#it’s also so funny to me that the tumble lines up almost perfectly to the start of their convo

[bentannin]

Super shit quality screenshots but I really appreciate the editors cutting to Ashton’s mini just silently tumbling over at 1:37:35 in the youtube vod because it was so unnecessary and perfectly illustrates their abysmal “6 charisma stat” cringefail energy and I love it

[liv-andletdie]

Zelink Week 2024 - Blooming

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) @zelinkcommunity

Summary: Link and Zelda grow their garden together, looking forward to the future and glimpsing back at the past. Connected to "Fading"

Ao3 Link [x]

---

The sun beat down warm and golden against his neck. Hot rays breaking through the clouds, their fire tempered only by the cool spring breeze that danced through the trees. He could hear the leaves around him sing as the branches swayed in their chorus. 

Wiping a hand across the back of his neck, spreading the sweat collected there, Link moved to standing. Before him lay the new bed she had requested, all neat and tidy. Their locations precisely selected, rocks and weeds and roots carefully and thoroughly removed. The grass itself had been difficult to deal with, but Link had managed, finding a secluded corner of their little garden in which to lay it. 

He had just now finished the final preparations on the soil. Leaning against his shovel he called out towards the well. 

“I’m ready for you out here, Princess.” 

He heard a huff from the well mere seconds before her blonde head popped up over the stones. Green eyes shining with a mix of frustration and mirth. 

“I told you,” She placed a small tray on top of the ledge, green sprouts in little rows ready to be planted. “When it is just the two of us, you call me by my name.” She held her hand up over the stones, and holding back a smile, he took it pulling her the rest of the way out of the well. 

“Of course Your Highness, how can you ever forgive me oh Princess?” 

“Silly,” He watched as she rolled her emerald eyes at him, her head shaking fondly in a way that said ”What am I going to do with you?. She tried to hide her smile behind her free hand, her other still wrapped perfectly around his. Her palm was warm and soft. Slight ink stains lined her cuticles, her nails were short and clean, slightly bitten down. That was one of the things he’d had to relearn about her. That she bit her nails whilst taking notes - that she’d never grown out of the habit, even after her tutor would rap her knuckles as punishment. 

He’d also had to relearn how bitterly angry that made him. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, pulling her hand up to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss against her knuckles. “I’m silly alright.” 

A soft pink flush covered her face, cheeks, nose, ears, and neck. Everything was aglow. That was another thing he loved about her. Whilst he was so quiet, his emotions hidden very carefully against his chest, she was so alive! Every thought, feeling, and desire was written across her face as easy to read as a children’s picture book. It made her so easy to tease, it was almost not funny. 

Almost. 

“Link!” She squealed, trying her best to shield her face with one hand. “You can’t do that! I wasn’t ready! Oh by Hylia, you’re such a bully!” Laughing, he pulled her into a hug. Hiding her face against his neck, he could feel the heat of her burning through his clothes. 

“Alright, I’m sorry I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“NO! Don’t say that!” She clung to him tighter “You can keep saying those things you just… you just have to warn me first!” 

Her hair was tickling his nose. It didn’t used to do that. She had cut it a week or so ago. Link remembered coming home one night to see her sitting at their table, her small vanity mirror and a pair of scissors in her hands. She had already taken the majority of the length off but was evidently struggling to neaten up the back. She had looked up at him then, an unspoken question hanging in the air, and he had finished the job. 

Afterwards she had lit up, her bright eyes shining like stars as she ran her fingers through her now shoulder length locks. Words of thanks and adoration tumbling from her lips as she flicked her head back and forth, this way and that. It suited her. (mind you, a burlap sack would suit her. His Zelda just had a way of making everything she touched beautiful.) 

Pulling himself out of the memory, Link pressed a kiss to her temple. 

“Okay, I promise to give you adequate warning before I say something sappy. Deal?” Her response was muffled against his collar bone, but he could just make out a faint ”Deal.”

“Wonderful!” Link pulled away from her just enough to scoop up the tray of nursery plants she had brought with her. “Now, where are we planting these?”

🎕 

Botany, Link had come to relearn, was Zelda’s 2nd (3rd?) great love. Her first being the Ancient Sheikah tech that she worked on with Purah and Robbie. Purah was actually in the process of developing her own version of the Sheikah Slate. A fact that had ignited something inside of Zelda when she had first heard the elder (younger) woman’s plans. She hadn’t been able to stop talking about it for weeks afterwards. 

It had made for some truly entertaining dinner conversations. 

(He did hope that her 2nd great love was himself, but seeing the way she was looking at the little green sprouts in her hands, he was happy to settle for 3rd,) 

“So, in the future I hope to attempt to cross the Cool and Warm Safflina and see if it produces a plant with a resistance to both heat and cold - or if it will leave us with just a regular flower. But for now, I think I would like to plant our cuttings side by side and monitor their growth in relation to each other.” Zelda leant over the new bed, her knees just barely touching the upturned soil. “I think it’s best to plant the Safflina on this side here as it’s more likely to get the most sun. Which means that we can plant the Swift Violets and the Blue Nightshade here.” Link watched as she dug her fingers into the dirt, marking out exactly where she wanted each bud to go. “Nightshade seems to grow better in the dark afterall.”

He nodded along, laying out her trowel alongside several markers with the names of the chosen plants printed on them in her neat script. Next to him sat the nursery buds. 

“Where’s the Silent Princess going?” Link asked, scanning over the names she had written on the markers. It was odd of Zelda to leave out her favourite flower. 

She sat back on her haunches, brushing the soil from her fingers. 

“I had considered that,” her voice was measured, as if she was working through her words like a complicated mathematical problem, double checking her own work as she did it. “The specimen you found in … in my old study had shown remarkable signs of growth.” She paused and Link watched as she stuck her fingers back in the soil. Grounding herself, taking root. She was still here… but she sometimes had to remind herself of that fact. 

100 years is a long time after all. 

“However, I still have been unable to replicate those findings, or even discover how it was that it managed to survive as well as it did. More tests are necessary.” A fistfull of earth fell from her fingers, her eyes catching on the clumps of dirt as they tumbled over the ground. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing we got Hudson to build you that well huh?” Link scooted closer to her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She tilted towards his touch like a flower chasing the sun, her face pointed towards his. “Give you somewhere peaceful to work where I can’t distract you.” 

Like wiping a wound clean, her expression changed. The hurt she had been trying to hide washed away as she rested her forehead against his. Content and calm together in the dirt. 

🎕

The planting went quickly with the two of them working together. Rows were measured and small holes were dug into the bed an inch and a half apart. Then, mindful of the fragile roots and petals, the two lay the nursery sprouts into their new homes, before Zelda marked each row with their name. And then it was time to add the mulch. 

“Do you think the children would enjoy this part?” Zelda pondered, packing the earth around a stem of Swift Violets. 

“Playing in the dirt?” Link shrugged, “They’re kids. I think they’d love it.” 

Zelda’s school children, the budding future of Hyrule and her proudest achievement. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of it. The children, following her like ducklings, listening intently as their favourite teacher explained what each flower did and how it grew. Four sets of hands digging in the dirt to help her plant more, a chorus of ”Miss Zelda, how does it know how to grow?” and “Miss Zelda, why is it green? filling the quiet of the garden. 

“You should bring them around.” He sprinkled more mulch. “Make it a field trip.” 

She turned to look at him, a shy smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Would you be okay with that?” He nodded. 

“You can teach them about the flowers we’re growing, get them involved.” 

“We could even expand!” She jumped up, trying to get a better view of the space. “If the children like the flowers we could build another bed with vegetables! Imagine Link, we can get seeds and roots and they can see how everything grows, from beginning to harvest!” She was pacing now, hands flapping excitedly as if she was about to burst from all her emotions. “We could even build it at the school, so they can see it everyday and track their progress! Oh, and we can get them to build it! Of course we’ll do the hardest part, removing the roots and stones and whatnot. But they would get hands-on experience that may even encourage them to try growing things at home!” 

She was practically bouncing now, her smile shining brighter than the sun. He loved her like this, in her element, thriving. No longer trapped behind walls or prayers - forced to be something she wasn’t. Standing up, he took a step towards her, holding her frantic hands in his. 

“That sounds wonderful, Love.” He couldn’t help the beaming grin that took over him, his own excitement quickly growing to match hers. “And at harvest, we can make a meal for all the kids so they can eat what they’ve grown.” 

She sighed fondly, “Everything comes back to food with you.” 

“You like my cooking,” he swung their joined hands between them. “I think I could have been a chef in another life.” 

She laughed at that, a soft chirping giggle that made his heartbeat skip. “Why wait? You could open a cafe tomorrow. You’d have people flocking from every corner of Hyrule to come and taste your food.” 

“We’re very busy people, Zelda.” He clicked his tongue, “We’ve got children to teach and a garden to plant. I don’t know if I’ll have time.” 

Her giggles got fuller and brighter until she was laughing with her whole chest, her smile reaching happy and wide, her eyes glittering like jewels. He tugged her hands, pulling her closer as her laughter eased. 

“Silly,” She chuckled, letting go of his hands to cup his jaw. Her thumb petted at the soft skin under his eye. “You’re being silly.” 

“Oh I’m being silly alright.” He sighed, leaning his cheek into her palm, his expression getting serious. “Zelda, this is your warning. I’m about to say something very sappy. Ready?” 

She let out a chuckle before theatrically tossing her shoulders back, making a show of steadying her feet. “Alright, I’m ready now.” 

“I love you.” His hands found her waist, his fingers bunching up the fabric of her shirt. “Thank you for starting this garden with me.” 

Zelda took a deep breath, truly steading herself. “I love you too.” Silver tears lined her eyes as the two of them met in the middle. A soft kiss, a loving embrace, and as the two pulled apart he wiped that tear from her cheek 

“So, what should we plant for the kids? I can get some Pumpkin seeds from Kakariko, do you think they’d like that? 

Fin 

[ameliora-j]

twin flame // gw x reader

words: 3.8k

series genre: angst, fluff, smut (all in due time)

warnings: jealous george, angry george, charlie x reader kinda, mentioned ronmine, mentioned hinny, mentioned bleur, percy weasley slander, alcohol consumption, spitting kink (sorta if you squint), cringey pet names, mediocre writing at best

a/n: idk how many parts this will be,, maybe 5. but i already have the ending in mine. happy reading loves!

part two | part three | part four

twin flame (n.): an intense soul connection, sometimes called a "mirror soul," thought to be a person's other half. it's based on the idea that sometimes one soul gets split into two bodies. one of the main characteristics of a twin flame relationship is that it will be both challenging and healing. this is due to the mirroring nature of a twin flame; they show you your deepest insecurities, fears, and shadows. but they also help you overcome them and vice versa—your twin flame will be equally affected by you.

george weasley. what could you say about george weasley? he is… charismatic. funny, charming, fiery, pretty. everything. george is everything. he’s your best friend, of course, since the two of you were young. your fathers worked at the ministry together, so you and your siblings had playdates with the weasley siblings all the time, whether it be at your house or at the burrow. george is three years your senior, and he’s extremely protective of you. more than your soulmate, george is your twin flame—platonically, of course—that’s all that it would ever be. solely a platonic connection. at least that’s what you thought…

after the war, you and george became even closer. something about both of your lives being put on the line brought the two of you that much closer. after the war, you moved into the apartment above the joke shop with fred and george and began working as the store clerk and attendant. your parents had, unfortunately, died in the war and left just you and your siblings. when you told your older brother that you couldn’t stay in the house filled with memories, he completely understood. fred and george offered you to stay with them, and how could you say no to your favorite twins and your best friends? and besides, fred wouldn’t have let you say no. especially after you saved his life, pushing him out of the way of the falling debris. (fred weasley is alive. no i don’t take criticism.)

the transition was possibly the easiest thing you had ever gone through in your life. living with fred and george was a dream. it was all late night movie dates and cooking dinner together which ended up with the three of you throwing various ingredients at each other and laughing your heads off. this meant that you guys often ended up flooing to the burrow, and eating whatever it was that molly made for dinner that night.

that leads us to another point. molly. she absolutely adores you. she thanked you a million times over for saving fred’s life, it’s not something that she would ever let you forget. she’s like your second mom, and she thinks the world of you. everytime you saw her, she was sure to remind you that you could just give her a call if fred and george ever got out of line and she would be sure to put them back in check. not that you ever needed to, the twins were lovely to be around.

you were finishing up with your last customer of the day as george was locking up the doors and fred was beginning to clean up. just as the last customer walked out, george walked up to you and sat atop the counter in front of you as you were wiping it clean. “oh, please make yourself comfortable,” you remarked sarcastically as you threw away the clorox wipe.

“thanks love, i did,” he smirked. you rolled your eyes with a giggle as you began your count of the money in the register. “so as you know… we’re closing the shop up for christmas,” he began.

“georgie, if you have something to ask then please ask it,” you lightly teased.

“mum wants you to come to the burrow for christmas. i, of course, would also love for you to come. but mum’s threatened me a million times over if i don’t ask. i told her that you had your own family but she absolutely insisted at least ask you. she also told me to tell you that charlie would be there. as well as ron and hermione and harry and ginny and bill and fleur,” george spoke.

“well gosh, if charlie’s going, then i have to be there. after all, he is the hottest weasley brother,” you joked. if you weren’t so oblivious, then you would’ve noticed the look on george’s face after your harmless joke. you would’ve noticed the way his jaw hardened and his nostrils flared. you would’ve saw that way his gaze turned icy and the vein in his neck began to protrude in just the slightest as his face turned the slightest shade of pink. and you absolutely wouldn’t have missed the way that his chuckle wasn’t truly one of humor. you wouldn’t have missed how tense he became and you definitely wouldn’t have missed the ice in his tone when he replied.

“good one, love. are you coming or not?” the words were harsh, but you paid no mind. you didn’t catch it, but fred did. you also didn’t catch the harsh glare that fred sent his twin brother. or the way that he mouthed harsh words at him as he fixed him with an even harsher glare. but of course… you were oblivious. to you, george saw you as nothing more than a very good friend. a younger sister even. after all, you were ginny’s age. but to george…? to george he saw everything.

you were charismatic. funny, charming, fiery, pretty. gorgeous even. you were… ethereal. you were george’s everything and he was your’s. but the two of you didn’t know that. both of you were hiding a huge secret from each other. one that neither of you dared reveal. you didn’t dare tell anyone. your crush on george weasley was a secret that you were absolutely prepared to take to your grave. nobody knew. okay well that’s a lie… harry knew. but that’s only because the bugger was practicing his stupid legilimency and failed to tell you that you were the subject.

your heart fell to your ass when you heard the loud gasp harry let out and you turned to see his wand aimed at you. “you like-“ you practically flew across the gryffindor table and shoved your hand over his mouth before he could reveal your secret. the action had all heads turning to you, causing you to sheepishly smile and offer a wave before pulling away from him, demanding that he follow you. “you like george?!” he whisper shouted once you had finally lead him into an abandoned classroom.

“yes, but harry please don’t say anything, you have to swear it on your parents!” you exclaimed.

“that seems a brash, no?” harry raised a brow.

“swear it, potter! or i’ll hex you into oblivion,” you threatened.

“i swear it! i swear it!” he put his hands up as if in defense. you nodded once before pivoting on your heel. “he likes you too,” he spoke behind you.

“stick your foot in your mouth!” you grumbled, stomping away.

~~

it was three days before christmas, and you fred and george were fully packed. you were sat in george’s room, kneeling on the floor as you packed your last few items and began to zip your bag. there was a soft knock on the door before it opened. “all ready, butterfly?” george asked. that’s another thing about the weasley twin—he had called you butterfly for as long as he could talk. you figured that it was because the two of you would chase butterflies together when you were little. once, a blue monarch landed on your nose, causing you to let out the sweetest giggle. if you ask george, he’d tell you that it was that exact moment that caused him to fall in love with you.

you looked ethereal. the way the blue monarch landed gently on your nose and you just let out the purest giggle. “georgie, look!” you exclaimed quietly so as not to frighten the creature as the giggle fluttered in your chest and tumbled past your lips. it was then that he knew. the sun shone on you so perfectly, like a spotlight almost. like the ball of fire in the sky was made for you and you only. the smile on your face was unmatched as continuous giggles spilled past your lips and your hair cascaded down your back. george fell in love with you that day. and at that moment, he decided that he would stop at absolutely nothing to see you smile like that again. to hear you giggle like that again. in that moment, everything was okay. there was no wizarding war. no death eaters and no voldemort. no dark thoughts and no fear. there was just you and george. and the pretty blue butterfly that made him fall in love.

you looked up at him and shot him a smile before nodding. he offered you a hand and you took it, allowing him to pull you up from the floor. he carried your bag down the stairs for you and the three of you stood in front of the fireplace. “you first, butterfly,” georgie smiled and kissed your head. you stepped into the fireplace and fred handed you the floo powder. you called out your destination before throwing the powder. you stepped out at the burrow and were immediately tackled into a hug.

“y/n/n!” ginny exclaimed, lifting you from the ground and twirling you in the air.

“hi gin,” you wrapped your arms around her neck as a giggle tumbled past your lips. fred stepped out after you, and her reaction was less than thrilled to see him. she simply waved after she set you on the ground, dragging you into the living room as she ignored the younger twin that had now also stepped out of the fireplace.

“great to see you too, baby sister,” george teased lightly.

“don’t care george!” she called. you greeted arthur and molly before kneeling in front of the coffee table in the living room. charlie, hermione, fleur, and harry were each sat on the couches and ginny kneeled next to you. “sooo… tell us everything!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“about what?” you asked with a giggle.

“about george!” she whisper shouted as she slapped your shoulder.

“there’s nothing to tell, gin. he’s my best friend, he has been since we were young,” you explained, trying to force the heat that was creeping up your neck away.

“bullshit, y/n! harry already told me, now spill it all!” she demanded.

“harry!” you pressed.

“she threatened me if i didn’t tell her!” he exclaimed. “and i’m more scared of her than i am of you,” he defended with a nervous gulp.

“well i didn’t tell anyone, y/n. only fleur and hermione,” she waved it off.

“dude!” you slapped her shoulder.

“well we didn’t tell anyone, mon amour,” fleur assured as she sipped her drink.

“i… may have accidentally let it slip to charlie a few minutes ago…” hermione spoke sheepishly.

“you told charlie?! he can’t keep a secret to save his life!” you whined.

“hey, ‘m right here!” charlie defended. “and i didn’t tell anyone but my dragons, and they can’t speak. so i’m doing better than eighty percent of the people here,” he smirked.

you groaned as your entire body heated up in embarrassment. “this is awful. absolutely awful, ‘m gonna die. if he ever finds out i’ll actually die. what am i gonna do?” you whined as your arms came up to cover your face.

“we’re gonna make him jealous, bunny,” you heard charlie’s voice and suddenly the burly, bearded man was straddling you and pinning your arms above your head.

“what are you on about, weasley?” you glared, skeptically.

“well y/n/n, it’s no secret that you’re… well… a huge pussy,” gin began.

“hey!” you exclaimed indignantly.

“she’s not wrong,” charlie defended, causing you to turn your glare to the astronomically muscled man that still had you pinned to the floor with one hand, using zero of his strength. you had tried fighting him off, but you gave up as you had been squirming and struggling for upwards of forty seconds, and the man hadn’t even budged, nor had he broken a sweat. it took zero effort for him to pin your body to the floor as he straddled your waist and kept your arms pinned down with one hand.

“okay so, what’s your diabolical plan, gin?” you asked as you let out a sigh.

“actually, it’s my plan. the same thing i did to ron with viktor, you’re going to do to george with charlie. you’re going to use charlie to make him jealous. the both of you will be here at the burrow for a few days at least, and george will as well. you make that boy suffer. make him want you. force his hand, make him make a move, whether he wants to or not,” hermione explained.

“charlie’s already agreed to help so you can’t say no. we don’t want to hear it,” harry shook his head.

“you told him ‘accidentally?’” you looked at hermione in disbelief as you put the word in air quotes… well as best as you could with your hands pinned above your body.

“no it was absolutely on purpose. we needed his help. bill’s already married, ron’s got mione, no one likes percy, and fred’s his twin so george would be able to manipulate the situation and act like fred and make you spill all the beans,” ginny said.

“i like percy,” you weakley defended the third weasley sibling.

“no you don’t!” harry accused.

“no i really don’t, he gave me four detentions in one week during first year,” you grumbled.

“merlin’s balls, four?!” charlie exclaimed above you. “why so many?”

“i didn’t know how to tie my tie,” you pouted. “and it was a violation of uniform, so instead of being a nice person and teaching me, he served me detention everytime it was untied,” you told them.

“yeah percy’s sort of an asshole,” you all murmured agreements at harry’s statement before molly called you to the kitchen for dinner. charlie stood up before pulling you to stand and you all walked to the table. you sat between charlie and bill, and across from george. you missed the strange look he gave when you didn’t take your usual place beside him as you were too absorbed in your own mind with how the plan was going to go and if everything would go according to plan or not.

“so, y/n, dear how have you been?” molly asked. “we’ve missed you dearly. i’ve caught up with all of my children except for you, what’s it like living with the rowdiest of my boys?” she asked, kindly.

your face heat up again as molly called you one of her children before you began to answer. “it’s awesome. fred and george are sweethearts. i’m the attendant and the clerk at the joke shop and it’s honestly just… a dream. i really love it,” you smiled widely as you talked about life with the twins.

“and uhm… any… special guys?” ginny pressed, gently nudging your shin with her foot under the table.

“ginevra weasley!” molly chastised.

“what, mum?! it’s a genuine question!” ginny defended.

“nothing serious,” you shrugged with a nervous chuckle. “there is a guy that i guess i kinda have a crush on. but i think he sees me as nothing more than a friend,” you shrugged, telling the truth about your crush on george, but turning your gaze to charlie before averting your gaze quickly. you heard a deep chuckle come from charlie on your right before he pat your thigh, causing heat to rush through your entire body once again. this time, you didn’t miss the unmistakable clench in george’s jaw and the way his nostrils flared, signifying that he was positively pissed.

~~

the rest of dinner went by completely uneventfully. it was rather quiet actually, untill it was time to clean up. you, ginny, hermione, and fleur helped molly clean the table and the dishes as the boys all went to the living room. “well,” molly began as the dishes were finished. “percy, your room has been turned to storage, sorry dear. fred and george’s beds have been moved to ron’s room, so there are four beds in there, and your room holds all my knitting. charlie’s room is available, as well as bill’s and ginny’s. you may decide how you all sleep,” molly offered you all a smile before she and arthur bid you all goodnight and went up to his room.

“gin, you can share with hermione and y/n, yeah? perce, you and i can share my room. bill and fleur will take his, and george, fred, ron, and harry can all sleep in ron’s room. sound good?” charlie laid it out. everyone agreed with a small shrug and no arguments. “perfect. now that that’s all out of the way. gin, where do mum and dad keep the firewhiskey?” charlie smirked evilly.

ginny squealed excitedly as she stood and rushed to the kitchen. she came back with two bottles of firewhiskey and bill and charlie got blankets before you all went outside. the guys laid out the blankets by the fire pit as george and fred began to start the fire. “c’mon, bunny,” charlie motioned you over. “come sit with me,” he pat his lap.

heat rushed through your body for the fifth time that night as you stalked over to the man and sat beside him. he pulled you to be sitting in between his legs and your breathing picked up just slightly as a million and four nerves ran all throughout your body. “really need you to relax f’me, bunny,” he whispered into your ear as he brushed your hair off your shoulder, purposefully brushing his fingers across your neck, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin where he had touched. his arms wrapped around your shoulders and he pulled your back to rest against his chest. “s’just me. y’ve known me your whole life,” he reassured you gently.

“just you,” you scoffed. “just you who is literally the hottest weasley brother and possibly the hottest man on the planet. just you who i’ve had a school girl crush on since i was five. just you who is actually sex on legs,” you rolled your eyes. “just you,” you mocked with another scoff as you shook your head.

charlie openly laughed at your small rant, causing you to elbow him in the ribs. “okay, okay, sorry bunny. but really, i need you to relax. georgie won’t be jealous if he sees how tense you are around me,” he reasoned as he began to gently massage your neck and shoulders before moving his hands down to your collarbones and continuing back up, effectively loosening your muscles, causing you to relax more into him.

“alright. lads, ladies, ron…” ginny began. ron furrowed his eyebrows before turning to glare at the insult from his little sister. “truth… or drink?” ginny smirked as she held up the bottle. “everyone drink enough to get you feeling it and then pass it along so we can start and nobody can tell lies,” she laid out the ground rules before she drank the firewhiskey.

you, fleur, ginny, and hermione drank significantly less than the guys as it took more for it to hit them than it did to hit the four of you. you giggled drunkenly from your place underneath charlie’s chin as you began to feel the effects of the firewhiskey. it was unexpected, but you weren’t complaining as charlie’s strong, veiny hand wrapped around your throat and pulled your head back to look up at him. you let out an involuntary whimper as he poured the firewhiskey into your mouth and you quickly swallowed it, causing him to smirk (basically this tiktok). “good girl,” he whispered as he kissed your forehead, making you let out another small noise of satisfaction.

“okay!” george called loudly, interrupting your moment, and making you smirk. everything was going according to plan. “i’ll go first then, freddie,” he called. fred turned to look at him with a raised brow. “what’s going on with you and johnson, then?”

“nothing, you know that, mate. went to the ball as friends in fourth year, we keep in touch but we’re nothing more than friends,” fred shrugged.

“so you wouldn’t mind if i made a move then?” george asked, turning to look at you, tauntingly. your jaw clenched and your nostrils flared as you felt a big, green cloud of jealousy begin to blossom deep within your chest.

“uh… go ahead,” fred shrugged, confusion lacing his tone. “ginny, have you and harry had sex yet?” fred asked.

“blue. y/n, which of my brothers do you want to fuck the most?” ginny totally ignored fred’s question and gave you a chance to fire back at george with your own rage.

“charlie,” you answered quickly, staring back at george just as tauntingly, jaw still clenched, glare hard and icy. george’s jaw clenched harder if that was even possible and you didn’t miss the eye roll. “mione, are you and ron official yet?” you moved on.

“no, not really. we’re exclusive to each other, but he hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend yet,” she answered, doing her best to ignore the tension in the air.

you and george’s eye contact never broke throughout the entire game. your faces never changed. it turned into a competition of who could make the other more jealous. your faces were set in stone. jaw’s clenched. nostrils flared. glares icy. tones cold whenever you answered a question. one thing you knew for sure… this week with the weasleys was gonna be a shit show. it would either end in heartache or a new relationship. who knew?

the week brought upon two options. you came to a fork in the road. option a would pour gasoline onto your twin flame. expanding it untill it exploded and brought upon a future for you and george that was even brighter than your flame. option b would pour water onto your twin flame, completely fizzling it out. destroying the most amazing friendship you’d ever come to be apart of.

you truly hoped it would be option a. with your whole entire being, you prayed to godric, and salazar, and helga, and rowena, and merlin, and every single one of the gods you knew that would listen that it would be option a. but with the way that just tonight alone was going… your hope slowly began to fizzle out.

you fell asleep with that prayer in your mind. you fell asleep hoping the week would fuel your twin flame. you fell asleep with both george and charlie weasley running all through your head. wondering just what was going to come about. the night was long and completely restless. you could do nothing but sit and wait. to see what would result of your twin flame.

one thing you were completely sure of was that you would make george weasley your’s. just like hermione said, you would force his hand. you would make him want you.

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[ptergwen]

hi!! can i request something like this-

calling peter baby on accident while still being his best friend and he teases her with cute pet names and confesses that he likes her too 🥺🧡

thanks so much! 🌈🤍

heart broken like into a million tiny pieces thank you....

“and then, this girl got her doll stuck in a tree, so i had to get it for her,” peter rants to you about patrol, the two of you lounged across your bed. it’s become routine for him to sneak in when he’s done and tell you all his stories from the day. they’re usually funny, which makes you laugh, and peter loves to make you laugh.

“how does that even happen?” you wonder, eyebrows furrowed. he rolls onto his stomach to look at you. you’re propped back against your pillows. “right? like, it’s usually a cat or something.” peter rests his head on his arms, lips pressed into a line. “damn. peter climbing a tree,” you hum to yourself, trying to picture it. he’s grinning up at you. “nah, i just...”

he pokes his tongue out and mimes shooting a web, a smile spreading across your face. “thwipped it,” peter clarifies, the expression drawing a curious laugh out of you. “i know you didn’t just make thwip a verb.” playfully flicking your knee, he moves in closer to you. “it’s my word. i can do whatever i want with it.”

peter goes up your body until he’s laying on your stomach, close enough to your heart that he can probably feel and hear how fast it’s beating. he never seems to realize what he’s doing to you.

you’ve been playing the game for a while, seeing how long you can keep your feelings in before they tumble out of your mouth, into the world. every game has a winner, doesn’t it? that means there��s also a loser. the outcome for one of you wouldn’t be so good.

letting out a content sigh, peter nuzzles his face into your shirt. his arms wind around your waist, and you can almost see him smiling. “yeah, i’m good here. night,” he decides, the cuteness of it all messing with your mind. “night, baby,” you giggle out, not processing what you said and instead dozing off with peter on top of you. oh, he heard you loud and clear.

he’ll tell you about it in the morning. right now, he’s perfectly happy sleeping like this.

you’re still sprawled across your covers when you wake up, peter now next to you. your eyes land on him and his wicked smile. that’s never good. “morning, baby,” peter coos, reaching over and brushing some hair out of your face. never mind, this must be a dream. you aren’t up yet. he tries to figure out what’s going on in your head, looking at you expectantly.

something about those two words is oddly familiar to you. you think about the last time you heard them, or anything like them, and then it clicks. you accidentally called peter baby last night.

completely humiliated, you hide your face in your hands. game over.

“aw, princess. what’s wrong? got a case of the monday’s?” peter teases and takes your hands in his so he can see you. you pout your lips out at him. “i didn’t mean to...” you’re not sure you can say it. “to what, darling?” he murmurs, pressing your intertwined hands to his cheek. you’d be thrilled under different circumstances.

he’s making this so much more embarrassing than it needs to be, and clearly enjoying it. one more pet name, you’re kicking him out and banning him forever.

