips to the corner of Ransom’s, slowly leaning away, then solemnly heading to your car. 

That night, you had called Ransom, telling him you made it safely and that you’d facetime him tomorrow. In his voice, Ransom hid his sorrow, but in truth, ever since you left this morning, he’d been wallowing in despair. What better way to drown out your sorrows than to actually do that? So just as Ransom hung up the phone, he dashed to the car and to the nearest bar, slowly easing the pain via eight beers. 

Just about to ring up the bartender for a check, a small, womanly hand slowly wrapped around his forearm, setting it back down on the counter.

“Hey stranger.”

Ransom was so intoxicated, he struggled to even focus, but all he knew was that a woman was sitting in front of him and he sure was missing his wife. It was wrong, but at that moment, his priorities blurred the minute the girl’s lips smothered his. There weren’t boundaries anymore and he knew damn well, that this lady was making his thoughts and good judgement dissipate, he forgot why he was even there in the first place. Right now, you were in the back of his drunken mind, and Blair in the front. Literally and figuratively. 

The two broke away from the kiss for air, and Ransom soon remembered the woman staring seductively at him. At this moment, the man was no longer in his own mindset and was reverting back to his old self. The playboy Ransom Drysdale was out tonight, not the man bound by the ring on his finger. 

“It’s Blair right?”

She nodded, a few waves of chestnut brown hair moving with her head. Soon drinks long forgotten, Ransom threw down a one-hundred dollar bill, taking Blair by the hand, and out the door. As he gripped her warm hand, he could feel the cold metal of his wedding ring, slightly breaking him out of his lustful haze as mentally kicked himself for what just almost happened. He let out a small laugh, you were always there to keep him in line, whether he accepted it or not. And thank god for that, he thought. After that little reminder, it was like he had sobered up.

About to send Blair back into the bar, lips peppered small kisses to his ear and his fresh mindset was thrown out the window. The sober thoughts now gone. Starting that car engine and driving out with Blair in the passenger seat, Ransom was unknowingly throwing away the best thing to ever happen to him. By doing this, long gone was the better man you had helped make Ransom become.

 If only he had been strong enough to fight the temptation and listen to the little warning the symbol of your love (his ring) gave him...

And that night, as Ransom washed away his longing for you with Blair, you laid awake in your childhood bed, happily replaying the memory of lunch with Ransom just the day before. Soon, you’d be reliving that memory in your head, more often than once, but with tears streaming down your face. 

taglist: @kiwihoee @buckybarnesthehotshot @memissbee @tricereads @tonystankschild @coffeebooksandfandom @ria132love @what-is-your-wish​ @maan24​ @bval-1​ @jemimah-b99​

If I’ve messed up and tagged the wrong person, please lemme know. I’m very tired and typing up the taglist was probably not the best idea.

[effieduan]

Peskipiksi Pesternomi || Morgan & Effie (& Friends!)

TIMING: Present

LOCATION: Vulpine Voltage Repairs

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @effieduan & pixies

SUMMARY: Morgan needs to get her phone fixed and stumbles upon an unsettling scene in Effie’s shop.

CONTENT: karen :///

“I’m just saying there’s grease on my screen.” The blonde said slowly, as if Effie couldn’t understand her. Truthfully, Effie didn’t understand her, but only because this woman was an idiot.

Effie let out a sigh, finally putting down the teeny tools she was using to replace some teenagers' cracked phone screen. She thought she was done with this particular customer -- she had even let herself hope she was done with this particularly customer. This woman’s laptop had a bad run in with a llama (apparently) and wanted it back in perfect condition. Effie obliged after she was screamed at for telling her that it would be cheaper to buy a new computer. Do I look poor? Perfect condition meant a deep cleaning of all the grime that was caked onto the poor machine.

“Ma’am,”Effie said flatly. “Your screen is just clean.”

“No! It feels slippery! Look!”

Effie watched, face blank as Karen dragged her finger across the smooth surface of the laptop screen, leaving behind a fingerprinted smudge.

“Yes,” Effie said. “Because it’s clean.” The door opened, her telltale jingling bells sounding through the small store front. Effie looked over Karen’s shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”

“You most certainly will not!” The woman was outraged now, and Effie sucked in a deep breath, wishing that the other customer hadn’t walked in so she could just go lock herself in her workshop in the back. “You will take my laptop back and clean all this grease off it this instant! I didn’t pay all that money for you to be lazy - I wanted this in mint condition so i wouldn’t have to buy a new computer, and you’ve made it all...All… shiny! It’s slippery and I’ll drop it again and just have to come back - is this how you scam people? How dare you!”

Effie stared at the woman for a long moment, before stooping behind the counter and picking up a sign she only used on particularly irritating customers.

THE TECHNICIAN HAS THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE. THIS MEANS YOU! GOOD-BYE!!!

After all the terrible things over the last two weeks, especially the thing with Erin and Betty, Morgan tried to kill her newly freed up time with Sundew and the pixies. Sometimes this led to impromptu spelling quizzes about the names of flowers. Sometimes this led to Sundew and Willowbud dropping her phone in the pool after trying to use it as a palanquin. Today was Actions Speak Louder Than Words, so the two tiny culprits joined her on the trip to the repair shop for ‘emotional support’ and to determine what they could do to make things better once Morgan found out just how bad the situation was. The rice trick hadn’t helped, so her hopes weren’t all that high.

Inside the shop, however, someone was having a much worse day.

“Her face looks like a balloon,” Willowbud giggled, hiding on Morgan’s shoulder.

“We should make it pop!” Sundew said, peeking out next to her. “And then make her get stuck on the ceiling so she can’t come down. Then she really really will be a balloon.”

“That’s cruel,” Morgan chastised softly, looking at the complaining woman. “Also, very conspicuous. And it’s...” She winced. “...human, in a bad way, to hurt someone just because you feel like it.”

“Does not,” Sundew hissed.

But the woman was being pretty human-bad too, and Morgan found herself wishing she’d put off teaching Sundew manners for another week. She had worked too many shitty jobs to have compassion for people who took off the edge off their existential powerlessness by yelling at service workers. Maybe this woman would look better stuck to the ceiling.

When the girl at the counter came to her, Morgan made a point of smiling extra bright as she brought out the phone. “I just have a uh...phone problem. Swimming pool accident. You can let me know if it’s not worth bringing her back to life.” She side eyed the woman, who was rapidly taking personal offense to everything Morgan said by the look on her face. “I can also wait a while, if you need to take care of other stuff.”

The sunny smile of the other customer was oddly disconcerting, though Effie knew it was just because the other was being such a bitch. “Your phone?” Effie managed to ask. She even managed to register her saying swimming pool accident - which happened to be her least favorite repairs, but at that moment she’d take anything. At least this woman looked like she would even get a thank you. “I’ll take a --”

Effie didn’t get to finish her sentence when her bitch of a customer interjected. “You most certainly will wait!” she snarled at Morgan. If Effie believed in God, she would pray for the strength not to strangle this woman. Thankfully, she did believe in the law, and murder was currently illegal, despite picturing this woman’s head exploding. “And you don’t want to get your shitty phone repaired here anyway, she’ll just make it greasy -- honestly, I want my money back, and I want my computer back to the way it was!”

“Smashed and hardly usable because of a llama accident?” Effie asked. “I’ve already informed you that I’ll no longer be servicing you. You can leave now. Uh --” Effie glanced over at Morgan. “Ma’am, if you’d like you can go towards the counter. This will only take a --”

“I demand you --”

“And I demand you shut up!” Effie had never been great at customer service and was born with the shortest fuse of all her sisters. “I’m running a business here and if you’re going to act like a child without a brain you can stick your head and your laptop into a pot of boiling water. Leave so I can look at this woman’s phone.”

Sundew and Willowbud thought this was hilarious. Morgan had to pretend to scratch her shoulder in order to keep them quiet. “If we’re the h-word for only supposing to make her a balloon, how many is she? Do you think she ate them?” Sundew said.

“At least four,” Morgan muttered.

This made them laugh harder. Morgan coughed to cover up the noise. “Excuse me, sorry,” she said, clearing her throat for good measure. “See, that’s what you do when you interrupt someone trying to peacefully go about their day. And then, if you’re trying to get someone to do you a favor and be nice to you, you get a little more specific and acknowledge they’re actually a person and not a text bot in a bodysuit.” Her voice was gentle, but her smile cut sharp. “Like: you look really distressed, ma’am. I can only imagine what horrible things must be happening for you right now, or how badly you’ve been hurt, that you feel like you need to be like this. But you really don’t. And this young woman has made herself really clear just now. So maybe if this is that urgent, you should try calling tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna wo-oork,” Willowbud sing-songed.

Effie coughed, at least having the sense to hide her building laughter at her customers words. Oh, Morgan was so her new favorite customer, she would be getting a discount on her phone if she could fix the water damage. And if she couldn’t, maybe she’d toss in a free pair of headphones along with the cellphone recommendation pamphlet she’d give her. What confused her, though, was the soft sing-songing voice coming from the woman’s… hair?

Facetime, maybe? Or - wait, her phone was why she was here. Unless she had two? Effie was far more interested in the voice than she was her bitchy customer.

“I don’t think you have any involvement in this!” Karen snapped at Morgan, and Effie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Was this punishment for being an atheist? She made a mental note to tell that one to Eva the next time they spoke, she’d laugh.

“Actually --” Effie said, cutting off her tirade, “You are. She’s here to get a service done and you -- a person that will no longer be served -- are getting in the way of that. I guarantee she could have been out of here faster than this whole ordeal.” Effie paused, looking back at Morgan apologetically. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, of course.”

Karen stamped her foot. “I just want what I’ve paid for!! This is highway robbery! I’ll sue you!”

Sundew and Willowbud were doing that thing where they whispered and giggled and cackled at each other at the same time, and their already shrill voices were literally in Morgan’s ear and it was all she could do not to swat them away or laugh from how their wings tickled her neck. As they started scuttling down her sweater, she finally barked with laughter. “Sorry, sorry, uh. You’re very scary, ma’am. Truly.” Sundew’s feet were tickling her side and Morgan covered her mouth, snorting. “And uh, you really don’t have to worry about me,” she said to the girl at the counter. “I worked retail in Texas.”

As she spoke, the two pixies were writing on one of her post its and shoved their creation into Morgan’s hand. Morgan took one look at what they’d written (for writing in the dark, the penmanship was kind of impressive) and nearly choked on her voice. Maybe being on her own was making her lose her grip on her principles. Maybe she should stop spending so much time with pixies. Maybe a lot of things. But fuck it.

“Uh, but you know what, since all three of us seem to not want you here, why don’t you give me your name and contact info right here. I have some lawyer friends, and I’ll put you in touch. Sound fair?” She flipped the post-it as she handed it to the woman, obscuring the writing on the front.

Retail in Texas? Effie raised an eyebrow. “I… don’t think I want to know what that means,” she said. Truthfully she couldn’t think of a place she wanted to go to less than Texas. Except maybe Arizona… Or, really, anywhere in the south. Effie watched as Morgan produced a sticky note from out of nowhere. Who carried sticky notes on them like that? Effie wondered if Morgan really intended on passing Karen’s information onto a lawyer -- though even if she did, she was certain that this blonde woman would be laughed right out of a lawyers office. Greasy computer her left butt cheek.

“Ma’am, I suggest you do as she says,” Effie said. “Before I decide to call someone to escort you off my property.”

The blonde woman looked at her in astonishment, “Excuse me?” she asked like she couldn’t believe the words that just left Effie’s mouth.

Effie just reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone and waving it threateningly. Of course, Effie would do no such thing. She was particularly fond of the police, nor did she feel like having more people crowded in her store. Even two was starting to make her a little nervous, if only because one of them was overtly hostile.

The blonde huffed in annoyance. “Well fine, then.” And she snatched the sticky note out of Morgan’s hand, looking Effie up and down as she did so, eyes lingering on the pair of bright blue gloves. “And I hope you choose a better wardrobe when I see you in court!!”