“don’t worry about it, y/n/n. it was kinda sweet...” phew, you’re safe. “baby girl,” peter finishes off. he kisses your palm, eyes staying locked with yours. you pull your hand back from him and roll onto your other side. you’re never speaking to him again. with a small smile, peter grabs your arm. “hey, i’m serious. i liked it.” “you’re making fun of me,” you mumble into your pillow.

“i’m not making fun of you. i was making us even.” to see if he’s kidding or not, you twist back around. his face is serious now, arms open for a hug. you can’t deny one of those. you let him hold you, by your middle, your own arms hanging over his shoulders. peter leans in so he can speak quietly, his lips brushing your ear. “i like you, y/n.” “i...” you exhale, everything falling into place. “i like you too, pete.”

he pulls back to give you a look, a look you somehow understand. “baby,” you correct yourself, this time the word leaving your lips with no hesitation.

[sigmalied]

Preview: Bly Anniversary Fic

Please enjoy this preview of a new, currently untitled Damie fic I have in progress. The preview is ~1,000 words of the fic’s opening section, establishing the premise of the story which is expected to be, at completion, around 15-20k words. Hopefully I can meet my self-imposed Oct. 9 deadline, but if not, the fic will certainly be completed sometime during the month of October. Preview starts below the read more line, thanks for reading.

— — —

At a loud metallic click, Jamie swiftly retracts her hands from the sink. Beneath the kitchen’s warm overheads she wipes suds away from her fingers to inspect her wedding ring, victim of an acute collision with the half-washed pan abandoned to soapy depths. Once she deems its golden gleam unblemished, Jamie dips her hands back in to work at a more cautious pace.

Several steps away, Dani speaks into the phone handset tethered to the wall. She’s engrossed with her conversation and hasn’t noticed Jamie’s near-mishap. Upon stealing a glance in her direction, Jamie eavesdrops Dani saying, “Mom, it’s fine. The room is perfectly fine. Don’t worry about us.”

Jamie finishes the pan, proceeds to cooking utensils, and lays out each on a towel beside the sink. She pauses to dry her hands and cuff one sleeve of her burgundy jumper to her elbow, from where it has unfolded and tumbled down the length of her arm.

It’s the twentieth day of December, 1996, and even as the holiday season races toward its holly-decked climax over weeks of planning, Jamie still struggles to accept this course of events as real and imminent. Within mere days they’ll be in Dani’s home state, visiting her mother and childhood surrogate family. Not under the strict guise of roommates or business partners, but as a married unit. The notion is almost too slippery and fantastical to commit to truth.

Defying all contrary expectation, Karen Clayton has invited them to stay in her house’s guest room — incidentally, what was once Dani’s childhood room — for two nights. Furthermore, Judy O’Mara is expecting them at her Christmas Day party, an event reserved for family, of which Dani has historically been considered a member. Jamie always found it remarkably generous, that the O’Mara clan continued embracing Dani as their own after the death of the one man linking her to them. And even now, with Dani married to someone wholly unrelated and, frankly, highly unorthodox, still they extend themselves to her.

Concealment has been Jamie’s lifelong aegis. Do not speak. Do not reveal. Do not confess. This policy keeps her ilk intact at the price of true freedom, but that is a small fee for a person who delights in privacy and has never required external validation to enjoy the details of her personal life.

Consequently, this trip is vastly more for Dani than for herself. Her own family is infinitesimal; Jamie intimately understands the pain of isolation and would see to it that Dani never has to suffer the same.

When Jamie next looks up, Dani meets her gaze and shares a secret expression. She rolls her eyes, crosses an arm over her middle, and taps her foot — all with a smile.

“Mom.” Dani adopts a tone of warning. “I’m gonna say something right now. You know what I’m gonna say.” Following a few seconds of silence, Dani delivers on her threat, “Jamie and I are married. Not only is one bed fine, it’s also big enough. I remember how big it was. It’s plenty of space.”

Highly amused, Jamie tears her attention away to resume her chore. Soon after, Dani concludes her call and helps stow dishes in their cabinets. Over the ceramic clatter, Dani shares, “You know what she said to me? She said: just don’t do anything weird.”

Jamie snorts. “Weird? Us?” She reaches to place a pair of drinking glasses on a high shelf. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know she’s happy to have us,” Dani says, filing a handful of cutlery into the appropriate drawer. “But I guess she’s still… adjusting. I try not to get impatient with her, because, well, she’s trying. I can tell she’s really trying.”

“Yeah,” Jamie softly agrees. “That’s a good thing. It’s great, actually.”

Dani flashes a smile before continuing to think aloud, “And then there’s Judy. She’s so excited to meet you. I talked to her this morning. She asked if there’s anything special she could make you for dinner on Christmas, in case you’re not used to our food.”

“Been here almost a decade,” coolly remarks Jamie. She hangs the damp dish towel on the oven’s handle to dry and leans back against the sink. “Funny how everyone’s still under the impression that I’ve just stepped ashore.”

“She’s just trying to be welcoming. So, what should I tell her?” Following a giggle, Dani asks, “How about a nice mince pie?” She approaches Jamie to lay teasing hands on her middle.

Jamie suppresses a laugh. “Wouldn’t refuse one, but I’m definitely not putting anyone through the spare effort. As long as there’s turkey and gravy, I’m set.”

As Dani slides her hands around Jamie’s waist to hold her, Jamie lowers her gaze to admire the sedated plaid of Dani’s skirt. Her serene smile fades at a coalescing thought. Jamie asks, “They all know, right? We’re not surprising anyone?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m, uh, you know—”

“British?” Smiling with mischief, Dani frees a hand to tuck an unkempt lock of hair behind Jamie’s ear, then sweetly cradles her cheek in her palm.

While nearly nose-to-nose, Jamie struggles to contain her amusement and lowers her voice to say, “That I’m a woman.”

Dani’s smile loses a shade of vibrance during her contemplation. She strokes a conciliatory thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone before responding at length, “Mostly everyone.”

Jamie releases a steady sigh through her nose and peers downward, at their feet, to sever her gaze from Dani’s.

“Jamie.” Dani beseeches her returned attention. “It’s okay. Judy said she’ll make sure we feel welcome. She said not to worry about a thing.”

“She really said that? Exactly that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

When Jamie meets her eyes again, she’s hesitant, but eventually concedes a hushed, “Okay.”

Dani strokes the side of Jamie’s neck, to the collared shirt peeking out from beneath her jumper. There she tidies creased fabric then slides farther down to clutch her hand, still dishwater-warm. Quietly, Dani asks, “Do you know how much it means, that you’re doing this for me?”

A coy purse of lips precedes Jamie’s answer. “At least a bit more than the time I brought you ice cream after you sprained your ankle?”

“Yeah.” Dani laughs, her kind eyes illuminated by humor and affection. “Even more than that.”

[mypersonmyg]

Tebori Tapioca | JJK

**beautiful banner made by @monvante​ <3

pairing: Jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, love at first sight,  tattoo au, tea shop au

wc: 15k

warnings: language, slow burn???

summary: a shining beacon in a sea of monotony OR you just might believe in love at first sight

a/n: hi friends, umm so yea this is a fic i’ve been cooking up for a while and as seems to happen with most of my fics there’s definitely room for more but i didn’t wanna go overboard because the last time i did no one read womp womp...

ANYWHO there’s still very much room for this universe to grow whether it be drabbles, smaller oneshots or whatever so if you have requests pls send them !! for this au or any others

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

Sunlight filters through an open storefront, natural light shading the room in incandescent glow, the honk of horns  just overstating the chirp of the birds perched in overarching trees that line the street. Lights are still lit, strung throughout branches despite the hour slowly inching toward noon. 

Your pencil taps a worn pad, the hundredth rotation of the dormant rectangle of sheets providing no more inspiration than ninety-nine and below. You shove the contents along a desk littered in your crumpled defeat, legs kicking to the wooden surface with comforting intent. 

It’s not unusual, the stray of your eyes to the shop just a few buildings from the florist decorating the opposing side of the street. A work in progress, a work almost in completion. It’s become a game, the guessing of its contents, the colorful display before it’s displayed intriguing to many passersby. You’re close to pondering a new theory when Jimin interrupts with his entrance from the back, reciting safety to Namjoon’s latest masterpiece. 

He whistles an impressive tune following the departure of a satisfied client, rounding his occupied desk and knocking your feet from his cluttered surface. You don’t have time for the countered glare of offense before his words are zeroed in as if he’s been waiting to direct them long before now when your guard is readily disarmed. “You have an office for a reason, why do you always have to sit at my desk.” 

“It’s a nice view.”

“I’ll admit that my delicate features leave nothing to the imagination, but I’m tired of cleaning up after you.” His words are emphasized by his hand’s routine swipe, piles of paper tumbling to the can beside him in rapid succession. Your eyes roll, Jimin’s fingers already beginning to type away on his desktop while your pupils track the delicate arch of his digits and your ears listen to the satisfying click of keys. The consideration of locking yourself away in your office trapezes along the wide expanse of your mind, but before it’s made up Jimin is speaking again, this time with an air of factual superiority. “A tea shop.”

“Hmm?” 

“The shop down the street, it’s a tea shop.” 

“You sound pretty confident,” You hum, eyes darting to the window, turquoise staring back in the fashion of awnings and fresh paint bordering a wooden frame. The sleeves of your sweater bite at your wrist in comforting fuzz, a slight itch along the skin  to pull you from quaint interest. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Just a feeling, it’s got that certain ambiance, you know?” Jimin’s hands wave with the impression of the ambiance so to speak, his eyes squinted in that way you so adore. The thought crosses your mind on many occasions, to compliment his subtle beauty, but the knowledge of his playfully arrogant counter always draws you from speech.

“Or because we ran into the owner on our way in this morning,” Namjoon chirps in kind, strolling to the lobby, his own pad in hand. He neatly tosses it to the desk, fingers skimming through unkempt hair. “Nice guy, said he might drop in for a consultation sometime.” 

“Consultation? Sounds big,” You muse, hand finding your abandoned pencil to drag faint strokes along your page, though even the slight draw brings grimace to your features, dulled in the shadow of your palm pressed to your forehead, easily nudging wisps of loose hair. Namjoon shrugs, a non-committal range of motion, his neck craning over your shoulder to sneak a peek at your lack of a work of art. 

He doesn’t speak on it, simply taking in the unfinished strokes, presumably in an attempt to reassure you in the midst of inspiration long lost. You're prepared to assure him that there’s no need for forced encouragement, but he moves on, collapsing onto near plush without a word.

“Says he’s been thinking about it for a while so I told him we could help him out. He also invited us to his opening, said he'd save some tea for us if we’re busy.” Lips pull back, dimples accenting Namjoon’s heavy cheeks. 

You’re unsurprised by his amicable tale, recalling your fresh steps into this very shop just a few years prior. Your body was bare of ink and your arms bore only a flimsy book with hopeful sketches. He’d taken in your wide eyed glance and the disappearance of your bottom lip to the gnawing confines of your teeth. His towering height and newly trimmed hair taunting you within the daunting shadow that filled your frame through the doorway. 

You chuckle at past memories, wondering how you could ever fear the gentle giant, his lips pulling into ready grin as he showed you to the very desk before you now. 

“What’s so funny?” Namjoon calls to you,  Jimin halting in his current endeavor to glance the smirk stretching your cheek. 

“Nothing, just thinking. Was that your last client for the day?” You grab for the sign-in ledger, finger trailing the thick page, pinky tugging at the pulled edge of a worn corner. Your smirk flips to a frown poorly withheld, the page filled with Namjoon only reminding you that your own supplies need only be sanitized to prevent the collection of dust. 

“Yeah, I figured we’d just close shop early today.” Jimin swipes the ledger with a tisk in your direction, not blind to silent thoughts. 

“It’s noon, what if someone wants a walk-in?” Your gaze slides to the clock, hands ticking slowly along the round wall piece. It’s not unreasonable to assume someone will come in seeking art of the bodily variety, and your hands itch to prove your worth, even if it lies within an album long binded. 

“Then I’m sure they’ll still want it tomorrow.” Namjoon shrugs, his hands folding over his chest forcing the bulge of recently buffed arms. You almost make a joke about the possible tear of the t-shirt hugging his frame, but refrain out of refusal to partake in the pursuance of sure to follow antics. “Besides, it’ll give you more time to work on that.” 

You follow the tilt of Namjoon’s hair, long grown out from his routine refusal to take time from his day to get a trim. You often joke that he’ll be gallivanting with a tail soon enough, his thick locks nearly shoulder length as it stands. He often finds himself shaking it from his peripheral with the wrong angling of his head. He motions to your barely done sketch, the page glaring at you with a mocking disgust. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do.” You drip sarcasm, pad tossed to your bag and jacket jerked to waiting arms. 

~*~

Off-white trim borders the wall of a shop nearly complete, Jeongguk checks and double checks a list stored in the confines of his mental. Aside from constant fear of the opening of doors without the steady flood of patrons he’s eager for business, hard work finally paying its due. 

He’s only in for the morning, the steady tick of his wrist a reminder to snap from his obsessive habit, sure that he’ll receive word from Taehyung that he's on his way to drag him from the building. His grin rivals the glare of the sun as his eyes travel a building come together. His hand falls to his arm in dramatic pinch to ensure that his eyes aren’t filled with hopeful deceit. 

It fits, he thinks, stepping out onto the walk, key slotting into the door to ensure security. His shop melds perfectly with the heavily lined street, animated tapioca unfinished in the window somehow making sense with the neighboring extravagance of bloom at the near florist and the samples of ink from the tattoo shop across the way. Even the simple thrift shop with it’s objects of interest decorating the window compliments his simple display.

Opportunity hasn’t struck to visit his new neighbors, though he did stumble into a chunk of the owners of one of the shops. He found surprise in the ease with which conversation flowed, his mouth like the babble of a brooke despite the nerves that skipped like pebbles in his stomach and his heart that beat a million miles a minute following their friendly departure. 

In his stupor he nearly misses the float of voices a ways down the quietly milling street, but the recognition of a melodic tone draws his gaze. 

“I’ll take you for ice cream.” Jeongguk recognizes the voice that seeks to entice as Jimin, though he doesn’t recognize you. 

“I’m not a child you know.” Your statement is grumbled, the words echoing that of a childlike pout. Jeongguk can see the movement of your arms as they reach to a playful shove, the rhythmic shift of Jimin’s feet looking routine even from a distance. You choose not to acknowledge Jimin’s coo, his fingers poking at your protruding cheek as if to say Oh but aren’t you?

Jeongguk watches with interest and the initiative to work up the courage to bring acknowledgement to his presence and perhaps introduction to who he expects is the other third of the tattoo shop. You and Jimin are too caught in bickering to notice the figure just feet away, your fingers pinching Jimin’s nose with  a countering taunt. 

“Can’t I just treat you to a nice frozen treat? I don’t recall that being a crime, but please enlighten me.” You pinch the bridge of your own nose, the scent of freshly packed soil wafting from neatly situated pots. 

You spot the poke of pink from one of the tall and timid plants, though you imagine the fragile nature is only by way of visual, Yoongi always diligent with his seedling evolved friends. You make note to beg him to allow the purchase of a precarious plant, an act of teasing to stem from your track record, the memory of shriveled begonias bringing even your shoulders to lift in cringe. 

“Are you still talking?” Your gaze shifts back to Jimin, his flow not conscious to your unconscious senses. 

“So rude, you should be thanking me for the extra time off.”

“As if I need more time off, but fine, I suppose I can let you treat me as an apology for your ratty transgressions.” You tut. Were your ears peaked and footing less strayed you would’ve noted the distant chuckle of Jeongguk, still standing dormant outside of a dimmed shop.

His thoughts of hurried introduction came to halt with his notice of you. Your voice held a playful jab when you spoke, Jimin’s reactions only animated enough to draw slight attention from your raised tone. Despite your fussing dialogue, your posture was slouched just a tad and your hands fisted into snug jacket sleeves  to mimic paws. Jeongguk decides he’d be hard pressed not to be endeared by you in the slightest. 

“Wow, I thought I was gonna have to come here and drag you out by the ears.” Hands clap Jeongguk’s shoulders, Taehyung rounding his frame, grin gentle as he regards with relief. “I swear you’d probably live here if I didn’t keep you at bay. What are you--oh she’s pretty.” 

The two watch your retreat, your hand easily clasping Jimin's, the swing of connected wrists appearing natural with your stride through the afternoon chill. Jeongguk ignores the flare of his cheeks at the notion of exposure, thankful that Taehyung doesn’t make a show of his ogling. 

“Yeah, looks like she’s taken though...you wanna get ice cream?” Taehyung scrunches his nose, wind kissed cheeks held between gloved palms. His scoff is inward, Jeongguk’s suggestion appearing nothing short of ridiculous as the two are swept by a wind that’s particularly biting. While Taehyung shivers, Jeongguk doesn’t appear to mind, hands shoved in his pockets, heels rocking along cracked concrete. 

“Do I look like I want to get ice cream? It’s freezing out here and not everyone radiates the warmth of a furnace.” 

“Well unlike you, not everyone is so dramatic.”

“Whatever, just get some when we get home.” Taehyung lightly shoves, legs turning in the direction of his car, parked on asphalt, freshly coated by summer’s end.

 Jeongguk stares after the winded trail of a billowing pea, your bobbing figure rounding a corner and straying from widened eyes. He sucks through clenched teeth, opportunities knock having been missed at the hands of Taehyung. The clench of fists in pockets goes unnoticed as he rounds on planted heels and makes his way to the car, Taehyung happily staring from  the passenger seat waiting with a grin dripping sincerity. 

“You definitely owe me for this.”

~*~

You twitch along with the consistent drip of a leaky faucet, the tap of digits on worn ceramic offering a release to limbs without proper use. The biting chill in your toes is only minutely cured by the pilling of four blankets, barely thick enough to rival the wool knit socks Hoseok gifted you last christmas. 

You find pause in the sun setting from the window, dim lighting pouring through weak curtains. Your tongue prods at the confines of your mouth, frosted by forced treat and abandoned with the recommendation of a mug of hot cocoa which now rests lukewarm in your clenching palms. 

You force your mind to yield, racing in a direction opposite the self destructive course that usually remains dormant until you lay to rest for the evening. Hands numbed by the interference of a numbing chill met with the warmth of a mostly empty mug nearly spilling when your right palm jumps in the direction of your phone, perched on an end table composed of chipping wood and stains too set to resemble anything but a dark pool, a picture puddle fit for galoshes in adolescence. 

You wonder if Yoongi’s taken his plants in, the set of cold not nearly the condition for any pending life surely. Though you quickly pull back, recalling a conversation following another mishap, your plant lying limp before the attentive florist, his cheeks rosy from the heat lamps and the temperature set to ensure maximum growth year round. It was with passion that he waxed about the difference between certain plants and the amazing circumstances of their survival. 

It was with half amused grin, your head lopsided along the freshly painted door frame that he assured you that if a plant can survive the harsh conditions of the season of cool there was surely one meant to survive you. 

You glance to the succulent placed on the sill overlooking your sink. You had been indignant at Yoongi’s insistence that you take it, almost begging that he give you one of the smiling pink numbers reflecting in the window rather than the less impressive green poking from the dirt of a tiny hand painted pot. Yoongi’s reaction was much the same, innocence painting his rose blushed cheeks as he explained the beauty of every plant, sure to continue on until you gently removed the pot from his fingers.

Now the once shy note of green was large enough to cover your palm, a bright spot in the dark of your apartment, falling apart at the hands of purposeful ignorance from an absent landlord. 

A sharp tap against your front door draws your gaze, pointed as if to break the barrier of solid wood. You don’t notice the spill of your drink until warmth slips through your sweater, arm jerk sending the mug careening to shatter. The pieces decorate the floor with a colorful tap to pair with the running of dark liquid along the hardwood.

“Shit.” Words muttered in haste, one of many blankets piled in swaddle is heaved to the floor, your legs lifting you from the chair and gently to clothed knees. Cocooning the glass in the thick material you stand to full height when another tap draws you. Your hands tug at your sweater, the seep of the liquid already beginning to set in and your skin grows irritated from the unwanted intrusion. “Coming!”

You glance to the spot where chocolate dances along the edges of your braided rug, the centerpiece itching to soak up what it can manage of the chocolatey drink,  already dreading the work of scrubbing to prevent permanent damage. Making your way to the door your feet stride in a half walk half slide along hardwood, tripping up due to the soiled bits of fabric sticking to your feet and resisting a usually easy trek along the hardwood. The pull of the door is a surprise, an unfamiliar face staring back at you with a geometrically flattering smile. 

“Hello…” Your words are drawn and rasped, a mixture of the lack of dialogue and settling curiosity. 

“Hi, I’m Taehyung.” There’s no deterrence from Taehyung at your lack of reciprocated enthusiasm, just the shake of locks, shaggy and shielding his eyes that appear to glisten in the flicker of the hall lights. His eyes brighten in recognition, though you can’t seem to separate his stare from the reflection of his shocking irises and simply accept his hand as it slowly extends.

“Y/n. Is there something I can help you with?” You attempt a glance around his ever present frame in hope for an explanation, but the notion is non-existent so you wait as he gathers his own. You don’t miss the wandering of his eyes to the open of your apartment but don’t call him on it, an entrance composed of nothing more than a table and a crooked portrait gifted by Jin. You can hear his distant cackles as he positioned it just perfectly before the door. 

“Actually I was gonna ask you how to work the heat in this place, but you look about as warm as me so…” He shifts on his heels unsure, taking in your heavily bundled appearance. 

You tug once more at your stained sweater, your face heating with recollection of the soiled garment still clinging to you, now with more fervor from the added moisture. Your thick socks are layered over a pair only slightly less so and your legs appear heavily padded under two pairs of dense sweats. “You must be new here.”

Taehyung shrugs, half a step taken in retreat. He tilts his head just so, gesturing to the vacant hall, a door half ajar allowing the flood of light to illuminate the peel of ancient wallpaper. Not for the first time you wish you’d taken Jimin up on his spare room. “Yeah, just officially moved in today. We’re down the hall, heard the apartment’s been vacant for a while and it seemed nice enough.” 

“But no one told you that the heat only works correctly on a good day, sounds about right.”

“And our shower--” 

“Leaks?” You finish, the distant drip from your kitchen just audible over your speech. Your thumb pushes against the bow of your pursed lips, teeth grabbing hold of roughened skin whilst you watch the turn of cogs tumbling before you. 

“Yeah...should I call the landlord?” His brows knit at your nonchalance, thumb jerking to his apartment. You almost chuckle, covering your outburst with a quick tilt of your head. The simplicity of the suggestion seems only to add to the hilarity of the situation. 

“Sure, but I’d recommend investing in a space heater and keeping a couple of tools handy. I’m not wearing four layers to make a fashion statement.” Your fingers drum along the frame of your door, the gentle tap carrying between you in soft silence. “Well...welcome to the building and sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” 

“Guess someone had to be,” His throat clears in chuckle, hand tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie, the strings hanging lopsided where his hood lay half scrunched at the base of his neck. His thumb lifts to trace the corner of his mouth, shifted in that same grin that greeted you minutes prior, though this time your return is swift and without the same haze that accompanied his unfamiliar presence. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”  

Taehyung turns on his heel at the pace of the gears turning in his brain, swift stride carrying him back to his door, yours clicking shut along the shells of his ears. He pushes into his residence, door squeaking on hinges as it closes in his wake. Straight for the living room he makes haste with lengthy stride, spotting  Jeongguk who swallows the couch with his body, spread as much as the lengthened cushion will allow. He peeks from his curtain of hair, dangling at the angle of his head, blinking with the poke of a follicle gently prodding his pupil. 

“So?” He pushes up to a sit, nearly knocking his phone from the arm where it’s perched without care. His shoulders shake from the mix of cold and anticipation, mistaking the grin that Taehyung sports as a triumphant mission. 

“Oh this place is spectacularly shitty, my friend. Looks like we’ll be snuggling like penguins if we wanna get warm tonight.” As if to punctuate his vivid explanation, Taehyung slides dangerously close to where Jeongguk remains sitting, legs brushing as he sinks into the already heated seat. 

Jeongguk nudges to the sharp of Taehyung’s shoulder, encouraging him further inward with a defeated groan. He’s sure he catches the scent of something similar to carpet that’s been left to mildew, but he attributes it to imagination. Somehow this very apartment seemed a saving grace just a month ago.  “I knew we should’ve splurged on that loft. Why are you smiling?” 

“Hm, so that girl that you were staring at earlier, you know her?” Taehyung doesn’t shy from his urge to throw himself over Jeongguk’s lap, ignoring the squint scrutiny from above. He pokes at the underside of Jeongguk’s chin, teasing a reaction from him, grimace evident from the suction of his cheeks. 

“Not exactly, I know the guy she was with though. They own the tattoo shop, why?” Taehyung braces his head with one hand, the other grabbing hold of the string dangling from his clothes, rolling the aglet between agile fingers. He ponders the thought of revealing that just beyond moth eaten wallpaper and the cracks of a concrete hall you await just a few doors down. 

“Just a question. You didn’t think I would just leave it, did you?” Jeongguk’s nose scrunches because he did in fact find that avenue favorable among the chosen. Taehyung pats his muscled thigh with  a patronizing shake of the head, hair already tangling with the push of his heavy skull to Jeongguk’s tough jeans. 

“So what, she’s cute, not like I know anything about her. I’m more concerned with making it through the night without contracting pneumonia or risking the complete freeze of my limbs.”

The two seem to scoot closer at the thought, Taehyung now pushed against Jeongguk’s abdomen. They paint quite a picture on their second hand furniture, couch in need of stitching at the seams and the questionable stain that inhabited it upon arrival nipping at the press of Taehyung’s socked feet into the cushion. 

Fatigue abandoned the task of unloading boxes that litter the expanse of open flooring and leftover furniture. Their energy fueled endeavor long forgotten along with the memory of comforting warmth. They both ponder the idea of retreating to respective rooms, but find it would be a miracle if they could manage to pull themselves from half comfort, abandoning the hope of body heat against the chill of the shared space. 

Audible groan travels the four walls when a gentle fist beats against the door. Taehyung shoves at Jeongguk’s shoulder, a silent appeal to the younger to make sacrifice and leave their cocooned warmth. Jeongguk won’t be swayed, his arms easily finding the weight of Taehyung’s side and nudging enough to send him careening to the floor with a resounding thud. 

Grumbles and groans of the incoherent leave Taehyung’s mouth, amused giggles falling from Jeongguk whose legs are now pulled to drink in the heat left behind. Taehyung stops for a moment, thinking that his timely trek was wasted, opposing party’s fist meeting wood no more. He gently opens the door, head ducking around the corner, foot stepping out only to stub into something surely placed for such an occasion as his physical reckoning. 

He foregoes subtly, mouth unhinging and curses falling akin to rocks from a cliff side, the echo bouncing against concrete and soaking into the slips and edges of the silent walls. Jeongguk ambles around the corner with concern etched features, the draw of his eyes landing on his roommate, leg at an angle and clutched whilst he leans against the doorframe. 

Jeongguk squeezes past, kneeling to pluck the sticky posted from the top of what appears to be a space heater. His eyes scan the crisp note, glancing down the hall with the knowledge that the perpetrator is surely long gone. “Dude, you good?” 

“Stubbed my fucking toe,” Taehyung strains. Jeongguk let’s him sulk, hiding a purposeful grin from the dramatist leaning over him. “What is that anyways.” 

“Space heater.” He passes the note, Taehyung scans it quickly with a hum. He doesn’t miss the look he’s receiving from Jeongguk, aware of the name scribbled along the tiny parchment. “Was nice of them. What did you say anyways?” 

“Nothing really, guess I’m just a natural charmer.” 

~*~

“Will you tell her that she should just move in with me like I suggested in the first place?” Jimin snags on the thick of Namjoon’s t-shirt, pulling him from his task, resituating his glasses along his face rather than the slide to the tip of his nose that seemed a regular occurance. You choose to ignore the commotion, back to sweeping dust and scattered leaves from the entrance of the shop. 

Your living situation, less than ideal, often leads you to Jimin’s door, his spare room rather drenched in your deposited belongings. It’s his futile mission to persuade you to trade up from your desolate one bedroom with it’s desperate calling for tlc and take permanent residence in his humble abode just uptown. 

It’s foolish not to consider, but you always find the scrape of your teeth roughening the budded surface of your tongue when he turns to you with his grin of sweet saccharine nearly once a week. You don’t know what it is about the cracks that seem to shimmy further up the walls with each passing minute or the breaks in the tile that beg an earthquake decades off, but you aren’t quite ready to part with it. 

“If you want me to stop coming over just say so,” You huff, fully aware that’s not the case but sure it’ll throw Jimin for a curve with enough distance to keep him at bay. 

He sputters, releasing Namjoon with a gentle shove, “That’s not it and you know it! I just don’t see why you stay there, it’s so...broken.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-”

“Have lived there since you came here blah blah blah, we know. Oh hey, a customer! Would you look at that,” Jimin’s over enthused response following a set of feet flooding through draws your next words to thin air, replaced with a well meaning grin. His perked posture slumps when he realizes that it is not in fact a patron looking to empty their wallet. “Oh, it’s just Hobi-hyung.” 

“Thanks for the sunshine,” Hoseok counters, elbows covered with a patched overcoat resting along the edge of Jimin’s desk. Though his words hold a tinge of sarcasm, he’s all smiles as he regards you. Much like Namjoon he sports his frames today, wide and rectangular perched along the bridge of his nose. From the opening of his coat you smirk at the peak of a bright yellow sweater, an animation practically dancing along the expanse of his chest. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that’s your job,” Namjoon pats him on his way to his office, returning with a box overflowing with garments and books. It’s not unusual that the two of them exchange goods, Hoseok’s thrift always looking for ways to fill the shelf.