As soon as the woman signed the note, Sundew and Willowbud flew out of Morgan’s bag, tiny hands drawn into finger-guns. “Stick 'em up!” Sundew cried. “This here is a robbery! And you owe us big time!”

“Yeah!” Willowbud piped. “Highway robbery, missy!”

Sundew cackled. “Pew, pew!” Two bullets the size of melons shot out from her tiny fingers and zoomed straight for the woman’s face. She screamed, shielding herself, but on supposed impact, the bullets made a farting noise and erupted into a spray of rainbow fireworks.

“Sundew!” Morgan squeaked. In retrospect, she should have seen this coming. They had written When u rob me I will give all my money $$. Of course they would want to do the hold up themselves, supernatural secrecy be damned. She looked over to the girl at the counter, smiling through her panic. Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out.

The woman, meanwhile, was wriggling in place as her arms forced themselves into her own purse for her wallet. Out came the credit cards, debit cards, store cards, wadded up bills, loose change, even a checkbook. Morgan didn’t even know people still carried checkbooks. The more the woman fought, the more her face turned a little purple, and for a second Morgan worried that she might actually burst like a human gore balloon.

As Sundew and Willowbud fluttered to the counter to surf and dance on their spoils, Morgan’s look at the girl at the counter turned desperate. “Those...drone robots the kids are making sure….look realistic, huh? I can...uh...make them give those back, if you want. Because, you know, the drones. Probably have...microphone...things. To listen with.”

Effie stared in utter disbelief. The little things with wings were cackling and shooting finger guns while this woman was making it rain the contents of her purse on the ground. Suddenly, the singsongy voice coming out of this other woman’s hair was making sense. Effie looked at her panicked smile and looked back at Karen, who was… Well, now she wasn’t very happy.

“Drones,” Effie repeated, eyeing the dancing creatures doubtfully. Drones her ass. Still, the look on the bitch’s face was really something to look at, and Effie let out a low laugh, shaking her head. “Drones! Right. Drones!” Effie was not the best actor in the world, but she was trying her best. “Well, it seems like maybe we should give the lady back her checkbook and cards. And I’ll take this --” Effie slide a wadded up ten dollar bill towards the little creatures, “-- as a fee for disturbing the peace. For the … Children, of course.”

“Maybe we should make her give up the rest!” Sundew said. She flew up to the woman, flitting this way and that, closer to her eyes. “What do you think, human? Do you think anything? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? DO YOU?” Sundew flicked her on the forehead. “Should we keep playing robber? Or maybe we should play tie ‘em to the train tracks instead.”

The woman, still a little purple and now definitely terrified for her sanity, took out a roll of bills from her cleavage and threw it on the ground. Finally freed from the request, she stumbled back and left the shop, too horrified to scream.

Morgan deflated, bending down to pick up the most conspicuous items off the floor and push them over the counter. “You should definitely take the checkbook and plastic,” she mumbled. “They’ve learned to type, and I really don’t want to learn what their taste in online shopping is.” She put her head over her arms and stayed there, looking sidelong at the girl. Sundew and Willowbud were too pleased with themselves to care much. Like many fae, they assigned value by shininess and aesthetic more than anything else. For now, at least. “You’re taking all of this really well. Tiny ‘drones’ flying out of a woman’s purse the middle of your store, harassing your customer, playing--” she looked back at them and shook her head, despairing. “I don’t even want to know. But, I appreciate it, and if you can handle mailing that harpy of a woman her sensitive stuff back, I can compensate you extra for the...mess.”

The woman fled from the shop, forgetting all about her greasy laptop and all of her personal belongings now scattered about the store. Effie stared after her in somewhat impressed astonishment. She looked at the woman bending to pick up the checkbook and plastic, and nodded as she grabbed it and the computer, automatically going to the safe. “I can ship it out tonight,” she said simply with a shrug. “She left her address on file, and I think her license is somewhere in that mess too.”

“Uh --” Effie looked down at the two little creatures. “Well, uh…” Actually, it was probably a good idea to check in to see how she actually felt about the existence of … these things. Fae. Had to be. Her grandmother’s warnings echoed in her head along with the insistence that she eat more dinner. “I’ve been around,” was all she said. “And I don’t particularly… ask questions unless I need to know.” It was simpler that way, anyway, and it kept people at arm's length, which is what she liked.

She stooped under the counter and pulled out paperwork -- the ones to start a ticket. “Your phone’s been waterlogged, right? Just fill this stuff out for me and I’ll take a look to see if there’s anything I can do. And you two…” she looked down at the two creatures. She looked back at Morgan. “Uh. I have candy??”

Morgan’s tired face brightened with relief. Slowly, she smiled. “Wow. I think that might actually be a first. I’m guessing that’s how you and this place are still standing.” She grabbed the paperwork and filled it out, writing a little ‘no promises’ in the corner, punctuated with a smiley face as a warning.

At the mention of candy, Morgan checked back in on the two pixies, who paused in their frolicking to proclaim, “We accept your tribute!” before going back to making the dollar bills roll like a mini ocean. “You really do know what you’re doing. I had to ask an expert to figure that one out,” she marvelled, sliding the pad over. “I know these aren’t the most auspicious circumstances, but my name is Morgan Beck and you just became my new favorite person in town.”

[breanne-says-boo]

October 2020 NYCC - What We Do in The Shadows panel

We did learn a little bit more about the upcoming Season 3 in this panel! Things bolded are relevant to S3 (**potential spoilers ahead under the cut!**)

Video can be found here [ X ]

Kathryn VanArendonk (a critic for Vulture) was the moderator for the panel and was joined by Mark (Colin Robinson), Kayvan (Nandor), Harvey (Guillermo), Matt (Laszlo), Natasia (Nadja), as well as showwriter Stefani Robinson and producer/writer Paul Simms. Kathryn wrote this article about the show if you would like to read it.

Details below under the cut --->

Kathryn asked what each of their character would be doing in quarantine and how they would be handling COVID-19:

Kayvan: He immediately says there would be a strain between Nandor and Guillermo, especially with there being a lack of victims for him to eat. Nandor would make Guillermo order LOTS of delivery and eat the delivery workers.

Harvey: it would be very awkward in the house for Guillermo particularly after the events of the season 2 finale.

Paul: Guillermo would be the only one in the house to wear a mask because he’s really the only one who cares/pays attention. The vampires would be confused/irritated by it and ask him to take off his “stupid costume”

Natasia: The vamps would probably be like the people who wear the masks under their noses if they wear them at all. They might be sort of unsympathetic and say “Oh, here we go again” having lived through many pandemics. The vamps might take advantage of everyone being at home but Guillermo might be stressed having to worry which of their victims have COVID and touching the bodies to throw them out. Harvey adds on and imagines that maybe it’s revealed that one of the vampires in the house is responsible for a different pandemic like the Spanish Flu or something to that effect.

Mark: Colin is a no-masker (for the purpose of irritating others) and getting into arguments about his constitutional rights inside stores. He’d probably be pretty hungry since he mostly feeds at the office and his coworkers would have to work at home.

Matt: They’d probably have no idea because they don’t watch the news or pay attention to current events at all

Kathryn immediately then asks about the Nandermo relationship- she asks Harvey and Kayvan if their characters love each other and how that relationship is developing.

Harvey: he started playing Guillermo with this infatuation with Nandor and that there were “blurred lines” in how he sees Nandor. He then explains that it seems kind of curious to the audience why Guillermo would continue to serve Nandor and help the vamps they continue to treat him so badly, and in Harvey’s mind, Guillermo is just driven by love and driven by emotion. He’s just very human and wants to do the right thing. (Harvey then “steals” Kayvan’s question about if Nandor is in love with Guillermo and Kayvan goes into Nandor-mode and begins to chastise Guillermo for being rude. Nandor: “Do you see what I have to put up with?”)

Kayvan: Nandor needs Guillermo and is “wrestling with his feelings” towards Guillermo. It is “heading towards a dangerous” territory for him because he “can’t be falling again after all [his] marriages”...he’s excited to see what happens next, but things are pretty “rocky” for them as of where we left them off.

My thoughts: seems like this is indicating a role-reversal of sorts in season 3, with Guillermo falling out of his infatuation with Nandor and Nandor falling in love with Guillermo? 

Kathryn asks Matt about what it’s like doing the “musical” epsiode for Laszlo since he has legitimate music experience (Matt sort of laughs about her use of “legit” in regards to his music).

Matt says its essentially demo song work. It’s good fun doing short ideas for pitching these 30 second songs in the space with ‘Tasia (Natasia)

Natasia: says it was a dream to do the songs with Matt and “plant seeds” in the work space because of Matt’s musical background. She mentions that Mark had an improv moment where Colin goes on stage to join Nadja and Laszlo and begin singing/rapping. Mark says that Colin begins jokingly doing it but then we see him get more into the song and enjoying it.

Paul says that if we like the prospective idea of Colin singing, we should be excited because Colin gets a singing/song moment in season 3. Paul then says something along the lines of that he’s happy they get to do these sort of bits and that all the casts members go along with it because “We are all dedicated to being silly...and stupid in a clever way.”

Kathryn then asks the whole group what kind of scenes do they look forward to doing for their characters and which scenes they like to watch their co-stars taken on

Harvey: likes doing action stuff and getting the change to play almost like these two different personalities in Guillermo- his quieter side and his badass side! He has a fun time with all his cast mates doing scenes and watching them. He has a hard time doing some scenes with Kayvan because he makes Harvey laugh and takes him out of character.

Kayvan: he likes doing scenes with Karvey because of the “tenderness.” He also like the house meeting scenes because they spin out into something outrageous or hilarious that happens after the fact.

Natasia: she likes doing Talking Heads scenes (when the scene is just of their characters speaking to the audience and to each other like in an interview) with Matt. She also likes doing the Fancy Room scenes, scenes with other women, and scenes with Shaun/Sean the neighbor. She likes scenes where Nandor is “saying thick stuff” because of the contrast of Nandor being this fearless warrior but also really stupid. She likes scenes where Matt has to do stuff really fast or has to run because it makes her laugh.

Matt: likes doing “loose” scenes where they can do anything that they want to do with a scene. He also likes doing the Talking Heads scenes with Natasia and watching the stuntmen do stuff he’s supposed to be doing. Apparently Kayvan let out somehow that Matt is afraid of heights. Kayvan: “Did I?...you’re getting better though...”

Mark: likes opportunities to play off of what the others say. He likes watching scenes where “Matt deal with Kayvan” because Laszlo can’t stand fools even though [Nandor] is one of the biggest fools (he says Laszlo but I think he meant Nandor with the mention of Kayvan). Scenes where they belittle Guillermo and scenes with Natasia are also fun.

Then Paul said he had a special guest who could also answer this question and in popped Nadja doll into the chat in her own separate video box. They were teasing her for being “on mute” and had her answer yes/no questions by nodding her head.

Kathryn asks Stefani about debates in the writer’s room regarding vampire biology and life. She asks Stefani about what’s fun about bringing in new creatures to the show and developing the lore about the vampires.

Stefani: it’s fun but it’s also hard in the writer’s room making decisions about these sort of things. The ability to pick and choose parts of the lore, but there can be contradictions they have to deal with. She wants the lore and the aspects of their nature to come together and be grounded so that it’s fun but isn’t too ridiculous. She considers how these elements/creatures can be “show-pieces” for the characters to interact with and how they contribute to the story and how they are funny.

Stefani then notes that Jermaine was very anti-leprechaun but Paul said he tried to reason with him. They try to decide among themselves what “fits” within their world and what doesn’t but there really isn’t a specific reason for what they go with.

Paul says there will be 3-4 new kinds of creatures in season 3. But no aliens, he notes. 