 It surprised you in the beginning, the flow of people who seemed to always leave his shop holding something to their chest like it was the world stuffed into a novelty bag. That was before Hoseok insisted that you visit yourself, sure you’d find something of interest. He wasn’t perturbed by skepticism, it only seemed to fuel the glint of a thousand galaxies that flared in his concentrated stare. 

You’d ambled the lot for a good thirty minutes, fingers gliding along shelves so sturdy it came as a shock that he installed them himself, the wiggle of his elongated fingers when you recited the thought still fresh. It was the belief of Hoseok, in his own words, that there was a magic in places like his. A magnetic pull that would lead you to just the thing you need, often times things he himself didn’t even know he possessed. 

“The rest is all in good fun,” He’d finished with that smile that rivaled the shine of the largest star glistening from above. 

Your magic was nestled in the thick of it all, buried beneath someone else’s waiting fortune. It was the far corner that drew you, something about it just a shade darker than the rest of the large room. You’re unsure what possessed you, ignoring the insistence of magic cycling through the heavy air conditioning as you pillage through a pile of neatly folded quilts and the random placement of a busted stereo. 

“Find something?” Hoseok appeared, head resting just over your shoulder. Your crouch betrayed you and were it not for quick reflexes and a helping hand the bust of your ass was sure to find the floor. Hoseok stood with a pool of change shaking in his palm and his neat smile waiting for you to putter around with your find. 

“It’s just a necklace, nothing special.” 

“Still, take it, you never know.” He was insistent that you leave with the silver chain, an onyx pendant dangling from the end  and even more so that, rather than pay him, you admit that there’s something in the air. You agreed, but your reluctance was only truly squashed when you found yourself adorning the necklace more than your usual jewelry reserved for occasion.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the tea shop opening up?” Hoseok plants himself on Jimin’s desk, ignoring the playful glare burning a hole in his side. Namjoon rests the box on the ground next to him with a grunt, clear on Hoseok’s intention to linger as long as time will allow rather than collecting his treasure and hurrying back to his own place of work. 

“Jimin and I met the owner yesterday, he seems like a really nice guy.” Namjoon fills before Jimin has the chance to allow his jaw to unhinge, no doubt planning to flaunt his basic knowledge like privileged information.

“That’s nice. Rumor has it he specializes in boba.” You would chuckle were it not for the wild look in Hoseok’s eyes, his hands painting imaginary rainbow before slotting through the pockets of his coat. His feet steadily tap tap against the tile, the gentle nod of his head not at all unusual but nonetheless intriguing. “It’ll be so nice not having to drive a town over just to have a nice tapioca pearl.” 

“You know they sell those, you could make your own.” Your words are all but lost on the eccentric businessman, his tactic to avoid information displeasing to his interests taking full effect. His body angles, half hiding a chuckling Jimin from your view. Sliding the broom to the near closet, not unaware of leaves sadly crumpled against the tile from Hoseok’s timely entrance, but not bothered enough to scoop them into the waiting bin, you make haste to your office slipping between the door slightly ajar. “Right. Well I’m gonna go try to get some work done.”

You release a stuttered breath upon the gentle click of your door, mumbled dialogue just barely pushing through the thick wood. Air puffs your cheeks in half contemplation, silence stealing the inspiration that seemed to dance before you, brain now only half awake as time seems to dwindle at the speed of sound. Instead of the reach for a waiting pad and the scatter of ballpoint colors staring from your desk unused and impatient, you grab for a volume that seems to scream from the near bookshelf. 

It begs the recollection of time well spent, a pang in your chest follows a  rushing to the surface as if air tearing from lungs lacking capacity. Your full weight collapses to your chair, recently upgraded at Namjoon’s insistence that nursing the squeaky four wheeler that threatened to collapse with the wrong release of breath violated his own moral codes before the hushed mumble about legal repercussions. You aren’t complaining, the upgrade makes you feel like a permanent staple, especially when your mind is convinced that layoff is imminent. 

Your fingers trace the smooth cover of hardback, reckoning with the ache to feel the crisp of unturned pages and avoid the buildup that follows suit. It’s the not knowing that tugs at the precipice of your flowing mind, wishing for diagnosis from a stagnant flow of a previous gold mine. 

Your ears peak at the surge of voices layering the lobby, though your mind squashes the urge for a slip back into the throw of pleasant chatter. You draw a drawer, fishing for half tangled buds, slipping them into your heightened canals to drown with the sounds of your latest fix. 

~*~

The lift of Jeongguk’s gaze as heavy feet carry him past the fluorescent sign of Uhgood Tattoo and through the ringing entrance is subtle enough as doe eyes scan the lengthy space for a feminine form. He’s met with null, but the snag of his pupils on a wall of intricacy almost distracts from the loiter of men staring straight for him and Taehyung who is decidedly less preoccupied. 

“Jeongguk, nice to see you again!” Namjoon booms over every voice in the room. His arms are half open in eager acceptance and Jeongguk leads Taehyung to the settled group, one last sweep still leaving him wanting for an introduction or a glimpse at best. “We were actually just talking about you.” 

“About me?” His tone toes between surprise and unease, lips puckering in the shape of ‘oh’ and steps stuttering against the crunch of leaves slipping along linoleum. 

“Yeah, Hoseok here was just saying how excited he is that you moved in. He owns the thrift shop just across from you.” 

Hoseok doesn’t need much introduction before he’s centered in front of Jeongguk, smile glinting and hands reaching for the younger man with much fervor. Jeongguk would find the proximity daunting were it not for the friendly face reflecting in his widened irises. His chest rumbles, glad to place a face to bright signs and eccentric displays. 

“Nice to meet you, we’re all glad to have a new face on our little strip. I’m especially glad to have an excuse to save myself from Jin’s questionable experiments in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s hand has yet to stop its steady shake of Jeongguk’s, too caught in words, leaving his mind’s body on its own. “Feel free to drop by my shop anytime, I love seeing new faces. Plus-”

“Here we go…” Jimin cuts, feigned exasperation coating his pitched tone before he excuses himself to the back of the shop. His exit isn’t swift enough to hide the exasperation of the puff of air that gaps his lips. 

“There’s a special kind of magic in a shop like mine and because you just moved in the first trinket is on the house!” 

“Oh magic? Taehyung’s really into that stuff, we’ll stop in sometime.” He gestures to his friend whose hands are shoved to the thick of his sweatshirt, lips pushed inward with the suck of his cheeks. “This is him by the way, Taehyung, he’s my partner of sorts at the cafe and my roommate.” 

“Yeah, though the last one is questionable at the moment. Nice to meet you guys, this place is sweet! Do you do piercings by any chance?” As if by pure luck Jimin’s stepping back into the room, his eyes set ablaze with passion by the innocent inquiry. 

“Piercings are my specialty actually, I can pierce any and everything!” His hands clasp to Taehyung’s shoulder, glad for excitement out of the realm of files and spreadsheets. Taehyung, surprised by the eager response, can only seem to nod along to the spew that falls from Jimin’s lips that near miles per minute.  “Are you interested? I’d be happy to show you our collection.” 

“This could take a while,” Jeongguk is startled by the presence of Namjoon somehow closer than before. Jimin is still spouting about his work to his potential client, Jeongguk takes in Taehyung’s features in search of a signal for help, but only finds him  painted with interest and intrigue at the bundle of knowledge that is Park Jimin. Namjoon gestures to a hall along the far wall, a couple of paintings half crooked beckoning them forth.  “We can talk about those tattoos if you’re interested?” 

The buzz that surges in the cavity of his chest is answer enough, companied with the vigorous nod of his head, curls bouncing against the frame of his cheeks. “That would be great!” 

Namjoon easily falls into the roll of guide, leading the two down the hall and past a couple of doors tightly sealed. The walls are a dark shade, set aglow by the heat of fixtures hanging overhead. Even in the dim setting, Jeongguk finds his head swiveling in every direction, thirsting to take in every inch of the place.  In his haste he nearly trips over a section of flooring slightly raised, likely the result of settled foundation  over many years. He decides rather quickly in favor of the building, the character of the interior clashing rather nicely with the updated signage on the outside. 

‘We’ve got a few different stations for working,” Namjoon speaks up, drawing Jeongguk’s attention back. “We do them in the section off the side of the lobby if the customer is comfortable and it’s nothing major, but we also have private rooms that we as the artists like to use depending on the project.”

“That’s what these rooms are?” Jeongguk reaches with a pointed finger, tracing the expanse of the wooden frame, chipped and roughened, to a closed door. Rather than plaquing to decipher between the various enclosures there are framed sketches posted outside of each, nothing a newcomer like himself could pick up on, clearly contributed by the owners.

“For the most part, there’s my office and Y/n’s, and a storage closet but this is where the magic happens.” Namjoon allows Jeongguk a path to his office, door shutting in their wake with a dull thud. 

It’s less decorated than Jeongguk was expecting, the barely bare walls outside of the office building up the anticipation of the canvas that must be spread within. Instead there’s nothing put bright white, almost blinding compared to what he’s seen so far. There are a few framed photos of Jimin, himself, and you; all smiling in various scenarios of glee. Other than the placement of a decently sized shelf in the corner and the desk perched along the adjacent wall this office gives no indication of Namjoon’ s labyrinthine line of work. 

Even so, Namjoon appears highly intimidating as he takes a seat at his desk, gesturing Jeongguk to the comfortable chair across. Jeongguk is well aware that he doesn’t mean to give the impression of a boss, straight backed and fingers laced over mahogany, but that doesn’t make it any less so. 

“So!” Namjoon speaks with triumph, his gauntlet the toss of the pen that had previously dangled from the fold of  pierced ears. “You have any idea what you’re looking for in the ink department? I figure we can start with graphics and then discuss placement to see who the best fit would be for you.” 

“Best fit?” Jeongguk leans forward, boots squeaking obscenely on the tile beneath. His cheeks flush at lack of knowledge, feeling as if the words spewed were foreign when in reality it was a jolt sent to the creases of his spine and straight to the red soaked appendage in his upper chest. While he’s entered this room with the assumption that Namjoon would be his sole artist, there lay a chance that the two of you will come face to face. 

“Yeah, Y/n and I are both good at what we do but of course we both have our specialties. So we like to decide our clients that way sometimes.” Namjoon’s explanation leaves him none the wiser to hidden meanings and the hopeful perk of Jeongguk’s shoulders. 

“Oh. I haven’t met Y/n yet,” He wonders if you rest behind one of the many doors leading to this one, sketching away on what he’s sure can only be a masterpiece. “Is she around?” 

“Yeah...I don’t wanna disturb her though. Maybe she’ll be in the lobby when we’re finished here.” Namjoon’s words are sincere though his eyes seem to drift far off, their target the window over Jeongguk’s shoulder, shadowed by the growth of a large tree, branches dwarfing the ground outside. His trance is but a moment, focusing once more on the man before him. “What did you have in mind for your tattoo?” 

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you guys use the tebori method here? I know it’s more widely used in japan, but I don’t really see myself heading over there anytime soon.” This shop isn’t the first that Jeongguk has scoped in hope of an artist with an extra element of technique, the buildup for disappointment resting in a rehearsed expression. He watches the myriad of expressions that Namjoon cycles through, almost as if the answer rests against the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure if it’s the correct one. “It’s totally fine if—”

“We do.” He speaks without much expression save for the way his spine seems to cave inward as he continues to think. Jeongguk isn’t sure whether he should continue speaking, choosing instead to study the tilt of a pen on the desk, threatening to roll to the floor if it dances any longer at the edge of the surface. His nerves itch to grab for the object for some form of reprieve, afraid that the pending clatter will disturb Namjoon’s steady concentration and perhaps the calm mask that he appears to be sporting.

His head tilts a tad, curls falling over one pupil, the other spying Namjoon as if zeroing in on a target, nearly scrutinizing the pensive thinking with his galaxy gaze. He can see that just past the roof of Namjoon’s head there lies a single divot in the wall, nearly tricking the bump of accidental furniture, but Jeongguk’s own fist clenches in recognition, thumb tracing the jag of his knuckles. 

“Y/n is the only person here that can tattoo with that particular technique, she’s amazing at it really, I’m just not sure if she’ll be up for it right now.” Namjoon’s words seem to pain him to utter, a strained longing in his voice that’s indecipherable without context. Jeongguk only nods along, curiosity curbed by his unyielding sense of etiquette in a situation that doesn’t wholly concern him. His feet are already pressing against the flooring, prepared to push to his feet and exchange pleasantries and assurance of no hard feelings, but Namjoon doesn’t seem quite through, leaving Jeongguk’s position to an awkward one hanging from the edge of his seat. “I don’t wanna speak for her though, so maybe you two can talk.” 

“Okay, should I set up an appointment?” 

“No, I think I heard her leave her office, she’ll probably be in the lobby. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you now.”  Namjoon’s mouth is once again split in dimpled grin, leaving Jeongguk’s head to a spinning akin to a child’s top. He’s led from the room, paying extra attention to the hall, ears itching to pick up a tone much higher than those in the lobby he left only a short time ago. 

Contrary to Namjoon’s inference, the lobby is emptier than when they left, Jimin and Taehyung the only ones left milling about. Their speech mimics old friends, Jimin poking at Taehyung with the smile of someone who knows something that no one else does, Taehyung simply replying in kind with half grin. 

“I thought I heard, Y/n.” Namjoon directs his voice at Jimin, fingers tapping the surface of his desk whilst his eyes take inventory of the shop. Jeongguk wonders if he thinks you’re hiding behind one of the plants situated in the corner, waiting for the perfect moment to catch them off guard.

“Mm, she left. But not before this one got his flirt on,” Jimin’s elbow catches Taehyung’s rib with a sharp jab coloring his words. Taehyung doesn’t allow this to phase him, standing to his feet with a shrug of nonchalance.

“Not flirting, we just happen to know each other. You done here?” He aims at Jeongguk stepping with purpose toward the door. Neither makes eye contact, the subject of interest not particularly left to the category of unmentionable, but leaving them both awkward and stiff. 

“Uh, I think so.” Jeongguk slants so that Namjoon is well in his sights, already typing vigorously on his phone screen. “Should I schedule something or…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have your number so I’ll just have Y/n give you a call to see when you guys meet.” 

Jeongguk stands a moment longer, his toes tapping to the leather roof of boots so chunky they seem to swallow him from toe to ankle, the footwear attempting to take from his lengthy form and failing miserably. He turns mid-step when Taehyung slaps lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to step beyond the threshold. He lifts his arm to half wave, mumbling pleasantries, barely audible of the steps that echo in his ears with each pace onto the desolate sidewalk. 

Jeongguk heads toward his own shop, missing the realization of the lack of paired steps with his own. Several paces behind him, a subtle guilt dressing the plains of his cheeks, Taehyung tugs at the wear of half chapped lips, wondering if the broach of a hazy subject is necessary. He catches Jeongguk easily with a jog, nearly stilling him mid-stride but saved from the extra physicality by the passing of a car.

“You know...Jimin was just joking.” Jeongguk’s brows lift, clearly only just catching sight of his constant companion, his own thoughts carrying him along the street without a wayward glance. His eyes widen, unsure of Taehyung’s intentions or the direction of the current topic. “About Y/n, I mean. I don’t really know her and we don’t flirt.” 

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.” 

“Yeah, sure. It’s just—look I know you saw her the other day and I’m willing to bet the only reason you haven’t mentioned that you’re intrigued is because you thought she was dating Jimin.” Taehyung treads, careful to avoid the gaze of reddened cheeks, Jeongguk’s hand raising to a nudge at his soft lobe, the other clenching and unclenching in denim blue, nails scratching the rough of fabric with each clasp. “Well clearly they’re not dating, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did like her is all I’m saying.” 

“Like I said, I don’t really know her. I think she’s cute, from a distance anyways, but I don’t think that’s any reason for a declaration.” The gentle tick of the crosswalk draws Jeongguk's attention on the present path to the opposing side of the street, ignoring the gentle tick of his chest. 

A shining beacon in a sea of monotony. The words that filtered like a mantra, dressing the walls of his clogged brain, overflowing from files and dancing with the fires in tipped bins. Taehyung’s words extinguish the licking flames, if only momentarily, with meticulous reassurance. 

A pocket of vibration, dark and clinging to his chilled skin, is notification for incoming correspondence. His steps skip, tripping along asphalt, saved only by the subtle grasp of a steady hand. His thanks are dropped without hesitation, hand slipping from fabric confines with the heavily encased lifeline pulsing with power.

From: Unknown [ 2:25pm]~is this jeongguk? namjoon gave me your number, said you need a consult?

From: Me[ 2:26pm]~yea...this is y/n im guessing?

His eyes pierce the screen, undressing the words with precision, ensuring he doesn’t make a fool in reply. He wasn’t prepared for the quick interception of the conversation he’s still processing, inner workings too focused on what’s straight ahead, not minutely prepared for Namjoon's speedy deliverance.

From: Unknown [ 2:30pm]~ding ding ding. im pretty much free whenever, so let me know what works with you and we can meet to discuss what you need and whether im the person for the job 

From: Me[ 2:33pm]~ how about tomorrow around this time?

From: Unknown [ 2:34pm]~ cool. let’s meet at the park around the corner  

And now, he waits.

~*~

The first thing you noticed was his approach, a confidence in his stride yet eyes that tried and failed to hide the glisten of steady orbs and the kiss of wind landing atop the surprising density of his cheeks like the piling of new snow. Your legs were crossed at the ankle, bare skin grazed by the cool of grass half dried by the desert chill, hands gripping the accumulation of sleeve inched to the open of your palm whilst your lips curved in mimic at the pout of his own, unintentional but perfectly protruding with the tracking of your steady tilt.

If one were to ask about the slight tremor in your hand or the subtle inch across inches between, you would fail to mention the metaphorical personality of your pulsing appendage and the ooz of liquid red abandoning the organ overflowed to trace the expanse of veins humming with the melodic string of laughter yet to abandon the space since he first spoke. You were immediately taken with soft speech and stolen glances, the professional tossed aside when you asked him to meet you, altogether forgotten when he said hello. 

The pulsing was stunned only momentarily when he withdrew, hand disappearing into deep pockets to pose leather-bound pages and the hesitant stretch of muscles, the quick twitch of his neck the line of a rod, drawing you forward with each gentle reel of innocence. Now you sit, tangled in silent adoration, dripping admiration for the collaged pages, soaked in brilliance. 

“These are yours?” You stroke the page with the ease of your pointer, his head tilting, hair framing, whilst he nods in a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the glue to your cheek, his eyes steady studying you while you study the glide of his hand with jet black against the white page. 

He wonders if you catch the nerves, the steady vibration of his unsteady palms, gentle leap of muscled thigh and the brush of your leg with each accidental inch closer. The proximity did him in, your face from a distance only a picture on a page, face to face giving him the overwhelming sensation of the walk through a gallery filled with seven wonders, their spectacle meaningless without the promise of you. 

He pretended for a moment, between laughter and brushes of innocence that he’s known you a lifetime, the thought only pulling at his metaphorical strings because he wishes he had. Your voices echo is sure to leave him wide eyed and ceiling bound for nights to come, imagining the galaxy as you, white expanse the only thing keeping from the grip he so wishes he could establish on the slip of your time here. 

He knows it’s insanity, thoughts that won’t leave him be, the closeness driving him further to the edge. It’s the reason for his transition to the journal, the reason you’re perched in the grass with the whipping wind and dead leaves skirting around you. 

“It’s just some ideas I have, I jot them down so I don’t forget. I was hoping we could work on them, flesh them a bit more…” Your gaze leaves the page, magic dwindling a sum, aghast at the audacity in his words. You withdraw, clenching fists to rationalize the wait for rejection on your behalf. 

“Why me? I mean, you’ve seen Namjoon’s work, he’s great.” 

“He said that you’re skilled in the tebori method. I’d like them to be done in that style and not many people can. Plus, I’ve seen your work too, it’s just as amazing.” Jeongguk notes the deflation, not unaware of Namjoon’s warning. He’s tempted to pry, but reverses hoping to stumble upon neutral territory, already missing the strain of your muscles in smile. “But obviously it’s only if you’re comfortable. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” 

“You’re not, I just...can I think about it? I know that’s so incredibly unprofessional of me but—”

“Take as long as you need.” Jeongguk decides immediately he doesn’t need an explanation, that your rumination is the promise of another rendezvous, high hopes lifting him over the horizon of the midday sun, skin aching for the glow of golden hour. 

You already know you’ll say yes, outright rejection never an option, the flicker of expression alight in your left receptacle more than reason to feel him once more. The physical is through the page, but the metaphorical is the connection of souls, the cliché of one person and the hope of renewed ardor. 

“I promise I won’t be long…” The words hang, heavy in the air between and with more meaning than your intent. You’re led away by the weight of obligation, required assistance from Jimin to cover the desk, legs like infant limbs after an hour unmoving. 

Jeongguk follows suit, still chewing the words before spewing his own right back. The same weight and familiarity in his soft deliverance. 

“I’ll be waiting.”

And now, you climb.

~*~

“How was your date?” Jimin is already setting up his station, eyes not sparing a glance, concentration wholly reserved. His vibration is palpable, though you don’t immediately notice, the feeling still finding stringed limbs when you reach your seat behind the desk. 

“I was meeting a client,” You speak hollow and unconvincing, the magic coursing through your veins begging to differ. Wonder is silent, eyes latching to the single eye muraled to the wall, imagining it to glisten like Sirius reflecting in the night sky, musing how one day could build a coherency of such magnetism yet still be held at arm’s length. 

“Oh really? It’s just that, I never meet my clients at the park...” His voice is a hum, settling an array of options for the post pierce browse. “—it’s certainly a bonus that said client is very handsome and already seems pretty interested.” 

“You’ve never even seen us in the same room, I just met him today.” 

“Whatever. I assume he’ll be coming around a lot more.”

Your fingers grasp the nearest instrument, ballpoint clicking in time with the tap of your toe against the leg of the chair. “I don’t know if I’m gonna agree. I don’t want him to be disappointed in the result.” 

“I know you think you’re old news, but the fact that you didn’t say no is reason enough. There’s clearly a part of you that wants to, so why not take the plunge?” 

“I can’t say yes just because I feel some strange attraction to him. That would be inappropriate,” Your mind barely registers the entrance of figure three, a client you presume, the sign-in ledger already halfway across the desk when Jimin speaks again. 

“So you are attracted to him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did,” Your pen clatters, nimble fingers swooping it in your absence, Taehyung’s smirk a playful gleam to counter your startled posture. He greets Jimin as an old friend, the two waiting for you to catch up, the slouch of your spine and the configuration of the scene pulling you back into the current take. 

“You’re the one getting a piercing?” Wheels push the foundation, abandoning the desk in favor of the plush leather Taehyung has already sunken into. You believe he feels at home, the decorative jewelry already hanging from his lobes the badge of a pierced veteran. 

“Yeah, I figure it’s time to expand my collection.” His hand brushes the lengthy edges of his dark locks, leaving ample space for Jimin to reach his target, the depth of his gaze landing on your arch over the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming your meeting went well?” 

“What do you know about my meeting?” 

“Why do you think I was here yesterday? The piercing was just a bonus,” He pokes at the tray beside him, the light smack of Jimin’s hand drawing him back to the confines of his lounge. You try to connect dots lost in the fray of day to day. Taehyung is not entirely new to you though still unfamiliar, but you don’t recall the mention of Jeongguk during his earlier visits. 

“So you guys know each other then?” Your disbelief finds Jimin, his hand’s busied with extra sanitation and his lips focusing hard to keep his face straight. “I’m assuming I’m simply the last to know, okay then.”

“It’s just circumstance really, I’m the one who came to your door, you were in your office when we came here yesterday and he was in Namjoon’s office when you came out. I promise he wasn’t avoiding you, quite the opposite actually.” You’re too intrigued for embarrassment, your attention handed tenfold to Taehyung, his head slightly tilted while Jimin readies to pierce him. 

As of late the stench of disinfectant would trigger a memory you were fighting hard to shield from the surface, but the idea of not knowing more of Taehyung drives it from your mind, currently on one track and unwavered by anything that’s not Jeongguk. Even so, there’s a haze, or perhaps the attempt of common sense forcing you to look past the filter of brights to truly grasp reality.

“We’d never met before today, how could he possibly be looking for me?” 

“We actually saw you a few days ago, before you and I officially met. You and Jimin were leaving the shop and he seemed pretty distracted by you, but he thought you two were dating.” Your laughter emits in breathy sighs, muddled by the fluttering in your abdomen, Jimin’s lips smug, shoulders rounded. 

“Easy mistake, we’d make a cute couple.” It would be a fib to deny that it’s the first time it’s been thought that you and Jimin were more than friends. His neighbors foolishly believe your late nights are spent anywhere save for the couch, silver screen glaring back at your glued lids. 

You watch Jimin work, ignoring the bore of Taehyung’s eyes, his focal point to ignore the sharp sting of the needle. He barely flinches, your own body lurching in slight when the needle meets puffed skin. His hand clasps your wrist, pulling you closer, examining the bare skin in earnest. 

“You don’t have any tattoos...none that I can see at least.” He notices, jumping to your eyes and back to your arm. He leans forward when Jimin steps away, gathering his studded collection of earrings, reflecting with golds and silver. “That’s pretty interesting considering you give them to other people for a living.”

“Astute observation. I do not have any tattoos visible or otherwise.” Taehyung kisses his teeth, easily opting for a pair reminiscent of chains. You look for judgement, but there’s none in his study of the colorful space, just a curiosity he’s not sure he should breach. “I’ve always wanted one, but I was too scared. Ridiculous but true.” 

“Scared of needles?” 

“At first maybe. Scared of the permanence of it all. It feels like such a big responsibility, to me at least, to decide what to get tattooed and I’ve never gotten to a point where I could just do it.” You think back to pages bound by leather with frightening immediacy, the conviction with which the they screamed at you almost haunting if not for the beauty of it. Chilling in the details of sketches, moments in time grasped so eloquently. A part of you is certainly jealous, but the other part is so irrevocably drawn to depth and desire. “Hey, Taehyung, is Jeongguk still at his shop by chance?”

“Actually I’m supposed to be meeting him for ice cream after this so he might already be there.” He pulls his device from his jacket, squinting at the screen, thumb gliding in swiftness. “You guys should come!”

“Oh we don’t wanna—”

“I’m in, I’ve been craving a good scoop,” Jimin leaves no room for disagreement, his limbs already at full speed to hurry cleaning his station. “We don’t have any clients and Namjoon is out of town for the day, so I think we’re good to close up. Plus, you can tell Jeongguk you’ll take him on.” 

“I never said I would,” You slide back into your jacket, tucking your limbs into the sleeves. The sky has darkened significantly since the dusting of rays that splashed your skin as you sprawled the grass barely an hour earlier. 

“You never said you wouldn’t.” The two are like stooges, already mastering the collaborative effort to challenge you. 

“Have fun with your ice cream, I’m, hopefully, going home to a heated apartment.” 

~*~

Jin has been talking to Jeongguk since he entered, the recognition of the new young entrepreneur on the strip catching his attention without pause. He’s a nice guy, his energy something Jeongguk would appreciate on any given day, but he was hoping for a moment of collection before Taehyung arrived. 

He’s stuck on a blur, the low heat of his skin and the canals of his ears, yearning for the vibration of laughter and soft words spoken beneath the breeze. It was easy and good, an hour lost, an hour found. He would’ve laid there in the grass for hours after your departure were in not for the chill that crept in so easily without you beside him. 

He wonders if it was a mutual feeling or if your reaction was just polite, a business tactic. No. Not you, you’re not the type to pretend, he knows even if he doesn’t know. Your sincerity was like a sickness, spilling from your every crevice, pouring out with your every phrase. He’s sure even you don’t notice the significant way you carry yourself, impossible to turn away from. 

“Hey, Jin, talking Jeongguk’s ear off I see.” Jeongguk breaks his stare from where it concentrated on the ink already eating his skin, Jimin standing over the booth with Taehyung chuckling beside him. “Maybe give him a break and take out order?” 

“There’s a counter, Park Jimin, and—” Jin squints in the direction of the counter, a small line waiting for their treats of the frozen variety, though not many people are keen for the cold in the midst of winter. “—yup there’s definitely someone up there waiting just for you.” 

“Ha ha, leave him alone, Jin, his mind is already occupied plenty.” Jin slides from the booth, Jimin immediately taking his place, Taehyung sliding in after him. 

Jin feigns reluctance when Jimin recites his order, all around friendlier when Jeongguk and Taehyung do the same. Jimin turns his attention to the other side of the booth when Jin sidles off, already choosing his next target. “Where’s your head at?” 

“Hm?” 

“We just talked to Y/n, I hear your meeting went well, prospects are high. She seems interested,” Taehyung’s speech is backed with encouragement, Jeongguk’s lip quivering, but winning the fight against his impending smile, intent on not giving himself away too quickly. 

“She said she’d think about it and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He thinks of your promise, the thoughts skirting past the surface for a sign, a signal that the more he feels is exactly the meaning behind your words. His rang true, he would wait and be content. He would be prepared to have you work as his artist and end things there, but the weight in his pocket and the recollection of your eyes doubled in size leaves room for the want of more. 

“She seemed impressed with you,” Jimin adds, chin rested in his palm, reading for reaction. “The fact that she’s considering is a really good sign. For her and for you.” 

“It all just felt really natural,” The two watch as Jeongguk’s eyes glaze over just thinking about the exchange. “Almost like we…” 

He trails, face heating, his thoughts almost betraying him. He’s relieved when a server comes bearing dishes, thanking them aloud with pleasantry and inwardly for saving him from himself. The relief is short lived when two sets of eyes beam at him like he’s an amusement, waiting for him to continue.

“Almost like you…” 

“Nothing, it’s really stupid. She’s really great, I’ll be lucky if she decides that I’m worth it.” He covers lamely, shoving his spoon past his lips, letting creamy vanilla coat his tongue and ease his mind. 

“Trust me,” Jimin mumbles, swallowing his own hefty scoop. “She decided that the moment you sat down.” 