Natasia asks if somehow Sesame Street/Muppets would exist within their world and could make a cameo (I’m guessing because of the Count connection?) Paul jokes and says “Stefani, I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow...but if we can schedule another meeting we could spend 6 hours making this happen.” Natasia then says she would love to see Miss Piggy and Nadja have some great chats. Same with Kermit and Nandor. Matt says he thinks Guillermo should find R2D2 buried in the garden but none of their characters recognize it.

All of season 3 is currently written. Kathryn asks about anything else they can tease for us:

Paul says there is in fact a bit of dialogue (3/4 of a page) about Kermit the frog that Natasia “accidentally came upon” (I don’t know how serious he is about this).

The vampires will go on a roadtrip! They will be traveling someplace they don’t normally go to, and the issue of having to bring soil from their homeland will be brought up

There is a birthday! It’s a big important birthday...for Colin! (maybe Colin’s song moment is him singing Happy Birthday?)

Nandor is looking for love and decides that it is time for him to find a partner

Some characters will be coming back, including Shaun/Sean the neighbor who will appear in two episodes

[blissfulalchemist]

multiples of 5 + get a room xx

Hello Stella this was a lot but! here we are!

5. What do they like the most about each other?

Both can very much appreciate their shamelessness for public flirting and PDA. We won’t also state the other obvious thing both like about the other. On a sappy level though Hayat most likes Mason’s ability to find the darkest corner of any room no matter how bright it is. Truly that is a fucking skill and just HOW!? can you make that happen sir???? What Mason likes the most about Hayat is the way he’s ready with something to lighten most deadly situations that can make you want to smile or laugh if it was any other setting other than impending doom. Seriously sir, you are literally bleeding out and you’re trying to make a joke about getting laid right here and now???

10. How do they resolve their arguments?

Both are terrible in that they will kind of just ignore it or just put it to the side and then never come back to it until they have too, which means it built up a bit more than just something that could have been a smaller argument. Typically though most resolutions happen at night and on roofs or balconies and the like. Life’s a lot calmer during that time of day and its also easier on Mason’s senses which in the heat of the moment are harder to control and that extra stimulation isn’t helpful in quelling any kind of anger or feelings of upset. This is usually when Hayat will take the initiative to leave if Mason hasn’t done it by that point. In the end one of them will come to the other and get it resolved not too long after. Both are man enough to admit when they were in the wrong.

Rarely (surprisingly) there is little make up sex. Most of the bigger arguments are in relation to things that are emotionally deep and intimate, which both have to relearn or find out and you can’t just do that with sex. 

15. Who pays for the food the most, when they go out?

Hayat. Not that Mason doesn’t have the means or is opposed to it, Hayat just beats him to the punch and is paying before it can even process in Mason’s head that he should pay for food every now and then (even id he himself doesn’t eat very much).

20. Do they give each other nicknames?

Mason calls Hayat by two different nicknames. The first one being the nickname Hiya as this is something approved by Hayat himself, though he still rolls his eyes over Hiya picking that kind of nickname as its some version of a pun technically. Mason also calls him “Handsome” which made Hayat a bit uncomfortable for a while there. This was even said before they even slept together and god Hayat thought he was going to die or hit him eventually as well....Bobby also called him “Handsome”. Given a little time it started to change and Hayat warmed up to the name and by Book 3 happens that old association really leaves him when hearing Mason say it. 

Hayat will shorten Mason’s name to Mase now and then, but this is also a sort of pun name as he can threaten people with the phrase “I’m gonna Mase you” which basically means “I’m gonna send my anger inclined boyfriend at you”. This threat is very rare and only is said when the timing is right. (Yes my son needs help). Hayat also refers to Mason as “Eshgham” which translates to “My Love” or “Delbar-am” that translates to “One who stole my heart” when they’re being a little sappy and also “Kharâbetam” which translates to “I’m ruined for you” typically when its more private behind closed doors as it’s a bit more intense than the other two.

25. How do they comfort each other when one of them is scared?

Hayat’s a bit better at it than Mason in comforting but there’s a check in between the two of them. Sometimes its silent and both can tell where the other stands in their fear. Other times it is asked aloud and also paired with a touch of some kind. Even when these two are asking it jokingly there is always a hint of looking out for the other and just making sure that there’s truth to what is said. Honestly just being near one another is enough to comfort when they’re scared. 

30. Do they attend any clubs or formal parties together?

Neither are really suited to formal parties to be honest. They will if they must or if its something that is involved with family and such, but neither are really the formal type. 

35. How do they spend time if the other is gone?

Both have a life outside of the other and so many times they will partake in that side. Hiya has a good amount of friends that he likes to spend time with and Mason also has Unit Bravo along with work so he can focus on that.

40. Thoughts on kids?

Hayat likes kids and never plans on ever having them unless it feels right or just happens. Mason’s personality doesn’t lend itself to being kid friendly but is mostly indifferent.

45. How are birthdays spent?

Hey Mason! You’ve never had a birthday party! Well guess what! You’re getting a birthday party! It won’t be very big or elaborate but it’ll be a small celebration with cake, balloons, games, music, and the party hats. All planned by Hiya and encouraged by Felix.

Hayat typically ends up having a small party as Tina likes to have fun and then his family like to celebrate so they have a mini party. However! Hayat was born on Leap Year and you can bet that there is an even bigger party that is themed with the appropriate age so at his 2020 celebration he will be 7! such a big year :’).

Once all the day party stuff is over though there’s a good amount of private celebrating happening. The gift that is consistent between them involves a weekend away.

50. Who makes the best flower crown?

Hayat. He doesn’t make them often and really ends up needing help but when he gets something he’ll give them to members of the team. Mason isn’t a fan to say the least but for Hiya he’ll reduce the scowl.

55. Are they a super sappy couple?

Sappy as in kissy faces and nicknames and just like adorable-ness? No…..well the kissy faces sure but if it goes on long enough you may want to avert your gaze. Look they are very forward with each other and they don’t show any signs of being uncomfortable with it. In private you get the more sappy moments but even then there’s this casualness with them that leads to it seeming only as a physical relationship. Really it’s more Hayat that can be the sappy one.

60. Who will punch someone out if they are rude to their partner?

Mason primarily (Sir I cannot wait for you to meet the Ex). Hayat doesn’t like to let himself turn to violence so it would take a lot of anger to do so.

65. Who loves kids more?

This would go to Hayat more. He acts somewhat like a kid himself and he can keep them fairly entertained and help them feel reassured if they’re scared. Hayat comes from a fairly big family and there were always kids around so he enjoys their company.

70. Who is the hopeless romantic?

I have to give this one to Hayat as he can be a bit more of an outward hopeless romantic. I do believe that Mason is the secretive hopeless romantic that isn’t fully aware that he is.

75. Who are their favourite musical artist(s)?

Mason doesn’t listen to much music as its hard to find things that are easy to handle with the heightened senses.

Hayat likes more of the pop punk music. Bands like Fall Out Boy, All Time Low, Reliant K, AWOLNATION, Walk the Moon, The Killers, etc. To compensate for the harshness of some of the songs Hayat has made a specific playlist of acoustic covers and softer songs to play when Mason is near and not really up for enduring his normal playlists. 

80. What do they love about each other the most?

Hayat loves the genuineness of Mason. Like admittedly there’s some secrets and like holding back but that more stems from needing trust in order to talk about that kind of stuff. With Mason its really a “What you see is what you get” kind of person and more importantly with this is that Mason’s actions match with what he’s saying. That is just so important for Hiya now as it gives him the most comfort in pursuing something with him.

For Mason its this ability for Hayat to be invading but also keep his distance. Hayat will press and stick close to Mason with emotional stuff but he’s not pushy about it and will let Mason take the time needed to figure stuff out. Hayat doesn’t also just brush Mason off with his needs or attitude. Mason wants to be close to someone but wants a sort of setting where you’re alone together (like you and your partner are in the same room but doing different things with the occasional shout out) and Hayat lets that happen.

85. Who accidental sets something on fire?

I’d say both as one day that lighter’s gonna get Mason in trouble but it would be more Hayat. Sometimes he likes to just fiddle around with tech stuff and the wrong wires get crossed and soon there’s a mini fire happening. What can you do?

90. Who is the one that would bring the puppy home?

Both, but Mason would pick the kitten/cat up and bring them home to Hayat more than a puppy. Just seems a bit more like a cat person. 

[songbirdmusicnc]

What’s in a Song? | What to Look for When Choosing Your Next Solo

It's one thing to be in an undergraduate, post-graduate, or professional setting where often, if your next piece is not outright assigned to you, you have a number of parameters to keep you within a certain genre, a particular period, or even a specific language. I can write volumes about this. Oh, the seemingly endless search for the answer to one of the most dreaded questions I could have been asked during my studies back when I was in my 20's: "What aria have you chosen to sing?" NEWSFLASH: I am not 20. I'm not even 30. So, you can put two and two together, that this was long before the convenience of online searching through the wonders of Google, Bing and DuckDuckGO. In fact, I would have paid small sums of money (on a student budget 😂) to have had access to any of those three tools to find a number of things when I had to pump out arias like bread in bakery. (Umm, not so sure about that analogy. It was the first thing that came to mind, but you get my drift I think. lol)

For one, I would have completely worn out Google Translator. Like, seriously. 😐 I would have had shortcuts on my computer and on the home screen of my flip phone (yes, flip phone...don't judge me 🤨) that took me directly to literal translations of the arias and choruses I had to perform every single week. The inner dialogue during that process alone was like having to report to after-school detention. Agonizing!! 😩 "So, who's word-for-word translation should I trust? So many of these students actually speak these languages, so they're not looking up anything like I have to. Should I just ask them?! Well, no. I can't let them know that I know that I don't know what I'm saying!!😩" Ugh. I don't miss those days at all. But! But, I got through them just fine, thank you Jesus. 😁 Recalling this is actually a bit comical to me now; I remember those days very well. At the same time, there is a lot to be said about the art of searching out the text, finding its meaning, and being faithful to it.

Given my strong background in the Christian Church, I cannot deny the one Bible passage that instantly comes to mind when examining the process of searching out what one is saying in order to partake of its eternal value. I am referring to Acts 17 verse 11, where it says in the NASB translation, "Now these people were more noble-minded than those in Thessalonica, for they received the word with great eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see whether these things were so.." It was the careful examination of what the Bereans were told, not merely how they felt about that message, that not only intrigued them, but moved them to take action. They diligently searched the Scriptures for themselves as a means of verifying that what they felt was not only wonderful, but inherently true. Both were important to them, and therefore Dr. Luke (the Author of the Book of Acts) attributes nobility to them. Wow.

Well, that's great spiritually speaking. But what about being on stage? I mean, why spend a single minute placing an emphasis on foreign language text when more often than not, people in the audience aren't even fluent in? A number of things can be said about that. The most important thing I believe can be said is that taking that extra time pays off later; for the singer must connect with the text if they want to connect with their audience. This brings me to the point of this post, answering the question, what is the absolute most important element I look for in a song: Personally inspiring text.

I'll reiterate. The singer must connect to the text they are singing if they want to connect with their audience. This is true for all performing arts that involve speech or singing. I can't tell you how many interviews I've watched of actors discussing the roles they've played that they didn't necessarily like per sae, but they still got cast in that role, and then delivered an outstanding performance. How? Each and every one of them will tell you that they found a way to personally connect with the script. The words coming out of their mouths. But isn't that absolutely necessary for actors? I mean, an actor who is not believable in what they say is not acting at all. They may as well be Siri or Alexa, rattling off a bunch of pre-programmed data with no life and no feeling. (Sorry to all the artificial-intelligence-loving techies out there...😌) Similarly, a singer needs to find a means to personally identify with some aspect of the role they play or more specifically, the role they sing. The result? Well, when coupled with superb vocal technique, you've got yourself an unforgettable experience for your listeners right there, and not simply a performance.