~*~

It’s unclear what brought you to this stool some nights later, half buzzed and wondering if you’ll have to call Jimin to drag you home. Your mind hasn’t completely fogged, liquor light with mercy, heavy consequences no doubt pending for the morning to come. A break, you’d decided, hands and knees stained with product, trying in vain to work the stain from your carpet, the smudge faint but not enough to miss your eye. 

The crowd is surprising, though you wouldn’t know as you don’t often go to the place with the metaphorical bad stuff, your own brand of lunacy dancing in boxes lacing your cabinetry. You recall the draw of drinks from mugs and Jimin off-key when you’re sliding more bills than you prefer across the counter. Moving is without appeal, head to the counter the way to go.

“Hey, you okay?” The voice is familiar, worth the work to lift your head. Jeongguk looks down at you, his hand placed to the bar, eyes wide with concern. 

His own stumbling through the door of the room with the dim lighting and the absurd amount of sports playing in every corner was boredom. Taehyung had plans and he was left alone to the drone of the television, the shop in need of a break from him. The dishes already glistening from his tenth wash despite the lack of use. A spot of dust enough to send him into a frenzy. From Jimin the name of the dive was briefly mentioned, in relation to what he couldn’t say, the topic never picking his brain from the moment it was first spoken. 

Now he’s glad he wasn’t a horrible companion, the sight of you hunched over reason enough for his half listen. He notes your solitude immediately, drawn to the side of the bar rather than the thick of it all, two glasses empty before you. 

“Jeongguk!” Your tone is uneven, eyes looking watered under the lights, your smile brightening in his eyes. He can’t help but to return, lowering into the stool so your faces are level. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I just got here actually and I saw you so…” 

“You came for me?” If you were less influenced the words would have remained nothing more than a thought, passing in a sea of others you could never muster courage to speak. Though you’re not sure that a post buzz reflection will make you wish they were any less materialized, the way his features soften like a fertilization for the growth of your thudding heart.

“I—yeah, I came for you. Are you ready to head home?” 

“You don’t know where I live,” You say the words, knowing you’ll go anywhere with him even if he doesn’t. You let him guide you from your stool, his touch soft, never too much. 

“You know, I’ve got a pretty good idea.” 

~*~

He lingers outside of your door, adoring the small struggle you have with lock and key, about to lend a hand when your triumph catches him, arms lifting over your head, turning to him with a smile. “Come on!” 

“You want me to come in?” Taehyung will be home soon and he has no way of explaining that he’s at your place that doesn’t involve some teasing on his best friend’s end of it, though it doesn’t matter when you latch on to the sleeve of his jacket and pull him past the threshold. 

The biggest difference between your place and theirs is the lived-in aspect. He would say that it’s cute, but it’s too simple a word. It seems you prefer mood lighting, the flip of a switch igniting fairies strung to the base of the ceiling. It suits you, who’s already stumbling toward the kitchen expecting that Jeongguk is hot on your trail. The décor is simple, a few paintings on the wall, rugs and cozy furniture. 

“I’m sorry if it’s cold in here, it’s always kind of cold in here,” You mutter, grabbing two mugs and giving life to your kettle. Jeongguk recalls that you were no longer in possession of your space heater, taken by Taehyung and himself and still unreturned. He debates running over to grab it, but your hand once more on his wrist, drags him to the sofa erasing the thought of walking out of that door. “Thanks for bringing me home, I promise I’m not that wasted. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“No, I’m not nervous! Not because you were drinking anyways…” 

“So you are nervous...why?”

“You make me nervous...in a good way!” He’s quick to regroup, noting the fall of your features, hating that it’s because of him. “It’s completely insane, but from the moment I saw you I…” 

“Me too.” Jeongguk’s previously averted gaze rushes to meet you, already staring back. He doesn’t need to ask what you mean, confident that what you feel is what he feels. Confident that it doesn’t matter how insane it may sound. “It’s so crazy, but when I saw you yesterday something just clicked and I thought maybe it’s because you’re ridiculously attractive but then we talked and it was so natural.” 

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” He takes a chance, hand sliding to yours, resting against your thigh. Your fingers tangle without stutter, the position meant to be, so full of warmth and understanding. “I saw you with Jimin a few days ago, I couldn't stop staring."

So long is spent staring, enjoying each other and the mutual affection that's like an aura engulfing you.

"Where exactly do we go from here?” Jeongguk tugs at his bottom lip, another quality that fills you with warmth. 

“Why are you opening a tea shop?” 

“What?” 

“We’re practically strangers, I don’t even know your last name actually. So, if there’s some weird predestined love at first sight phenomenon going on here, I’d like to know everything about you before we proceed.” You click, smile a contagious thing, one that Jeongguk would be remiss not to embrace wholeheartedly. “So why a tea shop?” 

“Well first, my last name is Jeon—”

“Jeon Jeongguk…” He watches you test the words against your tongue. “Cute. You’re cute.” 

“Anyways,” He blushes. “I’ve always loved making tea. I learned it at a young age and then I started experimenting and decided that this is what I wanna do. I figured focusing on boba would draw more people in, but I also wanna expand on what I already know.” 

“Well if anything, Hoseok will be there at least twice a day.”

“What about you?” 

“I think I can make time, though you are really out of the way I might not be able to swing it.” 

“I’ll pick you up, or better yet I can just bring it right to you,” He offers, amused but truthful. “No, but I mean how did you get into tattooing, and how did you learn tebori?” 

“Ah…” Your eyes find one of the frames hanging nearest the window, a landscape that Jeongguk can barely make out aside from the distance of neon. “Well, I was studying abroad actually, in Japan. I was an art history major and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do so I thought getting away would help me figure it out.”

You think often about the day when your current occupation seemed so foreign, your adolescence always filled with imaginings of galleries under curation, days filled with frames and packed schedules. 

“One of my classmates convinced me to go out with her one night because she wanted a tattoo and I wanted one too, so I didn’t really see why I shouldn’t go. She got hers first, a flower I think, and while I was watching the artist I was just blown away by the technique.” 

“Tebori?”

“Mmhm, of course I’d seen the regular ink and needle, but this just seemed to me something on a deeper level and I fell in love with it. It’s probably the most insane thing I’ve done to date, but I finished my degree abroad and stayed in Japan to learn and now I’m here.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“It just felt like it was time...sometimes I wish I hadn’t or that I could go back to visit. Like it’ll remind me what it felt like in the beginning, make me feel like less of a failure. I'd actually get my tattoo.” 

“You’re not a failure, we just have patches sometimes. You’ll figure it out, we’ll figure it out.” The steam of the kettle startles from the moment you're quick to exit to the stove, mulling words and recovering from the embarrassment of exposure over the steaming water. “You know, I don’t have tea so I hope hot chocolate is okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Jeongguk accepts his mug and the packet of mix, stirring it in time with his breathing. He’s left to the obvious blushing of his cheeks, musing his circumstance, sharing a drink with the perfect anomaly. He’s ignored the constant stream of vibration from his pocket, no interest in removing himself from the cozy bubble. “So this place is pretty shitty, I would know and I’ve only lived here about a week. Why do you stay here?” 

“You live here? Wait...you and Taehyung are roommates, duh sorry. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the space heater by the way. I’m pretty sure I would’ve given in the first night if I had to sleep in the cold.”

“Ha! No worries, sometimes I do give in and I stay over at Jimin’s place. But I’m just not ready to let this place go yet, I guess. It’s not great, but change is hard and I’ve been here for so long.” 

You're close along the counter, space invaded without invitation, gravitation controlling your every step. The rest of the night follows suit, closeness and appeal. You enjoy words and laughter, ignoring the possibility of the responsibility the next day alludes. 

Somehow you find yourselves in your bed, faces close and bodies tucked beneath the thick duvet. You're glad the heat isn’t working tonight, Jeongguk wrapped around you like a boa, slowly falling into the depths of unconsciousness, the conversation lulling with each random topic. Your throat is strained from laughter and your brain is filled with more than it thought possible. 

Inches are now centimeters and you’re snails inching toward the finish, certain but uncertain if the light of day will change the result of your exchange. 

The morning following you wake much the same as you slept, tangled, breaths mingling between. Jeongguk is still snoring, blissfully unaware of the authoritative knock echoing from your front door. Hands pushing at your eyes, feet tingling against the cold flooring, you swing the door with an annoyance you’re prepared to unleash before you’re met with Taehyung. 

His eyes are half frantic, neck craning to see around you. 

“Taehyung?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jeongguk? I’ve been trying to reach him since last night and he’s not answering.” 

“O-oh...um he’s here, let me get him,” You mumble, allowing Taehyung, his eyes softening and features squinted, to step inside. You leave him standing in the living room, ignoring the knowing smirk, head bowed as you step into your bedroom. 

You regret the gentle shove of his shoulders, and the hushed “wake up” that slowly but surely draws Jeongguk from his sleep. He looked peaceful, full of youth with his eyes stapled and breath steady rising and falling. His eyes are puffy when he raises, confusion laced features recalling that he wasn’t in his own home. 

His arm extends, patting your side of the bed, unaware that you were the reason for premature awakening. “Hey sleepy head.”

“What are you doing up?” He finds your hand, grabbing hold in an attempt to pull you back to bed. Though you would be more than willing, Taehyung is sure to have heaps to say already, no reason to add fuel to the fire already blazing in his pupils. 

“Taehyung is here,” That catches his attention, eyes darting to the door half open. “He said he’s been trying to reach you. He’s waiting in the living room, I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to know you’re here, I panicked.” 

“No it’s fine,” He assures, sliding from the bed, the same chill that ate you catching him with bare feet. You follow him back out to Taehyung, who’s taken it upon himself to peruse the space, currently examining the coffee table with it’s day old mugs. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Looking between the two of you, your hand finding habit at Jeongguk’s shoulder, he shrugs. “No biggie, just thought you might be in a ditch or something. Turns out I was very wrong, so I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’ll just come with you, I should probably shower and change. I’ve got some stuff to take care of before the opening. I can’t believe it’s only a couple months away.” You drop your hand, leaving him to it, an awkward and unsure feeling settling in your stomach. It’s clear that Jeongguk is a bit embarrassed, not that you’re own emotions haven’t caused the sting of a heat in your cheeks. You wait for him to follow Taehyung, who’s already waved goodbye, hands in his pockets as he stalks away. 

Jeongguk isn’t so quick, turning to your ground bound pupils, fingers drifting to the trace of your jaw and nudging you to greet him. You’re taken by the lack of hesitation when his lips meet yours in kiss, short and sweet, altogether unexpected. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” You coo, fingers brushing his cheek gingerly, rewarded with one more peck before Taehyung is groaning in the hallway, effectively tearing Jeongguk from you to catch up. 

~*~

You’re warm, for the first time in a long time you’re warm, from your chest to your veins, head and toes, and it’s all because of Jeon Jeongguk. His departure wasn’t the last of him, the next few months full of meetings planned and spontaneous, your phone alight with too many notifications, every one taken in with the same adoring smile and your own obsessed response. 

You would stop by Hoseok’s blessing him with a coffee, happily listening to his rambling about the horrendous new flavor Jin had him and Yoongi test the other night. Across the street you could just see Jeongguk through the window, lips pulled in concentration, pen scribbling on the pad in front of him. Though it was cute, you couldn’t help but to attempt to cheer him up, his eyes immediately finding you after he’s read the little note sent to his phone. 

You would be sick with yourself if you were the one to witness the affection radiating from your expanse, but you couldn’t care less how many times Jimin fake gags or the small lecture you endure when Yoongi delivers flowers later in the day. You hold on to the feeling and you hope that it feels like this all the time. 

“What are you working on?” Namjoon steps into your office, no other reason than his own boredom swallowing him whole, much like the cushions when he collapses into your sofa. 

“Just some of Jeongguk’s sketches…” You noticed rather quickly the familiar book resting on your bedside table after your first night together, no doubt placed by Jeongguk before sleep could find him. You spent the morning getting to know his art better, so you could try to make it exactly what he wanted. You only just got around to transferring the sketches to your own notebook, hoping to have something to show him at his opening. 

“He’s really good for you. I haven’t seen you this eager about sketching in a while.” 

“You think so?” 

“What, you don’t?”

“No, I just...I don’t want you to think I’m completely insane for jumping into this so suddenly. I mean, I think it’s insane that I could be so completely sure about someone so quickly and I think the world of you, so I don’t want you to be disappointed…” 

He laughs, whole hearted laughter fills your office and you’re not positive how you should respond. Your hands are unsteady on your pen, ready for him to completely crush your soul, back to the same girl standing in his doorway all those years ago. 

“Honestly, you give me way too much credit.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night that you showed up, I was wondering how I was even gonna keep this place open. The building wasn’t the most friendly looking, most people walked right past, the outside giving them the impression that the inside was just as decrepit,” He sighs, head supported by the arm of the chair, eyes holding the ceiling in place. “When you showed up I was seconds away from telling you to get lost, then you handed me your sketches and you looked so hopeful. You were my last chance, so really I should be thanking you for being so spontaneous, especially if it means you’re happy.” 

“Wow, why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I didn’t want to put more pressure than you already put on yourself. Plus, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? We’re doing pretty good, and that’s what’s important.” 

The revelation is a motivation, your grip on the pencil tightening, strokes light and even on the page. Namjoon doesn’t say much more, silent inspiration while he falls into slumber, the only reason he ever finds himself meandering into your space. 

“Knock knock,” Jeongguk peers around the corner, your finer flying to your lips, the other gesturing toward Namjoon, dozing peacefully. “Sorry, does he do that a lot?” 

“Oh yeah, he pretends he wants to know what I’m up to then he’s out like a light before I’ve finished speaking.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime—”

“Watch it,” You warn playfully, sneakily closing your notebook so he can’t see. “What’s up? I figured you would be too busy filling orders for little ole me.” 

“Never, and I want you to try this! I was thinking I could add it to the special menu. I know everyone is into the whole lemonade with boba thing which we do offer but I was trying to make a tea that’s more on the fruity side than the tea side because I know some people are put off by the tea taste, ya know?” He watches you uncomfortably closely, your face trained to be as neutral as possible while flavors explode, traveling to opposing ends of your mouth, battling it out, but ultimately left with no winner. 

“You know, I appreciate the thought and I’m sure if you work on it some more it’ll be perfect but…”

“It’s disgusting.” He finishes for you sighing in defeat, collapsing in the chair across from you. 

“No!” You round the desk, his arms ready to accept your slide into his lap. “It’s not disgusting, it’s just...not quite blended yet.” 

He takes the to-go cup, sipping his own concoction. You wonder if he tried it at all before running over here, his habit of trusting your initial judgement extremely endearing, but unnecessary. It stems only from your admittance that you weren’t the biggest tea drinker and that you’re one of those lemonade with the boba people. His mission became clear, he couldn’t stand to see you walk into his shop knowing that you’ll be leaving with sugared lemons squeezed into juice. He has to make you the perfect tea if it’s the last thing he does.

He was set on making it for the opening, but to no avail, the sign flipped, his employees brewing away, his drop here only partially out of the necessity for his favorite taste tester. “It’s disgusting,” He decides immediately, fighting the urge to spit it back into the cup. “You have to stop being so nice to me, it’s cute, but I want you to yell at me like you yell at Jimin.” 

“I don’t yell at Jimin!” 

“You yell at Jimin all the time, lovingly, but there are voices raised.” Namjoon rubs at his eyes, tugging at the shirt riding at his abdomen. “We goin for tea or what? I swear people are gonna think we’re out of business with how often we close early.” 

"Yeah, can you just give us a minute?" You try your best to be discrete, nodding toward the notebook on your desk. 

"Yeah...Jimin and I will just meet you there." He leaves you, door clicking in his wake and you turn to Jeongguk with a ready grin, eyes wide with excitement.

"Is this one of those things where I should knock everything off of your desk? If so I'm down, but this is a weird time…"

"No! I have a surprise for you." You pull his journal from it's position beneath the stacks of paper on your desk. "You left this at my place your first night over."

"I've been looking for this! I was embarrassed to tell you I lost it, but it turns out you're a klepto." He teases, taking hold of the pages. "So you decided to hold it hostage?"

"I wasn't holding it hostage, I was working on…" You lift your sketchbook, flipping to the appropriate page. "These."

They aren't complete, but you want his first impression and suddenly you understand the tea thing. It's a radically different medium, your shared art actually pending ink on his body, but you don't want to go too far only to disappoint. He leans against the desk, not speaking, just staring, expressionless.

"If you don't like them we can talk about what you want changed, I just tried to make something I thought would fit what you've already got going." 

He finally looks up, eyes glistening, your stomach doing flips. You're too afraid to ask what he's thinking, so you continue to wait, hoping he'll speak up soon and that you didn't insult him with your vision.

"I love them."

"Really? You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings, it's your body you know."

"Really, you're amazing. This is better than I could've hoped and I can't wait until it's permanent." His words are firm with sincerity, notebook laid to the side in favor of pulling you into his arms. "How am I supposed to compete? I can't even make tea for you."

"Relax, your tea is perfectly fine! I just enjoy the occasional lemonade. Come on, we'll go to the shop, you can make me whatever you want and I'll love it."

"Deal, but...I-we have a surprise for you as well."

"For me?"

"Yeah, I was talking with the guys the other day, we were talking about you..."

"You and the guys? This should be good."

"It is, I promise." He produces an envelope from his pocket, no scrawl on the outside, more mystery than you're ready for. “I was thinking about what you said that first night, about wanting to remember what it was like in the beginning.” 

“What did you do?” You tear into the envelope, fingers moving so slowly you fear the skin will catch in the thin edges. What you pull is far from what you imagined, a ticket printed blue for a week’s time. Jeongguk stares at you expectantly, waiting for some form of reaction, but you’re not sure what to say. “This is a plane ticket…” 

“Yeah, to Japan. We want you to go back and we knew you wouldn’t do it unless we planned it for you.” 

“You guys didn’t have to.” 

“We wanted to, I wanted to. The way your eyes lit up talking about that time in your life, I would do anything to give that to you again. So we want you to go to Japan, do something for you.” His lips land on your forehead, breathing you in while you process the unexpected gift. It’s more than you could ever imagine, but there’s a single string, dangling with uncertainty. You figure the only way to eliminate it is to pull full force, risk sounding ridiculous. 

“What about you?” Jeongguk’s face scrunches in confusion, the inquiry the last thing he expected. His thoughts were far from himself, not naive enough to think his mind would be focused anywhere but you while you’re gone, but never thinking it would be a reason you’re unsure about going. “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but I’d miss you too much.” 

“You can call me everyday, any time of day. I’ll be there, you don’t have to worry about me not being here waiting for you.” 

“Or...you could come?” 

“Oh, you want me to? I figured you’d want to do your own thing, not have me weighing you down.” Your arms find his waist, head resting against his chest, giggling at the prospect of Jeongguk being anything more than a comforting presence. 

“Of course I want you to, I wanna show you everything.” 

“I’ll have to figure things out with the shop, but—”

“Oh, wow I’m so selfish. Of course you can’t just drop everything to come with me, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” You shake your head, silently scolding your inconsideration. Jeongguk grabs hold of your shoulders, stopping you mid step, hand halfway to smack your forehead.

“I would love to come, I just have to talk to Taehyung about it. I’m sure he wouldn't mind taking on a little more responsibility. Actually he’ll probably pack my bags for me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll probably have to catch a later flight, just to get things taken care of.” He thinks aloud. 

“I think I can manage a few days on my own.” 

“I promise I won’t be long.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And now, we smile. 

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

Uppast's Cats Tour Comments: Act 1

note: i'm referring to the cats by their show names, however I may use the actor's name for a specific comment!

Overture

They did this SO well! I definitely missed seeing the cast in the aisles, but they projected the green eyes onto the stage, and it was the perfect amount of creepy/weird/hypnotizing.

I absolutely love the lights slowly being raised while shining all the spotlights, it sets the vibe PERFECTLY

also saying this now: the orchestra was incredible!

Prologue: Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats

right off the bat, we’ve a super sweet Demestrap moment, with Munkustrap checking on Demeter after the car! It was adorable!

Devon's voice is SO good for Munkustrap, also the man is TALL OH MY GOD

Tugger didn't get his "can you say of your bite that it's worse than your bark" line, which I was a little disappointed about. However, Zach as Bill Bailey is absolutely 10/10.

Brianna… the babiest Sillabub… so precious... so small...

There were some Victor and Gus moments, with them either standing near each other or sharing looks/touches, so if anyone ships them, y'all got your rarepair moment!

THE BOOT WAS SO LOUD LMAO

They use the set so well!

The Naming of Cats

creepy, wonderful, everything I want from this number

A handful of the cats got right to the edge of the stage where the lighting was, so they were all glowing, and it was the BEST vibe.

Taylor was staring into my soul during the last verse so now I can say I've been vibe-checked by Coricopat.

Invitation to the Jellicle Ball

Hyla is the PERFECT Victoria!!!!! She's so incredibly graceful, she had the sweetest expression on her face, and ugh it was flawless.

Paul is also just an amazing Mistoffelees.

Munkustrap had literally the sweetest moment with Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer and I almost started crying. Right before Jennyanydots' song, when everyone's getting into place, Mungo and Rumple immediately went to Munkustrap and were cuddling his legs, and he gave them pets, and just oh my god T_T

Gumbie Cat

OKAY SO I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THE KITTEN SQUAD SO MUCH MY HEART

When everyone's setting up for Jennyanydots' song, after the nuzzles, the lights start to switch, and the kitten squad was trying to catch the lights on the ground while Munkustrap was looking at them with the fondest expression and i swear i cried a little bit over how cute they were.

SKIMBLE LOVES HIS WIFE SO MUCH AND WAS HELPING HER GET THE KITTENS INTO THEIR MICE COSTUMES

Plato, Alonzo, and Mungojerrie were great cockroaches, 10/10

The Gumbie Trio was so good! Their voices sounded amazing together, and they were all just having so much fun!

SO MUCH MAMA JELLY AND SON TUMBLE I FEEL SO HAPPY

I'm going to go more in-depth in my Kitten Squad post!

Rum Tum Tugger

The way Zach said "Who will it be?" was absolutely amazing, i loved it, 10/10 character introduction.

Jennyanydots stomped off when he interrupted her accolades, she was very upset.

Zach and Devon nailed Tugger and Munkustrap's sibling dynamic PERFECTLY, Devon was the best Tired Older Brother Munkus.

Yeah, this number pretty much confirmed Zach as my favorite Tugger.

Mistoffelees and Cassandra did some lounging together in the background on the car.

Chelsea's Bomba is absolutely *chef's kiss*, I adore her

Obviously Tugger and Mistoffelees did their little dance, and it was wonderful. I'm not sure if other shows had Mistoffelees do this, but he went between Tugger's legs at the end of his little solo and Tugger was just vibing.

MY FAVORITE MOMENT THOUGH had to be near the end of the song, Munkustrap was 100% getting into it, and Tugger went over to him and was teasing him, poking him, and it was the cutest brother interaction.

They did have the camera! Zach did some very Tugger poses, and it was great.

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

haha Tugger went to hide behind the metal bars on the furthest side of the stage away from Grizabella, I'm in ✨pain✨

Sillabub goes to touch Grizabella, Grandpa Skimble pulls her back and starts scolding her, I want to hug the baby.

No, but I did really love that moment. It's off to the side, but you can see him giving her a talking to, and she's trying to say something back, but he's very firm.

Mungojerrie egged George on to scratch Grizabella, George sweetie don't be mean.

Taylor has such a perfect voice for Grizabella, and I loved her look!

OKAY SO LAUREN AND CHELSEA'S VOICES

Lauren's voice is so smooth and suave, and Chelsea's voice has a little growl that almost made me pass out, like ma'am i'm in love? But their voices mixed together, as well as how slightly different they are was such a great choice, and I kind of hope that other future productions take note and have two actresses with vastly different vocals for Demeter and Bombalurina.

Bustopher Jones

Mistoffelees and Victoria go to great Bustopher together and it was the cutest thing, they were so excited to see him!

Munkustrap immediately grabbing Mungo and Rumple by the necks and steering the gremlins away from the Very Important Cat.

Tugger was keeping watch so Munkustrap could be silly with everyone else during Bustopher's number, and that's not something I'm forgetting. Usually, obviously, Munkustrap's sort of in the background, standing, watching, and not really interacting. But Tugger switched places, and was up on the scaffolding watching, and it was CUTE!

My Tuggandra crumbs, thank you Zach and Lexy, I'm indebted to you both.

Tugger literally was just lounging on the car during the end of Bustopher's song, just waving his arms around, and I love him.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

Elana (Teazer for this show) had the PERFECT Rumple giggle!

They're so silly, I love them

They made the best facial expressions, especially when Mungo "stole" Rumple's pearls.

Very dramatic gremlin twins, jumping all over the place, not caring about anything!

They were so confident at the end of their song when they went to walk off, and immediately went into "oh shit" mode when Munkus, Plato, and Alonzo came out.

Run through the legs of Munkus! See Munkus, this is why you need to not stand with your legs apart when you're attempting to control kittens.

Old Deuteronomy

Saying it again, Devon and Zach are SUCH a good Munkustrap and Tugger.

The babies were so excited to see Old Deut! They could barely contain themselves, and then got cuddles! (Also Tanto was with the kittens and i love that for her, let her be a kitten!! I definitely got "big brother Cori/little sister Tanto" vibes)

Everyone's getting Deut nuzzles!!

Tugger did a VERY dramatic shimmy at his dad, and Deut laughed, and I cried.

Tugger and Munkustrap standing on either side of their dad!!!! He's so proud of them!!

Jellicle Ball

Sillabub was hiding on top of the oven before the Ball, sweet baby T_T

George got to sing with Old Deut!! Happy boy!!

TUMBLE FLIPS TUMBLE FLIPS TUMBLE FLIPS

Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks being the Supervisors!!

There was a really sweet Jellylorum and Alonzo moment (def going to talk more about it in the Alonzo post), but my "Jellylorum is Alonzo, Tumble, and Pounce's Mom" hc is feeling SO VALIDATED TONIGHT

I've said this so many times, but I adore that Plato and Victoria get their own little solo before their Big Solo. It's so sweet, and Hyla and Adam have wonderful chemistry!

Tugger chases Bomba offstage before The Moment, and I love that for them

CUDDLE PILE!!!

Munkustrap and Demeter cuddled together in the corner away from the pile and I want to sob because they were just so sweet, her head was on his shoulder, and he was holding her, and literally everyone in this show has such good chemistry with each other.

Tugger looks up with the psychic twins during Grizabella's reveal, once again making me think that Tugger and Munkustrap have magic like their brother.

OH AND TUGGER DID THE STUPIDEST LITTLE DANCE WHERE HE WAS SHAKING HIS BUTT AND HAVING FUN AND MUNGOJERRIE LAUGHED AT HIM AND THEY HAD A MOMENT AND IT WAS GREAT

Memory

ouch ouch ouch

Jennyanydots blocks the stairs up to Deut's tire so Grizabella can't go to Deut, my heart

steering the babies away from Grizabella even though Silla wants to give her a hug.

Taylor you hurt me in the best way possible

I always get emotional over Grizabella's dance before her song, it's such a telling moment, but unfortunately I don't think everyone understands that it's supposed to be a serious moment and not funny.

Deut sits on his tire the entire song and it's HEARTBREAKING

At the very end, Grizabella does the reaching back, and Deut reaches forward, and if you're sitting in the right spot it looks like they're touching and i'm NOT OKAY

[xaphrin]

This is way longer than I anticipated, and also I hope you don’t mind it gets a little adult-ish at the end there. 

- - -

Ending up in urgent care at ten in the evening was not where Damian had expected this night to end, but here he was. He perused the eight month-old issue of Golf Digest a third time, looking at the pictures, but not quite reading. He felt uncomfortable and helpless, sitting out here in the waiting room. He’d driven her to the urgent care, but Raven had been too embarrassed to allow him into the examination room, and so he was relegated to this corner of the room, trying not to feel panicked and worried about her. It was just a fall down the stairs, painful and probably mortifying, but nothing life-threatening. But, still… that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry about her either. Of course he was going to worry about her.

He leaned back, his head resting against the wall as he stared at the ceiling, and let his mind wander. 

It doesn’t mean that I can’t change my mind in the future.  

His stomach tightened as he thought about what that implied - that Raven might actually like him. Or, was at least learning to tolerate him a bit more. He knew that finding himself even kissing her was a pipe dream, but actually making love to her? Ugh. He’d already had one too many sleepless nights thinking about what he would do to her and with her if he was ever blessed with the opportunity to have Raven in his arms. His tongue wet his lower lip, and he let go of a frustrated sigh, reminding himself that this was just a date. She’d made it perfectly clear that this was nothing more… even if her purse was packed full of condoms.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm his breathing. Just because he was eighteen months into his self-imposed dry spell, didn’t mean that he had to start thinking about Raven like he was a horny teenager discovering his dick for the first time. Jeeze. Damian ran his fingers through his hair and looked over towards the examination rooms when his name was politely called from the doorway. 

“Mister Wayne?” 

Raven was hobbling out of the exam room on crutches, her ankle wrapped tightly with a bandage and a new still-healing scrape along her left cheek and over her chin. She met his stare with a frown and then walked over to him, looking more than just sheepish. She looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole and die. 

Damian stood up and walked to where she was. 

The nurse padded up behind her, looking sympathetic. “Luckily, it’s just a sprain. Raven is advised to stay off it for the next few weeks, and only go out if absolutely necessary. She may need some help getting paperwork and classwork if she can’t make it out on campus.” The nurse gave a polite smile, her eyes darting between them as if seeing something Damian didn’t. “And I wanted to make sure she had someone to get her home safe and sound.” 

“I’ll make sure she gets back right away.” Damian gave a polite smile. “Thank you.” 

The nurse nodded and bid them good night before taking another patient back with her. Damian stared down at Raven, but she refused to make eye contact with him. He nodded slowly, his voice sympathetic and soft. “So… I take it our date is officially over?”

Raven groaned and turned away from him, accompanied by the soft click click of her crutches on the linoleum floor. She hobbled towards the exit, ignoring Damian as he caught up with her. 