This stands true no matter the genre. It is, in my humble opinion, the number one most absolutely necessary element for a Christian singer. (That's a lot of positive assertion, but it's true...) If a Christian singer is taking on the enormous task of delivering the timeless message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ--whether they are exhorting and encouraging the audience with an inspiring message of hope and deliverance, or reverently singing praises directly to God Himself--then that singer best be connected in the heart to the words they sing. For, above all else, it is the testimony of an individual's encounter with God that drives home the message and its profundity. People want to feel the power of the lyrics to the classic hymn, "It Is Well". And furthermore, they want to know why when you sing it, tears gush out from your eyes and theirs. Why was your performance of it so moving? Why did they have flashbacks of their early childhood, sitting on a wooden pew, surrounded by family and community? The answer to that has layers of truth, the key one for this particular discussion being your personal experience oozing from your lips as you utter the words, "Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed His own blood for my soul." The text. Yes, I get it; the voice, the technique, even the vocal nuances. But more-so than anything, your heart poured out through words, riding on an unshakable melody that calms the troubled mind and offers a moment of comfort to a broken heart--even if only for a moment. That's the effectiveness you want as a singer.

So, getting back to the original question: What should you look for when you are browsing the endless world of YouTube for your next great song? Text that moves you. Text that speaks to you. To YOU...personally. You should find the song that makes you cry and do that one. If there's a song that makes you so happy you feel like doing cartwheels every time you hear it, do that one. (I literally have a song like that. It's called "Everything" performed by TobyMac. 😏😌) But don't just pick the song that has 65 million views! Please, no! Choose what moves you personally and something you can expound on for at least five minutes with no music and no soundtracks. Just you and the text, dissecting it line-by-line, looking for the author's possible intended meanings, and adding your own life story to it, bringing out what it means to you. If you can't do that to the song you're about to start working on, skip it. It won't be worth your effort and it won't be worth the audience's time. They'll know it, too. You'd just be mimicking someone else's art form and they'll say to themselves, "I could have stayed home to listen to this song on loop mode and kept my money to myself." No. Use your heart to search with your eyes and find the song that speaks to you. You can only reach people to the depth at which your own heart is involved in the song.

-Sharine Buchanan

Owner, Songbird Music LLC

Sharine Buchanan is the Owner of Songbird Music LLC. She earned her Bachelor's of Arts degree in Music with High Honors from the University of California at Berkeley, and her Masters of Music degree with an emphasis in Vocal Performance from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music (valedictorian). She lives in North Carolina's Wilkes County, the foothill of the Brushy Mountains, where she relocated in 2013 to join an international ministry, faithfully serving her pastors in music and various aspects of their ministry.

To inquire about studying voice with Sharine, email her at teachme@songbirdmusicnc.com, or call 510-220-4077.

[trashboatprince]

I’m working on a main story for my Reverse Omens au, but for right now, I really wanted to do something with Aziraphale the Demon opening up his shop.

So, here’s a little something while I work on the main story for Sour Blessings. I had to do a bit of research for this, so you’re welcome.

Summery: The opening for A.Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More is on Friday, however, the demon Aziraphale may have to put that opening on hold, indefinitely, due to an unexpected promotion.

Not if the angel Crowley has anything to say about it!

Warning: Reverse Omens, the other demons and angels are not swapped, these two fools are in love but they won’t admit it so it’s getting the ship tag.

Aziraphale (formally Azrafel) is a half-deaf, white cat demon, Crowley (formally Samael) is a rainbow boa angel and the one who tempted Eve (There is a reason for this!).

Rewrite of the infamous Bookshop deleted scene.

On with the fic!

--

Can’t Have That Now, Can We?

--

Aziraphale, formally known as the demon Azrafel until he stole back his original name, was more excited than he had been in years.

Finally, after so many hiccups, missions, and simply being absentminded about his goal, he was opening up his shop! Well, not officially, he planned on being open to the public on Friday, but he was allowing for guests today!

So far, the only person invited is his dear angel, Crowley, who he knows will be here promptly at a quarter past eleven, the redhead was also so good with time.

Proudly, Aziraphale looked up at the sign that had just been installed this morning. A. Z. Fell’s Antiquities and More, it read with a shine of silver paint on a dark blue background. It was beautifully fitting for the man-shaped being, fitting his color aesthetics. He practically purred in delight as he stepped through the doors, happily hearing a jingle of a bell above his head.

The demon hummed to himself a song from an opera he had attended a few days ago, carefully lining up some of his collection he had noticed he bumped out of place. His shop was going to house his massive collection of antiques, a term he had adored using for the collection since it was first coined during the 1400’s in references to ancient artifacts.

He finally had a place for all his stuff, things he had hidden all over the world, bought, traded, stolen, made himself, gifts from his favorite snake, all in one place now! Sure, it took him centuries to finally settle down, but 1831 was a good enough time, right?

Well, there had been an attempt a few centuries ago, back in the 1500’s, but it had been a bookshop next to a printing shop that had printed a book he really had wanted, but a mission to China had prevented that. And had also resulted in him not paying rent on the shop and having gotten in trouble with Hell for something stupid, he couldn’t pay the rent and lost the first shop.

Anyway, he happily likes to forget that happened and has instead tried again! Same location too, second time’s the charm!

Aziraphale wasn’t finished setting up though, he still had more stuff in storage that he needed to bring in, but his angel had said he’d help up with bringing that in. He wouldn’t help with the organizing though; Crowley knew from experience that Aziraphale had a way of organizing his clutter in a way that worked for the cat. Especially when it came to certain collections, like his massive library and his collection of rare snuff boxes.

As he carefully aligned a bronze statue of a rather specifically detailed and accurate horse he got as a joke gift from Crowley, he heard the jingle of the bell above his front door. He cupped his hand over his left ear, trying to hear who it was, couldn’t be Crowley, it was too early still.

Then he smelled the scent of festering mold and swamp scum, along with other unpleasant things, and he felt his skin prickle.

With a held back sigh, Aziraphale put a fake smile on his face, turning to face his fellow demons, hoping his beard hid the fact that his mouth twitched. “Hastur, Ligur, to what do I owe the pleasure of two Dukes of Hell in my shop?”

The two demons stood by the open doors, dressed in rather shoddy clothing, meant more for the lower class than the higher, as Aziraphale himself was dressed to blend in with. However, it was good to note that this time they actually wore clothing that would help them blend in, rather than how they dressed the last time they ‘visited’ Aziraphale. He would never forget those sins against nature.

Neither of them smiled, they just stared, before Hastur stepped forward. “We’ve orders from Below for you.” He ground out, making Aziraphale raise an eyebrow.

“Orders? Strange, normally Hell just burns a message in one of my books or screams at me from an envelope nowadays, don’t usually send messengers to tell me what my next job is.

“It’s not really… orders.” Ligur spoke up, waving a hand, completely bored of this already. “’s more like you’re getting somethin’.”

Aziraphale blinked, cupping a hand over his ear again. “Come again?”

Hastur made a face. “Think of it as… bad news, but not really bad news, more like good news, but we can’t say that shit, so it’s bad news, but not that bad-”

“I… I got it.” The cat sighed, holding up a hand. “Is it about the second revolution in France?” He had sent in a wordy letter to Hell about how he had helped kickstarted that event, even though he hadn’t actually done so. He and Crowley had taken a trip to the south of France and got dreadfully wasted and somehow ended up on the Isle of Capri.

“More like a bunch of things you’ve done, Azrafel.” The chameleon demon spoke and ignored the face Aziraphale pulled, hearing his old name. It has been centuries, and no one cared that he stole back his angel name, they just ignored him, thinking he was edgy or something. “Apparently, you’ve done your job to such extremes that Hell is oddly impressed.”

This can’t be good.

“And because of this, you’re going down to Hell, promotin’ you back to Downstairs. Heard you might get a cushy job runnin’ the torture department, lucky bastard.”

Aziraphale blinked, trying to register what this meant. “But… I’m opening this antique shop on Friday. If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really…”

“Hm,” Hastur pondered for a moment, “actually, I think that’s an idea, whoever replaces you up here can use this place as a base of operations.”

This got a look of disgust from the cat demon. “Use my shop?” The nerve! No one was allowed to use his shop; this was for him! And maybe Crowley, because he knows that wily angel will also laze about wherever Aziraphale is staying.

Neither demon seemed to give two shits about what Aziraphale thought of this. “You’re bein’ promoted,” the frog demon shrugged, “you get to go back home.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone who wanna spend more than five minutes on this waste of space.” Ligur commented, look at a bell jar on a shelf, containing a taxidermized scene of insects dancing at a ball. The chameleon on his head licked its lips.

“Azrafel’s been on this shithole for almost six thousand years,” his companion replied, “that’s some impressive patience, I can’t stand doin’ tasks up here that take longer than a day. Just plant bad ideas in a human’s head and let ‘em do all the work. Still, gotta give kudos where kudos is due…”

He dug into the pocket of his grubby coat, pulling out a box, covered in stains that Aziraphale really didn’t want to know the origins of. “Apparently, this is for all your bad work.” He said in a tone that clearly didn’t hide his jealousy and bitterness.

Hastur opened the box and Aziraphale stared at a rather lovely, shiny medal. He had seen this kind before, proudly worn by members of the Dark Council.

When they said he was being promoted… oh, oh bugger, this was a Promotion.

“I don’t want it.” Aziraphale spoke without much thought. He glanced up and nearly screamed, because right behind Hastur and Ligur, was a redheaded angel, giving a cheery wave.

The grandfather clock off to the left happily showed that it was exactly a quarter past eleven in the morning. It was the worst possible time for Crowley to show up.

--

With a skip in his snake-skinned step, Crowley turned a corner down a street in Soho, a box of the finest chocolates under his arm. He had dolled himself up for today, putting on his finest dark gray suit, his pink shirt clear and ironed, and a new hat sat happily on his head, decorated with a gold-plated apple blossom.

It was over-the-top, but the snake-eyed angel was known for being flashy and showboat-y with his appearance.

He spotted the shop at the corner and picked up the pace, mentally counting down the seconds. He loved being exactly on time, but he also loved putting Aziraphale on edge when he was a few minutes late.

Crowley got right up the steps at exactly 11:15, noticing that not only were the doors opened, but two figures were standing in the doorway, with Aziraphale stared past them. And right at Crowley, with a look the screamed ��oh bugger’.

The demon licked his lips, stammering as he tried to speak to the two strangers, who Crowley hadn’t quite realized were demons. “B-But only I can properly thwart the good deeds of the angel Cr-Samael!”

Crowley stopped smiling, tilting his head, eyebrow raising over his dark shades. He held up the package, smiling, and mouthed ‘chocolates’ at his best friend.

“I don’t doubt that,” the blond-haired demon spoke, “whoever replaces you will be as bad an enemy to Samael as you are. Baphomet, maybe.”

The angel looked horrified and disgusted. He looked towards Aziraphale and mouthed ‘Baphomet?! Baphomet’s a wanker!’ The gray-haired demon shifted on his feet, trying to ignore Crowley to not draw attention to him.

“Samael’s been here just as long as I have, and he’s wily! And cunning, and brilliant, and oh…” Aziraphale was a bit flushed in the face and Crowley perked up, smiling brightly.

“It almost sounds like you like him.” Hastur spoke in a tone that was clearly not pleased with this.

“I loathe him!” Aziraphale shouted, though his face still burned red. “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent! Which he isn’t because he’s an angel, and I cannot respect a demon. Or like one!” He tacked on quickly.

Hastur actually smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s the attitude that Hell likes to hear. I can see why they’re bringin’ you back.” He stepped forward, pinning the medal to Aziraphale’s dress jacket, the shorter man holding his breath at the bad smell coming off of Hastur. A quick glance over the other’s shoulder let Aziraphale know that Crowley was out of sight, hopefully he knew to stay away until these two were gone.

“So…” Aziraphale started, “we’re going straight back, now? Before the grand opening?”

“Ehh… soon.” Hastur waved a hand. “Got a job to do, then we’ll be back for you.”

--

The job was a simple corruption on, convince a human in charge of a respectable pub to take in bribes, sell illegal content under the counter, and convert his pub into a drug den in later years, that should do the trick.