“I thought your flirting was cute.” Damian smirked, and she glared at him from the corner of her eye, but continued to stay quiet. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to think. “Admittedly your tumble down the stairs was somewhat left to be desired.”

Her eyes narrowed and she whispered a curse under her breath. “Jerk.”

He just smiled and guided her to the car. “If anything, this will be an interesting first date story to tell our friends.”

Raven’s face paled and she stopped hobbling long enough to turn towards him. “We are never going to speak of this again. And our friends will never know. No one will ever know.” 

Damian opened the car door and helped her inside, putting her crutches in the backseat. “You sure? I think it’s pretty funny. You trying to charm the pants off me, and end up careening down the stairs, barely missing the murky water of the marina.” He walked around the car and slid behind the wheel. “It’s almost like a romantic comedy.”  

“Please. Stop talking. I don’t want to talk about this ever again.” She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Our first date and instead of making out by the bay, you ended up taking me to urgent care.”

Damian glanced over at her and lifted an eyebrow. “You make it sound like we were going to make out by the bay.” His heart skipped beats, and he swallowed, letting her words ring in his ears. Make out. She wanted to make out with him? His stomach clenched again, and he tried to keep his voice calm. “After you explicitly said you weren’t going to sleep with me?”

“Sleeping with you and making out are two very different things.” She sniffed and glanced away, her lips pursing in annoyance. “Besides…” She shrugged, as if thinking about what she said to him. “You were making me forget why I wasn’t going to make out with you in the first place. You’re unnervingly charming sometimes.” 

Damian’s eyebrows lifted, and he glanced over at her as he pulled the car onto the road. “Is that an offhanded way of saying you were actually enjoying our date?”

She glanced at him before looking out the window again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yes. Yes, he would. If she still wanted to make out with him he would pull this car over the side of the road and crawl into the back seat with her. Bury his hands in her hair. Feel her breath against his own lips. Hell, he would do anything she wanted just so he could taste that vanilla chapstick she was always using. His heart twisted his chest and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his body from reacting to the sudden onslaught of need. She was injured, and he needed to stop acting like a horny idiot. All he had to so, was take her home.  

Raven sighed and rubbed at her cheek. “I just want to go back to the house and pretend this night never happened.” 

Damian nodded and pressed down on the gas, making his way back to her house. The sooner he got her out of the car, the sooner he could turn around and pretend that this night was over, and they could go back to being whatever they were before. Although… he wasn’t sure if that was what he really wanted. After tonight, he realized that he couldn’t keep pretending for much longer. He couldn’t keep making himself believe that he could ignore her or keep her at a distance. Damian wanted Raven in his life, in a way he didn’t want anyone else. He might get hurt, and his heart might shatter into a million pieces, but… he had to at least try. Right?

Damian found himself lost in thought as he pulled up next to her house, the lights turned down dark.  

“Donna and Karen went out to a party, so…” 

Raven’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he glanced over at her. “I’ll help you to your room.”

“Please don’t. I’m already going to die from embarrassment, please don’t add insult to injury.” Raven hobbled out of the car, struggling to pull her crutches out of the backseat as she leaned all her weight on her good ankle. “I’ll be fine. Slow. But fine. So, good night.”

Damian stepped out of the car and watched her with amused fascination. She pulled out the crutches, hobbled up the short walk, and stopped at the porch steps, staring at them as if they were a mountain she was supposed to climb. She stood there for a moment, obviously trying to figure out how to navigate the walk into the house. Honestly. She was so damn stubborn. With an annoyed sigh, he walked up to her, bent down, and hefted Raven over his shoulder, carrying her fireman-style up the porch steps. 

“Put me down!” 

Ignoring Raven’s complaints, he reached into her purse, still packed with condoms, pulled out her keys, and opened the front door. 

“I am serious! I am not going to let you just manhandle me like this, Damian Wayne.” 

Damian just rolled his eyes, but made a note that she wasn’t really struggling against him. Her anger seemed more of an indignant act to save face, and he would let her have that small bit of pride if she needed it. He walked into her house and set her purse on the sofa, before heading upstairs. “Which one is yours?”

“First door on the right.” Raven sighed, obviously defeated. “It’s open.” 

 “Okay.” He opened the door and walked in, suddenly assaulted with how much of her was packed into such a small space. Books lined every wall and were stacked neatly by her bed. Her room was clean and organized, decorated with artistic prints and photos of her friends. His stomach clenched as he took in the scent of her - vanilla and lavender, and he found himself wanting to stay here forever, in this little oasis of her. 

He was hopeless. 

“You can put me down now, Dami.” 

Damian shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and set her down on the bed. With a smirk, he stared down at her. “See? I saved you ten minutes of struggling.” 

Raven gave him a deadpan stare. “How heroic.” Without really thinking, she reached behind her and started to unfasten the dress she was wearing. “Can you grab my t-shirt and leggings on the chair by the door. If I have to spend one more minute in this dress, I swear I’m going to scream.” 

Damian grabbed her clothes and when he turned back around, Raven was sitting in nothing more than a black bra and a pair of lacy underwear. Well, fuck. It felt like he could see miles of creamy skin, her body gently toned from her yoga and pilates classes, and her secrets hidden by only a thin barrier of lace. The soft light from a bedside lamp cast beautiful shadows over her skin, and he watched to trace every single one of them. His mouth watered and he stood there, feeling helpless as he stared at her. Blood rushed between his legs and she found himself desperate to touch.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl in her underwear?” Raven grabbed the clothes from his hands, and wiggled into them, giving him a flat stare. “I would have thought with the way girls on campus talk about your-” She paused and pitched her voice high and breathy, fluttering her eyelashes in a tease. “-giant cock that you’ve seen more than your fair share of half-naked girls.” 

Oh. Ouch. Sure, he’d gone through a spell where he had slept with every girl who wanted to find themselves in his bed. But he learned quickly that it wasn’t really about sex. It had never been about the sex. The only thing he really wanted was to drive Raven from his mind, and he thought that if he found the right girl, maybe it would make him forget all about her. Maybe he wouldn’t find himself dreaming about her every night, and watching her from across the room. But, it never worked. And all it had done was hurt him even more. It had been eighteen months since he slept with anyone. Eighteen months since Raven had been at the frat house, and watched the trail of girls come into his room and leave with wistful smiles on their faces. 

He remembered the sharp bite to her voice as she pushed past him to Jaime’s room for her Spanish tutoring. 

Whore. 

“None of them were you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Damian felt panic claw at his chest. What was it about Raven that made him feel like he was a damned idiot? He needed to learn how to control his thoughts, or he really was going to make himself a fool in front of her. He swallowed and glanced away, pretending to look at one of the prints on the wall. 

“You make it sound like you like me, Dami.” There was a sharpness to her voice, as if she was trying to guard her heart against him. “And we both know-”

“Oh, shut up.” Damian turned and stared at her again, feeling anger rise into his chest before he could stop it. He wanted to fight with her, to try and make her understand what she was saying. Didn’t she realize that he didn’t believe her anymore? “Come on, Raven. We already had this conversation tonight. You want to push at me because it puts distance between us. And, if there’s distance between us, then you don’t have to admit that you had a good time tonight. You wouldn’t have to admit that maybe you kind of like me, and maybe you still want to make out with me.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’re just a little bit jealous of the girls I slept with.” 

Her face burned. “I am not!”

“No?”

“No. I bet I’m not missing a damned thing.” Raven tilted her head up, staring at him from the end of the bed. “I bet you’re a terrible kisser, Damian Wayne.”

His lips tilted to the side. “Are you goading me?” He leaned over her, his hands resting on either side of her hips. “Because if you want me to kiss you, all you have to do is ask.”

There was a moment’s pause and she continued to glare at him, a sharp, unspoken retort dancing on her lips. And then everything seemed to slow. 

Raven fisted her hand in the front of his shirt. 

She pulled him forward.

And kissed him. 

Damian groaned and slammed his eyes shut, giving into the sensation of Raven’s lips on his own. He had never allowed himself the luxury of imagining what it would be like kissing Raven, but it surpassed all possible expectations. She was soft and cautious, as if she found herself in a new and unfamiliar situation, and she wasn’t sure what she needed to do next. He’d be more that happy to guide her. His tongue darted out to stroke along the swell of her lower lip, and his fingers curled into her hair, scattering bobby pins over the floor as he dragged her closer. He tasted that sweet flavor of vanilla chapstick, and before he could stop himself, Damian pushed her back against the bed. Raven met his low groan with one of her own, and her hands shot to hair, as if to keep him pinned to her. 

He wasn’t ever going to let go. 

Damian crawled over her, his arms caging her in as he carefully navigated her body, trying to avoid her injured ankle. Her mouth was like fire, burning hot and destroying every good thought in his head with each pass of her lips. He found his fingers trailing over her, unable to tear his touch away from her skin. His palm rested against her collarbone,not daring to let his fingers travel any further south, but with a whine, Raven wrapped her fingers around his wrist and brought his hand to her breast. Damian lost all contact with the real world. 

He cupped her breast through her t-shirt, feeling her nipple tighten under his touch. She arched her back, thrusting her soft breast into his hand as another moan hummed along his lips. She wanted this, and he wanted to give it to her. And then some. Damian teased her nipple, ran his thumb along it, traced it. He let himself learn everything she wanted from this touch alone, reading every sigh and twitch and gasp, until it felt like his head was going to burst.  

Slowly, he kissed down to her ear and nipped at the lobe. “I want to make you come.” 

He felt her stiffen under him, unsure about what he had said, and Damian pulled back, letting his hand fall to the side. Stupid. So, fucking stupid. What in the world was he thinking? That was way too much, way too fast. Just because he’d been pining for her for four years, it didn’t mean that she felt the same way. He was an idiot.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he stepped off the bed and stumbled backward. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“No. It’s not…” Raven flushed and looked away, shifting uncomfortably as she searched for the right response. “I… haven’t… done that before.” 

Damian was turned away from her, trying to will his erection away. Her words struck him, and he glanced back at her, trying to understand what she meant. “Made out? I thought you dated Gar?”

“No.” She flushed and pulled her shirt down. It had ridden up with their… activities. “That’s not what I meant.”   

The confession clicked in his head. Oh. Oh. Orgasmed. She had never had an orgasm before. Damian blinked, finding himself trying to understand the confession. “I… um… never?”

“I… only ever slept with Gar, and he was high most of the time, and… just… didn’t really know what to do with my body. He tried though, he just… didn’t think to ask what I needed. So, I faked it a lot.” She shifted, and then scrambled for explanation, as if she needed to excuse herself to him. “I mean, I can… when I’m alone. And… not stressed out about school.” 

Which was never. But still, his mind was filled with a sudden image of her in this exact bed with her fingers between her legs, her head thrown back in pleasure. His cock sprang to life again and Damian turned away. Dear god, the last thing she needed to see was him this absolutely desperate for her.  He took a steadying breath and let it out slowly, hoping he could clear his head well enough to continue the conversation.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pushed at her hair. There was a moment’s pause and she gave a teasing smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood between them. “But, I guess I have to say that I’ve been proved wrong. You are a pretty good kisser.” 

Damian gave a weak laugh, but it didn’t match the mood. His eyes searched her face for a long moment. “That wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment confession, Raven.” 

She blinked, color filling her face. “Oh.”

“I… you…” He raked his fingers through his hair, feeling himself stumble over everything. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, meeting her stare. “I should go.” 

Raven glanced away. “You don’t even want to try?”

His stomach dropped and his cock twitched again. Try to give her an orgasm? Yes. Yes, he desperately wanted to try. But… she wasn’t sure, and he could hear it in her voice. He slammed his eyes close and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Are you asking?”

“I don’t know what I want.” Raven pushed at her hair and looked back at him, her eyes dark with confusion. “I just know that you’re making me change my opinions on you. Including whether or not I would make out with you… and let you finger me.”

His fingers clenched. “Maybe I wasn’t going to use my hand.” He wet his lips, watching as Raven’s eyes followed the line of his tongue. He wanted to strip her down, to make her realize that not only did he know exactly what he was doing, but he was damned good at it. He wanted to watch her break apart under his touch over and over and over. He wanted to do everything he never dared to let himself dream about. 

But… he could sense her hesitation, and he knew one thing for sure, he didn’t want her to regret this. He wanted nothing less than her enthusiastic consent when they slept together for the first time. 

“I’m not going to take anything more than you want to give me, Raven.” He turned to her and gave her a soft smile. “So… let’s leave it here tonight. And if you want to revisit this conversation at another time, you know where to find me.” 

Raven lifted her eyes to his face, searching his expression for a long moment. Finally, she gave a slow smile and pitched forward. “You’re a surprisingly good guy, Damian Wayne.” 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“Keep making me change my mind about you.” 

His heart turned over, and at the sight of her soft smile, he thought he might melt right there in front of her.

[rigmarolling]

Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life. 

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing. 

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime. 

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder. 

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color. 

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying. 

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food. 

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool. 

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue! 

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves? 

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials. 

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital. 

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.” 

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 19

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger​!

Social interaction has its pros and cons.

Martin considers a way to pass the time.

Technically, there was no call that night.

Martin had had months to familiarize himself with the strange predawn that added a little color to the sky each morning. His home was on the western coast, so of course he didn’t see much of it until he’d made the trek uphill. With some cloud cover and dense fog, though, the light would scatter and cast a cold blanket of grey light over his corner of the world.

Early on he found it sort of nice, seeing the world ‘wake up’. He’d even started to get up earlier than necessary, just to make himself some tea and look out the window for signs of birds or other creatures who made their lives at dawn and dusk. There were some lines of poetry about it somewhere in his notebook, something about the magic of a quiet morning in solitude.

He’d lasted about a week with that. Turned out his life was already quiet and full enough of contemplative solitude, and warm blankets were much better than cold kitchen tile against his feet.

It was during this little sliver of morning when his mobile, vibrating against the wood of his bedside table, dragged him back to consciousness. 

“No…” he groaned, nuzzling into his pillow. It could only be one person. “Don’t make me come in early. Don’t make me come in early, you prick-” 

He reached over (god it was cold) and grabbed the offending object, keeping as much of himself under the blankets as possible and slipping the mobile back under with him. The screen was bright and painful in his cozy darkness. His eyes adjusted, and on his lockscreen the time read 4:06 a.m.

Before he could convince himself to let the damned thing ring itself out, he glanced at the caller ID. If anything it should’ve given him even more reason to let the call go, but Martin’s finger was already pressing the answer button. 

Attempting to whisper, his voice came out rough and croaky. “Jon?”

“Martin. Glad you’re still up,” Jon said in that distant way of someone paying attention to another task entirely. Keyboard clicks could be heard in the background. “How are you doing?”

Still up? Bleary and confused, Martin replied as if he’d just run into Jon at the store, “Fine, I guess? How are you?”

“I’ve successfully whittled down my assignments enough to have personal research opportunities.” There was a weary but nevertheless triumphant edge to his words. “If this is some sort of test of my abilities, I’d say I deserve a raise.”

“Impressive,” Martin yawned. “Does that mean anything for me, or…”

“No, not yet.” He could feel Jon deflate on the other end. “I’ve only just started looking, and Elias is still acting rather blasé about what we found. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to put business relations over the mission statement, but if that’s the case then-”

“Why send you out here?” 

“Precisely.” Jon clicked his tongue. “So I’m going to pry in that direction while digging through old reports. I assume the others will do the same once they’re caught up.”

Well, progress was as good as anything to wake up to. He reluctantly pulled the blankets from over his head and peeked out at his window. The frost was just visible at the edges, its frigid hands creeping across the glass. Perhaps a little while longer under the covers.

“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you,” Jon continued, filling the space Martin had left empty. The keyboard taps had ceased. “I’d decided to give you some breathing room, but you were quiet during the call with everyone and I thought- well, I wanted to make sure you were okay. As much as can be expected.” 

A small, halfhearted smile found its way onto Martin’s face. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“So… are you okay? I know you said you were, but it sounded like you were being polite.”

Martin looked up at his ceiling. “I mean I was being polite, but… Yeah, I’m okay. As much as can be expected, like you said, but okay.” 

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“What? Nothing, it’s good. I’m gl- I’m happy that you’re… doing okay.” Midway between this thought, Jon seemed to switch the mobile from one ear to the other. “If you aren’t, I just hope you know that you can tell me if something is going on. Sometimes there are emotional aspects that contribute to an event-”

As Jon spoke at length, Martin noticed a distinct tumbling feel in the way Jon spoke, like his thoughts were coming faster than his mouth could follow. Not alcohol, surely? No, a different idea had been bothering Martin since Jon had first called.

“-can’t speak for Tim or Sasha about hours, and if you’d rather just talk one-on-one, I’m sure-”

“Right, hours. Jon, I don’t mean to pry, but have you slept at all?”

The stream of consciousness halted in its tracks. “What?”

“You seem a bit… out of it? Have you checked the time recently?”

A moment passed. Then another. Then- “That can’t be right.”

Weakly, Martin replied, “Good morning to you, too.”

“I-” Jon began. He then made a small, irritated noise. “I woke you up.”

Martin ran a hand over his face and pressed it to his upturned mouth. Into it he mumbled, “You really need to sleep.”

As if the hours had finally come crashing down upon him, Jon’s voice dropped low and soft and properly tired. “I could’ve sworn it was earlier.” 

“I mean, in a sense-” 

“You know what I mean.” A yawn finally broke through, but he fought it back down. “I hope it wasn’t too much earlier than your normal wake-up time?”

“Nah. You’ve seen how early my day starts. Besides, my alarm isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to, and you could’ve been Peter calling me in early.” It was like getting up to enjoy the morning, but he was still in bed and someone else was there (sort of). As far as he was concerned, the pros outweighed the cons. 

“Then I’ll hold my apology for a later date, if you don’t mind.” He spoke bluntly, but possibly in a way that was meant to be funny. Martin was still working out when Jon was being blunt in a rude way or in a friendly way, and his gut pushed him toward the latter. “I also won’t apologize for my work ethic. I work better at night, without distractions or other people.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Martin asked, “Okay, I can play along with that, but when do you sleep?”

“We have a cot.”

Martin scoffed. “What, at work?” An image of the three researchers finding different corners in some dark back room to snooze on company time was almost too much.

“Working after-hours is implied in the description of any academic job. If we didn’t steal some of the day back to sleep, we’d all have dropped dead by now.” For a moment his voice strained as if he was stretching, dipping into the background before returning to normal. “Though this past week has been a bit more extreme due to circumstances. I’m not always up until dawn, calling people in a stupor.”

“First time for everything?” Martin said helpfully, pushing down weakly against the rising guilt. “I know it’s a bad situation, but I’m sorry you all have to work so hard.”

“No need for that. I can choose to sacrifice a few nights for something important.” 

Slowly, very slowly, Martin pressed his burning face into his pillow. Maybe it was too early for him after all, to handle anything approaching concern. The heat was surely enough to melt the ice right off the window. Ignoring the ridiculous reaction happening in his cheeks, he turned his face back upwards and mumbled, “Thanks.”

There was a small rustling of papers. With the same damned softness, Jon continued, “I’m sure Tim and Sasha would say the same.”

A quiet thing clung deep in Martin’s throat, and in his nose, and he imagined a version of himself from the night before, scared and powerless and ready to dump any and all his feelings on the first person who would speak with him. Would that have been something Jon was prepared for, if he’d called at a sensible hour? Or if Martin had called first? But it was nearly morning, and he was well rested, and eventually the thought fell away in his wakefulness. 

Without a response to go on, Jon said, "I’m not going to be as… outwardly optimistic as before, but…”

“You’re making progress,” Martin finished, coughing lightly. “I know. I’ll be patient, and careful. It’s hard after the weird stuff we did last week, though.”

“I’d like to say it was all due to extreme circumstances, but we are just like this.” 

“There go my hopes of you all getting proper rest when this is over.”

“S’not impossible, but terribly unlikely.”

Martin sighed, checking his screen clock again. Still some time left. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be sleeping at this point?” 

“Won’t be long until I can go to the archives. I’ll wait until then and avoid being groggy on public transit.” A pause. “Also my last energy drink is still working.”

“Mm.” Letting his forearm fall across his eyes, Martin gave up that particular battle. “Anything new set off your ‘fake’ alarms recently?”

“You’re in luck. Just yesterday a man came in to tell me about his experience with ‘spy birds’ that even you can’t devil’s-advocate your way through.”

“I’ll be the judge.”

It was a tough sell, even for Martin whose own situation made a lot of things seem possible. Midway through he even began to resent the person for wasting time better spent solving Martin’s problems, but that was an emotional rabbit hole for another time. By the end he had to concede that it was more of a conspiracy than a supernatural encounter, if they were going to get into the semantics of it. Still, Jon made it easy to be contrarian.

“When we’re not busy with all this,” Jon said, accepting that Martin wasn’t yet ready to forgo the benefit of the doubt, “I’ll be happy to sit outside and film birds all day for the sake of science, but the man finds perfectly normal birds unsettling.”

With a silly kind of bullheadedness, Martin replied, “Plenty of seabirds around here. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I wait for something to happen.”

Jon snorted. “I expect a full report by Monday.”

Before Martin could respond, his phone made an all too familiar and dreadful noise. He really should’ve picked a song or something, he thought as he dismissed his alarm. “Well, it’s that time.”

“Yes, I should be getting along with my morning as well. Good luck with your birdwatching,” he said with joking scorn.

“Have fun sleeping on the bus.”

“Ha ha. Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye.” 

Dropping his arm onto the bed, mobile in hand, Martin ignored the numbness in his fingers and considered how invested he was in writing a fake report about birds just to see the reaction it would get. Maybe he would text Tim about it.

The idea sat in the back of his mind as he got dressed, as he made breakfast, as he put on his shoes and coat and hat. When he opened the door to meet the cold that had settled in overnight, he couldn’t help but wince at the extra bit of sting the wind delivered, but he clung to his fanciful little idea all the way up the hills and through town. 

Creative writing had never been his strong suit. It was debatable if poetry was, but he’d reached a point where it was more of a comforting activity than a skill. Still, as he got to work in the blessedly empty lighthouse, he thought of the little notebook he’d stashed into his bag. If it all came to nothing, he could end up with scraps of text to rearrange into poetry someday.

It was a mess of a book. Technically bound, it was still cheap with some pages starting to come loose from his handling. He’d long ago given up on the idea of a nice looking notebook, especially as it had become personal enough to count as horribly embarrassing. It was inevitable for any poetry notebook of his to become more akin to a scattered, flowery journal of sorts, and this one was no different. 

It was also a step up from previous ones in that it wasn’t some spiral-bound school notebook he’d found in the discount section of the general store. No, he had found it in a bookstore discount section. The stiff cover even had sort of a nice texture before he’d beaten it up by shoving it into a drawer a million times.

The day crawled by with no interruptions, leaving Martin on edge. Peter hadn’t come by once. Perhaps he’d assumed Martin had had any boldness scared out of him, an aggravating thought. He had the will to act. He also had some amount of self preservation left in him, that was all.

By lunchtime he was itching to talk to anyone, but texting the others was off limits and it was so dreary outside that going out to eat was a non-starter. He supposed he could stop by the grocery store. He knew some of the people from when he’d worked there. Most of the ones he’d worked with had also left, but maybe…

No, that was a stupid idea. He wasn’t seeing anyone unless they came to him.

No one did.

So in his time off the clock, he stared at his little notebook and hoped his brain would think of anything to say.

--

The weather had taken a more miserable turn by the time he’d left work in the evening. He only saw a few birds struggling in the gales, none of them particularly watchful. If he had to guess, they didn’t care much about what anyone was doing. Not great material for a report, but maybe for a poem when the feeling hit.

The streets were largely empty as people avoided the high winds and mist that sprayed against Martin’s glasses, making it a challenge to see anything around him. He had half a mind to just stow them away, but there was going to be water in his eyes no matter what he chose to do. Just another little thing to make his day worse that he couldn’t change.

Part of him considered that the weather often matched his mood, but it wasn’t hard for bad weather to pair with sour thoughts. Nearly all weather was bad and nearly all moods were sour. Correlation, etcetera.

As much as he’d wanted to check his phone as soon as work was over, the others could wait until he’d stopped feeling so damned sorry for himself.

And he did feel awful, though there was no inciting incident. It had been a long, tedious day where the words wouldn’t flow, the world was grey, and any residual happiness from his conversation with Jon had been slowly eaten away by the loneliness of the present. Why was it so hard to hold onto those good things? A good start was supposed to make the day better, not make the rest of the day look worse.

It had to be everything at the lighthouse. He’d always been moody as a person, but the stress had to be getting to him. His head shouldn’t have been hurting from holding back tears when nothing had happened.

God, the squinting wasn’t helping, either. He knew where he was going, of course, but the streetlights were barely helping. The sky had decided to paint itself over everything, a dark, grey blob of water and concrete and fog. The walk down the hill was going to be a slippery pain, even in his grippy boots.

Had he passed by the florist? He probably should have by now, but the main road hadn’t ended yet.

And even when he got home, oh joy, it would be to sit at a table and eat with his mother, and based on her tastes she would love to stand outside in the misery of it all even though it would be terrible for her health. What was the point of trying when another person wouldn’t even listen-

He’d been walking for too long. 

The road continued on, no longer heading into the surrounding trees but stretching itself past the point of impossibility. And at the end, in a place where it should not have been visible through the colorless mist, was a large, familiar house.

Ah, Martin thought. Someone had decided to talk to him today.

Looking behind him, the lighthouse was just barely visible. Looking to either side was a fool’s errand, as everything had been consumed by the grey.

He slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and bent over to shield it from the rain. The screen lit up at his touch, but as expected any and all communication was blocked. Nevertheless, he opened the group chat and began to type.

Martin: i think simon wants to talk. everything is fog and i cant go anywhere else. hoping my phone makes it out so this makes it 

He pressed send, then mustered up whatever hope he had and added:

Martin: talk to you soon

[baodurs]

“nick wiseman has collapsed!”

button & nick, with some button & glitch. 3.9k words. set late chapter 5, on a hypothetical extra day before returning to aeon.

Good morning! For you: a question and a clue.

‘How funny you are today [Chicago]…’

There’s your clue. Guess the question?

Glitch’s texts arrive six minutes after their recipient steps into the shower. Phone silenced and hair lathered, Sabrina lingers obliviously behind the curtain, amid the warm water and warm vanilla scent of her soap. She emerges eighteen minutes later and smiles at her flashing screen, but decides that Glitch’s mystery can wait until she gets dressed.

Thankfully, Nick waits too. But as soon as she is dried and clothed, avoiding full body mirrors until she can at least throw on a robe, the fraternal voice in her head pipes up.

More poetry games? She can’t see his face, obviously, but she can feel his psychic nose wrinkle. How did you get “coffee date” from that?

Nick had done such a good job pretending not to exist for half an hour that she almost forgot they shared every thought now, and she had unwittingly dragged him along on her half-unconscious poetry explication.

“She’s quoting Frank O’Hara,” Sabrina explains, unsure why she says this aloud. She’s alone, though, so she keeps going: “The end of that poem is something like, ‘getting out of bed and having coffee and cigarettes, and loving you so much.’ I don’t know. Point is: coffee.”

Ah, yes. The famous lines from one of O’Hara’s finer works, thinks Nick, faux snootily. Love poetry, though? How do you know she wants to get coffee and isn’t trying to woo you? Or maybe she wants to smoke too many cigarettes with you. You’ll have to let her down easy—about the smoking, I mean. I like Glitch; you’d be cute together! But don’t start smoking.

Sabrina is parting her hair now, with a wide tooth comb and surgical precision, and she rolls her eyes in the mirror. “I just know. Poet’s intuition.”

You’re not a poet.

“Critic’s intuition, then.”

Another flash of her phone screen halts any further defense of her close-reading skills: The question is actually time-sensitive, so I hope you’re not asleep. Then, another repurposed O’Hara quote: ‘Oh [Sabrina Wiseman] we love you get up.’

Sabrina Wiseman, already up, replies: Coffee sounds great! Primping as we speak.

As Glitch texts back with more details, the idle whirl of Nick’s thoughts becomes too vague and unvoiced to follow. Sabrina gets ready as slowly as punctuality will allow, basking in the late morning’s quasi-normalcy. Braiding her hair, picking out her favorite boots, making plans to meet… a friend?

Admittedly, the growing social circle and coffee plans are less familiar prospects than her morning routine, but it all feels normal. An utterly unremarkable day awaits her, it seems, and promises to leave her with that elusive sense of neutral contentment. Her psyche heaves a sigh, half-bemused and half-relieved, before she can suppress it, and it mingles with the soft hum of Nick’s presence in the back of her mind. She feels a guilt she doesn’t recognize, until she realizes that it’s his.

Sharing a mind with her brother is not as difficult as she thinks everyone imagines it is. Nick has always been here, stepping gingerly among her thoughts like a house guest through their host’s messy storage room. Steps light, smiling ruefully at his intrusion, arms braced to catch any fragile trinkets that his passage may send tumbling. The only difference, now, is that she can’t sit in the next room and pretend not to hear the crash behind the wall. Sabrina feels her own guilt, at making Nick listen to how convenient it is for her that he is without a body, and Nick’s guilt, at making her feel guilty for feeling her own emotions inside her own head, and their regrets mingle and multiply like so much shattered ceramic at their feet, making the tiny storage room even more treacherous than before.

Nick hesitates. She feels him like a slight pressure against the wall of her skull, straining to give her room to think.

“It’s fine, Nick.” Sabrina finds a mirror and holds her own gaze. “And I really don’t want to talk about it.”

We just did, Button. Don’t worry about it. Just have fun today.

A million other thoughts lurk behind the ones he voices, and they both ignore every single one.

As she leaves the house, Sabrina mentally recites the few snippets of O’Hara that she remembers verbatim. Nick tries, only once or twice seriously, to guess what the missing words might be. Her expression doesn’t shift as she walks down the street, but in the back of her mind where no one else can see, they share in every silent laugh and hidden smile.

...

The morning with Glitch is not—and Sabrina feels she should have anticipated this—the epitome of lazy normalcy.

She arrives to find that Glitch had already claimed seats and ordered for them both, which is nice. Two identical mugs are still warm on the table, next to the poetry anthology that Sabrina had plucked from the lending library on her last visit. (“Who do you think I should quote in my next selfie caption to start the most fights about pseudo-intellectualism in my comments?” She had asked, pondering O’Hara and Ashbery while taking advantage of the venue’s excellent lighting. Glitch nominated Ginsberg.) The book is open, but at the sound of the door opening, Glitch looks up from its pages, grins, and makes a show of closing it to give Sabrina her full attention.

You know, Button, Nick muses as they approach the table, I’m surprised you agreed to meet her again.

How are you surprised? You’re in my head. You know every decision as soon as I make it.

That’s true! Nick concedes. Another thing about being in your head, though? I can tell when you’re trying to avoid a conversation by pretending to miss the point.

I don’t have time for a conversation, Nick. I’m talking to Glitch instead, because I agreed to meet her a second time, which is perfectly in cha-

“I said, ‘Hi Sabrina!’”

She blinks at Glitch, then looks awkwardly around herself at the table, where she had sat without quite realizing. Glitch laughs at her. It reaches her eyes, which gleam with humor and something else, more like the glint of a knife. She holds Sabrina’s gaze as if she can see behind the curtain of her eyes and recognize the second mind within her skull.

On instinct, Sabrina stares back and thinks of frog guts, then remembers just as Nick tells her: She can’t read your mind, Button. Not even without me here.

I know.

And you told her about me, anyway.

I know.

“Left speechless by my thoughtfulness?” Glitch grins, sweeping a hand towards the mug on Sabrina’s side of the table. “I can’t blame you. Failing words, though, tears of gratitude are an excellent substitute. Maybe a hand over the heart?”

Matching Glitch’s grin, Sabrina comes back to herself. She reaches for her coffee, disguises a steadying breath as an appreciative sniff of its aroma, and takes a sip. Glitch raises an eyebrow when they lock gazes again over the rim of her cup, but neither speaks until Sabrina has replaced the drink and slouched back against her chair, eyes closed and arms dangling.

“I cannot yet speak, struck dumb as I am by your thoughtfulness, and now also the taste of coffee, which is always sweeter when you buy it for me.” She cracks one eyelid to look at Glitch again. “Good enough?”

“Good enough!” Glitch confirms, with a wave of her hand. “I wouldn’t have minded a quote, honestly. And you probably should have said that coffee is sweeter because of my company, not because I pay for it. Actually, maybe you should just leave the poetry to me.”

“With pleasure.” Sabrina mimes the burden of poetry falling from her shoulders as she sits up. “I mean it, though; it’s good coffee, and you’re very nice to me. I’m sorry for being distracted when I sat down.”

She takes another sip. Glitch reclaims the poetry book she’d been reading and, without opening it, drags a thumb along the fore edge. That curious glint returns to her eyes, but this time Sabrina is present enough to suppress her discomfort at being scrutinized.

“Not your fault.” Below Glitch’s voice, there is still the drumming of her thumb along the pages. “‘My quietness has a man in it, he is transparent and carries me quietly, like a gondola, through the streets.’”

Sabrina blinks. “That’s… O’Hara?”

Glitch pretends to roll her eyes hard enough that her head is thrown back with the force of it. “Sabrina, I’m going to start a fight about pseudo-intellectualism in your Instagram comments.”

“There’s no room for intellectualism up here!” Sabrina taps her head—carefully, mindful of the pleats of her braid. “The man in my quietness is not very quiet.”

Hey!

“And it’s more like I’m carrying him.”

Well, it’s no gondola ride up here, Nick thinks wryly.

“Lucky you have me, then! Feel free to outsource all intellectualism right here,” Glitch advises, tapping her own head. “I’ll happily lend my brainpower to a worthy cause. My first act of charity: yes, that was O’Hara. I was reading it when you came in.”

Glitch opens the book—finding her page on the first try, and it hadn’t been bookmarked—then slides it across the table. The words “quietness” and “gondola” are nowhere to be seen upon inspection. Sabrina looks up, confused, but Glitch redirects her attention to the book with a shooing motion before she can question whether it was the right page, after all.

“‘Just Walking Around,’” she reads aloud. “‘John Ashbery.’ This isn’t O’Hara.”

Glitch downs the rest of her coffee and pushes out from the table, braced to stand up. “No, it’s another clue. Do you want to go on a walk with me or not?”

With a snort, Sabrina reaches for her own drink and takes a few gulps. That’s answer enough for Glitch, who smiles wide and turns away to replace the poetry volume on its shelf.

...

The stroll begins both silently and aimlessly. Glitch had explained as they walked out the door that, if Sabrina had bothered to read the Ashbery poem, she would have realized that the last three lines of the second stanza made the invitation especially clever. Something about repurposing “the secret smudge on the back of your soul” as a metaphor for the secret brother inside your brain, and something else about silence and preoccupation and wandering. Regardless, they both seemed content to live briefly in the spirit of those things and simply walk beside each other.

Sabrina amuses herself by trying to subtly attract the attention of passersby. Glances that cross each other, the blink-and-miss-it motion of a braid thrown over the shoulder, the scrape of a boot toe on concrete. Her eyes are normally straight ahead, expression blank, to ward off even fleeting interest. But now, when a stranger meets her eyes, she smiles blandly and looks away as if her attention has been caught by something in her periphery. Do they wonder what she is looking at, even for a moment? She lifts her head towards the late morning sun and openly basks, thinking all the while how much she hates the heat, hoping all the while that someone will see her pretending to love it and believe it. There is a stranger, who loves the sun.

Preoccupied as she is by building her own shroud of mystery, Nick’s presence fades once more to an indistinct hum, after a period of dutiful but conspicuous silence. But Glitch, still beside her, catches onto her game. The next time Sabrina meets someone’s eye, Glitch slings an arm around her shoulder. She leans towards her ear and whispers, “Take a left here, towards the station. I have to catch a train,” then pulls back and laughs. Sabrina laughs, too, pleased to have been placed at the center of some secret joke. But the fantasy ends when she realizes that Glitch has read her with a glance, tearing through her paper-thin secrets.

Sabrina stares straight ahead. She shoves her hands in the pockets of her denim skirt, but doesn’t shrug off Glitch’s arm.

“What are you going to do the next time you want to hang out, but you can’t find a line of poetry to make the invitation for you?” She asks.

The hand resting on Sabrina’s shoulder reaches awkwardly around to her face and swats at her forehead. “If I can’t find it, it doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t exist, I’ll write it! Don’t insult me, Sabrina.”

She laughs. Her shoulders relax as she removes her hands from her pockets, and Glitch lets her arm slide from its perch. Before it rests back at her own side, though, she loops it through Sabrina’s and swings their elbows back and forth.

“It wouldn’t kill you to brush up on your New York School, you know.” She disrupts the rhythm of their elbows to nudge hers lightly into Sabrina’s side. “I’ve been learning O’Hara and friends ever since you said you liked him, and you can’t even recognize the quotes? Thankless work.”

“You can’t convince me you needed to ‘learn’ them.”

“Right you are!” Glitch says, cheerfully squeezing Sabrina’s arm. “Casual quotation is an art, however, and requires not only a perfect memory, but excellent conversational skills and a sense of drama.”

“I don’t see how any of that relies on me being able to-”

“-And an appreciative audience. A poet cannot bloom in barren soil.”

“I’m very appreciative,” Sabrina assures her, grinning. “Just not genuinely intellectual enough for poetry, as you might remember.”

“Oh, I won’t forget,” Glitch laughs. “The comments section of your next selfie, starting fights, 7:00 PM sharp. You can’t miss me!”

They’re coming up on the station now. Glitch takes a step back but hasn’t dropped her hand yet. “Well, I hope you and your brother had a good time.” She walks backwards towards the stairs, not relinquishing Sabrina’s hand until both their arms are extended and they’re being a nuisance to fellow pedestrians. “See you!”

...

I like Glitch, says Nick, a ways down the block from the station. Sabrina nearly jumps, but keeps walking.

Instead of responding, she hopes he can feel her agreement. There is a warm sense of acknowledgement and a general contentment—if she can ignore a foreign, simmering anxiety. He’s working up to saying something, so Sabrina relinquishes as much of her own brain space as she can to give him time. A few more moments of steeling himself, and then-

I’m sorry for earlier.

She is surprised enough that she physically furrows her brow, as if he could see. Sorry for what?

What I said about you meeting Glitch. At the coffeeshop, before you sat down. I think I- He wants to say that he thinks he knows why she was upset, but hesitates, knowing that voicing how well he knows her often just upsets her more. Her treacherous mind confirms it, fear and frustration prickling in some dark corner, but she does her best to dampen it. She thinks, without voicing it, that she’s sorry. Please keep talking.

I didn’t mean to imply that it was weird, or anything, that you were seeing her again. You’re allowed to spend time with friends who aren’t me, Gray, and Salomé.

It’s very generous of him to count Gray as her friend, but—

It’s not. We all care about you. Glitch does, too, and I’m glad you had a good time. I was just… pleasantly surprised. To see you encourage a new friendship. Maybe that’s patronizing. Sorry if it is, but it’s true.

She does feel a little patronized, but it’s a feeling she is so used to that it barely registers. Before she can take offense, she’s thinking of frog guts again, then wincing at the drastic measures against her brother (again), then grasping for half-remembered shreds of poetry to fill her spinning mind.

My quietness has a man in it, and I carry him through the streets like a gondola. What is all this vessel shit anyway. Nobody saw me through the gates. Now I am alone and hate it. I have been to lots of parties and acted perfectly—

I would leave if I could, Button, comes Nick’s voice, both gentle and frustrated.

She knows that. Her mind falls eerily silent, as both of them try not to think anything that would upset the other. She breathes deeply, tries to get three different songs stuck in her head, and wishes she had memorized as much poetry as Glitch. By the time Sabrina has carried them both to the front door of Nick’s home, neither has thought another word. The silence is fraught, but the tension eases as she crosses the threshold.

It’s barely noon, and Sabrina is exhausted. She leaves her boots at the door and sinks into the couch, stretching horizontally across its cushions.

Glitch isn’t my friend. It’s her first coherent thought since they retreated to their own respective corners of her brain.

Button, that’s-

I don’t mean what you think. She hugs a pillow across her stomach. I wouldn’t hang out with her if she was my friend. That’s what I think every time we meet. Not because I don’t like her, I just- You and Gray and Sally know me, you know? Especially you, and I hate it sometimes, and I know you know that, too. And I like Glitch, because she’s smart and fun to be around, and because we just met this week, so she doesn’t know me. Except she’s too smart, because it feels like she already does. Like she can see into my mind, in a way that I can’t even blame my zero for. Just once, I want to make inane small talk with a vague acquaintance who doesn’t really know anything about me.

She places the pillow over her face and contemplates screaming, but doesn’t. I wouldn’t be telling you this if you weren’t trapped in my head, you know. So don’t… I don’t know. I don’t even know what you could do with it. Never mind.

What happens if Glitch knows you? Nick asks. He feels more than he thinks—love and guilt and sadness, a thousand unvoiced thoughts behind the one question he asks.

I don’t know.

You cut off the friendship because she cares about you too much?

Knowing and caring aren’t the same thing, Sabrina tells him, fingers worrying the edges of the pillow. Maybe she does both, but they’re still different.

Okay. He’s not trying as hard to hide his frustration anymore, but it softens in the mingling with his other emotions. So they are. But what then? You just stop?

Why not? She thinks. I always had you, so I never cared who I left.

A warm, deep affection crawls out from beneath his sadness and leaves her so full that she holds back tears. If she cried, would they be hers or Nick’s?

It’s not a choice between me and other people, Button. Glitch and I can both know you and love you a whole lot.

I don’t want to talk about Gliiiiitch. She draws out the single syllable of Glitch’s name as petulantly as she can psychically communicate, then tosses the pillow away. It’s complicated, and I’m trying to tell you you’re a good brother.

I know. I love you, and I hope you’re appreciating the restraint it takes to not start bawling like a baby and leaving tears all over your brain.

“Don’t you dare,” she laughs, finally breaking the silence of the living room. “I will go through the cabinets and cry in your vanilla extract.”

Aww, and then my next batch of cookies will be filled with extra love!

Sabrina rolls her eyes and, eventually, makes her way upstairs to her bedroom. She contemplates another shower, to fully reset from the morning she’s had, but lacks the energy. Instead, she lets her hair down and changes into pajamas, in spite of the early afternoon. Nick’s constant mental presence even feels normal—as if he’s just downstairs, popping into her brain to chat rather than brave the climb to her room.

Nestled comfortably as she is beneath her sheets, she doesn’t have the heart to walk over to her bookshelf. Glitch will have to be content with a review of the first three poems produced by googling Frank O’Hara’s name.

‘Poem?’ Nick reads the first search result. Come on, no title? I hate when they do that.

From what I remember, he does it a lot. Sabrina taps the offending text, trying to guess which untitled poem it might be, and nearly drops her phone.

“God,” she mutters, rolling onto her stomach. “Of course it’s this one.”

Which one? Nick pipes up.

“Just look.” She focuses on the portion of her screen occupied by the capitalized text, ‘LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!’ “That’s a headline. It’s about… I’m not a poetry professor, okay? But it’s about a celebrity collapsing in some freak emergency and people gossiping about it. Sound familiar?”

You can read it if you want, he is quick to assure her. It won’t bother me.

“That’s not the point. The point is… it’s just stupid! ‘Oh Lana Turner we love you get up?’”

Hey, Glitch quoted that this morning!

“Yeah, to get up out of bed. Not up from the hospital.” She’s too incensed to keep lying down, and she’s pacing around her room, ranting before she can stop herself. “Do you know what that nurse said to me? ‘Chicago won’t lose our Justice.’ Just imagine, ‘oh Justice we love you get up.’ Isn’t that stupid? Who’s ‘we,’ anyway?”

Sabrina. Please, it’s-

“And it’s not even mine to be mad about. I know. And people love you, and that’s great. But I- Lana Turner was fine, you know? And she got up. But they didn’t love her.”

I really don’t care what some random nurse said about me, Nick says. I’m sorry that people are talking to you like they know me; that pisses me off. But the rest is fine.

“Could you let me be selfishly angry for a minute before talking me down, please?”

You’re not being selfish. You’re working yourself into a rage on my behalf, and you should stop. Sabrina flops back onto the bed, phone on her stomach, but kicks the air a few times in protest. Pick up the phone. I want to read the poem.

“I really don’t.”

Okay, is all he says, until moments pass and Sabrina’s anger is replaced by embarrassment. She wants to use her phone again, to find another poem, but she doesn’t want to face the capitalized text that nearly launched her into a grief-induced tantrum.

Well, if Frank O’Hara won’t, Nick says, and she can feel the overwhelming mental energy of his smirk, I need you to tell me how my people love me.

His tone is intensely dramatic, and clearly satirizing all the pomp and ceremony Chicago has devoted to mourning the concept of a comic book superhero. A validation of her bitterness without fueling it, another ploy (like so many others) to make her feel better. She pretends not to notice as unlocks her phone.

I can’t speak for Chicago, she thinks, closing the “Poem” tab. I love you, though. Get up soon.

[alkhale]

so... that new his dark materials on HBO got me feeling some things and thinking... Memos HDM AU?

Memos His Dark Materials AU Ko-Fi Request

(for context for the excerpt down below this, when someone’s daemon makes contact with another person’s daemon, it’s considered very personal and intimate. This is normal between family members and very close friends or loved ones, say, Luffy’s daemon would probably touch all his nakama’s left and right just fine, but for certain others, this may come as a bit of an alarming little sensation for them since people feel what their daemons feel and the same vice versa as extension of their souls)

- Hoku’s daemon is a white panther named Hau.

The two of them don’t get along very well and tend to get on each other’s nerves due to personal reasons. They’re capable of being a fairly good distance apart even though this isn’t normal and considered painful for most people. They sort of trained themselves to be able to be apart because they felt following their independent values was most important. It’s a bit of a messy situation but they’re the first ones either of them would turn to no matter what. He has the same marking she has painted around the curve of his left eye because it’s tradition for Pokians to paint it onto their daemons when they come of age. All daemons from Artopoki are also always colored white just like their hair.

His name means “happiness” in Hawaiian.

- Mahina’s daemon is a white horse while Manu’s is a small white wild cat. Mihawk’s is a massive, massive ink black raven named Sable. She and Mahina’s daemon got along really well.

- Shank’s daemon is a reddish tinted lionness who goes by Reina. Hoku and Hau are a bit smitten by her but Hau kind of hates Shanks, maybe not hate but he tends to be on the more skeptical end of him versus Hoku being a little doe-eyed for the man. Hau loved Mihawk though. Mihawk was the first person to ever touch him outside of Hoku’s parents (human to daemon contact is a super big deal when it’s not family or intimate loved ones, daemon to daemon is a little more tolerable but raises some brows)

- Luffy’s daemon settles as a springy lionness name Soleil who he calls Sol. She’s very energetic and can’t really read a room but she makes up for it with energy. She and Luffy are two peas in a pod.

- Nami’s daemon is an orange fox named Riki, the greatest thieving duo across the East Blue.

- Zoro’s is a massive bengal tiger named Masumi and she’s got a much more approachable personality than her counterpart but tends to be just as lazy and ferocious.

- Usopp’s is a chameleon by the name of Emmo. She’s a bit of a coward too but she’s funny.

- Sanji’s is a beautiful, rather stunning lady jackrabbit by the name of Celine who loves beautiful people and kicking. She seems a little wiser than Sanji.

- Brook’s is the skeleton of a songbird named Aretha. They’re the strangest case on the Grand Line because of his devil fruit. She sings beautifully for a pile of bones though.

- Franky’s is a female beaver named Aspen, they’re pretty much carbon copies of each other.

- Robin’s is a black owl named Yuval. He’s on the quieter side and tends to creep people out on first glance but he’s a very gentlemanly owl.

- Ace’s ends up settling as a red and black lynx by the name of Iskra. Sabo’s is a peregrine falcon named Brisa.

- Vivi’s is a fennec fox named Seti.

- I couldn’t decide of Kid’s should be one hell of a murderous honey badger with attitude named Naga or a crocodile or a bear. Any of those three felt pretty right but I lean more toward the honey badger HAHAHA.

- Law’s daemon is a snow leopard named Estrella. These two are an especially dangerous duo and Estrella tends to be a bit more on the mysterious side at first.

- - - - - - -

“Your blood,” Shank said, cupping her cheek. “Is worth treasures more than his.”

Hau bit at Shanks’ cloak, snarling as a white husky in protest, trying to pull him away. Reina watched him in utter amusement.

Steam exploded from Hoku’s ears, her entire face flushing red.

“Oops, hey, someone get Makino! I’m worried dove’s got a fever!”

- - - - - - -

“It’s nothing but a childish crush,” Hau said pointedly to her, perfectly aware of the fluttery, gross feelings inside Hoku spilling over to him. He walked after her, lashing his tail angrily while Hoku stared up at the sky in a daze. Shanks had just given them a living, ripe kiionohi tree. “He just thinks we’re cute kids. He likes teasing us. This is how he took Luffy!”

Hau worked over-time to remain as indifferent toward Shanks as Hoku originally wanted to be. Hoku had just given up and rolled over to the fact that Shanks was just… so hard to dislike. Was there even a reason to dislike him? Sure, she still got jealous that Luffy was so damn fond of him, but when Luffy was always pulling her around despite that, promising she was his first before anyone else—

“Are you listening to me?” Hau hissed at her, biting her ankle in protest. Hoku looked down at him. “I don’t like him! He’s just another schmuck! Nothing’s gonna happen anyway! Dream on! We’re just kids to him, got it?”

“I know that,” Hoku snapped, cheeks flushing. “I-It’s just adoration. Childish adoration. What do you think I’m gonna do, ask him to marry me?”

“No,” Hau muttered, “but don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not,” Hoku snapped back at him, lightly nudging his paws. Hau swiped at her. “He’s just… he’s just charming, is all. And you’re one to talk, you know. You look at anyone that’s willing to scratch your ears like they’re god!”

“I don’t let people scratch me behind the ears!” Hau protested. “No one’s allowed to touch me!”

“Yeah,” Hoku snorted. “Except Luffy, right? I feel what you feel too, dumbass. Think about how it feels for me to get scratched behind the ears too, okay?”

Hau grumpily settled down onto his haunches, stubbornly looking over to the side, “But it’s Luffy.”

Hoku could understand that, but it didn’t make the sensation any more normal. Actually, I might be starting to get used to that. Luffy’s so damn touchy it’ll kill me. She didn’t even flinch anymore when Hau and Soleil were pressed tight together, rolling around or tumbling about each other or cuddled up in a pile. Luffy’s warm fingers patting Hau’s head, hefting him up into his arms—that was still something she was getting used to.

Or Hoku, cupping Soleil’s head in her hands, pressing a kiss to the top of the daemon’s head, committing utter taboo. Hoku, letting Soleil cozy up to the crook of her neck, shove her face into Hoku’s hand, weave between her fingers while Luffy laughed beside them—

The four of them, touching each other’s daemons, each other’s partners, each other’s souls—

But I am getting used to it. Hoku shivered. Never touching anyone’s daemon, huh?

Hau lashed his tail, “I won’t let Shanks touch me, you can count on that.”

“You’re just jealous,” Hoku said. “Luffy and Soleil already said we’re first. And it’s not like Shanks is going to be here forever, he’s a pirate, remember?”

Hoku rubbed the side of her arm, looking down at her shoes, “He’s just… he’s just become Luffy’s idol. You see how he looks at him—Luffy knows what he wants to do now ‘cause of him.”

Hau huffed, whiskers twitching. Hoku gave him a little shove and Hau shifted into a bull, ramming at the back of her knees as Hoku laughed, shoving back at him.

Shanks was just a bit of fun, that was it.

- - - - - - - - 

But Reina didn’t play by the rules.

“You’re getting faster, little dove.”

Hoku almost screamed. Her heart lodged into her throat, forcing her to choke as Mau nearly clattered onto the dirt from her hands had she not hooked it last minute. She apologized to the amused blade, checking for scratches and trying to work out a game plan in her head.

Hau frowned. As deep of a frown as an unhappy skunk could make, sitting by a log and looking pointedly Reina’s way.

She didn’t know when Shanks’ daemon had made her way over to them or where Shanks was, probably with Luffy to be honest, but there Reina was, living up to her name.

The lioness daemon was stretched out onto a fat slab of rock jutting upwards from the ground. Luffy used it as a launching platform a lot when they were playing. Her red-gold body rippled, leisurely soaking up the sunlight.

Hoku’s fingers itched.

Reina watched them with golden irises. 

“Thanks,” Hoku said, trying not to be awkward but feeling very much so. “I’m not there yet though.”

Reina’s chest rumbled, a deep sound that made Hau wrinkle his nose in protest. She laid her head down onto her paws, rolling over onto her side. Hoku noticed the scars lining her softer underbelly, the notch missing from a piece of her flicking tail.

“You’ll get there,” Reina said soothingly. “Why don’t you take a break?”

I feel like I’m talking to the devil. Hoku shivered. Temptation incarnate. “I haven’t hit my number of swings yet.”

“Shanks and Luffy are playing by the harbor,” Reina almost purred. “Don’t you want to join?”

Hoku frowned at her boots. Yes. “No. I’m glad Shanks is taking up all his time.”

Reina’s ear twitched. Her eyes glimmered playfully. Hoku felt as though if her feet weren’t planted firmly to begin with, she’d already be making her way over to the lioness for no reason other than the fact that Reina seemed to be beckoning her over.

“How come you two can be so far apart?” Hau blurted. Hoku shot him a look of disbelief. 

Reina’s whiskers twitched in amusement.

Hau hunkered down, waving his big bushy tail. “I-Isn’t it painful? It’s weird, daemons aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

“You two seem to be able to go fairly far,” Reina murmured. “Is that not strange?”

Hoku and Hau flinched.

Reina laid her head down onto the rock, letting the sun color her pelt. She looked crimson gold in the sunlight. “He and I simply found it in ourselves to promise to live our lives to the fullest and the freest.”

Reina seemed to smile, lips pulling back to show her fangs. “Besides, like this, I can be with Luffy and he can be with little dove at the same time, hmm?”

Hoku and Hau blinked in confusion. They looked at each other and back to Reina who’d rolled over to show them her back, settling down for a nice, long nap.

“Finish up those swings, dove,” Reina purred. “Then let’s play.”

I miss Luffy. Hoku miserably flattened herself down against the grass, Mau propped up onto a trunk beside her. Hau was chirping haughtily in the tree branch above her, flapping his white wings even though he was supposed to be a toucan. I always run off even when he’s playing with Shanks. Maybe I should just suck it up and have fun with them too. Or, not fun. Just… spend time. Yeah.

Hoku groaned, rubbing her sweaty face with her hands.

“About time,” Hau chirped at her. “Let’s go! I don’t care if Shanks and everyone else is there, I want to see Luffy and Sol.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoku snapped. “I heard ya. You just want to get touched again.”

Hau flattened, ruffling his feathers, “That’s not true!”

It absolutely is. Hoku sighed, preparing her aching muscles to lift her sluggish body up. Hau was practically touched starved and Luffy’s generous pats were like a drug. He did a good job making sure Shanks never got near him though. Hoku didn’t even flinch. Touching other people’s daemons is still such a weird feeling though, I can’t get used to anyone else but them. 

She’d only ever touched Sable twice. Ki and Kekoa didn’t count because they were family. Soleil was the only one she ever really touch-touched, and even then, it was still a sensation Hoku felt all the way to the tip of her toes and down to her bones. Intimate. 

Bet no one else has a daemon willing to get himself pet. Hoku peeked through her fingers at Hau who jumped from the branch and shifted into a little white butterfly. He’d turn into a dog later because it was easier to play with Luffy like that. What daemon goes up to someone to get themselves touched? 

Some taboos just weren’t meant to be crossed.

A shadow fell over Hoku’s face and she blinked, moving her hands away to look up.

Reina looked down at her.

Hoku froze, stiff against the ground like a corpse. Her heart hammered stupidly loud in her chest, loud enough to burst through her ears. From this spot, she could make out every fine, red-gold hair smoothed over Reina’s slender face. She could see the dark lines that traced her feline gold eyes, followed the slope of her muzzle, to the long, elegant whiskers—a few cut short, and the few scars that lined her soft nose. 

This was the closest she had ever been to the daemon.

She could sense heat from the lioness, hulking power and muscle. Reina’s killing paws sat on either side of her head. She could crush Hoku’s skull without much effort. Rip her throat out. In another world, Hoku would be fearing for her life—even in this world, Hoku was still fearing for her life, but, but, maybe death at the hands of such a beautiful, powerful daemon couldn’t be that awful.

Hoku waited, staring at Reina with wide eyes.

Reina blinked once, slowly. Something like amusement seemed to shift over the fine hairs on her face and she lowered her head over Hoku’s. Her body seized up, unable to breathe.

And then languidly, a warm, wet and scratchy pink tongue rolled once across her face, down her forehead to her lips and over her chin. Reina pulled away, satisfied, looking down at Hoku’s disheveled, slightly wet face and bulging eyes before calmly sauntering off, hips swaying.

It took her a moment. A good, solid moment. Her heart did something funny, her body frozen stiff and ascended to some other plain of existence, her mind whirring and still buzzing from the electricity of the slightest contact with—

Someone else’s daemon—

 Reina—

Shanks’ daemon—

Touched—

Hoku’s face blushed a bright, scarlet red. She grabbed her face with her hands and rolled around in the dirt like the little bug she was.

Hau jealously nudged her face with his little ferret nose, huffing and puffing in displeasure.

She’d never been touched by someone else’s daemon before.

- - - - - - - -

The final nail into her own coffin was done by Hoku’s own hands.

At the crack of dawn, when the light was just beginning to crawl its way out of the horizon to peek over into the sky. Just hours before, Hoku had finally shown Shanks the book, speaking with him in the low light of that bar and making a total fool of herself—enough for Hau to tease and taunt her about it for hours until they fell asleep.

She woke up earlier than Luffy today, leaving him snoring in her hammock with Soleil sprawled as a baby badger over him. Hau woke up, slithering into her shirt and keeping himself warm by her stomach as they walked out into the forest.

Reina was already waiting for them.

“Dove,” Reina greeted, velvet voice carrying over as Hoku trudged through the dewy grass. Sunlight was warming her pelt, heating it up like a forge and turning the red-gold of her pelt darker and brighter.

Hau muttered a low, half-reluctant protest. Yesterday, Luffy had picked him up, holding him close and willingly thrusted Hau toward Shanks like some kind of sacrificial offering. 

Shanks didn’t take the daemon, simply grinning in understanding at Hau’s horrified expression. Her daemon had never felt more betrayed.

“Hau, you gotta get along with everyone!” Luffy laughed. “Don’t be dumb like Hoku!”

Hoku couldn’t stop the greedy, uncontrollable itch in her fingers.

“...good morning,” Hoku mumbled, tucking hair behind her ear out of habit. Reina was stretched out, regal and picture perfect on that same slab of stone. Dawn was rising over the fine curve of her spine and the lioness kept her gaze on them evenly, waiting as Hoku slowly came to stand beside the slab of rock.

Reina’s ears swiveled forward. She watched Hoku, eyes glittering. A soft sound left her parted jaws.

Hoku hesitantly took a seat on the rock, a few inches away from Reina. She could feel heat rising from the daemon, her head turning to follow Hoku as they stared at each other.

She weakly raised one hand. Hau’s heartbeat matched her own.

“Could I… Could I draw you?”

Reina’s jaws parted to let out a soft rumble. Her body curved more, keeping Hoku in the middle. Her paws stretched out and Reina kept her eyes evenly on Hoku’s.

Hoku softly set her hand down on Reina’s side. Warmth flooded into her fingertips, spreading up her arm and making half her body feel almost numb with the sensation. Hoku’s head spun, buzzing with that vibrant thrum of energy as Reina’s pelt shifted under her fingertips. Hoku daringly let her hand come down Reina’s spine, feeling the muscles and scars in one gentle stroke.