And to help with that, they decide to plant things in the backroom of the pub for the owner to find, miracled with a temptation to put the pieces together. Ligur stood outside the backroom’s door while Hastur moved to remove the contents of his pockets in the room.

He pauses, however, hearing voices outside of an open window.

“Are you certain that we are unobserved,” it was the voice of the angel Samael, “of glorious being of God’s divine will?”

There was a strange, echoing voice that followed right after, layered as if multiple voices spoke at once. “No one is listening, oh angel Samael, the Lefthand of God.”

Blinking, Hastur steps onto a crate under the window and, using his true eyes, peeks out the window, only the top of the head of his frog looking into the alley behind the pub. He could see Crowley, standing before a cloaked figure in white, the latter having their back turned to the window. He slipped down a bit to not be seen, but still remained close to hear.

“Curses.” The angel hissed. “If only I could understand why my blessed plans are always so brilliantly thwarted! It’s as if the forces of Hell have a champion here on Earth who contaminates my blessings! Who overlaps their own dark influences on my own good ones! Who thwarts me… thwartingly…”

Unbeknownst to the demon on the other side of the wall, the cloaked figure that Crowley was speaking to was actually just a tailor’s dummy from the tailor shop just next door. Crowley was practically tickle-me-pink with delight of how much fun it was doing this. He absolutely loved when he got to flex his acting skills.

He continued the act, putting on the heavenly voice once more. “Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Heaven! They do say as how the demon Azrafel, your nemesis, is being sent back to Hell!”

Crowley knew he was acting slightly to broadly, but it was the style of the time, so it was necessary.

“Can this be true?” He continued in his normal voice. “I was going to throw myself into a pit of Hell Fire in my despair at once more being beaten by the demon Azrafel! But such excellent news! Only Azrafel knows my ways well enough to…”

“Thwart them?”

“Exactly. Now, let us retire to church, and pray to the success of good on this Earth, thanks to Hell’s foolishness!”

Hastur heard the other walking off before he moved out of the room, well, he might have to have a conversation with Aziraphale it seems.

--

“So, I’m… not going anywhere?” Aziraphale asked, mismatched eyes staring at the two other demons, the pupils growing with possible hope.

“Change of plans.” Hastur grumbled. “We need you here, in this shop, battling good.”

Ligur slapped the Aziraphale on the back a few times, nearly knocking him over. “Carry on battlin’ that pain in the ass angel. I’m sure Hell’ll understand that you’re needed here more than down there.”

“Keep the metal.” Hastur poked at it against Aziraphale’s chest, making him wince at the pressure of the jab.

“But I don’t understand…” The cat demon blinked, suddenly realizing he was all alone in the shop now, the scent of sulfur starting to mellow out. With a snap of his fingers, the shop suddenly smelled of flowers, thanks to the lovely potted plant that just showed up next to him.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, moving around a shelf to try and return to his previous task of worryingly set up his collection.

“Well, that was fun.”

Aziraphale yelped, jumping a foot in the air as his hair and beard puffed up from the shock. He turned, finding a certain angel, basking happily in a chair that had been swiped from the King of Spain in the late 1300’s. “Crowley… w-what are you doing here?” He asked, approaching the redhead, who just smiled, holding up the box of chocolates from behind.

Aziraphale chirped in joy, taking the box. “Oh, yes, thank you, darling!”

“’s nothin’, kitty cat. I think you deserve them now than you did before those two idiots showed up.”

“How… much of that did you see?”

Crowley shrugged before getting out of the chair, stretching. “Well, I arrived to see that you were stuck dealin’ with two idiots, and that you needed help. So, I may or may not have helped you out of a bit of trouble, again. Nice medal, the Dark Council kind? Wow, that’s a hell of a promotion, kitty cat.”

Aziraphale frowned and removed the metal from his jacket, tossing it towards Crowley, who caught it with ease. “I’ve done so well at my job that I was promoted to join them! I mean, it’s not the worst promotion I could get, in fact, any demon would give up their whole… well… everything to be part of that group! But I must admit, it would be too much, I’d be allowed to do whatever, but I wouldn’t be able to work and stay on Earth.”

“Sounds like a shit job to take, Aziraphale.” Crowley commented, looking over the metal before dropping it into a clay pot. “But hey, you get to stay here!”

“For some reason…” Cat eyes turned, staring directly at snake ones, hidden behind dark lenses. “What did you do?”

Crowley grinned brightly. “Oh, just pulled off some theatrics.” He wiggled his fingers and Aziraphale groaned. “I told you I was good at this! I should join a theater, get my name out there! I’ll even do those boring, sad Shakespearean plays you like so much!”

“Uhg.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes before looking at Crowley, smiling. “Still, thank you for helping me today, darling. Now, how about the two of us enjoy this delectable box of goodies you got me, I have a lovely red that we can drink alongside them in the back, found it while bringing things in the other day.”

“Sounds delightful, kitty cat.”

END

--

Well, this was a lot of fun to write!

In case you wanna know what they look like, Aziraphale looks like Martin from Prodigal Son (except well dressed in a light gray and dark blue Regency outfit), and Crowley looks like David’s portrayal of Richard II (in a dark gray and pink Regency outfit).

Hastur and Ligur look like characters from Oliver Twist haha.

In case anyone was wondering why Aziraphale owns an antique shop, it was because as much as I love the bookshop still being part of a Reverse Omens au, I also really loved the idea of going off the little fact that book Aziraphale also collects old snuff boxes and it went from there that he just collects all sorts of things.

Oh, and Hastur left Aziraphale on Earth cause if he's really the only one who can 'stop' the Heavenly might of Samael, the angel with the title of Destroyer, well... yeah, might as well leave him to deal with that mess.

Thanks for reading! As always, drabbles are open! 

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 2

Summary: Two hours into the trial day, Sebastian gets an extension on his time with Jack. 

AN: No Hotch this chapter, but we finally get to spend some time with Sebastian! I might alternate between Hotch and Sebastian's perspectives a few times. Oh, the wonders of third person!

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad 

Chapter 1 // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 3

Of course, this had to happen on the first day when Sebastian hadn’t even thought about moving into their spare room. Hotch had been called away from the office – Arizona to be specific – and he was not hopeful about returning home by the end of the day.

“We’re gonna have to go back to my house, get some stuff so I can stay tonight,” Sebastian explained as they passed the doorman on the way to the garage. All three exchanged a friendly wave.

Into Sebastian’s blue budget hatchback Jack’s booster cushion was swung. Jack climbed up into it with relative ease, though there was that tell-tale slip on the way up that came from being distracted by the sight of many CDs in paper sleeves stacked in the open compartment. The one he chose to look at, while Sebastian was busy buckling him in then getting around to the driver’s seat, had blue ink writing out the track list. He thought he recognised a few of them.

Sebastian switched on the car engine, groaning loudly as the air conditioning smacked hot air into their faces. He flapped his hand in front of him in an effortless attempt to cool down. Then he switched the air con off altogether.

“What tunes do you like, Jack?”

“Me and Daddy like the Beatles.” He handed over his chosen CD over, one that did not mention the Beatles.

Sebastian hummed, restraining his comment about “white men on guitar” as he put on some sapphic folk, “How’s this instead?”

Throughout the playlist over to Sebastian’s bedsit, Jack bounced his legs. He seemed a little surprised, almost a bit offended, when Sebastian started singing along. He was also not very enthused about dancing beyond his leg jiving. Sebastian didn’t push for him to join in, only going as far to turn down the music a little bit so that his energy would match it.

The building that held Sebastian’s residence was far from grand. If anything, it sucked the souls of those who looked at it. The garage was mostly empty. Its concrete colour palette crumbled at the edges and Jack looked wary as Sebastian led him up the dingy stairwell – the lift was broken.

On the third floor Sebastian twisted the key then tugged his front door towards him. After a few seconds, the lock unstuck itself from the door and he was able to push into the room – letting Jack go first.

There was still a whiff of his favourite mango passion fruit candle in the air. First order of business therefore was opening the window, hoping that his landlord wouldn’t pop round for a visit and kick him out early for breach of contract. Once Jack was exploring the space, Sebastian beelined for his wardrobe, pulling his case from the top shelf.

“Your home is small,” Jack announced to the sitting room, still taking in the kitchenette.

“Yes it is,” Sebastian held up some shirts to his chest before turning to his charge, “What do we think?”

Jack approached them, his tiny hands touching the hem of the shirt with lush green ferns patterned over it, “I like this one.”

“Me too,” and Sebastian tossed it onto the top of the case, his purple shirt replaced on the rail, “That’s why I bought it. Best bit about being an adult, Jack, you can do what you like with your money.”

Jack nodded solemnly at his advice before leaping over onto his couch, dislodging a cushion and tangling himself in the throw.

“Hey Jack, you ever played ‘Crash Bandicoot’?”

It didn’t even matter what Jack’s reply was; Sebastian was already over and switching on his PlayStation. Best tactic as a nanny: kids were always distracted by screens.

Jack was happy to sit in Sebastian’s lap and hold his hands underneath Sebastian’s, much larger than his own. They taught him the jump, the spin mechanics, and directions to take across the menu before Sebastian selected one of the first levels.

“Thems the mangoes,” He said quietly, much to Jack’s delight, as they cracked open a crate of the juicy fruits.

“What’s the point?”

“The point? You gotta reach the end of each level. Reckon you can tackle this bit on your own while I pack up?”

A little nod was his answer. Sebastian untangled his legs from underneath Jack and left him on the couch.

Scouring his necessities, Sebastian would be lying to himself if he wasn’t half tempted to pack up his PlayStation. His reluctant conclusion was that he could survive a day without his console had crossed his mind. Maybe when his trial “day” was over and if he got the job.

“You mind if I take a photo to send to your dad?” Sebastian sat upon his suitcase in an effort to crush his wash bag into submission. Jack did not reply. “Jack? Jackaroo?”

“Hmm?” Jack looked away from the game

“Can I take your picture for your Dad please?”

“OK.”

Snapping a quick photo, Sebastian sent Jack a thumb’s up, “Thank you. Now back to your gaming, sir, the bandicoot is getting cold.”

Sure enough, Crash was shivering in the rain that was pouring over the level.

It was a little past lunchtime by the time the pair finished the Crash Bandicoot level and sung through their second drive-time karaoke – Jack a little more accepting of it this time. As a result, Sebastian didn’t spend long prepping the spare room. He just tossed his bag in and shut the door. His future self could deal with it.

Making the classic lunch that Jack enjoyed became one of the day’s many activities, Jack offering a tour of where all the food was kept whilst wielding a butter knife that had been dunked in a mug of boiling water. It had a bit of melted butter dribbling down onto his hands. A drop of it splashed onto Sebastian’s shirt when Jack, a little vigorously, gestured to the top shelf in the fridge where the chocolate was kept.

The Lego modelling was unpacked again once lunch was all eaten and cleared up. But for once, Sebastian wasn’t as immersed in the craft as Jack.

“What do you think of my music?” Sebastian finally asked.

Jack shrugged.

“You don’t have to like it. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

Jack shrugged again.

“How about we find some songs you really like and you can show me some of yours?”

Sebastian picked one song then Jack picked one, and so on and so forth. Each song was given a verdict and either left as it was or plonked into a playlist for when they were next in the car. Or cooking. Or doing anything where they could also jam.

As each new song started, Jack stepped a little bit closer to how he was behaving yesterday. He was even swaying in time with the song when he asked if Sebastian could recreate what they’d done with the spacecraft before, and he found more energy reserves when Sebastian choose an upbeat song to zoom about space to.

“Again, again!” Jack cried when “Mahoney’s Debut” by Alexandre Desplat clunked into “Brothers in Arms” by Junkie XL.

“Sorry bud, this one’s six minutes long and I’ve not got the energy for one minute more.”

When Jack slid down Sebastian’s legs like a slide, Sebastian rolled over to his phone and turned the volume way down.

“I don’t like this one.”

“Well, I do, and I would like to hear this one just a lil’ bit longer.”