Reina’s scratchy tongue dragged over Hoku’s hand in approval.

“I hope that man is deep, deep asleep,” Hau muttered. Hoku agreed.

She thought her heart was going to burst.

- - - - - -- -- - -

“This place is crawling with marines now,” Smoker said. “What are you going to do? Let them arrest you like some kind of washed up drunk?”

Hoku lightly pushed the glass in front of her. The bartender nervously refilled the glass, jumping in fear when Smoker glared daggers at him.

“Hoku,” Smoker said.

The woman kept swallowing mouthfuls of the whiskey in her cup, ignoring him. Blanca’s fur had settled over her back, smoothing out. His daemon watched the woman before them in silence, looking at Hau and then back to Hoku.

A soft sound left Blanca’s lips. Smoker shot her a warning look. The smoky colored husky daemon lowered her tail.

“What happened to all that spunk?” Smoker continued. “You don’t give two shits if I cuff you and take you in from here?”

Hoku didn’t even turn to look at them. She kept her shoulders hunched, curling in on herself over the bar’s countertop and refusing to meet the gazes burning into her back. The empty glasses spread out across the wood counter beside her, the heavy smell of alcohol settling amidst the cigarette smoke.

Hau kept silent at her feet, curled up and head low. Smoker observed the daemon carefully, noticing the matted fur, the dirt stains in the crisp white that used to be his go-to for hunting them down in the crowd. His unsheathed claws, caked with dried dirt and blood. The cleanest spot was the blood red ink curled over his half-hidden face under the countertop’s shadow.

A new spot was inked into his fur. A small, blood red flame right where the muscle of his shoulder blade bunched under his right foreleg. Smoker’s eyes traveled upwards to the matching red flame inked into Hoku’s skin over her right shoulder blade.

“This is it?” Smoker said gruffly.

Hoku snorted. Blanca shot him a look, gray eyes hard to read but Smoker never needed to read her eyes, he could hear her thoughts loud and clear in his own head, in the space they shared.

“Who cares,” Hoku muttered bitterly. “You got what you wanted.”

Blanca fell silent. Smoker shot his daemon a sharp look, but she refused to meet his gaze, tail limp behind her and ears pricked far forward, focused on the woman before them.

Hoku bowed her head. Her hands went up, carding through her hair, holding them there as though she were cradling her head in her hands.

“You won,” Hoku whispered.

His daemon took a step forward.

“Blanca,” he warned.

The husky kept her muzzle shut, looking at him.

“Smoker.”

Smoker tossed his cigar to the side. His gloved hand clenched into a fist before it loosened. Smoker let out an aggravated sigh, shaking his head. He took a step forward, raising his hand up.

Hau’s growl ripped through the air like a knife. A single, resounding warning. Smoker glanced down to the daemon, glaring at them with icy venom, fangs and claws bared. Blanca lowered her head only an inch, her only way of showing they meant no harm. Hau pulled his lips back into a louder snarl, tail lashing in aggravation.

Hoku glanced down to her companion, frowning for a moment before she raised her head and looked back at Smoker.

Tears continued to trickle from the corners of her eyes. They slid down the curve of her cheeks, dripping down her chin. Hoku watched him in silence, expression unreadable.

The admiral hesitated for only a second. Blanca let out the softest, softest whine.

For a moment, Hau’s body untensed, staring. The foggy look started to clear. Hoku’s brows creased and Smoker reached out with his gloved hand one more time.

The doors to the bar slammed open.

The light winked out from Hoku’s eyes. Hau stood onto his paws, head lowered, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. 

His men flooded the dimly lit room, raising their guns and shouting out orders as Smoker cursed in his head and Blanca’s ferocious barks of protest flooded the room over his, ordering the marine daemons to stand down.

Smoker lurched, eyes snapping in surprise to where Hau suddenly had Blanca pinned to the wooden floorboards of the bar. His daemon was silent, rigidly looking up at Hau with her teeth barely bared, body still while Hau’s jaws were wrapped around her neck. Smoker felt his teeth on his own, Hoku’s dead eyes looking at all of them.

“Go ahead,” Hoku said coldly. She turned to the marines by the door, half-smiling. “Just don’t forget, Hau’s got one more life over her.”

Blanca kept silent, staring imploringly at Hau. The panther ignored her gaze, keeping his jaws buried in the scruff of her throat, waiting. Smoker stared hard at Hoku and she kept her gaze on his men, expression devoid of emotion.

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

“Estrella,” Law drawled, ice dripping with the roll of his tongue.

His daemon pounced.

They poor no-body marine dog never stood a chance.

--- --- ---- ---- --- 

“No,” Law said. “This is rehab.”

He kicked Hoku’s lower back, sending her flying down the stairs with an ungoldy screech and down into the boiler room. Penguin and Sachi peeked their heads around the corner, staring down into the darkest depths of their sub while Law shoved a hand into his pocket.

“Is she still alive?” Penguin asked.

“She’s got a couple, right?” Law asked Hau. “Which one was that?”

Hau flicked his tail tip, the only sign of his annoyance. Estrella watched him with peering eyes, following the sway of Hau’s haunches as he slunk down the steps into the boiler room after Hoku.

“Fuck you, Law!” came the ghostly holler. “I’m going to blow up your submarine! You forgot I’m suicidal, asshole!”

Law looked satisfied, turning his back on them and closing the boiler room door. To Sachi and Penguin he added, “Make sure she doesn’t come out until she’s done.”

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

Law froze, his entire body stiff as ice.

He took a moment, reassessing the sensation he felt unfolding in his chest. He considered it carefully, made sure this… this feeling was not a mistake, that he had not wrongly interpreted the shared sensation between himself and his daemon. He picked it apart in seconds, slowly, rigidly turning his head to the corner of the deck.

It was dark, only a single headbeam lit from the corner pathway of the submarine. The deck on top of the rounded hull was bathed in darkness, but even in the thin light, he knew down to his bones he was not seeing wrongly. 

Law gave the woman beside him one discreet, searching glance.

Hoku looked completely and utterly unaffected. He watched her a second longer to make sure it wasn’t an act, but her careless, bored demeanor showed truthfully she had no inclination whatsoever to sharing his barely, barely startled turmoil. Hoku looked completely at ease, still squinting in the distance to see if she could make out the constellation they’d just discussed, mouth moving around the dried fruit she’d just popped into her mouth.

Law carefully, with great composure, withheld the light, creeping shiver that traveled down his spine. He narrowed his eyes, looking back, but Estrella coyly kept her mind blank, hiding all of her thoughts from him the way they’d taught each other to.

There, against the side of the entry doorway, the two of them laid. 

Hoku’s daemon had stretched out, directly in the middle of the deck to keep the perfect distance away from either side of the railings. His long, furred body turned a pale, ghostly shade of white under the moonlight, large paws hiding pearl white claws. Hau’s side rose and fell in lazy slumber, his tail stretched out behind him like a white whip, ears twitching only occasionally.

But the issue was who was beside him.

Estrella had silently made her way from Law’s side across the deck to his. Her lithe, powerful feline body almost nearly matched his in size. Law watched her with rapt, rigid focus, brows furrowed in dark disbelief as his daemon purposefully ignored his silent prodding.

She stopped inches from Hau’s form, sitting on her haunches, tail curled neatly over her paws. Hau’s ear flicked once in her direction to signal he’d noticed, but kept his eyes closed. Estrella stared down at him, icy gray gaze that had stared back as she ripped throats out of marines and pirates and their enemies alike, becoming almost clear.

Estrella rearranged herself, laying down on her stomach barely a centimeter—a heavy, tense centimeter Law could feel—from him. She folded her paws neatly over each other, staring out seemingly in boredom. Her striped black tail flicked from side to side, occasionally brushing against Hau’s limp one. A ghost of a touch.

Touch.

His daemon. Estrella.

Hau didn’t move, tail limp, body relaxed. Estrella turned her head to look down at the other daemon, expression carefully blank. Her tail curled and then the tip of it brushed against Hau’s flank. His fur seemed to shift, bright, scarred pink nose twitching but he remained relaxed. Estrella seemed pleased by this and her tail promptly laid out beside his own, curling idly over his.

Touching.

Law looked back at Hoku and she reached for another dried fruit, popping it into her mouth. She shuffled through her bag, debating whether or not to shove a handful more. Oblivious.

Is your connection to your daemon that terrible? Law almost bit out. Almost. It would have come out calm and cold and collected. Are you that dull? Is it that messed up? Are you an idiot—

He went rigid, gripping Kikoku with white knuckles. 

Law exhaled, slowly. He carefully turned over his shoulder, inch by inch, glaring daggers behind him.

Estrella didn’t even blink at him, eyes trained sideways and away. She looked silver against Hau’s snow white. Her long, raspy pink tongue slid out languidly from her mouth in soothing, relaxed motions. It showed off the dangerous curve of bone-crushing fangs. But Estrella’s tongue was now running over the top of Hau’s face, over his ears, around his neck as she turned her face and—

“Are you grooming him?” Law spat out in disbelief at her. 

The snow leopard lazily flicked her tail behind her in response. Hau yawned, stretching his paws out, unbothered, and resumed his slumber as Estrella continued her grooming, content.

Law ripped apart the shudder that almost raced down his spine. He shoved the sensations traveling from Estrella and Hau’s shared connection, the low buzz of energy, of electricity that came when two daemons touched each. A feeling he’d only ever felt when Corazon’s Rosa would curl her soft, furry body up around Estrella—

He grit his teeth, squaring his shoulders and forcibly maintaining his composure as he promptly knocked Kikoku against the metal railing once.

Hoku looked up, brows creasing. A fruit stuck out from between her lips. She gave him a look, as though he’d done something wrong for disturbing her.

Your daemon is touching my daemon.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hoku asked.

Do you not feel what I feel?

Law gave her a flat look. Hoku continued to chew.

Go get your daemon—

“Hoku,” she and Law both looked down. Hau’s voice was smooth and not too low, like a melted rumble. He came up to her leg, pressing his big head against her hip and curling his tail over her leg. The white panther daemon blinked blue eyes up at them. Law could see gold.

Hau seemed to examine Law for a moment before his long whiskers twitched. The white panther blinked once. Law stared back at him, curious about the eye contact someone else’s daemon was making with him.

Without even pausing, Hoku’s hand ran over his face, pushing past his soft ears and turning against his cheek to scratch under his chin. Hau lifted his head for better access, a loud rumble filling the air.

Several feet away, Estrella slowly made her way toward them, nonchalant and shifting mass of silver and black fur. She didn’t even acknowledge the icy daggers her other half was fixing her with, haunches swaying as she came up and sat down loyally by Law’s feet. Estrella looked up at Hoku, whiskers twitching.

“What game are you playing?” Law thought at her.

“Nothing,” Estrella thought back at him, innocent. “Nothing at all.”

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

P.S - If you guys like this au, highly recommend checking out 500shadesofblue’s story “Echoes” on ao3, super good.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

kiss you once (and then some more)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Three

concept: mistletoe kisses

❆❆❆

                            when i close my eyes (it’s just you and i)

It’s almost a mystery, why he’d ever agreed to put himself through the torture of end of the semester gift shopping for the mentally and emotionally exhausted teachers at Midtown. It’s mid-December on a Saturday afternoon. The Karens are out in full force. The shitty jazz cover of Baby, It’s Cold Outside has lasted so long, he wonders if it’s just on an endless loop.

But... he figures if it buys him precious time he gets to spend with MJ, then as far as he’s concerned, it’s all pretty worth it. 

He’s behind her at a loose follow, his hand shoved into his pockets as he glances around the aisles, trying not to only look at her. 

(He’s slightly successful at that.)

It’s funny how he could almost get lost, seeing her expressions shift as she peruses the shelves, her lips twisting in thought as she picks up various pieces of festive art work. It’s all cheesy, of course it is, though none of those seem to draw any sort of reaction from her. But, the dozens and dozens of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe’s get kind of old. 

Though she doesn’t make any verbal indication of her dislike, her face says it all. Brows scrunched ever so slightly, mouth pulled back just a bit. It’s subtle, but Peter’s had plenty of experience staring at her face to know exactly what it is. 

So, caring and curious friend that he is, asks about it. “What?”

“Eh, nothing,” She says, shrugging, clearly not caring. “Just that the mistletoe stuff is kind of stupid. And a bit creepy, if you think about it. Society only accepts it as a tradition because they think it’s an acceptable way to get someone to kiss you.” 

“Oh,” Peter said, nodding quietly. She’s not wrong. 

But he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of meeting MJ under the mistletoe. 

Though, after hearing her thoughts, he instantly feels bad for ever thinking that about her in the first place, for ever making her play that role in his overactive imagination.

“But,” Michelle adds, still not taking her attention away from the green and red wall decor. “If there’s mutual feelings, more importantly, if there’s consent, then yeah, I guess it’s fine.”

Of course, he agrees with her. Obviously. But… He’s still in that limbo of not being entirely sure what she means by all this. 

“I still think it’s dumb, though,” she concludes. 

Peter nods. “Oh, yeah same.” A beat passes, he knocks his hands together, shifting on his feet as his lips purse.  He’s not sure why he thinks to open his mouth again, to ask what he’s about to ask, but he does. “So, you’d probably never try it, right?” 

She frowns slightly, though it’s not out of upset, only in contemplation. Her brow furrows as she shrugs, and she seems off guard. “Well… I mean—I wouldn’t say… Never…?” Her eyes briefly flick over to him once before training on another interesting sign on the display.

If Peter hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed the slight change in her disposition, the subtle switch from calm and cool to flustered. 

And again, he’s a little dumbfounded as to what to do with this. What could have gotten to her? 

After a beat, she speaks again, any traces of frayed nerves vanishing just like that. “Yeah, I’d do it with someone I liked and trusted. A friend or something, I don’t know.”

His brain short-circuits for a moment.

“Any of your friends?” He finds himself asking, unable to keep the nervous chuckle from bubbling up out of him. 

She tucks an errant curl behind her ear with jittery hands. “Ah—I… I mean. Not just any friend,” she rushes to spit out. “There’s… um—” she swallows, gesturing vaguely. “—one.”

Peter feels his heart jump and skip into his throat, and he just knows that his ears, nose, and cheeks are all turning a bright shade of pink. Though he’s not quite sure if the nervousness he feels is because he thinks she’s talking about someone else—she must be, right?—or if he thinks she’s talking about him. 

But, again, as he tries to think of all their friends, it’s a short list considering how small their circle is, and he’s not sure if he’s seen MJ express interest in any of them. 

That could also mean jack shit, but it’s fine.

“Ned?” He asks, somehow managing to put a teasing edge to his tone. 

MJ huffs out a light laugh. “No,” she replies simply, keeping tight-lipped. 

“Cindy?” 

She shakes her head again. “Mm-mm.”

“Flash?”

The pointed glare she throws over her shoulder is enough to make him laugh in spite of his overactive nerves. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay! Okay! Sorry. Got it. I’ll stop.”

The corner of her lip quirks up into a slight smile, and she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she goes back to the shelves. 

Even though he desperately wants to get to the bottom of this, Peter drops the subject. More than anything, he wants to know who MJ’s thought about kissing under the mistletoe. It fills him with an anxiety he hadn’t known he could feel, the butterflies in his stomach when she looks over at him close to combusting. 

He wonders if he’ll ever find out, if she’ll ever feel comfortable enough to tell him. As much as he wants it to be him—God, he wishes it was—he can’t help but feel that it’s gotta be someone else. 

After all, it only makes sense. 

He and MJ are just friends. 

That’s all they’ll ever be, and he’s perfectly fine with that. 

                         somebody waits for you (kiss her once for me)

Flash’s party is like a minefield; a dangerous plane of holly branches hung above every doorway and low-ish railing, all done in the name of his grand scheme to get some holiday action. It works for the most part; he gets a few kisses from willing participants, and merely moonwalks away from those who scoff and turn their nose up at him. 

It’s not all that bad, Peter supposes. He just has to watch where he’s standing. Sure, he knows he’s not obligated in any way to kiss anyone, but he’d rather avoid the awkwardness if he can. 

The red and green is easy enough for him to spot, just barely visible to where he only has to glance up every few feet. 

Though, maybe he’s paying a little too much attention to where the mistletoe is, and not enough to where he’s actually going.

He runs into MJ not ten feet out of the kitchen. 

She lets out an uncharacteristic yelp as she tumbles back, but Peter’s quick to catch her, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her upright again before she can hit the ground. 

“Sorry,” He winces, losing himself for a moment when she doesn’t look away—or pull away, her palm pressed over his heart. 

He can’t help but notice how heavily she’s breathing, how fast her heart races in her chest, though he knows that that could very well be from the almost-fall. 

“Nice catch,” she breathes, the corner of her lips twitching into half-grin. 

A beat passes before Peter realizes he hasn’t said anything, and that he hasn’t let her go yet. Clearing his throat, he yanks his arm away, reaching back to scratch his neck. “You okay?” He asks, suddenly unable to look directly at her. 

She stares down at her drink—the one he’s just realized she’d been holding, thankfully not spilled—seeming to bite back a smile. 

“Yeah!” She says quickly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She rocks back on her heels, lips pressing into a line. Another beat passes. “Where’s Ned?” She finally asks casually.

“With, uh—” Peter coughs. “With Betty.” 

MJ gives a single nod, huffing out a single, soft laugh. “Should’ve guessed.” It’s her turn to clear her throat. “Do you wanna… hang out?”

It’s funny that she asks that, because Peter’s sure that’s what his exact wish was just a second before. Neither of them should even have to ask, given their closeness and that they’re already at the same party talking to one another, they’re already “hanging out,” but somehow, this feels different. 

Peter nods, and he follows her close behind to a quieter corner of the house—as quiet as it can be, filled to the brim with tipsy, hormonal teenagers and the thumping bass of an aspiring DJ-slash-Influencer. 

They stand awkwardly in the corner, Peter finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes off of Michelle; the way one side of her curls is pinned back, her bangs still falling in her face. The way her flowy dress flutters every time someone opens the door to the backyard and a breeze sneaks in. 

He realizes after a moment too long of just staring that she’s speaking to him. There’s a shake to her voice, a nervous chuckle under every word she says. 

“It’s cool if you don’t want to—”

“No, sorry, I—” He laughs, bashful, feeling a warmth flood his face. “I—didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Her lips press together as she bites back another anxious laugh. “Um—” She swallows thickly, looking upward. “There’s… That.”

Peter follows her gaze, his mouth falling open when he sees the delicate, but cheesy mistletoe hanging just above them. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat passes. 

“I—I um… I made a joke about us. Kissing,” MJ admits, her eyes not meeting his. 

“I mean—” Peter lets out a light laugh, blood rushing to his face, ringing in his ears. He feels dizzy, floaty even. “I—I’d be cool. With—with doing that.” 

Her eyes flit up to meet his, her lips curving into that cute small smile he’s always liked. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, looking down again shyly. “Me, too.” 

And then, she leans in, slowly, cautiously. It feels like a million years pass before her lips touch his in the most gentle and softest of kisses, and his head swims at how sweet it all is. 

Turns out, kissing his best friend might be one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

                                       maybe we’ll be all the love

The three gentle raps at her window make her heart skip. She swings her legs over the side of her bed as if on instinct, wrapping the knitted blanket around her shoulders as she makes her way to the window—the one that her upside-down boyfriend’s enthusiastically waving at her through. 

There’s nothing she can do to hold back her smile, even as she desperately tries to seem nonchalant when she yanks the window open a little too hard. 

“Hey,” he says. 

She can already hear his dopey smile before he rips his mask off, tossing it in her room behind her, already leaning in—to kiss her, she assumes. 

“Hi,” she replies, quirking a brow at him, a hand coming up to his chest, holding him back. “You sure that’s safe to just… show your face like that?” A light laugh bubbles up from her, warmth blooming in her face when he shrugs, clearly not having thought that through, the idea of him being so distracted by the idea of kissing her that he throws all sense of secrecy out the window. 

“Eh, I mean—” He chuckles. “You’re the only one who can technically see my face, so…” 

She peeks over the window pane, looking up to see that he’s hanging by a web from the above apartment’s balcony.

A shiver ripples through her when the cold December breeze picks up. Her eyes narrow into a glare. “Are you gonna come in? It’s cold. And you’re letting that in here.”

His lips stretch into a cheeky smile. “Can I get a kiss first?”

MJ’s mouth twists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“If you come inside, I’ll kiss you.” 

“What if I told you there’s mistletoe right above us?” 

Her expression is blank. She blinks once at him, not looking up like he wants her to. “There’s not,” she deadpans. 

“What if… I’m the mistletoe?”

“Peter—” She almost laughs, wrapping her blanket tighter around her when the cold bites at her skin. 

“Web-stletoe…” He muses. “Mistle-web—”

Michelle leans over the window pane, her hands coming to the back of his hand and pulling him to her, capturing his lips into a sweet kiss. It’s awkward at first, with everything being all switched around, flipped upside down, but they quickly settle in to the feeling. She can feel Peter’s lips quirk upward (down for her) into a smile. 

Suddenly, she finds the cold not so bad. 

When she pulls back, her expression mirrors his own, even as she tries to bite back the dopey grin. 

A light giggle bursts from him, making her heart strings swell with a warm crescendo. 

“Get inside, loser.”

                                     i’m just gonna keep on waiting

It’s cold out on the deck, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as he’s sitting by the fire pit, he can ignore the way the breeze nips at his face, no doubt turning the tip of his nose and apples of his cheeks a bright shade of red. With the fire and a mug of hot cocoa in hand, he’s set for a peaceful night. 

His friends are all still inside, no doubt drinking it up while some holiday movie plays in the background. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be in there celebrating with them, to be listening to Flash tell his likely overdramatized stories about random celebrities he’d met while going to school in LA, to hear Gwen and Cindy drunkenly singing along to every Bublé song that comes on. It’s such an overwhelmingly happy, cheerful atmosphere inside. 

So much so, that he felt he needed a moment of just… nothing. 

But then, the gentle click of the backdoor opening cuts the moment short, though not that he minds really. 

He looks over his shoulder, immediately standing on instinct when MJ walks through and closes the door behind her. 

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling slightly. 

She startles, not realizing he’s been out here. “Oh, hey.” 

There’s an awkwardness lingering in the air, pressing on his shoulders as they both offer half-hearted waves. 

Breaking-up can really put a damper on things. 

It had happened months ago, but it almost feels like a hundred years; so long since they’d mutually ended things before going off to college. There’s no bad blood between them. Not at all. In fact, he considers MJ to still be one of his closest friends. 

Sure, they went from kissing, holding hands, sleeping together—being together—to just friends, but… It hasn’t been so bad. They both knew it wouldn’t last in college, both of them worried about things going south. 

So, they ended everything before it had a chance to. 

And again. It’s fine. These things happen. People grow apart when they go off to college. It’s perfectly normal. 

Plus, Peter’s just glad that he still gets to have MJ in his life at all. 

“What’re you… doing out here?” She asks slowly, folding her arms across her chest to keep warm. 

“Oh, uh—” He shrugs, glancing around the porch, the awning above them, back at the fire pit. He mirrors her actions, rocking back on his heels. “Just needed some air. You know. You?”

She nods before letting out a faint huff of laughter. “Brad, uh—Brad just can’t seem to take a hint. So…”

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face. “You’re hiding from him.”

She recoils in defense, brow furrowing. “I am not hiding from him,” she insists, stepping away from the door and closer to the fire. 

Closer to Peter. 

“I just… thought I’d come out here—” she starts softly, Peter finding himself drawn in immediately as she stops in front of him. She shrugs. “—at the same time he happened to go to the bathroom. Not hiding.”

Peter’s smile grows, and he tips his head at her. “Uh-huh.”

MJ huffs, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly. She glances up to the awning above them, her mouth falling open in surprise at what she sees hanging from the rafters. 

“What?” Peter asks, looking up with her, feeling a warmth bloom in his face when he sees. 

Mistletoe. Of course. 

The two of them laugh quietly, chuckling to themselves. 

“Wow,” MJ says, lips twisting in amusement. “Well. I mean—”

“—I guess—” Peter shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. 

“—If you want,” MJ offers slowly, her eyes not leaving his, the warmth in them making his cheeks burn. There’s something in her smile that takes him all the way back to that first party he’d kissed her at, makes him want to lean in. “For old time’s sake?” 

He chuckles breathily. “Yeah. For old time’s sake.” 

It should be harmless, right? At least, that’s what he thinks as he leans in, his hand naturally finding a home on the side of her face, delicately cupping her jaw as he presses his lips to hers.

But it’s a feeling so familiar, a feeling he’s missed more than words could ever begin to describe, and it’s as if the numbness from the past few months has vanished, giving way to the permanent molten ache in his chest. He sighs softly, pulling her closer, an arm coiling around her waist. Her hands come up to wrap around his shoulder, threading softly through the curls at the nape of his neck as she deepens the kiss. 

They’ve missed this, so much, their chests locking together like magnets, pulled apart for so long. 

And it’s in that moment, as they kiss by the fire, holding each other close, that they both silently thank whoever put that damn mistletoe there. 

                                         and telling me, “i love you”

“Honey, I’m hooooome,” Peter calls into the apartment, bags of groceries balanced in the crook of his arms, one propped precariously on his shoulder, supported only by the tips of his fingers as he kicks the door shut behind him. 

“Thank God,” MJ groans from the couch, not moving from her spot as she holds a hand up and out for him. “Hey,” she calls to him again when he sets the paper bags on the kitchen counter. “C’mere. Check this out.”

There’s a smile already growing on Peter’s face as he walks over, one bag still tucked in his arm. “What?”

Grinning from ear to ear, MJ lifts the bottom of her shirt, showing her growing bump. It’s not huge yet, but twelve weeks in, and she’s certainly bigger than normal. 

“Woah!” Peter’s eyes light up, though he tends to do that every time he looks at her belly now. He puts the bag down, kneeling down next to her, one of his hands coming to smooth over her bump. “There’s a little baby in there.”

“I think we’ve established that,” she jokes, her hand gently patting his. “Probably still looks a lot like a sea monkey right now.”

“In a cute way, right?”

Her smile widens. “Definitely in a cute way.”

His hand stays on her bump as he leans in to place a gentle peck on her forehead, his eyes sparkling when he pulls back to look at her. “What’s the fruit size for twelve weeks?”

“I think the app said a plum?” 

Peter awwwws, now leaning down to place a kiss right on her belly. “My li’l plum.” 

MJ makes a face at that.

“Fine,” He huffs. “Our li’l plum.”

“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, nudging him gently on the shoulder. 

He snickers back before placing another set of kisses along her growing stomach. One spot makes a giggle bubble up from her chest, and she jumps slightly. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna get kicked.” 

“By you or the baby?”

“Me. Can’t feel the baby yet.”

Peter closes his eyes, laughing into her shirt before sitting back on his heels. 

Her smile is soft as she looks at him. Her dork. She shifts her attention to the bag he’d brought over, finding herself curious. “What’s in the bag?” 

Again, his eyes light up as he lets out a gentle gasp. “There’s more in the kitchen, but this bag has all the goodies in it.” He reaches a hand in, pulling out a giant tin of hot chocolate mix and another of loose leaf peppermint tea. “For you, of course.” 

“Amazing.” 

“I also got some of those Hawaiian sweet rolls,” he says, grabbing exactly that. “You mentioned wanting those the other day, I think.”

She did.

“Then…” His tongue sticks out as he searches the bag. “I got some ice cream. I didn’t know if you’d want cookies and cream or chocolate chip… so I just got both.”

“Thank you. You’re so sexy when you can’t make decisions.” 

Peter snorts, playfully shrugging off her hand that’s trying to dramatically caress his face. “And—stop that—and—” He laughs, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he holds out a cheap, plastic mistletoe. “This.”

She rolls her eyes, half-heartedly pushing his hand away. “Peter.” 

“It was in the check-out line! I was waiting a long time. I got bored.” 

And she shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I love you.”

He throws a wink at her before holding the mistletoe up between them, laughing when she grabs it from him and tosses it aside before pulling him in for a tender kiss. 

His eyes are gleaming when he pulls back, one hand moving back to rest on her bump, his thumb drawing soothing lines into her skin. 

“I love you, too.”

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

~Jungkook Scenario~

You were pacing back and forth in the studio, feeling quite nervous to meet all of the boys. When they asked you to collaborate with them on a song on their new album, you honestly thought you had been dreaming. The biggest band in the world wanted your vocals for a song? It almost sounded too good to be true. Your manager had worked out all of the details and now here you were, at their company waiting in their studio to meet all of them and go over the details of the song. 

You could hear voices from the end of the hall and excited yells. Well it’s now or never, you think to yourself. The door opens and you are first met with Jungkook and Taehyung stumbling through the door. Your eyes widen in shock as they both almost go tumbling onto the floor. 

“Ah can’t you guys just behave for two seconds?!” Jin is right behind them and scolds them for wrestling with each other. 

“Sorry hyung. We were just really excited to meet y/n.” Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Me? You were excited to meet me?”

“Of course! I’m a really big fan of yours, I love your music. Your voice is beautiful.” Jungkook smiles sweetly at you and holds his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Jungkook.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook. Um, I am a really big fan of you guys and I really like your voice too. It’s really healing.” You smile back at him and swear you see the tips of his ears turn red as he shies away at your compliment. 

The others all come up to you next and introduce themselves. And you shake each one of their hands, giving a friendly smile to all of them. They all seem very eager to work with you over the next few days. Even though you are only singing the chorus of the song you still want to see the whole process from start to finish. You are genuinely curious about how everything comes together for them.

“So y/n would you like to get started on everything tomorrow? This first day was just kind of a chance for us to all meet each other and go over the details of the expectations for the next week to come.” 

“Oh sure that sounds good to me! It’s still early in the day though don’t you want to get started on anything?”

“Nope! Take a day off and explore the city! Go get something to eat and just relax today.” All of the members start to leave the room except Jungkook who remains standing and fidgeting with his hands like he’s nervous to ask you something. 