Pouting, Jack began adding a new room to his spacecraft. But it faded by the time that Sebastian played Jack’s favourite Beatles song as thanks while he made dinner. Time passed much faster now that they were both enjoying themselves again.

Jack made his own way getting ready for bed. His pyjamas were already out on his bed, and he’d brushed his teeth shortly after putting them on. Cuddled up on the couch, two pairs of slippers dangling off the edge, Jack took control of Sebastian’s avatar and ran about the server to explore what had already been built until it was bedtime.

Tucking Jack in, Sebastian said, “You all good?”

“Can you read to me please?”

“Sure thing. What book do you want to read?”

Jack grabbed the book from his nightstand, “We’re reading ‘Danny Champion of the World’!”

“You and your Daddy?”

The little guy nodded, wriggling deeper into his bed sheets with glee. Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek.

“Well, we don’t want your Daddy missing out on Danny’s adventures. How about we pick up something else?”

“I like Where The Wild Things Are.”

Sebastian knelt beside the bed, his arm resting against on the mattress so that Jack could see the illustrations. He could see, and sometimes hear, Jack’s lips moving along with the words. As he grew sleepier, Jack would miss a syllable every now and again.

When Jack’s eyes were drooping shut more often than they were staying open, Sebastian eased the book shut, “What do you prefer for a goodnight, Jack? Kiss, hug, high five, or a wave?”

“Wave please.”

So, Sebastian placed the book back onto the shelf and waved as requested, “I’ll be in the spare room if you need me. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight,” yawned Jack, his eyes closing as Sebastian switched off his lamp. Low orange light radiated from the little nightlight in the corner, keeping watch over Jack once the bedroom door was closed.

The thrilling task of tidy up time was always the worst part of Sebastian’s day. It was last thing, it was boring, and he was more often than not shattered. But future Sebastian – now present Sebastian – had no appreciate past Sebastian just chucking his bag into the spare room. He certainly would not appreciate these tasks being left ‘til the morrow.

Headphones and comfy wear made things a little sweeter. But by the time Sebastian was tucking himself into bed, it was ten to eleven, and he didn’t even care to think about how the spare room was devoid of anything personal or how all his belongings were still packed in a tiny case or his rucksack.

That was future Sebastian’s problem.

[hvilested]

Are You a Maladaptive Daydreamer? Here’s How to Quit

Tess in the City

Are you a maladaptive daydreamer? Keep reading. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

What Is Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a psychiatric response, often due to trauma. The trend seems to be that it’s a survival technique/coping mechanism that is essentially extreme escapism. Identified by Professor Eliezer Somer, maladaptive daydreaming creates a space where people can escape into their minds while sometimes simultaneously becoming trapped by the coping mechanism which has become maladaptive meaning “not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation.”

Some of the signifiers that you might be a maladaptive daydreamer; you:

Daydream for many minutes or hours in a way that interrupts your everyday tasks and intrudes upon you actually living.

Find daydreaming a compulsive habit that’s automatic and addictive.

Make facial expressions, pace, mutter, whisper, voice imaginary conversations aloud, cry, or laugh reacting to what you’ve imagined.

Create storybook worlds where you’ve devised all the characters and play them out in your head.

Recycle characters from books, TV shows, or real people from your real life to populate your fantasies.

Are kept awake at night by your daydreams.

Note: Not all of these are necessary to be a maladaptive daydreamer. Frequently, maladaptive daydreamers have a combination of many of the above. What makes maladaptive daydreaming harmful is if it’s intruding upon your day-to-day life and if it’s addictive.

Professor Somer developed the Maladaptive Daydreaming Scale (MDS) which allows daydreamers to rate the severity of their symptoms and gauge the intensity of their daydreams, their ability to control their daydreaming as well as the compulsivity of it as a behavior, the amount of distress they feel by intrusive daydreaming, their perceived benefits of daydreaming, and how much daydreaming impacts their ability to carry out every day activities.

How Do You Interrupt or Quit Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Get to the roots. Treat the trauma. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Start Treating the Underlying Trauma

This might not be the quickest method to stop maladaptive daydreaming, but it might be the most effective longterm method. If unhappy daydreamers are more content in their fantasy realms than their everyday life, then it’s important to reflect on why that is. Since maladaptive daydreaming does seem to be linked to trauma in many cases, it makes sense to get to the root of its origins, and treat the trauma. Maladaptive daydreamers can turn to therapy, trauma release exercises you can find on YouTube (the best trauma experts of our time know that trauma needs to be released from the physical body, and it’s best to do this in conjunction with talk therapy and other methods), EMDR, trauma release yoga, other somatic exercises, medication as needed, dance, laughter, community, cognitive behavior therapy, dialectical behavior therapy, healthy dietary changes, abstinence from alcohol and drugs, positive affirmations, positive psychology, spiritualism, and joyous and healthy behaviors. Many trauma survivors who learn to live beyond what’s happened to them use multiple techniques to re-align with their wellbeing.

Identify and Reduce Triggers

It’s important to identify your triggers. When do you start maladaptive daydreaming? Is there a specific time period you usually do it? Do specific tasks like brushing your teeth, listening to music, or taking walks seem to initiate daydreams? Do you find the daydreams are more encompassing when you’re isolated, scared, sad, tired, happy, hungry, energetic? Limit any triggers, and if you do have specific triggers that are unavoidable, use some of the techniques below to interrupt the flow into daydreaming. Remember: just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever.

Have Direct Open Dialogues with Yourself

Instead of talking to an imagined person in your head, be direct with yourself. You can do this aloud, or in your head, or on paper. Recently as I started getting into a loop, I paused and asked aloud “Do you want to live in your head or in the present?” and then I laughed. I closed the drawer I had left open from some other task, stood up, and returned to this article. Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world that this is one of your challenges. We all develop tools and techniques that allow us to survive, and if they become maladaptive, hopefully, we replace them with healthier coping mechanisms. The fact that you’re reading this article means you’re on course to do just that!

Just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Switch Gears Into Analytic Action

If you can successfully switch gears into an analytic action, then you may be able to keep yourself there or at least cut the daydreaming short for awhile. According to National Geographic, daydreaming requires the empathetic part of your brain, and engaging with that part of your brain actually disconnects you from the analytical part of your brain (which helps you make reasoned decisions and focus on cognitive tasks, like getting work done). When executive functioning turns on, your empathetic part of your brain turns off and vice versa, so if you can interrupt the empathetic part even by convincing yourself to do five minutes of some task your procrastinating on, that may be enough to lodge you into that task for longer.

Count in a Foreign Language or Recite a poem

Some tasks are so repetitive that they become easy daydreaming vehicles, like teeth brushing. I don’t know if counting in another language works because it interrupts the empathetic part of the brain but when I deviate a daydream while I’m brushing my teeth into specific, focused language then I short circuit the daydream. It might have to do with it also not being possible to maintain two thoughts at once. Maybe this is also why the narrating aloud technique below also works well.

Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Narrate Your Actions

One of my techniques to disarming the maladaptive daydream reflex is when I feel myself drifting into another daydream, I start narrating aloud what I’m doing (first person narrative). If I’m putting things away, and I begin experiencing another place, then I might say “I’m picking up this stool. I’m moving this stool across the room. I’m folding this shirt. I’m picking up these socks.” I usually don’t have to do it for too many sentences before I begin to get more grounded in the room I’m actually in. I think it’s also important to bring yourself back to the “I.”

Track Your Time

This may sound extreme, but it works extremely well for me when I remember to do it. Tracking tasks as I’m doing them by the minute grounds me in the present. If I write 8:04AM and that I’ve begun writing next to it, and I begin writing, I might feel myself drifting off if I start playing a song or receive a text that makes me think about something else, but because I’ve already conscientiously thought about time, I’m more likely to return to my time tracking list to keep pursuing my day. So, I will try to do this as specifically as possible while writing minute details to remind myself: oh, this little task I’m doing isn’t actually what I want to be doing, or if I get lost in tasks for too long, time tracking also helps me curb that.

Example:

6:30–6:59: Woke. Brushed teeth. Read some poetry

6:59–7:27: Edited

7:27–7:39: Showered, dressed

7:39–8:44: Journaled, walked for 18 minutes with Nisaa’s book, started eating breakfast

8:44–8:52: Organized files

8:52: Coffee time!

9:00–9:20: Habit Spreadsheet

9:36–944: Ordered Paper and ink for printer :)

9:44-10:32: Work

10:32–11:15: Read

11:15–11:49: Scheduled upcoming events

11:49–1:09: Worked on literary magazine

1:09–1:28: Reviewed goals

1:29: Read

2:00–2:47: Catch up call with a friend

2:47–3:34: Updated some files

3:40–4:12: Organized papers

4:12 — 6:OO: Work

6:00— 6:40ish: Call

6:40ish-7:09: Showered

7:08–7:29: Work

7:29–8:31: Relaxation; read, listened to music.

It may seem an unreasonable way to spend your day writing tasks while you do them but so is imagining yourself in places you’re not and imagining yourself with people you’re not with. I would rather ground myself by taking some extra time to actively stay in tune with how I spend my time than not complete the tasks I really want to get that are important for my work, my writing, my existence! Some other things you might think about if you try this one: write your daily goals at the top of the page that you’re keeping track of your time on (I recommend three big daily goals like Michael Hyatt suggests). That way you’ll remember where it is you want your day to go. I don’t time track every day (I should), but I do find that even doing it for half the day helps me stay on track.

Talk to Your Doctor

Jayne Bigelson and Tina Kelley wrote an extensive piece for the Atlantic “When Daydreaming Replaces Real Life.” Within that piece, they detailed that one of the most effective medicinal treatments for maladaptive daydreaming is an OCD medication/antidepressant called Fluvoxamine. I’m not a doctor, and my first suggestion isn’t typically medication (here it’s the last), but if you’ve tried all other methods, this might be a fair road to take.

We all deserve to be present in our own lives. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Conclusion

Maladaptive daydreaming may feel an embarrassing thing to admit you do. I felt a little embarrassed writing this initially, but then I thought about the consequences of hiding. If what helps me can help others, how can I morally be silent? There’s no shame in identifying the methods by which you survived. Learning to be grateful and accepting of what helped you get to where you are creates more ease as you navigate your way out of these mechanisms into healthier states of being.

We live in a traumatized world, and as my therapist once said: “It’s normal to react abnormally to abnormal circumstances.”

That doesn’t mean you have to stay on that course. You can start where you are and learn a new of way of living. And, I will continue writing articles that support your wellbeing. Follow me here on Medium to stay updated on future posts around trauma, wellbeing, and writing. And please, take care of yourself.

[dreamweaversofficial]

Year Two, Chapter Four

The outgoing second years are waved off without fanfare, apart from a rather dramatic moment in which Garen pretends he’s going to lock himself into a closet and stay instead of going home. Lyric appreciates the theatrics, but she also knows he’s going to earn himself a scolding from multiple sources.

“If you don’t go now, they might search your stuff,” she points out casually. “And that means no contraband when you get back next year.”

“Neither of us want that,” Garen promises solemnly, climbing out of the closet, and gives her a handshake. “I’ll see you next year, partner.”

“Same to you, cowboy,” Lyric replies. He picks up his suitcase and backpack and, with a last grin, ducks out their dorm room to freedom. She anticipates many a photo of him failing at some form of magical sport or another upon his return.

After spending a moment eyeing the now half empty set of rooms, idly braiding her hair, and humming a pop song that’s been stuck in her head for a solid twenty minutes, Lyric pokes her neck out the door and scans the hallway. All the doors but one have been closed and presumably locked for the summer break.

Lyric contemplates her stash of remaining snacks, plucks one from the steadily shrinking pile, and voyages to the other open door.

“Knock knock,” she offers, leaning against the doorway.

“For the love of magic, Devon, I still don’t have your missing sock,” Reema snarls from her room, emerging into the commons. “Oh. Even worse.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who brought you food,” Lyric counters primly. She tosses the package onto the coffee table, which has been propped up on its side and wedged under the hammock. The cushions have been pulled from the couch and set on the ground, creating a fort.

Lyric looks at the frankenstein fort. “I wouldn’t have expected you two to be the kind of people that enjoyed… stuff like this.”

“We have fun sometimes, what a foreign concept for you goody-two-shoes students.”

“Wow, okay, goodbye,” Lyric says, spinning on her heel and speed-walking back to her room. It’s not that the comment was particularly devastating, or that the urge to retort was the farthest thing from her mind, but if she’s going to be living with this girl and only this girl (apart from the headmaster), they should at least not be openly hostile.

From down the hall, she can hear the loud crinkle of packaging being torn open.

There’s a quiet beeping coming from inside her room, and Lyric walks over hesitantly. The source of the unobtrusive noise, her contacter, is pulsing with a soft light. She scoops it up and holds it in front of her face to receive the message.

���Lyric,” Headmaster greets her warmly. “I know break doesn’t technically start until tomorrow, but I thought I’d give you and Reema some warning.”

“Warning?” Lyric repeats hesitantly.

“I’d like to give the two of you a project this time,” the woman explains. “Considering you’ll be third years soon. Have you given much thought to picking your track? We’ll need the selections from students in a month or two in order to organize classes.”

“I - have,” Lyric admits, biting her lip, “though I’d like more time to consider?”

“Of course. In the meantime, I’d like the two of you to develop new skills - typically, this is an assignment given to older students, but we have complete confidence in your abilities. We’d like for you to create something new with your magic. Something like an inventive spell, or plan of attack, or some form of research.”

“Like… together?”

“Yes, collaboration is key,” Headmaster says, distracted, her gaze drawn off screen. “So sorry, but I simply must go. There’s something requiring my immediate attention.”

There are far off-sounding screams.

“Tell Reema, would you?” With a final wave, the Headmaster hangs up, screen going dark and warm.

Lyric kind of wants to stab a man.

Just because she would like to get along with the person she’s stuck with for the summer doesn’t mean she wants to spend any more time in her presence than necessary. And creating a spell? Sweet magic. My one true weak point.

Okay, she has more than one weak point.

Turning her dread-filled gaze back toward the hallway, Lyric slips out of her room and then out of her dorm all together. At some point, she’s going to have to move into the third year dorms. Maybe she can find one that's flame retardant. Maybe you can stop setting things on fire, the tiny Garen in her head suggests. Maybe you can bring back a fire extinguisher, she mentally retorts, and promptly decides she’s losing her mind. Maybe having someone else around for the summer isn’t the worst thing, if she’s already talking to - herself? Does that count?

With that in mind, Lyric’s feet again guide her to Reema’s dorm. At least this time there’s some form of valid excuse. Does this count as a valid excuse? Is she going to be blown up in the midst of her explanation simply because she mentions the Headmaster? At least it would be an interesting way to go out.

“What’re you doing?”

“I accept death,” Lyric blurts, does an about-face, and shakes her head. “No, I meant -”

Reema leans against her doorway and smirks. “You offered.”

Lyric works her mouth for a few moments, grumbling. Her eyes zero in on Reema’s hands, clutched tight around crumpled packaging. Reema’s own gaze follows.

“You offered,” she repeats, a bit softer, a bit more defensive.

“I did,” Lyric agrees, the set of her mouth relaxing in response.

“... so?” Reema presses, folding her arms. “I assume you have a reason, unless you’re more active about your death wish than the usual thirteen year old.”

“I’m almost fourteen, actually,” Lyric replies absently, “I think.”

The other girl’s face twitches almost imperceptibly at the ‘I think’, and Lyric snaps out of the strangeness at the (least not outright) unhostile words. “We’re supposed to work on making a spell together. Or something.”

“I would’ve thought you’d have exact specifications ready,” Reema snarks, ring finger twining and untwining with her pinky.

Lyric watches the movement. “Do you - need them?”

“No,” Reema retorts quickly, “since I’m not doing it anyway.”

“You want a cookie cutter definition,” Lyric continues, smile tickling the corners of her mouth, sticky smoothness of chapstick wearing away from the movement. “Or a packet with a procedure. How’re you going to cleverly rebel if there are no instructions?”

“Open ended responses,” Reema hisses, throwing up her hands. She stalks back into her dorm, and Lyric doesn’t follow. The semi-admission is enough of an intrusion without being in her space.

“We’re gonna work on this!” Lyric calls after her. Reema uses a pulse of shadow magic to slam the door in her face, and Lyric leaves laughing. She’s faced bigger challenges.

.

.

.

When she returns the next day, bored of scribbling abstract drawings of Mentality, Reema’s door is firmly closed. Lyric knocks. Waits. Knocks again. Hums a little ditty under her breath.

“I know you’re in there,” she announces. “I can see the main room’s light coming from under the door.”

There’s more silence, then muffled grumbling, then smooth sliding-click noise of the door opening. Lyric, put together in her neatly done uniform, beams into the room. She needs the collaboration points, even if she has to wheedle Reema into doing it. Reema, in her torn jeans and paint-covered shirt that she must have packed from home, glares back. Clearly she doesn’t feel the same.

“Hey, partner,” Lyric greets her. Reema makes to slam the door closed again, but Lyric shoves her foot in and heroically avoids emitting a pain-filled whine. “Ready to do magic?”

“I do magic every day of my life,” Reema deadpans, scowling down at the offending foot.

Smile becoming somewhat more manic, Lyric sidesteps this comment and the door. Without crossing the threshold, she shoves it open a bit further.

“You love magic,” she says firmly.

“You love magic,” Reema contradicts, releasing the door and stalking away. “Not all of us are… you.”

“Can we just make an attempt?” Lyric shouts after her. “Think of how impressive it would be - to get in their good graces? Maybe they’d be more willing to compromise if you were!”

Reema stops in her tracks.

“You won’t regret this,” Lyric promises as the other girl spins on her heel and marches out the door, almost nailing her in the face as she goes.

Reema rolls her eyes. “I already do.”

Three explosions, an immense amount of screaming, and two casualties in the form of textbooks later, they’re staring down at a… substance. It’s glowing white, maintaining ridgid form in the shape of a circle. There are wisps of smoke coming off of its smooth shell.

“What in the name of Helena the Wise is that,” Reema demands, prodding it with a pencil.

“I don’t know!” Lyric wails. “I was trying to create a light source!”

She stares. “Why would you do that if we can already control light?”

Leg moving up and now as if exercise will reduce her stress, Lyric looks away. “I wanted to make something for people who can’t do magic. It always feels so… inspiring, seeing something implausible.”

“There is such a thing as electricity,” Reema points out, grudgingly.

“It doesn’t feel the same.” Lyric insists. Wordlessly, Reema reaches out and pulls the ball of magic towards herself, rolling it between her hands. Smoke leaks through her fingers at a steady rate, though the orb itself shows no signs of shrinking or dissipating. She teases at the curling mist with plucking motions as if playing an instrument.

“What does it feel like to you?” Lyric asks.

Reema stares down at her hands. Barely audible, she murmurs, “Like smoothing out clean fabric.”

It’s not the wondrous expression of delight Lyric feels when she does magic, like she’s filling up with breath and her concentration is so pure that she can do anything. It’s like singing a hard song and having to concentrate on nailing all the notes. Something in which she feels ethereal, like the light itself, instead of something so… blatantly ordinary.

Ordinary, something Lyric has spent her life trying to escape. Reema’s apparent longing for it is foreign.

It’s far, far too early to be asking about Reema’s family, but the question hovers on her lips like gossamer. Lyric snaps them closed when she feels them parting. Whatever truce the two of them have, whatever fragile agreement that prevents them from going at each other’s throats, breaking it seems unfathomable.

“Well,” Lyric says, stupidly, “we made something.”

Reema stares down at the orb. “I guess. If you could call this something.”

“I just meant we could turn it in to the Headmaster,” Lyric defends, stung.

“Or -” Reema licks her lips, gaze still stuck on their creation, and her fingers tighten infinitesimally. “Or we could try again. I mean, this is kind of shoddy.”

Lyric swallows in turn. “I suppose we could. To appease your pride.”

Reema looks up from the orb at last, makes eye contact, flicks away again, lands on the book spread in front of them. “We’d better get to work, then. Otherwise, this could take all summer.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Lyric agrees, and ignores the hesitant smiles spreading across their faces.

[lov3nerdstuff]

I Found {Part 6}

*Loki x reader*

Part: 6/8

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Loki finds himself stranded in Underworld, a kingdom hidden deep inside a desolate planet. In order to survive, he puts himself in the service of the tyrant king, who promises to give Loki his freedom back if he fulfills one simple task. Loki is to set out and bring the mad king his newest toy: You.

~A dangerous forbidden love. Abduction. Slavery. Tortured conscience. A mad tyrant... Escape?~

Request: A song fic based on 'I found' by Amber Run, requested by @strawberrysandcream

A.N.: I'm currently writing the eighth and last part of this small series ☺️ for now, I hope you enjoy this part!

All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!

______________________________

It took the guards a good two hours to come knocking on Loki's door. He'd expected them sooner, but as he'd previously realized, they weren't the brightest nor the fastest in their work, so their delay really wasn't all that surprising.

With as neutral an expression as it could be, Loki opened up and stared at them wordlessly, in perfectly feigned indifference.

"The king has summoned you." The guard in the very front stated in a more or less official manner, gesturing for Loki to come along. With a sigh and a wave of his hand, Loki killed the last sparks gloaming in the fireplace and closed the door behind himself before following the small group of guards towards the throne hall.

And while his exterior remained stoic and calm, his mind couldn't help jumping from thought to thought. Either this string of events led towards the desired results of his schemings, or to the consequences of their reveal. He dearly hoped for the former, but mostly assumed the later, thus already drawing up a plan b, plan c, plan d… anything that would prevent both you and himself from finding a sudden end today.

As he strode into the hall with his ever so elegant sauntering, the king's eyes fixed on him immediately, and Loki had to push his drawing up of plans to the back of his mind for the moment.

"Loki, my friend!" The king called out to him, and somehow Loki got the impression that this way of greeting was a rather obvious tell of what was to come. A task the king wanted to see completed. The pieces had fallen into place.

"Your majesty…" Loki shot him his brightest smile and bowed ever so slightly. "You summoned me?"

"I did indeed. I have come to hear some very unpleasant things, very recently…" He started in his slightly too highly pitched voice that was just too awkward to be seriously intimidating. Loki shivered internally nonetheless, kept on smiling nonetheless, even as he spotted Agatha surfacing out of the shadows of the throne. Alright… this could be very good or very bad.

"Sorry to hear, your majesty… How may I be of humble assistance with those unpleasantries?" Loki asked smoothly, not allowing himself to look at Agatha for too long and instead focusing on the king once more.

"You see, the problem lies with the new toy your brought me. It's not… blossoming, as required."

Maybe that's because of the soil you planted her on… Or the fact that she's a girl and not a fucking plant... Loki thought, but bit his tongue as the king continued.

"Now, as of usual, I would simply have you replace the toy with another that wasn't as dysfunctional. But because I have specifically picked her out myself, because I have WAITED for this one forever, I am willing to go at a length to have her repaired. Even by unusual measures that aren't quite to my preference." The king's voice spoke of both boredom and sheer unwillingness to spend more effort on anything than completely necessary. That was something Loki had counted on, and sincerely hoped for as well. But he still kept his mouth shut and let the king elaborate.

"As all the usual forces have failed to teach her the necessities to be put into my service, I was forced to consider other means of instruction. And as I consulted my council and staff, I have heard of your trustworthiness and unyielding ability to solve any problem thrown at you more times than I cared to count. How fitting, I thought, to leave it to the god who brought her here to teach her to function. And thus it was decided… you will repair my toy, make up for your precessors' failures, and you will be richly rewarded." He clapped his hands loudly, suddenly, and Loki could barely keep himself from jumping. "You will have until she is due to be presented, in two days. Then I think we shall have a fiest. To celebrate the crowning toy in my collection and your placement as the head of my council, or to celebrate two beheadings, should you fail to instruct her or try to refuse. Either way, we shall have a glorious fiest!"