“Are you alright, Jungkook?”

“Um.. well I was just thinking since you really don’t know your way around or anything maybe we could um.. I mean I could show you around and take you out to eat somewhere. Not on like a date or anything we just met- ahh, just as friends? Fellow artists?” You can’t help but immediately find him adorable. That confidence he greeted you with earlier was gone now that he was alone with you, and you found his shyness incredibly endearing. 

“I would really appreciate that. Thank you!” 

“Okay! I'll take you to this really good BBQ place, we go there all the time!” 

“Should we see if the other members want to join us?”

“Um.. If you want I can ask them.” By the way he’s nervously shuffling his feet you think maybe he would prefer it to just be the both of you. 

“Actually no, that’s okay. They seemed pretty tired and like they wanted to go home. We can just hang out the two of us.” His eyes light up at that and you realize you’re in big trouble when you see how doe like his eyes are. You knew you wouldn’t ever be able to say no to him and would probably give him your car if he asked you for it.

You two go out together and have a really good time. Jungkook orders almost one of every thing he possibly can so you can ‘really experience Korea through the food’. You won't lie, everything tasted amazing and you probably ate more than half of it. Although he was a little shy at first, Jungkook quickly opened up to you and you two were talking to one another like you were friends your whole lives. You stay in the restaurant and talk and drink until it’s starting to get dark outside. 

“I should probably head back to my hotel now.”

“Oh. Do you want me to walk you back? Or call a cab for you?”

“I think I got it, but thank you. You go home and rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.” You smile at him and give his hand a squeeze where it’s resting on the table.  “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you. Be safe getting home!” You nod and exit the restaurant, not able to see the absolutely smitten expression he has on his face as you are walking out. 

“You are whipped for y/n already and you just met.” Jungkook startles out of his daydream-like state to find Taehyung and Jimin are sitting at the table right next to him. 

“When did you guys get here?”

“We’ve been here for the past hour you just didn’t notice because you were busy making lovey eyes at y/n.”

“I was not!”

“You totally were.”

“No I wasn’t!” 

“Stop fighting you two everyone is staring at you.” Jimin whispers harshly. They quiet down immediately and Jungkook stands up to leave. 

“Kookie, just be careful, okay? You get attached to people really easily and y/n isn’t going to be here for long. I just don’t want you to get hurt if the feelings aren’t mutual.”

“I won’t hyung. I don’t even have feelings that way we’re just friends. I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio.” And just like that he’s out the door. Taehyung and Jimin turn back to each other both with contemplative looks on their faces.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking my dear Jiminie?”

“Should we?”

“Maybe try to get them together?”

“He won't get hurt if y/n falls for him too.” 

“That’s a great idea. We shall put our plan in effect tomorrow. Operation make y/n fall for Jungkook is a go.” 

You arrive at the studio and see Jimin and Taehyung snickering amongst themselves and you are immediately suspicious. Even though you just met them yesterday, from being a fan of BTS for so long now you knew they were plotting something. 

“What are you two doing?”

“Nothing y/n! Hey did you know Jungkook has moved some people to tears with his vocals?”

“And he always gets the choreography down by like 2 run throughs and he has it completely memorized.”

“He’s called our golden maknae for a reason.”

“But don’t let that baby face fool you underneath that soft exterior is a body sculpted by the Greek Gods.” You furrows your brows at them.

“I am aware of this I saw the fake love performances you know.” You chuckle at their expressions. “Now what are you two up to? Seriously?”

“Nothing! I swear! I just wanted you to know how amazing of a guy our Jungkookie is.” 

“Yeah he’s also really gentle and soft too. And he’s such a sweetie! Like, really when he was younger he used to come into both of our rooms at night and want to cuddle it was the cutest thing! And also-” Jungkook arrives at this point and Jimin and Taehyung quickly go silent. 

“What were you guys talking about me or something?”

“No! No we were just trying to get to know y/n a little bit better that’s all.” 

“Hmm, sure you were. You know I’ve known you guys for nearly a decade I know when you’re lying, but I’ll let it slide.” Jungkook looks away from them and his eyes meet yours and he smiles at you. 

“Hi y/n.” 

“Hi Jungkook.” The other members arrive right after that and you soon get to work on recording the song. They already had the lyrics written and the melody. All you needed to do was record your part. When you finish your vocals all of the members are clapping and cheering loudly for you.

“That was perfect y/n! This is going to take a lot less time than we thought because you are perfectly on key.” You blush at their praises and thank them. 

“Hey maybe Jungkook and y/n should sing a harmony together for the chorus. Their voices sound really lovely together don’t you think?” Jimin offers. The other seem to think this over and Yoongi hums in agreement. 

“I agree. Jungkook go into the booth and record with y/n.” He walks in and you both sing the chorus together, this time with Jungkook harmonizing perfectly with you. He truly has the voice of an angel and you forget to keep singing halfway through it due to how mesmerized you are by his voice, making you have to start over and record again. When you both are finished Jungkook smiles at you. 

“You sounded perfect. Really your voice is amazing y/n.” Your own smile widens in return. 

“Thank you. You did too but, you always sound amazing. I could listen to you sing for hours.”

“Quit flirting and get out so the rest of us can record our stuff too.” Yoongi says in a teasing way. You both hastily look away from each other and walk out of the booth, allowing the rap line to go in and record their parts next. You are left with the vocal line. Jimin has a cup of coffee in his hands and every time he laughs he comes dangerously close to spilling it on Jungkook with the way he throws his whole body into it. After one particularly funny dad joke Jimin laughs hysterically and let’s the coffee spill out onto Jungkook’s shirt. You swear he did it on purpose.

“Ah Jimin! My shirt is gonna be ruined now. Damnit this coffee is so hot it’s burning my skin.” 

“I’m sorry Jungkookie! Take your shirt off before it burns you!” Jungkook immediately complies and you can’t help but let your eyes drift down to his stomach. Seeing him in person is nothing compared to the music video, you think to yourself. Jungkook wipes the coffee of of his stomach and turns to you before his cheeks become bright red when he notices you staring. 

“Um.. sorry I’ll just go grab one of the hyungs’ hoodies and put it on.” He quickly scurries away from you into the recording booth. Namjoon lends him his hoodie but before he can put it on, you find yourself staring at the way the muscles in his back and shoulders move as he puts the hoodie on. 

“Hmm, see? We told you.” Jimin says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Are you guys trying to set me up with Jungkook or something?” Their eyes widen for a moment and you know right then you had caught them, no matter how much they vehemently tried to deny it. Jungkook comes back into the room with the rest of you and sits down on the couch.

“So um, what are we doing tomorrow then?” You ask Jin. 

“Practicing the choreography for the music video.” 

“Oh? I’m going to be in the music video with you guys too?!”

“Yeah of course! You deserve to be seen for your hard work too.” 

“That would be so cool! I can’t wait!”

Now that you were aware of Taehyung and Jimin’s little game they were playing with you and Jungkook you couldn’t help but completely give in to whatever they were trying to get you two to do. Whether it was adding in more choreography parts where you and Jungkook danced together, accidentally bumping into you during practice so you’d run into him, or making him wrap his arms around you to steady you.

It was the end of the 3rd day of your dance practices and the others are getting ready to leave. You are still standing in front of the mirror trying to get the one part of the choreography down still. Dancing isn’t really a part of what you normally do and you find yourself falling behind the others who have been doing this for so long.

“Y/n are you coming?” Jimin asks. 

“I think I’m going to stay here and keep working on this.” 

“Oh? I can help you!” Hoseok offers. But Jimin and Taehyung are quick to shut him down. 

“No no hyung! You always help us maybe let someone else help y/n so you can get a break.”

“Yeah maybe Jungkook could help?” 

“But-” Hoseok is suddenly being dragged out the door by the two of them with a confused look on his face. It’s just you and Jungkook left in the studio now. You notice the way his chest is heaving up and down and see how tired he looks. 

“You can go if you want, Jungkook. I can keep practicing by myself, it’s okay.”

“It’s okay! Really,  I’d be more than happy to help you.” You continue to practice as Jungkook observes you. He has this professional air about him as he watches you, and you know now he’s taking this seriously. 

“Ah, hang on you aren’t moving your hips right that’s why.” He demonstrates for you and you try it again but still just can’t get it quite right. “I’ll show you.” He walks up to you and places his hands on your hips showing you how to move them. He’s being strictly professional right now but your heart is racing in your chest at the feeling of his hands on you. You didn’t need Jimin and Taehyung’s help to like Jungkook, you started developing a crush on him the moment you saw him. But the more time you spent together and the more you got to see the real him you started to develop feelings for him. 

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” You are snapped out of your daze by his voice.

“I asked if you were ready to try yourself now.”

“Oh yeah sorry.” You attempt the choreography again and judging by the smile on Jungkook’s face you must have done it right.

“That was perfect. You’re a fast learner.”

“Well I have a pretty great teacher.” You say with a smile. Jungkook thanks you and smiles back. An idea suddenly pops into your head as you walk over to the speaker and hook your phone up to it.

“Y/n what are you doing?”

“We’ve worked hard the past few days I think we deserve to just let go and have fun.” You put on Anpanman much to Jungkook’s surprise. 

“Waiting for your Anpanmaaaan.” You shout. When the beat kicks in you start dancing around like you would if you were home alone. But you find you can just let go and be yourself around Jungkook without fear of being embarrassed. He immediately bursts out laughing but not in a way that is meant to make fun of you, he is completely amused by you singing along to one of their songs in broken Korean and trying to dance their choreography. He gets off the floor and soon joins you, grabbing your hands and dancing around the studio with you and singing along loudly and badly, not even trying to sound good. It feels nice to just let go with you. The joyful smile on your face and seeing you laugh and have fun with him was what sent his heart into overdrive. He realizes in this moment that he really really likes you and that honestly scares him a little bit as he remembers what Taehyung and Jimin said. By the end of the song you both collapse onto the floor together, breathing loudly but laughing to yourselves. 

“That was fun.” He turns to look at you and you turn your gaze on him too. He’s absolutely beaming at you and his nose is doing that cute thing where it scrunches and before you can stop yourself you scoot over to place a peck on his lips. When you pull away his mouth is hanging open in shock. He says nothing, as if his brain has stopped working for a moment. 

“Jungkook?”

“D-did you just kiss me?”

“I did.. I’m sorry should I not have? Am I reading this all wrong?”

“No, God no I just can’t believe you kissed me.” After he recovers from the initial surprise he leans in and presses his lips to your own. You roll over onto your back and he chases after you, never letting his lips disconnect from yours. You both are completely lost in one another and don’t hear the studio door open. 

“Ah, Taehyung that fool forgot his phone and made me come back here to get- OH MY GOD YOU TWO!” Jimin yells. Jungkook slowly breaks away from you and glares at Jimin. “Our plan worked! HA!” 

“Plan? What plan? What’s going on?”

“Taehyung and I tried to get you two together and it worked!” 

“We just kissed Jimin it’s not a big deal.” Your heart sinks at that and Jungkook hears the breath leave you as if the wind was knocked out of you. “Oh gosh no I didn’t mean it like that y/n. It’s a very big deal to me and it meant a lot to me.” The smile returns to your face hearing that. 

“Uh, I’ll just grab Taehyung’s phone and go then sorry!” Jimin runs to the corner of the room and quickly grabs it and leaves. All of the stress and tension leaves your bodies as you both start laughing. 

“I had a feeling those two were up to something.” You say.

“I did too. It was so obvious I just didn’t think it was.. this.” He rests his forehead against your own and you both lay there for a few moments letting your breathing calm down. 

“I really like you y/n.” He says against your lips before kissing you again.

“I really like you too.” 

“So what does this mean then? You’re leaving after the music video shoot is done aren’t you?”

“I mean.. I can stay longer if you want me too. I don’t have anything scheduled until next month. I was taking some time off for myself so... Maybe an extended vacation in Seoul?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 7: Shall We Dance

• Something I didn’t consciously realize about this film until reading Hannah Hyam’s book is that Astaire and Rogers don’t dance together until nearly an hour in. That hasn’t happened since Gay Divorcee. What was anyone thinking??

• Shall We Dance suffers from a lot of extra crap that it didn’t need, such as extraneous characters, far too many interruptions in the Astaire and Rogers relationship, and a bunch of weirdness like life-sized dolls, life-like masks, and backbending ballerinas. The film also has a lot of wasted potential, including a great score and songs by George and Ira Gershwin. 

The Gershwins were already well acquainted with Astaire and Rogers. The duo had first met when she was starring in the brothers’ show, Girl Crazy, and Astaire was brought in to help with choreography. Rogers was close friends with George and even dated him. Astaire had known the brothers prior, having starred in a few of their shows with his sister, Adele. 

• Our characters/actors: Peter “Petrov” Peters (Fred Astaire), Linda Keene (Ginger Rogers), Jeffrey Baird (Edward Everett Horton), Arthur Miller (Jerome Cowan)

• Around the time I was first really into classic Hollywood films, including these ones, my family and I adopted a new dog. I annoyed my parents to no end by suggesting we name him Peter P. Peters. Don’t know why I latched onto that name but I did. 

• Even in the massive portrait of Petrov, you can see Astaire has his fingers curled in rather than fully extended.

• Astaire’s ballet attire lets us once again see just how skinny he is. 

• Always loved how Peter does a little tap at the rhythmic sound of his name and birthplace: Pete Peters, Philadelphia PA.

• Rogers’ cardigan with all of its baubles is truly awful looking. It will only be out done by a terrible floral dress she wears later. 

• I do however like that she shoves her handsy stage partner into a fountain. Why are men constantly the worst?

• “And why must there always be a kiss at the second-act curtain?” is YET ANOTHER example of these films trolling us. Not once up until this point has any act of an Astaire/Rogers outing included a kiss between them. 

• Linda’s disinterest in even meeting Petrov is based on the assumption that he’s a “simpering toe dancer.” While that’s incorrect, she’s not wrong that he is indeed another man who has seen a picture of her and wants to tell her he can’t live without her. So she gets partial credit. 

• If Peter wasn’t totally smitten before, Linda’s jab, “It’s just a game little American boys play” gets him. 

• As a mixed race number, “Slap That Bass” is incredibly unusual for the era. Astaire was a great admirer of African-American dancers and was strongly influenced by Bill Robinson and John W. Bubbles. I love the blend of all of the voices in this song. 

• The dance portion of “Slap That Bass” gives Astaire a chance to show off more of his innovative mind and choreography. He dances in time with the sounds of the ship’s engine and compels the camera to follow him across and up the vast set. The dance is also special in that we have behind the scenes footage of Astaire rehearsing, thanks to a home video shot by George Gershwin. 

• Peter making Jeffrey believe the boat is rocking may seem a bit unbelievable but having been on a large ship myself, sometimes you don’t realize it’s rocking until you see other passengers weaving or a giant chandelier swaying. 

• I usually skip most if not all of Jeffrey and Arthur’s scenes together. They slow down this film soooo much.

• Like in all of their films, songs are sometimes heard in the background before the actual musical number they appear in. But because this film is scored by the Gershwins, there’s an array of shorter pieces of music that are all their own, such as the whimsical score heard while Rogers and then Rogers with Astaire are walking her dog.

• The dog Peter borrows to give himself an excuse to talk to Linda hits his bark cue perfectly and looks extremely happy about it. 

• I would love to know what exactly Astaire and Rogers are talking about while walking her dog. Maybe they were given lines that were then not recorded or maybe it’s improv. But it seems very natural. 

Rogers did say that Astaire was a wonderful conversationalist and was adept at talking while dancing, something she noted most men couldn’t manage. 

• Wow do I love it when Rogers gets to be extra sassy

Peter: “Isn’t it wonderful being here tonight like this? Still on the same boat together.”

Linda: “Oh, I seldom change boats in mid-ocean.”

• “Beginner’s Luck” is such a charming, fast song that Astaire delivers wonderfully. He hardly seems to take a breath. 

A jazzed up version of “Beginner’s Luck” is the song Peter tried to dance to in Paris but the record kept getting stuck. 

• Something this movie fails at is letting Linda and Peter’s relationship continue to progress before throwing more obstacles in their way. We know from the gossip of the ship’s staff that they have been spending a lot of time together. When we see them, they are having a relaxing evening that’s incredibly domestic: sitting side by side on the deck while she knits and he smokes. Wouldn’t it have been nice to see more of this part of their relationship? 

• Why on earth did Peter think sending Jeffrey to fix the false baby rumors was the right decision? Jeffrey can’t handle a single thing. 

• Infuriated at the rumors that she’s married to Peter and pregnant with their baby, Linda tries to call him. “Operator! Get me Mr. Petrov. What? Don’t you dare congratulate me!”

• The theme of this movie is supposed to be the blend of dancing and music styles. Peter’s ballet and Linda’s jazz styles are one example, George Gershwin’s varied score, which switches from jazz to waltz to foxtrot to classical, etc, is another. But it’s a fairly weak concept that doesn’t quite land and reportedly, neither Astaire or Ira Gershwin was wild about it. 

• I love the new version of “Slap That Bass” that plays as Peter and Jeffrey enter the rooftop club. 

• When Rogers sings “They All Laughed,” she is singing to an off-screen Cary Grant, her friend and sometimes date who was visiting the set at the time. 

She is also wearing a dress with a horrible pattern. It’s supposed to be floral but it always makes me think of amoebas. Maybe it looked better in color?

• Astaire clearly has fun during the part where Peter hams it up a bit with his ballet next to Linda’s tapping. 

• In some ways, “They All Laughed” is reminiscent of “Isn’t it a Lovely Day.” They’re testing each other, trading glancing as they see whether the other can keep up with the increasingly complex steps. Until now, Linda didn’t know Peter could dance this way so her surprise and amusement unfolds slowly as the routine progresses. But he has been grinning since the start because he’s hoping to win her back through this dance.

• This is another duet where it takes a long time before they touch. The first physical contact is just her executing a series of spins with the help of his fingers. And it’s during this part that Rogers finally breaks into a wide smile.  

• When he spins her up onto the piano the first time, she happily waits for him to retrieve her. And when he spins her into a seated position and upright again a few times don’t miss how he looks at her with a wry, slightly mischievous smile. 

• The Linda doll is so creepy and not lifelike. Who was fooled by this?

Also, Arthur is terrible. Jeffrey is terrible too but he’s an idiot so I’m more willing to let it slide. 

• Peter walking out of Linda’s bedroom in the morning in his robe right in front of her fiancé while she is in her negligee is pretty funny. 

• Peter and Linda’s nice day out is just further proof that this movie should’ve spent more time on the two of them together rather than breaking them up every few minutes. 

• “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” is a fun song, though Astaire gets most of the good words imo. However, Rogers does do an extra affectation to some of her lyrics and that makes them funnier. 

At one point when she’s singing, he turns to her and for just a moment his face goes soft in that way it does sometimes when he looks at her. 

• Some film historians have labeled this dance as not that great when compared to other Astaire and Rogers numbers. But I’ve always found it very enjoyable and innovative. While Gene Kelly probably takes the gold medal for dancing on skates in It’s Always Fair Weather, Astaire and Rogers did it first, did it well, and deserve some extra credit for a duet on skates rather than a solo. 

Rogers also deserves some extra credit since the idea to dance on skates was supposedly hers. And probably deserves even more credit for doing this dance on skates while also in heels. 

• For some reason I really enjoy that they perform this number in their hats and street clothes. It’s so informal and feels like something you do on a fun date. 

• Throughout this dance, Peter continues to be the playful one, as he’s been in their interactions in the film, and Linda is the more serious one who needs to be coaxed into having fun. Maybe this is why Astaire frequently glances at her and even spends long seconds watching her at different parts as they move into the next series of steps. Rogers is more reserved in her expressions but whenever they are face to face, she appears happiest. 

A few times she looks triumphant, leading me to wonder if they or she had finally nailed a section that was giving them or her trouble. 

• Can’t say for certain but I swear she almost falls when they do the backwards steps. She just baaaarely snags his hand in time. 

They had to film this dance something like 150 times so I imagine there was more than one time where at least one of them did indeed fall. 

• The circular dance they do leading up to the end is based on a dance Astaire and his sister made famous in their time on the stage. 

• Apparently the grassy bank they tumble onto wasn’t padded so those fake grimaces of pain aren’t that fake. Their exchange after the tumble feels very much like married banter to me:

Peter: “Yes, it was my idea.”

Linda: “Have you any more of them?”

Peter, exaggerating: “No.”

• They’re such a good match:

Linda: “Peter, you’ve got to marry me.”

Peter: “Why, Linda, this is so sudden.”

• Oh 1930s Hays Code humor. The cop who overhears their conversation thinks she’s pregnant and pressuring the father of the baby into marrying her. Hurr hurr hurr.

• Heh:

Linda: “I beg your pardon but what are grounds for divorce in this state?”

Clerk: “Marriage.”

• It will never make sense to me that a dance was not planned in this film for “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.” It’s a truly lovely song. I know Astaire and Rogers will dance to it more than ten years later in The Barkleys of Broadway but it’s just not the same. 

It’s also a good reminder in the film that Peter has legitimate feelings for Linda and she does for him but they’re far more conflicted. Though he must sense he’s hooked her in a bit since he becomes very aloof once they return to the hotel in the stupid hope of making her want him more? Idk, men are dumb. 

• “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” carries special poignancy because it became a form of consolation to Ira Gershwin after his brother suddenly died two months after this film was released. 

• Oh Linda’s face when she walks in to see Peter with the loathsome Lady Tarrington is so sad and crestfallen. Ever thought you and your crush were finally on the same page only to find them canoodling with someone else? 

Although, she could’ve knocked first instead of just walking straight into his room…

• The ballet portion of the finale is weird and unappealing in every way. Harriet Hoctor was known for the backbend dance she does in this film. Maybe it was something spectacular in 1937?? but it doesn’t hold up. 

One thing I’ll say about Astaire’s duet with Hoctor, it’s a great chance to see him in a romantic duet with someone other than Rogers and notice how different he acts. No secret smile, no lingering looks, no whispered words, no soft expressions. 

• “Shall We Dance” is another upbeat song that deserves more than being featured in the remaining few minutes of the film. Their dance is far too short but wonderful all the same. Her delight when he finds her always makes me smile. She also executes some impressive full length lunges that I couldn’t do at this moment much less in a dress and heels in the middle of a dance number. 

For a few seconds, his fingers press into the exposed dip of her spine in yet another example of Victorian hotness. 

• And so we finish film number 7. Shall We Dance underperformed at the box office and wasn’t a critical darling. Everyone, the actors included, started to feel the magic was coming to an end. Coming up next is a film I pretty much never rewatch: Carefree. 

[okamirayne]

Hi Rayne!! Just finished (yet another) re-read of BtB, and I don't think I've cried this hard in a long, long time - it was very cathartic. But, feels aside, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about Karibi? She's fascinating and I'm just dying to know more! (Sorry if this has been asked before!!)

Hi there, my lovely Anon!

Apologies for the delayed response. Aw, luv.  Always so, so chuffed to learn someone has revisited the series and even more touched to know it hits you in the feels <3.

But, feels aside, I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about Karibi? She's fascinating and I'm just dying to know more! (Sorry if this has been asked before!!)

Karibi! <3 Firstly, no, this hasn’t been asked before, so imagine my excitement regarding an OC ASK -- can you picture it? TREBLE IT. XD 

Another dear Anon asked about Naoki in a previous ASK and I thank you for your expressed interest in Karibi! It’s a funny one because I have two Karibi OCs -- the edited version I inserted into BtB and the original, original version. Given that we’re talking about BtB Karibi...let me rewire my character brain a moment and firmly draw a line or two...or twelve....

Right! A Third War orphan, Karibi grew up in the orphanage outside of Konoha and proved to be quite a handful over the years given her feisty nature, constant escape-attempts, insistence on dressing and behaving like a boy (for which she earned consistent bullying and beatings), and her rough-housing free-for-all scraps with other kids -- as well as her routine habit of stealing food from the kitchens to give to a stray dog who constantly hung around the outskirts of the orphanage. It was easier for her to attach herself this dog than other kids who came and went, just like the voluntary care-givers. Her mischief-making, stealthy tactics, “never stay down” stubbornness and streetwise attitude soon caught the attention of a retired Konoha ANBU veteran (a patron of the orphanage) who interrupted a violent fight between Karibi and a group of local boys who’d stoned the dog to death. Observing how fiercely she fought (always getting up when knocked down) despite being outnumbered and beaten, the ANBU veteran recognized her potential, promptly adopted her, and trained her in ninjutsu, genjutsu and chakra control.

Their relationship was close, until it wasn’t.

Advancing quickly through the academy and ranks – winning zero friends along the way – she was soon put forward for ANBU by her adopted father, who immediately cut his ties to her, damaging an already tentative trust. Intended as a solo agent, she was immediately assigned to a 3-team ANBU unit named Team Yokai consisting of herself, Genma, and Naoki (Captain).

Enter in, bonding.

It was here, after a lot of boundary testing and testosterone busting, that she finally formed some hard-won emotional attachments after beating Genma and Naoki bloody in taijutsu combat – taunting them constantly to get up (“seven times down, eight times up”). While she was promptly one-upped by both in ninjutsu, her genjutsu prowess brought her right back onto an even keel with them both. Perfectly balanced, respect began to form between them – then friendship – which later led to a lover’s trine between the three of them. This was intense but short-lived; Karibi soon recognised that though she loved them both, she preferred women and also realised Genma and Naoki’s feelings for each other went a hell of a lot deeper than ‘close friends with benefits’. She knew they’d fallen for each other before either admitted it to themselves, let alone each other.

The three of them were inseparably close.

They were more than her friends or comrades – they were her family.

They kept each other going.

Karibi allowed Naoki to establish a permanent telepathic link with her whereas Genma only allowed it during missions and in the bedroom. Karibi kept her mind open to Naoki always, though he never intruded until years later after being listed as Killed In Action.

His death blew a hole in their world.

Their team was dismantled.

They would not accept another Captain.

To make matters worse, due to the unbroken telepathic link and the resulting ghost of Naoki’s presence in her head, Karibi never truly believed Naoki had died and her adamant ‘denial’ of this ‘fact’ created a heart-breaking rift between her and Genma.

This rift between them grew darker and wider as Genma turned to solo deep-cover missions and Karibi turned to drink when she wasn’t neck-deep in assassinations and a failed “could’ve been” relationship. And then one day the edge of all the smashed glass bottles in her life looked very, very tempting.

Genma found her, just in time – the first time at least.

Treated and cleared of suicide risk, Karibi was soon diagnosed as schizophrenic given the “voice” of her dead Captain in her head and this threatened her position in the ANBU – but her brokenness caught Danzō’s interest.

After a failed attempt to recover her relationship with her civilian lover and unable to mend the rift between herself and Genma, she signed on for a ROOT initiation mission – which sadly finished what she’d started with the bottle – though it was an impulsive and sudden decision rather than a deeply pre-meditated one. She disobeyed orders when sent into a child-trafficking operation being run out of an orphanage. This was a trigger for her. Rather than complete the ROOT mission of kidnapping a couple of kids for ROOT grooming, she murdered her ROOT partner and slaughtered the “nuns” who were supposed to be taking care of the children rather than indenturing them into the sex-trade to raise funds. When the ninja traffickers showed up, she lit the building on fire, and while the children escaped she made damned sure not one “piece of trash” running the trafficking ring got out alive.

She went down fighting in flames.

Her death was the final crippling blow to Genma. He went to Mizugumo immediately after that. Then he went to his own personal hell before Kakashi met him there in ANBU’s gutter and helped drag him out of it years later, saving him from the same fate as Karibi when he almost identically mirrored the blaze of glory tragedy with his suicide attempt in Tanzaku years later.

Random Trivia:

Karibi loved dogs and often kept an eye out for Inuzuka women looking for a bit of rough and tumble.

She dealt with a lot of possessive shit from Naoki. He was very possessive of his family/lovers and was only just about able to accept Karibi being intimate with others, even after he’d stopped sleeping with her. Genma always joked that Naoki only accepted her activities because her preference was for women, not men.

Karibi, like Naoki, felt strongly about the abuse of children, given certain illicit incidents she’d witnessed at the orphanage -- she and Genma understood Naoki’s childhood trauma and were the only ones who could handle him when he flew into a rare rage

Her favourite catchphrase was “seven times down, eight times up” (“Nana korobi, ya oki” which means “Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” It means choosing to never give up hope, and to always strive for more.)

While her ANBU step-parent/mentor abandoned her in the end, she retained the green knit scarf he gifted her (the only gift she’d ever received from him other than her training and removal from the orphanage)

She began to fall for a civilian woman -- the scariest thing for her, other than losing her teammates.

Karibi’s top value was “resilience” and never giving up – which made her suicide attempt so painful for Genma to accept

She turned to Naoki for help retrieving memories about her parents – this enabled him to perfect his own kinjutsu to reverse memory erasure

She had a plethora of ear piercings and a tattoo Naoki inked on her hip

She loved various green teas

She had a crush on Kurenai – round about the same time Genma did, which made for an interesting competition between them….and a somewhat unfair irritation towards Asuma.

She was a bit of magpie in the ANBU and stole items on missions, donating them privately to the orphanage

She loved berry-picking and was very well-versed with poisons

Genma gave her chickenpox and she gave him hell for it

She almost managed to shove a spinning top up Genma’s ass – almost.

Genma accidentally broke her baby finger playing “thumb wars” and it never set properly on the joint, causing her to have a crooked little finger

Most of her illusion/genjutsu techniques focus around folklore creatures and light, which came in handy on missions dealing with highly suspicious village folk

Her dream goal was to one day be Goei Shotai to a female Hokage – a dream Genma later lived out for her when Tsunade came into power

Naoki was with her telepahtically when she died, as Genma was with Naoki when he died -- in that way, Karibi was not as alone in death as Genma always feared.

Wow, that was LONG.  Sorry, Anon! I absolutely love character-writing and development....I get carried away even if most of their story never makes it into the actual written piece. Thank you for asking about Karibi, I hope this insight gives you some answers! <3