Now, Loki had difficulties not to start straight out smirking right at the king's puffy, red face. Piece upon piece had fallen into place… and his plan was coming along quite nicely, if he dared to admit so. Surely there still was a lot of work to do, but this certainly was the fundamental basis for everything else to come.

Yet, this conversation wasn't over, and there remained things expected of him, remained an act to be put on. "Your majesty, why would you pick me for the job? How come you take such a risk?" He asked, yet again with that deep and smooth voice that spoke of nothing but comfort and ease.

"What risk am I taking though? I do not expect you to keep your hands to yourself anymore, but to teach her to fuck, and to please. I'm sure you know how to do that fairly well, more so than my other… guests. With that silver tongue of yours, I'm certain you have lured hundreds into your chambers back in your own world!" The king's raspy laugh thundered through the hall, and in combination with his words it made Loki feel sick to the stomach while also burning with rage. If only he could stab him once and for all… even if only to stop him from speaking. But then the current head of council would fall into power and that wasn't the least bit better. Loki had met the man, and he was probably even worse than the king. Disgusting, cruel and generally despicable. But in order for that to chance, he had to bite back the bile in his throat and put on the most wretchedly painful smile.

"I'm certain I can be of assistance, your majesty… I shall see to her training upon your very command." He spoke calmly, every word like venom dripping off his lips, while the small bow felt more soul crushing than breaking every single bone in his body.

"See to it that she will be brought to your cavern before word of this… incident spreads among even more curious ears. You're dismissed." The king sighed, waving his hand for Loki to politely fuck off.

Loki didn't need to hear it spoken twice and turned around in an instant, heading straight back towards the doors, only to find Agatha waiting for him there with two guards by her side.

He didn't even question it anymore as he let Agatha walk ahead, taking the 'official' way towards the cavern of your keeping, while the guards walked behind him.

"I see you have made friends among the king's staff." Agatha spoke up as the group made their way through the tunnels, the tone of her voice just subtle enough in its shift for only Loki to notice. "I'm sure the many reports of your kindness back to the king weren't what you wanted… As it has brought you into this dim situation."

"It's alright." He replied simply. "There is a task at hand and I intend to see it done."

"A reasonable choice, seeing as the king will demand proof of your good work during the fiest of the presentation… And he won't leave you out of his sight before that." The old woman sighed absentmindedly.

"Is that so?" Loki asked calmly, rising an eyebrow at the darkness on front of him. "Very well…"

Yet, nothing was well, as this wasn't part of the plan, and Agatha must've known that. Maybe that's why she was telling him now… warning him now, of things to consider. Loki hadn't meant for you and him to stay here until the presentation… neither to actually play his part behind closed doors.

Agatha drew Loki's attention back to her when she stopped abruptly, almost causing him to trip over her as she turned around to one of the seemingly very young guards. "Say, dear boy, why are you two jollies bothering with us? Isn't there order to triple guards at the eastern palace gates, or any nonsense like that?"

The guard looked taken aback for a moment, before looking over to his shrugging colleague next to him. "Uh… There's order to double guards at every entry point to the palace… But the two of us were specifically assigned to see you two and a girl to the guest quarters." He finally replied, reluctantly and carefully, but not the least bit smarter than Loki had expected.

"Oh, very well then." Agatha shrugged with a careless smile and walked on down the tunnel, but not before giving Loki a very expressive look.

Great… this was messing up his plans. Loki rolled his eyes at the darkness, trying to draw up a new plan as he thought that maybe this was the only connection between him and the tyrant king. Both tried to go the way of least resistance, of least effort and most gain.

And maybe that was exactly what made Loki somewhat predictable to him. He would have to keep that in mind for his following actions… as of now, his intricate plan to get you out of your cavern was working, at least.

Minutes later they arrived at the door, it was unlocked and Agatha went in to fetch you while the guards couldn't help but stare at the other girls greedily. Loki rolled his eyes… were all men down here primitive like that? Or just the ones in the palace?

The moment you came into sight, scared deeply but with that indifferent facade plastered onto your face again, Loki gave you a warning glare just before you could open your mouth. A second later your eyes fell upon the drooling guards, and a brief glimmer of understanding flashed through your gaze.

"Y/n, dear, remember Loki?" Agatha smiled at you almost in amusement, while you wouldn't stop staring at Loki. He stared back just the same, while Agatha spoke on. "He will see to your training from now on, until you're turned over to the king."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, and Loki's heart sank… he could imagine what you must be thinking. That he betrayed you, used you to get to this point… all those horrible things people always assumed of him. But he would get to explain soon enough.

Again, they took the official way to Loki's quarters, which was way longer than the dark path with the secret opening in the wall he had previously known. Only upon their arrival did the two guards excuse themselves to return to their posts, leaving Agatha, Loki and you standing in front of his door.

"I needed to stretch my definition of 'failing' quite a bit, you know…" Agatha was the first to speak up (how could it have been any different). "You could really have tried harder, Y/n."

Loki almost snorted, but bit his tongue in the last moment so only a small jerking of his upper body became visible. Agatha smiled, while you looked very much puzzled.

"I believe the shadows still do have ears, my dearest Agatha." Loki replied easily, quietly, but with an innocent smile. "And eyes that luckily cannot gaze through closed doors."

"Maybe ears that can gaze through closed doors nonetheless?" The old woman chuckled softly, then turned to you once more. "Don't worry, dear… I'm more than certain that Loki will keep you safe." With that she turned around and walked back to where the guards had vanished as well.

Without wasting any more time, Loki opened the door and led you into the dark cavern that lay behind it, closing and locking it behind you once more. Just to be sure, he sealed it with a muting curse to make sure nobody would come snooping.

In the blackness of the room, without anything to distract Loki's eyes, your shivery breathing stood out even more, as did the faint clattering of your teeth. With one swift move, Loki lit up a fire and the two torches on the walls.

You simply stood in the middle of the room, motionless, holding the cape tightly wrapped around yourself as you had before, while shivering ever so slightly.

"Are you alright?" Loki finally asked, concern lacing his voice as he finally allowed his facade to drop. You were safe with him, but he also felt safe with you. And while he didn't dare coming too close to you, to not scare you any more than necessary, he remained standing in front of you at an appropriate distance.

"I'm not entirely sure." You replied reluctantly. "Did I die and this is some kind of dream? Are you… real?"

The small smile that formed on Loki's lips was probably the most sincere reaction he'd shown in a long time. "Very real indeed. You're safe here, for now. And you're safe with me."

And as reluctant as your words had been, you took a step closer to Loki (much to his surprise) and ever so slowly placed a hand on his upper arm, gentle fingers tracing the patterns on his sleeve. Despite his many layers of clothes, the subtle touch sent a pleasant shiver through his body and made his skin tingle rather comfortably… a heavenly feeling, gifted to him in this hell by the savior that was you.

"You're real..." You breathed, eyes brightening up as you finally looked at his face. "I can touch you."

Something within him squeezed together, then his heart started beating inevitably faster, hammering against his ribcage at an impossible pace. Yes, he definitely had fallen in love with you, madly, impossibly, dangerously. But you didn't need to know that.

"Loki… can I hug you? Please?" You asked all of a sudden, calmly and easily and Loki could only nod, for his throat had completely closed up with wicked emotions he couldn't behind to work through. And so you did, cape slipping from your shoulders to pool at your feet as you stood on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck like it was the most natural thing to do. Loki on the other side needed a few seconds to let his own arms circle around your waist reluctantly, barely even touching you.

"You can hug me back, you know… if you want to, I mean." You said quietly, lips almost brushing against the delicate skin of his neck. "I'm not scared of you, Loki… It's okay."

Carefully, he tightened his grip on you more and more, letting your faint warmth wash over him like a comforting blanket. After a moment, leaning down got rather uncomfortable and thus he simply went ahead to lift you off the ground, holding you pressed against himself tightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, for it was the only place to sit at all.

"That's better, isn't it?" You smiled into his neck as you shifted to curl into him more comfortably, and once again Loki could only nod in return. Emotions were a mess, and actually allowing them to consume him was more difficult than any battle he'd fought, and probably more dangerous as well.

But after a moment of struggle, he finally found his voice again. "So you didn't once think that I could have had the wrong intentions in coming to visit you every night? That I might actually WANT to ravish you?"

And against everything Loki had assumed, you let out a small snort, then a soft chuckle as you still clung onto him tightly. "Alone the fact that you use words like 'ravish' tells me that you definitely didn't plot anything of the bad type."

"Good… I'm glad you know that." He said quietly, and hugged you the tiniest bit closer even.

"And besides that, I trust you. I don't really know why, but I do." You added in the same quiet, eyelashes brushing against the side of his neck ever so softly as you blinked, giving gentle, unintentional butterfly kisses to his sensitive skin. Loki's breathing hitched, and he cursed his body for showing signs of his affection, for betraying him.

"Thank you." He finally managed to say, staring first at the fireplace opposite to him, then at the flames' glowing shadows dancing across the mostly naked skin of your back and shoulders. He couldn't see much of you, all pressed against his own frame as you were, but what he saw was so utterly delightful that he closed his eyes to force his breathing to even out. Then, when he moved to pull back a little and loosened his grip on you, you were more than quick to keep him from doing so.

"Don't…" You said quietly, hiding your face in his neck as you held onto him tightly as if your life depended on it. "Please."

Again, his heart stopped and only continued beating after what felt like a silent eternity. "Alright… I won't let go." He replied in an equally quiet voice, calm and comforting, and for the longest time the only sounds to be heard were your quiet breathing and the soothing crackling of the fire.

Eventually your grip on him loosened up, the rising and falling of your chest and shoulders slowed down, and Loki knew you'd succumbed to exhaustion. It was impossibly late, after all… and now that he had (happily) served as a living heat source, it surely must've taken you a lot to not fall asleep any sooner. He enjoyed the feeling of having you in his arms… What moved him deeply though was the trust you obviously put into him. Sure, you'd said you trusted him, but Loki knew very well that words weren't always a reflection of the truth. Falling asleep in his arms however was very much a declaration of sincere trust, and he felt that shake him to the very core. In a good way.

Your trust was maybe the greatest gift, and the greatest responsibility he had ever earned himself (in which way, he still didn't know), and he would make sure that he would prove himself worthy of it. The thought made him roll his eyes at himself… worthiness wasn't as much his thing as it was Odin's or Thor's, but he felt that the term was fitting for once.

And as much as he would have LOVED to keep holding you right then, to just hide under the thick furs and away from the real world together, he knew that it might give off the wrong impression if he just got into bed together with you know. Thus he lifted you up again, carefully, tugged you in as good as he could manage, then made sure that you would be warm enough and finally he sat down on the ground in front of the fireplace. It might get a little cold without the fur covers, but he was a frost giant after all… he'd be fine.

For a while he ignored the physical world and retracted into his mind to come up with a new plan for how to get out of the palace and to the surface… only then the thought hit him that you might not even want to come with him. Sure, you'd run from the palace together, but would you want to stay in Underworld after that? No matter how much he would ponder over the question, it was of no use and he would have to ask you at some point. So he didn't let his mind get too far ahead and merely focused on a way to escape the palace for now. Yet… that proved to be difficult without also considering a possibility to get to the surface afterwards, and thus he found himself being drawn deeper and deeper into a direction he had never meant to go into. But it seemed inevitable now, and maybe it had been inevitable from the beginning, but not the least bit easier… Loki and you would start a revolution.

_______________________________

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Hope you enjoyed this! 💗 Tell me what you think ☺️ honestly, I'm kinda excited to move on to writing something different ☺️ yet, still gotta write part 8!

[yourmandevine]

Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so. 

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

Then:

Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months. 

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much.  Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.